Evans

By Bungie

Summary: Something different happens on that Halloween night in 1981. Baby Harry is thrown back in time where he grows up with no knowledge of who he is…or who he should have been. Regardless, he is now Hadrian Evans, a boy unlike any other and who stirs the attention and curiosity of one Tom Riddle. But is a prophecy made in the future still in effect if the participants are in the past? And was Hadrian the only time traveler? Romance, intrigue, betrayal, murder, and political plays. Major work. Bit of a slow build.

Rating: M with MA moments further down the line. If I choose to put explicit scenes in here I will either forewarn you or censor them and have them posted on AO3.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable from Harry Potter Canon. Any original characters, OOC moments, or other such nonsense I take full credit for. Not that I get paid for either way.

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Tom Riddle. One sided Harry/OC. (maybe slight Tom/Bella…haven't decided yet). Obsessive Grindelwald, but I'll leave that as a surprise.

Beta: The ever wonderful and brilliant Fae0306

A/N: It's a bit of a remake of an old story I wrote under another name. Enjoy.

Chapter 1

"The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking."

-Albert Einstein

April 27, 1940

Softly colored light filtered in through stained glass windows, giving the balcony corner a heavenly glow. Dark cherry wood furniture, dusty and unused, decorated the space and the sounds of the nuns in the kitchens could be heard resounding off the walls. A young man of 10 years hid amidst the floating particles in between a jutted column and the wall holding the stained glass window displaying Christ's Ascension to Heaven. There was no door, no entry or exit, on the displayed balconies that circled the cathedral's sanctuary, but somehow the boy had managed to get up here and made this place his own personal haven; a hideaway from those who claim to love all.

In his hands was a thick, black covered book, the pages turning every few moments. Another stack of books sat at his feet with titles gleaming in gold letters: Niccolo Machiavelli's The Prince, John Milton's Paradise Lost, and Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics. The church's massive library had become his best friend since he had learned to read, and he found that every book he read, he memorized.

A low hiss of pain escaped beneath his breath, the lashings from the day before were still tender to the touch as he tried not to press his back against the wall. Father, the head priest of the house, had not been happy to learn that he had used his 'gifts' again. The young boy had been in the vegetable gardens, tending the tomatoes and cucumbers, when a grass snake slithered from a tomato vine onto his hand.

Flashback:

"Hello." He whispered to it. He watched in rapt fascination as the snake lifted its head to look him in the eye.

"You can sssspeak to me." The snake hissed back, and the boy broke into a smile at the possibility of making a friend.

"Yesss. My name is Hadrian. What'sssss yourssss?" He hissed back.

"I have no name." The young boy frowned, and then smiled again. "Well, I'll give you one. "

"How about-" A piercing scream echoed in the yard behind him, and before he could say goodbye to the kind snake, a hand had shot out to his shoulder and grabbed him, yanking him away and pulling him past corridors and stairways to a familiar door that caused many to hope, but him to dread.

End of Flashback

The priest had called him a witch: someone using devilish powers granted by making a deal with the devil himself. If he had made a deal with the devil, he didn't remember it. It didn't matter either way, the priest had decided long ago that whatever allowed Hadrian to be able to do what he did, and the actual powers themselves, could be beat out of him. It gave Hadrian no small amount of satisfaction to see the priest angry when the welts he had caused would be gone without even a scar within a day or two.

Hadrian had learned at an early age to hide his abilities and even his intelligence. Everything about him wasn't normal. He spoke to snakes for crying out loud. Part of him hated himself because of it. His abilities had caused the church to take him away from the other children orphaned there when he was 4 and he had no one in the world to talk to. No friend. Not that he had friends when he was kept in the children's ward. On the contrary, he had enemies and bullies. You couldn't trust another; that was his earliest lesson. The only one in the entire building he trusted with some measure was Mother, the head nun. She wasn't necessarily kind to him, but she didn't go out of her way to be cruel. If he asked a question, she gave an answer and would make sure he was fed when the other nuns said there was no more food.

He closed the book, the soft pages fluttering as they came together. He laid his latest conquest on top of the rest, and lifted his eyes to the window as the light had begun to fade into the night. His eyes watched as the red of Christ's robes turned purple and the golden light of his Ascension turned brown. He smirked at the irony the scene portrayed. He did not believe in God or the Devil. He did believe that there was…something…out there that gave everything that he did in life meaning or purpose. There was a point to his life and a reason why he was born. Even more importantly, there was a reason he could do what he did and he wouldn't deny who he was because others didn't understand his purpose.

He smiled widely, entertained by the aged tone of his thoughts.

A bell chimed, the vibrations felt throughout the entire building. He stood up and stretched before leaping over the 30 foot high balcony and allowed that tingly 'force', or what he laughingly called magic, to pool at his feet and slow his dissension. It was dinnertime. He sighed, lifting his head and shoulders in forced confidence, ready for the battle of getting fed.

Later that night…

The night blew amongst the crevices of bricks and wood planks that made up the underground hideout of the old cathedral. Short columns stood in various places as cornerstones of a now crumbling empire. Stones wrapped in cloth, soaked in oil, and then lit had been purposely used to break open the stained glass art like eggs, laying the foundation for the smoke slowly seeping in like death's hand.

One individual was hidden below this ruining bridge of religion. Hadrian, his red hair wild with dust and white chips of broken stone, stared wide eyed through a crack of concrete. His eyes were dry and itchy from the smoke coming in. It was quiet now, despite the screams that had flooded the air earlier. Even the mob outside stood in front of the sanctuary that burned in a sort of quiet reverence. The orange and red flickering lights threw themselves upon the faces of those who hated him, hated him because of their own superstitious beliefs and fears, transforming human forms into grotesque monsters.

The young boy gripped his mouth with one hand in vain hope to quell his desire to scream, while the other tangled in the dirty and ripped mess of his nightshirt. It was the middle of the night and the moon hung her saddened head down in the very center of the sky. A pair of soft, once tan, bedroom slippers were thrown to the side of the underground tunnel. His shaking was beginning to calm as he turned his head away from the crack in the wall. His heartbeat stilled as he tried to remember the last words that were spoken to him and the moments before the secret door was slammed behind him.

Sleep seemed peaceful before a strong hand woke him with a painful shake and a frightened voice that called his name.

"Hadrian wake up. WAKE UP NOW!" The hushed, but hysterical sound of Mother was high pitched in his sensitive ears. Her black robes blended in with the night, but her pale face, flushed a splotchy pink, and a set of fearful dirty brown eyes gleamed with the reflection of the candle she was holding.

"Mother…what is it?" His voice was hushed, dread spreading through him at her hysterical face.

"Hadrian…I have made a terrible mistake."

Hadrian swallowed. Fear rose from the depths of his stomach. He pushed it down, forcing his mind to stay calm.

"What did you do?"

"I…"He watched her face, watching the sneer curl around her mouth and the gaze that had always been calm when it came to him, darken with hate.

"I am no liar, Hadrian. I have despised you since you first began displaying…abilities. I will admit, looking back, that you have always been an innocent child. You didn't deserve what this church did to you. But you were never just a child. There has always been something…other…about you. I am sorry for what I have done. I…pushed for the Father to go into town and let some of the men down there know you're here. Tell them what you can do. I believed that they would come for you and you would no longer be in our hands and…your blood wouldn't be on our hands…But now they're here and…it's not just you they're after. They've locked the entire building down with chains and are planning to burn the entire place down."

Hadrian reached for his forehead, feeling the softened scar buzz with what he dubbed as magic, the small hairs on his arms lifting up as if tapping into a small amount of electricity. He could hear every breath Mother took in with such acuteness that it hurt the drums wedged closer to his brain. The erratic heartbeat of his body did nothing to help the throbbing pain. He didn't dare believe himself a demon like what the priest and the nuns called him, but now he truly questioned if they were telling the truth. He couldn't be that evil creature that lurks in the shadows to grasp innocent people and personally take them to their doom. Could he? What was he? Was he truly a freak of nature? Should they fear him?

He stared at nothing, his thoughts running rampant, then something shifted and all was calm.

He wasn't something to fear…but he could be.

Mother had grabbed his wrist and began dragging him out of the room, down flights of stairs, and down several corridors. He was beginning to worry if she planned to bargain with the mob outside by exchanging his life. If that was her plan then he would have to do something…drastic to keep that from happening.

As if hearing her thought she spoke.

"It's too late to try and bargain for our lives. The east wing is already completely in flames, the dorms and those in them are already dead." He could hear jeering and cheers outside and knew that the mob was excited, excited like a pack of wolves over a fresh kill. "They are too stirred up to listen to reason and the one leading them is Vance Blonc…and I know you know who that is."

Of course he knew who that was. Vance Blonc: the small town of Braven's (located just outside of Winchester) own personal self-proclaimed mayor, superstition guru, and pedophile. After that one incident the man steered clear of Hadrian, but he had seen many other children go into that man's house and never come out.

That man hated Hadrian. And if he was leading this farce, then he wasn't surprised it had escalated this far.

Mother dragged them till they both stood before a great painting of The Last Supper. Jesus stood in the middle with hands open offering peace and bread. Hadrian melted this image into his memory, his brain absorbing how the colors of the stained glass windows behind him made the painting seem almost lifelike.

He continued to watch Mother. She was currently saying a prayer of safe passage and covering. She spoke quickly with hushed tones to the point that even Hadrian's strained hearing could not pick up. Next, she lifted her hands and pushed the great painting slightly to the left, in order to open a small door in the wall.

"I know my hatred of you isn't necessarily right…but I'm going to do the right thing now, so listen carefully." She turned to the young 10 year old who was known throughout the small town as having unnatural abilities and the most intense bright green eyes; they stared at her with a steady gaze, a gaze that shouldn't be on a ten year old's face. It made her shudder, a feeling that was not new in the years she had helped raise the boy.

She pushed a wad of bills into the young boy's hands. "When you go down this secret passage way, it will lead you underneath the church. Follow it all the way down until you cannot walk any further. Make a right and follow the direction of the river. When you come out, look up on the shore to your right. There should be a small row boat there for you. Get in it…make sure no one sees you and row until you cannot row anymore. You will know which way to go."

With the resounding sounds of broken glass and the smell of smoke coming closer, Mother pushed Hadrian through the small door. He wondered why she just didn't come with him while he listened as the great painting was pushed back in front of the secret door. He stood for a moment in stunned silence, his hand clenching a wad of bills. Cries of a mob could be heard with the crooked light that cast itself against the adjacent wall. Through the cracks of a wall he found himself gaping at the sight of men gathered with the purpose to kill him.

Something heavy and dark burned within his chest and seemed to increase with every swallow he took. He wondered if it was hate.

This is where he found himself.

He shuddered slightly, the sounds from outside seemed to quake the entire structure of the church. He turned his face from the crack in the wall at the sound of a scream, a voice he recognized, and he knew that something had happened to Mother.

A quiet, almost nonexistent sob escaped his throat, as he tried to digest everything. He hadn't cried since he was five and one of the nuns told him he wasn't worthy to be with the other children after he had wept from loneliness, and he wouldn't start now. Instead he began walking, following the path that seemed to go deeper and deeper beneath the cathedral, just as Mother had stated.

He walked and walked. He eventually had to bend and crawl because the tunnel's ceiling lowered too far to walk, his knees scraping and bleeding from the rocks and grating dirt. Relief flooded him when he hear the gentle sound of moving water. It was too dark to really know where he was, but he had spent enough time in the darkness for his eyes to become attuned with the lack of light. He could see that the passageway had ended and opened up to an underground river. He turned right and followed the river as it curved left, then right, and then left again.

The open, slightly lightened night sky greeted him as he walked out from what looked to be a cave, onto the muddy banks of a river. Looking beyond, he saw a crude boat floating haphazardly on the water. It was tied to the shore by an old rope. He quickly untied it, and got in, making sure to look around for any persons who might see him. The reeds on the shore were so tall that if someone was hiding, he wouldn't have known if they were there. He waited for a moment, caution still jittery in his body. Then with a strong push he walked the boat into the water, and jumped in as quietly as he could. He paused for a moment, listening to the whistle of the wind as it bounced off the high grass.

Nothing stirred. He grabbed the small paddle in the boat and began to quietly paddle himself down the river. The night was full of sounds and each one made him jump in over awareness. He focused on breathing and the rhythmic movements of his paddling.

He paddled and paddled…and paddled. His arms began to tire and the river began to widen. He lifted the paddle into the boat and fell back, his eyes reflecting the moonlight above. He sighed, a sound beyond that of a child. Thoughts raced through his overloaded mind. There were too many questions and too many decisions that needed to be made.

He sighed again. He'd wait for the morning to come before he'd make any decisions. He allowed his eyes to close, and before he knew it, his exhaustion had carried him to the world of dreams…the sounds of a familiar woman's screams in the background.

Unnoticed, the boat continued its journey following the natural current of the river.

Sunlight gently touched his face. Thick eyelashes blinked open revealing sleepy green eyes. He sat up, disturbed by the soft sloshing of water against the boat.

A thin veil of woods lingered on the shore, and with the light of the sun he could see a road beyond it.

"What to do, what to do?" Hadrian curled up within the confines of the boat, his head sitting on his knees as he looked at the road beyond the woods, his mind weighing the pros and cons of his possible decision.

I will have to leave the boat behind. But if I stay out in the open, it's a good possibility that those people from Braven will see me again and come after me. If I follow the road, I'll probably find a city or a town with information. Hopefully no one will recognize me and I'll be able to make some decisions then.

Decision made he lifted his body out of the boat, his flannel pajama bottoms were worn ragged at the edges, and his feet were bare since his slippers were lost on the escape from the church. He allowed his feet to walk carefully over the sharpened rocks and broken tree limbs as he made his way through the woods, following the road westward.

He continued walking, the time passing by unnoticed with the consistency of his movement. Monotony allowed for his mind to separate from reality, his thoughts speaking loudly in order to be recognized.

I won't trust anyone again. Not that I really trusted Mother. Despite being the one I liked the most, she was still the one who was most afraid of me and was the one who caused the others to be so afraid of me that they attacked the church. No matter what I do people will be afraid of me, it's not like anyone else can do what I do. I could try and hide what I can do and be normal…but that would be denying who I am. I am not normal. I am not average. Why should I convert myself to the level of plebeians and sheep that are incapable of stringing two thoughts together for themselves? I don't want to live my life denying myself because other people are afraid. Let them be afraid. I will choose whether I want to be loved or feared. Even if it's just me from now on, I'll never let something like this happen again. Since there is no one else who will love me, I will love me. I will take care of me.

He allowed a smile to light up his face, a deep satisfaction growing inside himself at the promise in his thoughts. The feeling of concrete scraping beneath his feet, jerked him to awareness.

He had managed to stumble onto a freshly paved road. The streets back in Braven were still dirt, but the closer you got to major cities the roads became concrete. It was a good sign. He followed it for about an hour until he came to slight hill and a sign pointed forward with the word London. As he drew closer and closer he began to see more buildings, businesses and apartments grew closer together. Soon he could see the Tower of Big Ben over the towering buildings of the city, cars and screaming children could be heard all around. He had walked into the hustle of downtown London and he paused to take in everything.

Big, red double-decker buses and small, shiny cars of varying colors honked and blared their engines as they sped down crisscrossing and adjacent roads. Steam could be seen frothing over small buildings from the trains. The scent of fuel and croissants hung in the air as a pungent aroma so strong that it nearly pushed him back in the direction he had stumbled from. Small brick buildings, which grew into taller businesses further into the horizon, lined wide sidewalks with oddly shaped and colored signs pleading for customers to come to such places as George's Clean Cuts and Louise's Monday Morning Café.

He clutched his hand around the wad of bills and calculated what he had. It was only enough to buy something better to wear and a small meal. Looking around he saw a small clothing shop and stepped in. Twenty minutes later, he stepped out wearing a pair of secondhand black slacks, soft soled tennis shoes, and a white button up, long sleeved shirt. He threw the torn and raggedy clothes in the nearest trash can, and thanked whoever was running the show up there in the sky that he hadn't drawn the curious gazes of any passing adults.

The scent of fresh doughnuts led him down two blocks, closer to the city of London, and to a street vender who smiled at him, a dimple forming on his cheeks right above his overly thick mustache.

That's when he saw it.

It was beautiful and seemed to glow with white light as the sun hit its marble exterior.

It was the London Library. There was no telling how many books or things he could learn about in there. He stood there for a moment, gawking, before shoving his doughnut in his mouth and running up the ten steps to the door.

Stepping into the coolness of the building, the air conditioner blowing his hair up and around his head like a bloody halo, he took in the magnificence of what he was seeing and all thoughts and worries of the last day were forgotten for that one moment. There were shelves upon shelves and isles upon isles of books. Books that seemed to be so imprinted in the wall, it could entirely be possible that the building itself was built upon books instead of a more durable substance.

A red wood desk stood at the front, with a pretty middle aged woman behind it. She wore a pale pink checkered dress, and glasses with a line of pearls at the ends that stretched to around her neck like a necklace. Her hair was dirty blonde, and curled to pile on top of her head. Frown lines and laugh lines were in equal abundance across her face. When she noticed him, her grey eyes crinkled at the ends as she waved him over to her.

"Good morning young man. Can I help you today?"

He paused for a second, the distrust of others he had pushed to the back of his mind rising up like a lion. He took a silent, deep breath before answering.

"Yes mam. I wanted to look at some books." She smiled again.

"The children's section is over there, dear." She pointed to the right. Three short shelves full of fairy tales and colorful pictures could be seen. He kept his face blank in order to hide his distaste.

"Yes mam." He stood there for a moment, watching as her head went down to continue her work. Making sure she wasn't paying any attention to him, he slipped off to the left in the direction of the books on philosophies, sciences, and laws.

Grabbing a red bound book and finding a corner where he wouldn't be noticed, Hadrian found himself deep in the riches of Sigmund Freud's Civilization and Its Discontents.

"…It is impossible to escape the impression that people commonly use false standards of measurement - that they seek power, success and wealth for themselves and admire them in others, and that they underestimate what is of true value in life…"

He paused, his eyes still staring at the page's letters but not moving. When he looked up, he noticed the librarian's eyes on him, wide with surprise and curiosity. He could feel his eyebrow twitch in agitation, but tried to continue reading.

He sighed. He couldn't ignore her staring.

He closed the book, memorizing the page number, and then placed it back on the shelf. He wasn't going to be able to read much more now, not with her staring at him so unwaveringly. Plus, now that he thought about it, he had things to do before he could sit down and truly enjoy reading. Walking around a few tables, he politely said goodbye to the librarian (who was still staring at him like he was a newly discovered creature), and then left out the doors. The sun was high in the sky, but the heat said it was well after noon.

He paused for a moment, allowing the sun's warmth to take the cool edge from his cheeks and thought about the things that needed to be done.

I'll need to find a place to stay. I could look for another orphanage, but then there's a possibility that what happened at St. Mary's will happen again. I'd much rather have my freedom anyway, even if I am only 10 in the eyes of adults. It would be best not to involve adults at all. I don't particularly want to have to deal with questions or have to come up with some back story. The less anyone knows about me the less possibility of those from Braven finding me anyway. I'll also need to find a way to get some money. I'll need to pick pocket…at least for now… until I can find a steady way to make money. Maybe learn to paint or something. It won't be hard to steal; I was already doing that with the nuns and other kids at the church.

Alright. First I need to find a place to stay.

For the next couple of hours Hadrian walked the streets of downtown London, his hand slipping quietly into purses and pockets at random intervals, as he looked for a place he could occupy for an extended time and not be discovered. His pockets began to weigh with the weight of his collection when he did come across a place…and it was definitely a place that no one would actively search for him in.

In the center of London, about four blocks from the library, stood the marble building of the London Coliseum. It was an opera house, and its base had a line of various windows that led down into the recesses of the building. His curiosity had led him to slip into one window, and he soon found himself in an abandoned room that was sealed with locks, dusty from old age, and filled with varying containers of clothes, costumes, and decorations. It was altogether, rather convenient for him and he was beginning to wonder if he was being set up. It couldn't all be this easy. He quickly shook it off, he wouldn't look a 'gift horse in the mouth', as they say, although he didn't really get the saying. If something does rise, he'll deal with it when it comes up.

He walked around the room, satisfied with his discovery and decision, and began moving things around to suit his needs. A pile of clothes and costumes later, and he was finished with a make shift bed. He had chosen a corner furthest away from the door and window, just in case someone from the opera house decided to drop in. Sitting down in the pile, his hands pulled out the wads of bills and bulky wallets he stuck into his pockets.

He had about 400 pounds all together. A rather nice amount for one day of pick pocketing. If he was good, he could make it last for at least two weeks. That would put enough time in that no one would become suspicious of him.

He smiled and leaned against the wall, watching as the sun streamed in through the window. His eyes drifted close, and his mind led him into a restful sleep now that the most immediate decisions had been made. Even alone with no one to look after him but him, his future looked brighter than it ever had before.

June 24, 1941

When he awoke, the sun streaming into his home, he knew today was going to be different. His powers were swirling with agitation, and almost…jumpy with anticipation. He didn't know what he had to be agitated about, but he trusted his powers. He quickly sat up, and looked around his room with a wary air of suspicion.

Nothing…yet.

He grabbed a bowl of water at his side and washed up, before dressing in a nice set of black slacks, a fitted button up white shirt, a black suit jacket, and an old black tie he found in a bargain bin. He stood there, ready to go take on his normal routine of finding something to eat, but unable to with his building anxiety. It would be better if he was prepared, then to be caught unprepared.

He picked up his leather back pack, a birthday gift to himself, and stuffed it with his meager amount of clothes and his jar of savings. Not a second after snapping it closed, did he begin to hear the rustling of keys and obvious sounds of someone beginning the labor of unlocking the dozen locks on the door. His adrenaline kicked in and he found himself jumping over boxes, knocking over the bowl of water (of which he had cursed like a sailor under his breath), and climbing the box that would let him slide through the window to the outside. He managed to gently close the window, just as a jolly looking woman and a burly man burst through the door.

He smirked at their confused faces. They must have been ready for a wave of dirt and dust, but it never came. The room had been spotless since he had moved in a little over a year ago. He sighed and slid down a wall in front of his favorite vendor, said man smiled like always and handed him his usual.

Mouth munching on a buttered croissant with cream cheese, he frowned. He was in a bit of a conundrum.

He knew he couldn't go back to where he had been calling home, it was too much of a risk and he was sure that the man and woman who had come in would be suspicious, if not for how clean it was, then for the spilled bowl of water or the make-shift bed. He'd have to move on and find a new place. Perhaps he had stayed too long in London. He didn't mind traveling.

He thought about the past year. It had been the best year of his life. He had not suffered at the hands of the head priest, his back showing no form of beatings, there had been no shouts of 'freak!', or even worse, the soft whisperings of the nuns claiming him as the son of the devil. No. It had been peaceful and extremely educating since he spent his time in the library reading through so many books it was mind boggling. The librarian had finally gotten the nerve to ask him if he was truly reading, and he had told her that he was. He didn't see a reason to lie to her and he soon found a benefit in telling her the truth because she would always point him to the right books and would sometimes bring books she thought he would be interested in.

He had delved into various languages, all of which he couldn't quite claim fluency without having someone to converse with but he could claim a status of high familiarity; French, Italian, German, and Latin. The last came easier than the rest, surprisingly, and he was beginning to learn Russian. His obsession with learning sciences, laws, and philosophies also reflected in his readings. He had taken to carrying around a black notebook with his thoughts and observations in it. Sometimes he would read a phrase in a book that really stuck with him, he'd write it down and then take the rest of the day to apply that observation to the people he would see. Sometimes he'd find he disagreed with the author, and other times he'd find himself expounding even more thoroughly on the author's own observations with his own.

He had lived his entire year on the formulated opinion of Aristotle:

"Freedom is obedience to self-formulated rules."

But today…today he was thinking of a different quote when a burly hand landed on his shoulder and yanked him up into the face of a grotesque individual, half his face seemingly melted and who smelled of excessive alcohol. The man screamed at him.

"FREAK! I knew I recognized you!" A fear began to crawl into the pit of Hadrian's stomach at the realization of who this man was. It was the head priest.

"How dare you be ALIVE!?" The man began to shake him, his voice causing bystanders to pause and gasp at the sight. "I'll KILL you now!" Hadrian watched in stupefied fascination as a huge, rough hand rose to hit him.

All he could think of was another quote by Aristotle: "Bad people...are in conflict with themselves; they desire one thing and will another, like the ill content who chooses harmful pleasures instead of what they themselves believe to be good."

Unfortunately, he currently disagreed with Aristotle. This man didn't look conflicted at all.

A fist flew across his vision as the vendor he had become acquaintances with over the year punched the priest in the face, the force causing him to release Hadrian before stumbling back in surprise. The red faced vendor turned to him, his expression angry, "RUN NOW!"

Hadrian nodded, wasting no time as he turned around and ran. He ran two blocks before he saw it. He walked this neighborhood a couple of times, but only now did he notice this random black building stuck between a café and a book store. He ran for the door, his powers tingling at the feeling of opening the door before he burst in and closed the door behind him.

It was a medium sized pub, and extremely dark. Various individuals, all strangely dressed in what looked to be robes sat at a couple of tables. A sign over the bar read in brown letters, Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. It was a strange name for a pub, but he didn't allow his mind to linger on the sign for too long as he spotted a man in a green sweater wiping out a glass mug behind a bar. He walked up to the man cautiously and sat on a bar stool.

"Excuse me, sir." The older gentleman was a brunette with locks that curled around the edges of his ears and a matching goatee. His eyes were a kind hazel and he looked to be around his early 40's. He smiled at Hadrian before placing the mug down and standing in front of him.

"How can I help you young man?" His voice was deep and slightly rough, its tone giving the insinuation that he could be both kind and brutal. Hadrian assumed it was necessary in order to be a bartender.

"Um…" he didn't really know how to explain, so he opted for the truth. It wouldn't be too hard to play on the man's compassion considering his situation, "I was running from a bad man when I got here. Could you tell me where I am? And, perhaps, let me stay in here for a little while. I'm a bit nervous about going back out there." He watched in curious fascination as the kind eyes turned to steel.

"A bad man, eh? Of course you can stay in here. Don't worry about him, I'll take care of you if he comes for you. And you're in The Leaky Cauldron, of course! The best wizarding bar and restaurant in all of Britain! If I do say so myself." The man said this a bit under his breath in a conspiratorial manner.

But Hadrian was still stuck on wizarding.

He frowned. The man clearly noticed it and raised an eyebrow.

"Wizarding, sir?" He watched as the man's eyes widened with realization. "I mean…wizards and magic don't exist. Everyone knows that."

"Do they now?" The man laughed under his breath humorlessly, before taking out a stick and swirling it around. Hadrian was shocked to see a glass mug lift in the air, only to be filled with an amber, frothy liquid. It flew over to him and sat gently on the bar.

He could feel that his mouth was open and quickly closed it, his brain overworking with an immediate bombardment of questions.

"You're a wizard too, you know?" His brain shut down at that, and watched the man watching him with a knowing look. "You couldn't come in here if you couldn't wield magic."

Suddenly, amazingly, it was as if pieces of a puzzle he never realized was a mystery fell into place. It all made sense now. Absolute sense.

His powers were magic. He could wield magic. He felt a heady combination of euphoric happiness at not being alone, and slight disappointment at not being unique.

"Tell me, why was the 'bad man' after you?" He paused in his thoughts. He was cautious about telling him, he wasn't one to tell people about his past. For him, it was just that, the past. He would learn from it, but he wouldn't be ruled by it.

But it was best not to lie often, otherwise, it would be hard to keep up with all the lies and it's hard to gain trust when you lie too much. It's better to tell the truth often and lie sparingly.

He decided to walk on the side of caution.

"In short? The man used to be my…caretaker…and believes that I should be dead for my demonic abilities." He said it with such a flat and cold tone that he nearly scared himself. Nearly.

The gentleman in front of him, however, had become livid. Where toned skin used to be had become red and splotchy from the exertion of holding in his fury. Hadrian could feel the magic of the other man as it swirled around, its potency breaking some of the bottles behind him.

With a deep shuddering breath, the man calmed down, and his magic seemed to seep back into him.

"Alright! You're staying here. We have rooms you can stay in upstairs. I will not have you going back out there to that…that ignorant, pompous, self-righteous …MUGGLE!"

Muggle? What in the world was a muggle?

He pondered this for all of two seconds before the realization hit that he now had a new place to stay. There were so many things he could do and learn here. Magic. It lit his world up to a thousand and one more possibilities that he couldn't even fathom if he tried.

"…Thank you…Mr.…?" He stuttered out the gratitude and question, his mind still in shock at the revelation of the news he had gotten.

"Mr. Thomas." The man beamed at him, and he smiled genuinely back at him.

He knew today was going to be different.

He had conversed with Mr. Thomas for another hour and a half. In that short span of time he had learned so much.

The Leaky Cauldron was actually a gateway between the non-magical world and the wizarding world. Muggle was a term given to those who didn't have magic. Wizards who were born to a pair of muggles were known as muggleborn, and although they had the same rights as other wizards, they were still looked down upon in society as being 'less pure'. Hadrian didn't really understand the foundation for this reasoning, but knew that he had plenty of time to figure it out.

Purebloods were the wizards who were born to a wizard and a witch and who could trace their lineage back at least a couple of centuries. Purebloods tended to intermarry in order to keep the blood 'pure'. Those who were born to a muggle and a witch or wizard were known as halfbloods. Halfbloods, in short, were a step up from muggleborns and a step down from purebloods in society.

They even talked about magic itself. Magic was also categorized into three separations: Dark, Light, and Grey.

Light wizards were seen as paralleled with good, but Mr. Thomas's unbiased opinion clearly stated that this was not always true. Light was merely a type of magic and those who wielded it could be just as manipulative and dangerous as Dark wizards.

Dark wizards were paralleled with evil. Hadrian immediately felt for their plight considering that he too was misunderstood and considered evil just because of the fact he could do magic.
He bet that there were evil wizards out there, but whether they used Dark magic or Light magic was relative to the individual. He vowed to be open minded about it. He would judge the man by the content of his character, not the color of his magic.

He quickly pulled out his black notebook and wrote it down as a personal philosophy.

Mr. Thomas saw the notebook, and out of curiosity, asked what it was. He asked if he could see it, and with a slight amount of hesitation he gave it to the man.

He watched as the man perused it, his eyebrows rising up to near his hair line as he flipped each page. He finally closed the book and handed it back to Hadrian.

"Hadrian, I can honestly say that I have no doubt that you will become an exceptional wizard." Hadrian took his book and smiled, surprised at how serious the statement was said.

"I hope not to disappoint." He responded.

They continued their light banter, lightly brushing the topic of Grey wizards. Grey wizards could do both Light and Dark magic, but were so rare that not much was known about them; the last official family of Grey wizards having died out a couple centuries before.

A mischievous glint appeared in the eyes of Mr. Thomas.

"Hey Hadrian, do you want to see a little bit of the wizarding world?" Hadrian became immediately wary of that look, but his curiosity won out and he quickly nodded.
Mr. Thomas turned slightly and yelled to the kitchens that he was going out for minute and he'd be back. A growled yell of 'ALRIGHT' was heard, the tone hard to identify as either male or female.

Mr. Thomas led him to a back door that opened onto a back room closed off by a brick wall. He looked over at Mr. Thomas with a look of confusion and growing suspicion. Mr. Thomas just shook his head.

"One thing to remember in the wizarding world Hadrian is that nothing is as it seems." He pulled his wand out and tapped the wall on varying bricks in a pattern. To his astonishment, the wall seemed to pull from the middle and roll away to the sides. When he looked beyond, he could feel his heart stop and then speed up to a shattering speed.

It was beautiful.

Shops on both sides of a long stretch of road were filled with the loud sounds of figures in robes of every color, sounds of their chatter and owls flying overhead could be heard. Birds of all kinds were flying overhead and there was a sort of magical excitement in the air. Even the shops themselves were strange, the way they were built angling in almost impossible ways.

He could hear Mr. Thomas laughing at him, he quickly gathered himself together before smiling over at the man. For some reason, he trusted Mr. Thomas more than he had any other human being in his life, and he had only known the man for a little over two hours. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but decided to push it all to the side for more in depth thinking later on.

They walked down the alley and before they went into any shops, Mr. Thomas led him to a building that was both similar and completely different then the cathedral he grew up in: Gringotts. It was the Wizarding bank in Britain, and was run by goblins. Hadrian had never seen a goblin before, and was impressed by them when he did come across one.

His observations told him that goblins were shrewd business men: money talked, and if you didn't have money to talk, then they weren't talking to you. They probably even greeted each other with references to prosperity and wealth, not unlike some of the businessmen he heard on the street corner in front of the bank every second Thursday.

It was this observation that led to a train of thought, which ended with a question Hadrian wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Who were his parents? Were they wizards and did they have money in Gringotts? What if they were dead and he had an unknown inheritance? How could he find out? Did the magical world have ways to find out, since this type of science was something just being discovered in the muggle world?

As he waited for the goblin to take Mr. Thomas to his vault, he felt his curiosity pique. It didn't matter about his parents: if they were alive, he'd ignore them, and if they were dead then they had a good excuse for leaving him in that God forsaken place known as a church.

The irony of that thought was not lost on him.

When a goblin came to get Mr. Thomas, he stepped in for a moment.

"Good afternoon, Goblin Brisderk," the goblin's nametag glinted in the light, "I hope your gold is flowing bountifully today." He smirked internally that his observations had hit true when the goblin looked over at him in genuine surprise, and with a glint of respect.

"It is, thank you, Mr…" Hadrian smiled respectfully.

"Hadrian."

"Mr. Hadrian, then. Is there something I can help you with?" The goblin looked a bit doubtful, but it was clear that they were the type of creatures that give respect when given, and no time sooner.

"Yes actually. I was wondering if there is a way that I can discover who my birth parents were, or at the very least, whether I have an inheritance. I unfortunately, do not know who my parents were, and wouldn't mind knowing my lineage." He watched as the goblin seemed to be surprised again. He observed the calculating glint as the goblin reassessed him.

"There is a way to find out, but it is expensive. We can take a sample of your blood and your magical aura, break them down and trace their origin. It won't take long to do, no more than an hour. The spell won't tell who exactly your parents were, but it will give a last name if there were of magical ancestry and no name at all if they were of muggle ancestry."

Hadrian kept his face impassive, but inside he was ecstatic.

"And how much is this process?" He knew he had a good amount saved up from his year of pick-pocketing, but wondered if it would be enough. Plus, if he spent it, he may not have an inheritance at all. Then he would be completely broke.

He sighed internally. Decisions, decisions…

"It would be about 1500 galleons, Mr. Hadrian." He stood for a moment confused.

"Galleons?" Mr. Thomas caught his confusion, and helped out.

"Galleons are a type of wizarding money. 1500 galleons would equal about…1000 pounds." He sighed. He had enough…more than enough.

"Alright. I want to go through with this process. Is there a place that I can exchange my muggle money for wizarding money?" Brisderk nodded before walking him over to a teller who quickly exchanged all of his saved up money to wizarding money: a total of 3000 galleons and 26 knuts. Mr. Thomas helped him learn the money, and he quickly gave the right amount to the waiting goblin, who took it with greedy hands.

"Another goblin will be with you shortly." Brisderk bowed to Hadrian, before directing his attention to Mr. Thomas. "Follow me, please." He followed, throwing curious gazes back at Hadrian, clearly wondering where he had gotten so much money.

Hadrian waited a couple of more minutes, before another goblin came to get him. This one was much older, it's long white beard tucked within the belt of its prim suit.

"Good afternoon, I am Goblin Gorgook. I will be servicing you today."

"Good afternoon to you as well, I hope your riches double in abundance for your services." This goblin also widened his eyes in surprise, before nodding in respect, and then turned around. It seemed giving them financial blessings was a great esteem—he would have to remember that. Hadrian followed him into a corridor, its length hard to calculate. After at least ten minutes of walking, they stopped at a dark wood door.

Gorgook opened it, before waddling and jumping into the seat behind a large mahogany desk. He gestured for Hadrian to take the seat on the opposite side.

The goblin then pulled out a black box and gold ink well. He then grabbed a clean parchment and an extremely long, black quill. Reaching into the box he pulled out a rather deadly looking dagger with an ivory hilt, a blade made of swirling purple mist. It was a strange sight, the blade, because it looked both sharp, yet so unsubstantial, that it could have been smoke. He also pulled out a glass vile of a pink liquid.

"First I am going to take a sample of your magical signature. Let me see your hand." Hadrian lifted his hand over the desk, and the goblin allowed his hand to rest over it, but not touching. Hadrian watched curiously as the goblin began to chant under his breath, something about origo, before a translucent, silvery strand of…magic, seeped from his hand and into the pinched fingers of the goblin. Said goblin quickly dropped the sample into the pink vile.

"Now I need you to prick your finger with this blade, and allow a few drops to fall into the ink well."Hadrian didn't hesitate, this causing the goblin to raise an eyebrow, but didn't question it. Soon, three drops of red liquid fell into the ink well. He watched attentively as the goblin then poured the once pink liquid, which had now turned a silvery blue into the ink well. He then quickly took the black quill, dipped it into the container, and let it stand on its own over the blank piece of parchment.

He watched as it began to write.

He couldn't really read it from his position, but he could observe the slight paling of the goblin's face as he read over the document.

Finally the quill fell over, the information completely written down.

"This is extremely surprising, Mr. Hadrian. I'm assuming you go by your first name because you either didn't have a last name or were unaware of any surnames. You don't have just two magical lines to branch from, but three, and those branch off into many others."

Hadrian was confused.

"What do you mean?" The goblin gave him the parchment.

Hadrian Evans

Father: Potter line

Pureblood

Current Heir of Gryffindor

Magical Father: Black Line

Pureblood

Lineage of Nigrum

Mother: Evans Line

Descendant of Pureblood Line

Lineage of Ravenclaw

Lineage of Morgana

Inheritance:

Evans Hall

The Library of Mithilda

Valdor Cottage

Potter Manor

Vaults: 625, 721, 143, 972

Hadrian sat in shock. This was a surprise. So he was a pureblood…that would make life easier for him. Not that that mattered much to him, he had the desire to make people see his worth. He already knew that would come naturally. But this, he could only wander what it all meant. At least he could ask questions.

"What's the difference between my Father and my Magical Father?"

"A Father is by blood, a magical father is something like a godfather in the muggle world."

That made sense, he guessed.

"Alright. What about my mother? What does it mean for her to be a descendant of a pureblood line, and not a pureblood like my father?" The goblin hummed in thought.

"It means that your mother was probably either a squib or muggleborn whose parent was a squib from the line of Evans." He nodded his head.

"Alright. Can you tell me about the families? Are the lines still alive?"

"The Potter line is still alive, but there has yet to be an heir to that line produced. Except for you of course. They are traditionally seen as a Light family, but they have Dark magic ancestry. The Blacks also are alive and have an heir. They are and have always been a Dark family. The Evans line, which is the most surprising, was thought to have died out centuries ago, and was debatably one of the most wealthy and well known families of the magical world. They were notoriously Grey wizards, able to draw on the power of both Light and Dark magic, not to mention their own family magics. Some believe they were killed off because of this power; assassinated. But no one really knows."

Hadrian nodded, taking all of it in. He would ignore the Potter and Black lines then. Mostly Potter anyways…although he had to wonder if there was more to the story if the Potter's didn't have an heir. Why would they give him up if they needed an heir to carry on the line? It was such a mystery, and one he wasn't sure he either wanted or cared to know the answer to. The Black side was a godparent…and although they were responsible for him, they weren't his blood. He may have to play the fence with that particular family line.

The Evans line, however, was different. It was probable that his mother was dead. She could still be out there, but he just knew that she wasn't. She was dead, and for that he could forgive her.

"Do you wish to accept the Lordship of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Evans? This will give you emancipation, something that can only happen in the ancient houses at your age, although you won't be able to cast you Wizengamot votes until you are 15 years old." He thought about it, weighing the pros and cons of both. He didn't know what the Wizingamot was, but he could imagine that it was something like a parliament. He was fascinated by politics, and was looking forward to when he entered that arena. If he accepted, he would enter it a lot sooner than he ever expected considering the muggle world was different in regard to age and politics. Plus if he accepted he would get emancipation. He had only just turned 11, but he had also been on his own all his life. The choice was simple.

"Yes, I will accept the Lordship."

"Here, sign your name at the bottom of this document and stick your finger in the key hole of this box."

He quickly signed the parchment, liking the sound of his name with the official ending. Hadrian Evans. He considered it for a moment.

"I…don't have a middle name. Could I add one?" The goblin frowned and then nodded. "Whatever you write down will be legally and magically binding, so take that into careful consideration." He paused for a moment, his thoughts shuffling through possible names before smirking. With an elaborate flourish he signed his name.

Hadrian Nikolai Evans

He looked suspiciously at the box which sat innocently on the desk, its lid made of purple satin and velvet trim.

He stuck his finger in…and quickly pulled his finger out when he felt the prick of a needle.

"It needed just a little blood, Mr. Evans, in order to verify your heritage."

"Yes, well…you could have warned me first." He stated agitatedly, his ire only rising as the goblin smirked at him while simultaneously opening the box.

"Yes, I could have." The goblin only grinned more at the glare thrown his way.

Inside the box lay a very delicately carved silver ring. He picked it up, and placed it on the index finger of his right hand. The ring tightened on his finger, the carving sighed as if missing a long lost friend. He smiled as he looked closely at the engraved figure, it was a winged serpent.

"Ophies pteroti. It is a winged serpent said to guard the frankincense groves of Arabia. I am assuming that the Evans's chose this as their symbol because of the duality of the creature. It is a snake, a reptile that is considered evil and naturally a land animal, and yet has wings to fly, making the air another home. The Evans heritage is also like this, trying to find balance in duality."

Hadrian hummed in the back of his throat, his mind contemplating the meaning. Looking at the ring he could see the engravings of his family's motto: Pro liberate patrice. For the liberty of my country. He was kind of pleased he chose Nikolai for a middle name now.

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. There were just too many things to think about in one day.

He stood up and bowed to the goblin.

"Thank you for your services Gorgook. May your gold increase a hundredfold. I look forward to doing business with you in the future. As a matter of fact, I will probably be back tomorrow. There is just too many things that I need to think about now." The goblin also stood and bowed, a clear sign of respect.

"It was pleasant serving you Mr. Evans. May your wealth grow bountifully." They bid each other goodbye, and Hadrian found himself walking down the strait corridor he had come from. Mr. Thomas was in the lobby waiting for him, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"So how did it go?" He asked as they walked out of the building and onto the stretch of road.

"It was…enlightening to say the least. To be honest, I just want to lie down. I've had too many mind enlightenments for one day and I just need some time to let everything sink in." He looked over at Mr. Thomas, and watched the understanding in his face even as he himself felt the fatigue in his body.

"I imagine so, what with finding out you're a wizard and a bit of your personal heritage. We'll pick another day to explore Diagon Alley. You can sleep in one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron." Hadrian just nodded and followed the man through the crowd, and back to a familiar brick wall.

Ten minutes later Hadrian could be found peacefully asleep in room 9, his shoes off and the rest of his clothes on. The winged serpent on his ring swirled around for a moment before getting comfortable, and seemingly going to sleep with a contented sigh.