One Dark Lord by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle? Check.

The nine of them were in the living room, and Hadrian was certain he had never been so uncomfortable in his entire life. His uncle was exchanging small talk with the wizards scattered about the room, oblivious to the danger, as Petunia kept her words at a minimum. With the way her arm was brushing his, he was rather certain she had caught onto his discomfort. Dudley had yet to speak, though his mouth was currently stuffed with the deserts Hadrian had spent all morning cooking. For Riddle. Merlin, he hated his life.

Vernon, though? He was rather certain his uncle was dropped on his head as a baby. Repeatedly. Perhaps his parents had hoped to beat some common sense in their son's head, or to shut him up, but their efforts only made it worse in the long-run. It seemed plausible. It was either that, or Vernon was inane to the point no spell in existence could cure his stupidity. A sugar cookie danced between Hadrian's finger as his gaze slid to the red-eyed manic sitting on the couch across from them, legs crossed with a cup of something in hand, with a mildly curious look in those red eyes.

His, and Vernon's, conversation was focused on Smeltings. And he looked mildly intrigued, but Hadrian would bet his own magic that the interest was an act. A really good act, but an act nonetheless. Damn Slytherins and their masks. Everything about this was uncomfortable. Parents' murderer having teatime with his aunt, cousin, Vernon and him was just something that shouldn't exist. Ever.

As he sat, resting at the end of the couch with a plate of snacks in his lap, he could feel the gazes of the Death Eaters focused on him. And it was unnerving.

One Severus Snape? Check.

The surely Potions Master was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a black turtleneck. It was one of the last things he expected to see his professor in, but he supposed it was to be expected given where they were. He knew the man was watching him. He knew it as well as he knew Snape was sitting on that recliner, next to Riddle, staring at him in a muggle home in a muggle town on the muggle side of the world. This was not Hogwarts. Though he wished it was. Perhaps shooting a spell and running would be possible. Or not. He frowned as deliberately kept his gaze away from his professor's, knowing without doubt nothing would slip underneath the Potions Master's gaze.

Wasn't it bad enough that he had to deal with the man during school, but now in the summer too?

Hadrian wondered at his lack of luck, but nibbled on a cookie when his aunt, playing the dutiful caretaker, inquired if he was feeling alright. Or maybe she really just wanted to get out of this house, and was hoping he would have given them an excuse to flee? Possible. Very possible.

As much as I would love to run...Hadrian pushed the thought from his head, and offered a reassurance to his aunt.

"And your nephew?" Malfoy question, those steely eyes cutting into Vernon. Hadrian knew that look. Draco often got that look when he was picking something apart, especially when the answer he received wasn't the one he was looking for. He'd seen the younger Malfoy drag truths out of his classmates like a dentist pulled teeth. The teen was alarmingly good at it. He blinked, zoning back into the conversation as Malfoy continued, "Does he and Dudley not go to the same school?"

An inquisitive, eerily keen Lucius Malfoy? Check.

"The bo- Hadrian here goes to a different school." Vernon swallowed a mouthful of the tea he was drinking, and sat the cup on the table. "St. Brutus, that one. Bad apples don't fall far from the tree, if you understand me."

Again there were eyes on him, and Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "I like blowing things up. People especially."

Riddle's eyes narrowed as Vernon chocked on the brownie he bit into. Petunia hissed under her breath, a sharp intake of breath, and Dudley scooted away from him. Hadrian hid his smile by biting into his snack. It was always nice to get one over Vernon. And seeing the whale splutter, face red, was worth the payback sure to come. Schooling his expression into serious worry, Hadrian turned his gaze on Vernon as he inquired, "Is Aunt Marge doing any better, Uncle Vernon? I haven't heard from her in some time."

"S-S-She's fine, boy." His uncle was staring him down, punishment shining in his eyes, and Hadrian smiled. He sat the empty plate on the table as a hand fell on his shoulder. He eyed the long fingers, and then followed it up to the person it belonged to. Rabastan, if he recalled his name right. Or was it his brother? His twin was next to him, and the Death Eater asked, tone polite, "Why do you blow people up? It isn't a healthy thing for a boy, such as yourself, to do."

Rabastan and Rodulphus Lestrange? Check.

"Like I said, the apple didn't fall far from the tree." Vernon cut in, and turned his gaze on him. Hadrian smiled sweetly, and sat his hand on the one on his shoulder as his gaze clashed with Vernon's. He saw the faint tightening of Vernon's jaw as the fat man asked, "St. Brutus is good for you, isn't it?"

"Of course." So many people staring. As uncomfortable as it was, he couldn't contain his glee when his uncle was squirming. So he cocked his head to the side, eyes wide, as he asked, "Did the doctor every say what caused Ripper to have that fit of his?"

It wasn't long after that comment that they left the house.