DARK AND TWISTY
Chapter 2 - Retribution on Both Sides
Hadrian screams himself awake. He swings his feet to meet stone-cold floor and begins to pace. His nightshirt plasters against his body. How long did he spend in that dream sweating and screaming?
His rune-marked doorway comforts. Its latent magic forms a perfect rectangle, identical to the one at the window. No sound can get out, no intruder can get in.
His room has been protected by runes since third year.
"Fuck." Hadrian's head hits the wall.
It was the worst attack yet, with anxiety and anger tangled together into a yowling nightmare.
He paces back and forth, running has hands along his well-locked trunk, fingering the experiments and ideas pasted against the wall opposite his bed.
None of his "dark" experiments are anywhere as obvious, but Hadrian calms down as he examines his successes and failures across the many pieces of parchment.
Around an hour passes before Hadrian is recovered enough to go back to bed. His mind loves to race, stomach twisting with aftershocks. It's not that he's never felt these things before, and yet… these emotions are foreign, tinged by burnt caramel and salt.
A restless slumber finally overtakes.
Hadrian's alarm wakes him at eight. He groans and hurries to get dressed. It's Monday, which means Montgomery's class is first thing, and Hadrian is anything but excited.
"Rough night there, Potter?" Draco asks, deftly sliding a knife under the skin of a pear.
The wizard in question seats himself across from Draco, who's sandwiched by his fiancée and Blaise Zabini.
"Since when are my sleeping habits of any consequence to you?" He says with a tone of finality, giving the Malfoy heir his best look of judgement.
Daphne purses her lips. "He was simply being friendly."
Hadrian takes his eyes off the group and places a couple pieces of orange on his plate along with two sausages. He arranges them a centimeter apart.
An army of flapping approaches. Hadrian wrinkles his nose.
"Draco, it's one week 'til winter hols." Blaise crosses his arms, sitting back in his seat.
Draco gives Blaise a one-second look from under his lashes. "It's not my fault Mother wants to show love to her amazing son."
Malfoy's owl swoops down with the large package, gracefully landing in Draco's lap.
"And what is it this time?"
Draco flicks his wand at the package and whispers a spell. "This sweater I saw when we were going shopping at Diagon Alley this summer."
"She just loves to spoil you." Daphne says sharply. She turns back to Pansy and continues their conversation.
"Fuck." Blaise bites his lip. "All this attention, your head must be getting so big." He puts his hand on Draco's shoulder for just a second too long.
Their glances grow heated.
Does Draco's mother truly care about him, or is it a power move? Show that my son's the wealthiest, the most loved heir in all the land. Does it mean anything more to Draco either way?
It's been almost ten years since the incident, but Hadrian can still close his eyes and remember what is was like to be hugged and coddled and accepted simply because you're someone's blood and flesh.
But that's a fool's dream. He pushes it away, raising his Occlumency shields high. His childhood should be kept locked behind a wall of rose bushes like the bittersweet thing it is.
Don't be a fucking idiot.
"We've got Defensive Magic in five minutes, Potter. Get your fucking head out of the clouds." Draco spits. He and Blaise gather up their stuff. Draco turns and wraps an arm around Daphne's waist, and they head to class.
Montgomery stands outside his classroom door like a sentinel, checking his gold pocket watch every two seconds. The man is all sharp and round in the wrong places. He'd be handsome if he didn't look so sour. Apparently mudbloods do that to some people.
"Just in the nick of time, Potter." The Professor closes the door.
The seventh-year takes his seat in the back. Hermione pulls her bag off of his seat; gives him a nod and directs her attention to Montgomery.
"I'm sure you've all read the chapter for today?" He says patronizingly, his lips curled. His wand waves, and chalk violently scrapes against the board.
The majority of Slytherins and Ravenclaws nod.
"Glad to hear you're all being very social today. Now, raise your hand if you know what to do in a situation with a werewolf."
Hermione calmly raises her hand.
"Yes, Miss Black?"
"What time of the month is it?"
"Excuse me?"
"When you're meeting the werewolf? Because they're only dangerous on the night of the full moon."
He chuckles, looking at her like she's a dog covered in its own dung. "Don't be silly; they're always dangerous. Werewolves are quicker to anger and are stronger than normal wizards, the best thing to do is to steer clear at all costs, while having a stupefy at the ready."
Hermione stares at him blankly and gives him a nod that most would consider sincere. In her seven Hogwarts years she has learned that you can't argue with bigots, especially if they're your teachers. Regulus had her seemingly well-trained from the start, but there were a few hiccoughs.
"No need to feel ashamed, Miss Black, we must simply learn from our mistakes." He smiles slowly, oddly robotic, like he's practicing it in a mirror.
"Excuse me, Professor Montgomery." Blaise is all fake politeness and batted eyes.
"Yes, Mr. Zabini?"
The dark-skinned boy leans back in his seat. "The Minister passed the Magical Creatures Act ten years ago. You can't discriminate against magical creatures with the same base amount of intelligence as a wizard."
Montgomery's nostrils flare. "Absolutely right, young man. We can; however, be aware of the potential dangers. What physical and mental advantages do vampires have over normal magical folk?"
Terry Boot raises his hand and spouts a textbook list of answers. Hadrian pulls a Potions text out of his bag, the cover and sides spelled to look like Defence Against Magical Creatures. He raises his eyes every couple of minutes and pretends to agree.
Montgomery is none the wiser.
o0o0o0o
Hadrian pulls his invisibility cloak closer around his body, his steps and breathing noiseless as he makes his way to Montgomery's quarters. It's his free block, and the Professor has his hands full with a class of first years.
A wave of sadness hits him like an avalanche. Hadrian clings to the stone wall beside him. Refuses to let his legs buckle. He desperately wants to break out into wrenching sobs. The emotion brings up hundreds of sleepless nights. He was young and stupid.
Hadrian is better now. He doesn't let things like this control him.
The sorrow fades away enough for him to continue on the journey. Fucking stupid ritual was supposed to make him strong, to make him the best version of himself.
It's odd, because Hadrian always does his research before doing any rituals. This ritual has worked with countless others, if the accounts from Knockturn Alley are any good. He always fits in with a certain crowd. Loose lips means knowledge that Hadrian benefits from.
Professor Montgomery's room is warded shut, but it's only a set of three, and Hadrian has an hour to get through.
Charcoal scrapes against the floor. He forms five runes known for setting off the wrong signals. The wards will get confused, making it easier for them to be broken.
Hadrian smiles wide, holding back a laugh. Rune breaking takes immense concentration, but it's always such a rush.
He begins another set. The wards resist, but it's only faint. No alarms set off yet.
The final twenty are long and complicated. Hadrian's lucky to have a near eidetic memory. It's twenty shaky minutes before he finishes.
The door pushes open without fight. Hadrian grins and makes quick work examining the room. It's best to put the runes where someone is least likely to look.
He spells the wardrobe light and pushes it out of the way. His knife scrapes easily into the maple. For what Hadrian intends he only needs three runes: one for nightmares, one to confuse the person asleep, and one to make it harder to find the set themselves.
A grin stretches across the wizard's face.
He makes quick work of the rest, carving the same runes in five other places behind furniture. It's five minutes to the end of class when Hadrian finished. There's the slightest smell of burnt wood inside the room, so Hadrian casts a final set of charms to rid the room of evidence.
With the cloak wrapped tight around his body, Hadrian steps into the hallway. Flicks his wand to obscure the charcoal ruins. He would never be so amateur as to leave behind evidence. This isn't his first rodeo.
Hadrian strides into an empty hallway. The Potions classroom is only around the corner, so he quickly divests himself of the cloak and sticks it in his book bag.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, how nice of you to join us." Snape drawls.
He doesn't have to cast a clock charm to know that he's still got a minute left before class should start.
Hermione frowns at him as he slips in beside her.
"Today we'll be making Veritaserum." Snape flicks his wand at the board, revealing the ingredients. "I expect you'll have all pre-read the chapter, so go and get started. It shouldn't take you more than half the class accomplish the first part, if it's done correctly."
"Bloody hell." Ronald Weasley whines. He and Seamus Finnigan are the only Gryffindors in the three rows of Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and a handful of Hufflepuffs.
Hermione has raised an eyebrow at Hadrian. He rolls his eyes and steps over to the cupboard. They fall into a quick routine of monosyllabic orders and exchanging of information.
She says, "You need to put the Powdered Moonstone in right away."
And he says, "You're chopping the Adder's Fork too thinly."
The potion needs to simmer for exactly ten minutes. Hermione casts the time charm and turns to him. "Lord Potter RSVP'd for both you and himself."
"I'm well aware."
She huffs. "And you just agreed?"
"My father tried not to give me much of a choice in the matter, Black."
"Well, I hope you shall be on your best manners. It will be nice not to have a mopey Christmas Sirius this year."
Hadrian leans forward, keeping his voice low. "You really think I give a fucking shit about that man?"
"There's no need to be so foul."
"Ron, we weren't supposed to add the Vial of Ptolemy yet." Seamus hisses.
A shadow of a smirk forms on Snape's face. He stays behind his desk and seems to be enjoying watching the two boys struggle.
"You wanker! That's what it said on the page!" The redhead says.
"You have to bring it to a simmer first!"
Ron clenches his fits. "Then we have to fucking start over, don't we?"
Seamus rolls his eyes to the high heavens. "I think you should consider a new occupation, maybe one that does not need a potions NEWT?"
"I'll go get another vial." The redhead jumps to his feet, lumbering his muscular form to the cupboard. Ron came back this summer having gone from lanky teenage boy to beast. A rumour is going around that he's on performance potions.
"I love to see you truly enjoy the art of potion making, Mr. Weasley." Professor Snape's voice is thick and smooth.
"Whatever."
"I think that will be ten points from Gryffindor for dissing a teacher."
"Bloody hell."
"And another twenty points, ten for wasting potion ingredients and ten for foul language. Mr. Weasley, one would think that you're incapable of self-control."
Ron's nostrils flare, his body shaking like a werewolf about to transform. But he keeps his mouth shut and goes to stomp back to his seat.
Something splashes into Hadrian's cauldron.
Hadrian flies backwards, pulling Hermione with him, a status spell peeling from his lips. The tiniest bit of smoke rises from the cauldron.
Severus Snape stalks forward. The potion was stopped halfway through a reaction, a swirl of purple in the middle of the Veritaserum. "Quick thinking, Potter." The potion master leans over the cauldron. Combs it over with a careful eye.
Snape turns to Ron. "Next time you try to kill a fellow student, perhaps a more subtle approach than a hot rock in a highly temperature sensitive potion. Ms. Black, what would've happened if Hadrian hadn't cast that spell?"
Hermione straightens. "The temperature imbalance would've caused an explosion. Anybody the potion touched would've experienced extreme pain as it essentially bleached them to the bone. If they didn't receive proper medical attention within the minute, they would die."
"And that's how, Mr. Weasley, you just earned yourself an expulsion."
"You can't do that!" Ron's turns red. "Only Headmistress McGonagall can expel anyone!"
"Which is why we're headed to her office. Everyone else, cast a status spell. We will resume next class. Hadrian, will you please?"
Hadrian straightens his tie. Fucking stupid Gryffindors and their grudges.