There was something about being caged in by Vernon Dursley, where no one could see, that made Hadrian prepare for the worst.

The man was generally foul, his nature unpredictable, and, even being shy of fifteen years, the raven-haired youth realized a bad situation when he saw one. He had enough experience gained throughout the years to see it when it was coming. Plenty of professors had tried to kill him, and this was something that echoed in the back of his mind as the man continued to rant.

This would, without doubt, get bad. The dark promise in Vernon's eyes, it was as unmistakable as the jarring shock when pain erupted in his gut.

Perhaps baiting his uncle really was a bad idea.

His breath whooshed out of him as he doubled over, and, teeth grit, the small teen shuddered. Behind him, the silverware began to clatter across the stone counter. The steady thrum of magic filled the air around him, the air cooling, and pain flared before he found himself sprawled on the ground. Above him, Vernon voice rose, his rant increasing in intensity to the point it was impossible for the boy's ringing ears to translate. He only knew that the pain was translating into 'flaming bloody pissed off Uncle Vernon.'

Not uncommon, but unwelcome. As he pressed his back into the counters, he said, grin in place, "Do too much, Uncle, and Riddle and his friends are going to wonder why I'm limping when we see them next."

His Uncle froze, hand upraised, and, voice lowering, Hadrian added, "And let's not forget about Sirius. If he caught wind of this..."

Vernon's face turned purple, and the hand, wavering in midair, lowered to his side. A vicious smile threatened to appear, but, as he sat hunkered next to the counter, he didn't dare let it become visible. Vernon's temper was as wild as Hadrian's magic. Much to his surprise, the whale crouched in front of him, eyes narrowed, and he spoke with venom, "One foot out of line, freak, and you'll regret it. Not another jab out of you in front of Mr. Riddle and his companions. Especially in front of their son. And I don't want you doing anything that will ruin Dudley's chance on making a friend with Lucius's son. Got that, freak?"

"Of course, Uncle Vernon."

The stinging pain that shot across his face was answer. It hurt less than the words his uncle spat after. "You're no family of mine, freak."

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It was a nightmare.

Draco stared at his surroundings, visibly disgusted, and tightened his grip on the handle of his suitcase. Did he really agree to this? Really agree? With his mother on his heel, the soft whisper of her dress ghosting in the air around him, he realized he had, indeed, agreed to this charade. If it hadn't been for Lord Marvolo, he would have refused. Yet he couldn't deny the inkling of curiosity about the life his rival lived outside of Hogwarts. How he acted, and behaved, when outside the presence of a mudblood and traitor. A blood traitor, at that.

The fact his family was composed of muggles didn't slip his mind. He had heard how everyone always talked about how pampered his yearmate was, how his life was everything anyone could want. There were times, however, when the boy flinched away from their professors. He kept his answers short and as vague as possible without being wrong. Factors that went against everything rumors said were true composed the very essence of Hadrian Potter.

He made his way to his quarters in the house, the smallness of the building itself disconnecting, but he admitted it was...pleasing. His father and the others were obviously intent on making their stay, and their master's, as comfortable as Marvolo Slytherin, the Dark Lord himself, crossed paths with him, Draco bowed his head in greeting.

A wave of shock flowed through him when a hand gently guided his head upward.

"Bow not to me, Draco." Lord Marvolo murmured. "Here, in this place, we are equals. I demand respect, but I do not want groveling. That is unbecoming of a Malfoy. It is unbecoming of any pureblood. Be the wizard you are supposed to be, and not anything less."

He blinked, and then nodded.

After being dismissed, he made his way upstairs. To his room. It was muggle. It was empty. Draco dropped his luggage on the bed, a scowl marring his features, and spelled the suitcase open. Then he remembered. No magic. He closed his eyes, and, teeth grit, placed his wand in its holster before manually emptying his trunk and placing everything, by hand, in order. Books on the shelves. Clothing in the drawers. School books, hidden under notice-me-nots, rested on the desk. This was too muggle.

His father left shortly after he arrived, promising to return for the 'party' tonight. Ministry business, his mother had explained. She was three doors down unpacking. His...aunt...was across the hall. And she was laughing. Manically. He questioned her husband's location. Perhaps he should have one of the others' hunt him down just in case she went a tad off her...rocker.

He sighed. He walked across the room, and leaned against the window to look at the house across the street from theirs. 4 Privet Drive. He mildly wondered why the house he was in was 7 instead of 5, but knew better than to question it. As he tugged on the dress shirt, he sighed. Muggle-made as they were, he had to admit that it was well done. Top class, no doubt. His father wouldn't wear anything else.

"Draco?" He looked over to see his mother is a flowing white skirt and periwinkle blue top, Roman-inspired sandals on her feet. It was odd to see her hair pulled up in a soft bun, strands loose to frame her face. Even as she glided across the room to stand behind him, one hand combing through his hair, messing it up in the process, he couldn't help but notice the way that, even with the way she was dressed, she still held herself like a queen. Her voice was gentle as she murmured, "We have a part to play, my dragon. An important one. I know not what Lord Marvolo is playing , but he wishes us to join in. So we shall."

Draco realized that. Instead, he turned to his mother, and said, "I just have a feeling that something isn't right. This entire place..."

Narcissa Malfoy ran her hands through his hair. "I know, little dragon. I sense it as well."

When night fell, he should have realized the obvious.

Nothing was simple with Potter.