1st of September, 1993

Platform 9¾ was, predictably so, teeming with students and parents alike. All in a hurry, all in a rush, some eager to bid their loved ones temporary goodbyes, some hesitant to part from their families, no matter how assured of their love they were.

This chaos was something that Hadrian had become accustomed to, peering through the compartment's window he had chosen for Luna and himself, so he sat, watched and waited, while Luna had occupied herself with reading the book he had gifted to her back in August.

Watching and waiting for that one familiar, long and straight length of dirty blonde hair, for those green eyes, so unlike his own, for the one witch that had intrigued and plagued his mind this past summer.

It was always in the back of his mind, pushed there by the lessons imparted to him by Yvanna, pushed away by the concern and care he had for Luna, but still it remained. The blonde-haired witch was a conundrum. In the past few days he had reflected upon all that he knew about her, all that he had seen, all that she could have possibly seen about him.

His scars, for one.

That thought particularly irritated him, being so carelessly exposed, yet there was little he could have done at the time. Even now, he would not contemplate much before repeating his words to her, asking her to remove his robes, asking her to move Eagala away from him and lay his familiar on the bed.

Then all those not-so-hidden glances she had stolen his way, full of meaning that he could not understand. Then that damnable trade. He was a fool to accept it, without some promise, without a vow given, that she would not retract the knowledge, that the ink-stained pages of the Brown Book would not go blank, on some hidden command of hers, if he refused to entertain thoughts of any future trades.

Still, she had provided him with the knowledge, though the price tag for it was hidden at first. And what she spoke of the Brown Book, that day on the train, implied that the spells, the lessons, placed in it had not been prewritten and simply obscured, waiting to be unlocked.

Her words implied that the spells had been brought onto the pages by something within him, some kind of need, a subconscious desire. What did it then say about him when the latter two portions of the books had focused more on offensive spells, curses even, so unlike the first which had introduced him to a proper way for casting the spells?

These were not simple hexes, like the Morsus with which he had become intimately acquainted with, this wasn't Jacio, this wasn't Scindo. Perhaps it would have warranted a grimace from another child, but Hadrian Potter took it in stride. Spells filled up the third, and final, portion of the Brown Book, fueled by his need, fueled by the circumstances that were beyond him.

A part of himself wished to evade notice, not to be seen or heard by others, to exact a price for what they saw and heard, and if need be to steal their remembrance of it. And so the Brown Book willingly gave up the knowledge.

From this he learned a spell to pass unseen, a spell to go unheard, a spell to mask the words he spoke, a spell to punish those who inflicted their presence on him when he clearly didn't want for any, a spell to raze apart one's recent memories.

A part of himself wished to protect, to deflect a spell, to keep something safe, to protect. And so the Brown Book guided him through the motions, taught him the spells.

From this he learned wand movement which when fueled with enough intent, magic and willpower fractures incoming spell-fire, which allows one to bat away spells of lesser degree with a swish of his wand, a spell of a higher grade to absorb the spells which would harm him.

A part of himself wished to inflict pain, to devastate another's body, to find the culprit, the one responsible for the absence of his two companions, and tear them apart, by any means, after extracting the knowledge required for curing the petrifications. And so the Brown Book provided spells of horrific, enthralling, effects.

From this he learned how to cripple, how to butcher flesh, how to break bones, how to take away sight, how to steal a voice.

Had he not had several talks with Yvanna about these things, had she not imparted certain knowledge unto him, he might have even wavered. As it was, he looked upon these spells, these curses, with an insatiable curiosity, a thirst which would only be quenched once he had completely understood the curses written upon the pages of the Brown Book.

Bone breaking curse, cutting curse, crippling curse and many other curses, some quite vivid in their descriptions, some even repulsive with their effects... yet he could not look away.

It was as Yvanna had said, he would not throw away the knowledge, not the knowledge he had gained so far, and most certainly not the knowledge that laid before him.

It was the allure of power, Yvanna said to him in one of the nightly lessons. The lure of the Dark, which ensnared many a witch or wizard, making them focus solely on the spells which provoked agony in others, which made them scream and writhe in pain.

It had been an effort, to Hadrian, to reconcile the fact that the caring witch, to which he had become close to during the past few summers, was someone who could easily cast these curses, without hesitating, and many others. Yvanna spared no detail, kept no secret from him.

It was too dangerous for him to remain ignorant, that particular lesson was drilled into him every night since they had started having these night-time meetings in his room. What was it she had once said to him, very early on?

"It isn't merely spells to be learned, absorbed from parchments and books. It isn't just the casual flinging of spells or curses, like so many witches and wizards look at it, that makes something or someone Dark. It's not just potions or rituals. It's everything. The way magic feels to you, how it flows through your veins, the way your mind works, the way you look at things. There is much history to be told of the Dark Arts. Some of that history is ugly, hideous even."

"But," a serene expression came over Yvanna as she focused on Hadrian, trying to make him certain that she was telling nothing but the whole truth, "there is beauty in the Dark. Using what is considered Light magic does not make one good nor does using the Dark Arts make one inherently evil. It all has a purpose. Morality, in truth, is an alien thing to Magic itself. Within it, there is no good, no evil, nothing that us sentient beings like to label it with. All spells, as you well know, are powered by intent. Some, however, respond better when fueled with emotions. More often than not, these have come to be known as the Dark Arts. Intent is what matters, most of all. Remember that."

That particular phrase, that one single damnable thing...

'There is beauty in the Dark,' she had said.

He had wanted to speak his thoughts aloud in that moment, to tell her that she was part of such beauty, for to him there was nothing more beautiful than the way her magic felt to him on those nights. Numerous times, she had unleashed the everlasting chaos within her, making him bask in it, making him endure the sensations until he had become intimately aware of each tug, each pull, each creeping and crawling, tangling emotion her magic provoked within him.

It had taken him days, many days, until the chaos no longer brought discomfort, until it only bore a sensation unlike any other, one he had not yet said out loud, not to anyone, until it became an ocean, which he would willingly dive into and explore its depths.

He was pulled from this particular train of thoughts, before it could go any further, as the train he was currently in lurched from the station, signifying its departure from Platform 9¾.

The vibrations of its movement slowly melded into one continuous humming until it was no longer noticed. Hadrian cursed himself silently for allowing his attention to waver and shift to those memories, when he should have been watching. All that he could do now was wait.

Except it turned out that waiting in this particular case wasn't something he wanted to do. There was a need to find Greengrass, to find her and shake her until all the secrets, all the hidden reasons for giving him the book, fell out of her.

There was a nagging suspicion, or was it merely prediction, that her lips would form that wretched smile, taunting him and provoking him to react more, as if that was some kind of reward, a prize to be gained, for her. His mind resisted any attempt at calmness and even Eagala's touch couldn't bring the serenity that he so desperately needed now.

Every minute prolonged from the inevitable acted as a pressure point upon him, ending only with him asking Luna if she would take care of Eagala until he returned and in return she gave him a nod and a smile of her own, conveying to him that she knew exactly why he was leaving the compartment.

It was strange to see so many people outside of their compartments, roaming the train for whatever purpose, and it was even stranger when he bumped across a few of his yearmates, if not Housemates, who recognized him only after taking a second look at him, while he bypassed them in the narrow corridor.

Flecks of irritation started to infect his mood as he ventured past compartment after compartment, failing to find the object of his curiosity. He'd never realized before just how large the Hogwarts Express was in truth, having no need to wander through its train cars before this day. After perhaps ten more minutes of searching, he happened across a familiar auburn-haired witch.

In truth, he had been expecting to find Greengrass with her, but having already stepped into the compartment, some civility, on his part, was due.

The notion for such behavior nearly evaporated once he took in the other people in the compartment.

Aside from Zabini, with whom he had been roommates for the past two years, there were two other people whom he had not associated before. Well, not directly anyway. The smaller boy in the compartment was Nott, he remembered seeing him on occasion while he perused through the library when Luna had been just petrified.

The other girl was a surprise, since before today he had mostly seen her in the company of Delinda Malfoy and her own clique. Come to think of it, both of these were sort of training-wheels-in-training for her in the school year behind them. So what had happened? Mentally shaking his head at the questions that he didn't particularly care to have answered, he bid his other thoughts to come up to the surface, so that he could properly voice them.

"Davis," he just barely nodded his head towards the girl, who for some reason was looking at him as if he were some oddity, "Have you perhaps seen Greengrass?"

In response to his question, Tracey Davis laughed a subdued laughter and then rolled her eyes at him, "No, but I bet you'd like to, huh?"

He couldn't help it, pointless verbal sparring was the one thing that he indulged in whenever he met the witch. "Why, Davis, if I was the type to believe you could hold a passing thought in your head for more than a few moments, I'd dare say you thought of that one before and saved it up until we met again."

"Mmm," she began humming to herself, before responding properly, with words, "Quite sharp of you, Potter. Aren't you concerned about my fragile feelings? However shall you console me after this dreadful behavior of yours?" Davis then flicked her arm in an overtly dramatic gesture over her head, feigning distress and upset.

"An Aguamenti comes to mind," he quipped back at her.

"What chivalry," Davis proceeded to snort in a rather unfeminine manner.

"Davis," he called out to her and repeated his question, "Greengrass. Have you seen her?"

"She's not here, as your keen skills of observation have no doubt perceived by now. Probably with her sister and," her nose wrinkled in disgust at the next word, "Malfoys."

"Did I just hear you say that particular name in plural?" he asked, a small bit of curiosity finding its way into his voice.

"You don't know? We're being privileged," the word dripped with sarcasm, "With yet another Malfoy. This time, it's the heir. Honestly, Potter, how can you not know these things?" she asked in mock exasperation, "After all, the Malfoy name is so well known," then her eyes got a bit of sparkle in them and her mouth spread out in a grin. "You could always welcome the Heir Malfoy the same way you welcomed his sister two years ago."

"Tracey, enough already," Zabini spoke out, finally pulling himself away from whatever book he was reading, and looked straight at Hadrian, "She's not here. I doubt she'll be joining us in the compartment at all," the black boy then looked at Hadrian in a similar fashion that Davis did, "You look odd without the glasses."

"I can only imagine," he let the faux companionship run its course, and waited to see if Zabini wished to prolong it. He did not in fact, and only nodded in response to Hadrian's own sparse responses. Without wishing to spend any more time in their presence, Hadrian turned around and reached for the knob.

"Potter," someone behind him spoke, a new voice, one he was not accustomed to hearing without some poorly constructed jab or sneer thrown his way, and he turned back around, facing Pansy Parkinson.

She had changed somewhat in looks, her nose as upturned as it was before, her cheeks slightly less filled, her dark brown hair grown in length and now almost reaching her shoulders, still in the same pageboy cut as ever, though she remained a girl with a willowy appearance.

Perhaps she had changed at the beginning of their second year, but he had not noticed. He had no need to notice others that were not Luna, the Bloody Baron or Eagala, everything else in Hogwarts was irrelevant. Except that was not entirely true anymore, now was it? Now there was Daphne Greengrass added to the equation.

"Yes, Parkinson?" he inquired with politeness he did not truly feel. Still, it would not do well to make the first hostile move.

"I'd," the girl wet her lips once, looking for a moment down at the compartment floor before her dark brown eyes turned back at him, "I'd like to apologize."

What he wanted to ask was 'Why?', what he asked was, "What for?"

The girl gave out a nervous laugh, and it only served to confuse him while waiting for an answer, "I've treated you badly these past two years," again, her eyes darted everywhere but at him.

This kind of behavior from a girl he had barely interacted with just furthered his bewilderment at the situation. Slytherins do not apologize. It's one thing he noticed in the past two years, how one never apologized directly, because that would indicate some form of weakness and expose it to the one at whom you directed the words.

Except Greengrass did last year, on the train, when she had nearly insulted Luna.

And now Parkinson.

This particular notion didn't settle well in his head, but he shunted it aside and only spoke, "Apology accepted," giving a faint curve of his lips upwards, as it would have been rather crass of him to reject it, despite whatever hidden agenda the girl before him had.

With that brief, and unexpected, exchange over, he left the compartment behind. At one point, he just leaned against the wooden wall in the corridor, tired of trudging around and trying to find Greengrass by checking each compartment. Not a moment later, he felt like slapping himself for his stupidity, for relying on the mundane senses when he could have used something else entirely.

Without hesitation, without losing sight, hearing, smell or touch, he willed the tendrils of his magic into existence and sought out the very first witch that had truly infringed on his senses.


It had been a bother, forced to endure present company, as they chattered about inconsequential things. Every once in a while, she could feel Astoria's eyes flick across her, and an almost suppressed smirk would be thrown her way, as if she knew something which Daphne didn't.

It was quite possible that Astoria did know something that Daphne didn't, but it was most likely something completely worthless and irrelevant to her. So she let her sibling enjoy herself with the trivialities, with the, what Astoria considered, subtle insults at her.

Soon, sooner than any of them thought, she'd begin to tread the path to freedom and then dues would be paid and repaid, many times over for what she was given over the years.

A small part of her had been uncertain however. Would Potter come into this compartment and simply pull her up to himself, kissing her before all of them? Would he come into the compartment and notice her braided hair? Would he hook his fingers behind her neck, while his thumb caressed her earlobe? Would those eyes of his burn brightly in that moment for her?

Or would it be clean, methodical and clinical? Something from which he would be utterly detached, only involving his physical self while keeping a restraint on everything else? Daphne hoped not. She needed him to react to her, she needed his magic, which she had colored, by indirect means, slightly more gray than it might have been had she not interfered, she needed him to be more than just a one-time trade.

It was a shame that the process could not be nudged forward with the help of certain potions, as they would only dampen the effects which she needed and would prolong the time period in which the deed could be accomplished.

No, she needed him to complete the tasks, tasks which he knew nothing about, in the span of this school year. Daphne was unsure whether Astoria would recognize what she was trying to accomplish, for all her wit and malice, Astoria never truly burrowed deep into the family library as Daphne had, in search of knowledge, in search of means for her liberation.

They had been so sure of her confinement on that day, of her inevitable fate, that they had not bothered placing further stipulations on the contract other than the necessities.

Fools.

Some residue of familial duty, a sentiment of some sort that had persisted back then when the wounds she had just inflicted on Astoria were fresh, had probably restrained their hands from making her a true prisoner in all sense of the word.

More's the pity for them.

For her, it was a loophole, a way out. After all, all her play-dates as a child had been cancelled, all the families her own family was closely allied with stopped paying attention to her as the parents spread the word she was no longer the heiress, no longer the important one, no longer worthy of anything.

So while they played their game of social politics, while they educated Astoria with private tutors, Daphne had found her sanctuary in the library of the family home. So many tomes of knowledge, gathered and brought here by her ancestors, and so many of them completely overlooked.

Had the room not been layered with spells which prevented the accumulation of dust or the decaying of parchment, perhaps she would have seen dust covering most of the library, for it was a rarely ventured place for the rest of the Greengrass family.

When they had taken notice of her venturing once more into the library, they thought nothing of it. After all, she was bound and contracted. No amount of knowledge she might have found there could have set her free from the fate they had constructed for her.

But to be sure, there were several monitoring charms added to the library, because one should never leave a viper in his house unwatched. For all they knew, she might have tried taking the books out and giving them to someone, and that they couldn't allow.

No such thing happened however, and as the years went by, the spells which kept a keen watch on Daphne decayed as they were not considered worthy of renewal, not with how subdued she had become, most likely already preparing for her subservient future. How wrong they were.

And when she was free, truly free, Daphne had such plans for little Astoria and the rest of her family. When she was finally unbound and the contract dissolved, she would speak the syllables of all those beautiful curses she had read about, but had been unable to perform.

What a performance it would be.

The thought of all those spells flowing out from her unrestrained wand made a shiver of pleasure travel down her spine.

The shiver never stopped.

The pleasure continued and for a moment she panicked, thinking something had happened, something which she had not planned for, something out of her hands.

Then she felt it.

The intrusion on her senses, the questing extensions of someone's will, searching for something. Encroaching closer and closer, until they came close to the spot where she sat. It was him. It could be no other. One such extension of his will circled around her, in curiosity, before it dove into the subdued presence of her magic, staying mingled for the shortest of moments, before it emerged and retreated back to its master.

In truth, it had been an effort to conceal the effect this magical inquiry had on her, more so because it had grown in strength from the last time she had truly been near him. And not just strength, there was more... more grey, for the lack of a better word, darker shades of grey permeating that single tendril of magic. He had changed again.

It would not be long now, he had found her, in such an ingenious way, and Daphne could finally embark the first step of many on the road to freedom... and revenge.


Astoria was unsettled. Despite the pleasant company of her betrothed and his sister, she could not avoid a sense of foreboding when she looked at her sibling every now and again. Daphne was far too... calm. She was always as such, more so after the contract and binding had been put into place.

As the years passed, she retreated more into herself, and the enforced solitude didn't seem to bother her that much. That grated on Astoria's nerves. She'd seen, on the play-dates she had accompanied her in the past, how well Daphne was in socializing with others.

But when that had been taken away from her there was no rebellion, no fighting against the inevitable. That would have been preferable to the wretched silence and the indifferent looks she would offer up to the world around her.

And now, here she was, sitting among them, acting as if without a care in the world. Astoria felt the urge break the shell that Daphne hid herself in, to wrench her from the silent and haughty exterior she presented to the world.

And soon she might even do so. How would Daphne react if her true-self was revealed to the school? Would she be shunned? Cast out by all others? The diseased wretch that called herself her sister would find no comfort or sanctuary with anyone.

It was only a fleeting thought, here one moment and gone the next, because her parents had instructed her, very carefully, that such things were not to be revealed to anyone who did not know of them already. Family pride, honor and other things which would suffer should the truth come out. No matter, Astoria could always keep the truth away, but subtly give away hints about it.

If her sister had built anything for herself with the House of Slytherin, she would gleefully tear it all down on her head.

As eager as she was to tear Daphne from anything dear to her, so she was torn away from these thoughts by the compartment door sliding open and in walked a familiar black-haired boy.

The conversation between her betrothed and his sister stopped, while from the corner of her eye Astoria noticed how Delinda tensed up and almost went for where her wand laid. That particular mystery would have to be answered later as all her attention was drawn towards the boy that came inside.

His hair semi-long, some of it tied into a knot from behind, some of it hanging from the sides, framing his face as if there was intent behind it, though it was plain to see that the directions the strands wandered about had no sense of order about them.

Then she took in his face, trying to see if she would recognize him from somewhere, a friend of a friend of a friend or something like that, but nothing came to her mind.

Astoria had never quite seen that particular shade of green in someone's eyes before, as they moved across her and the other people in the compartment, in one moment they seemed to shine and in the next they were darker than the color of green had any right to be.

The boy's face was not unpleasant to look at either, prominent cheekbones, which would doubtlessly sharpen within a few years, complimenting his gaunt face, a sort of aquiline nose, and just the slightest of hints of a cleft on his chin; she suspected he came from a fine line of purebloods, the manner of his attire suggested as much, perhaps even an heir, the high-collar dark green robe clung to his thin frame, though it did not diminish his presence.

His pale complexion and the general wiry appearance of his body implied that he had been sheltered much by his family, whoever they were, though not lavished about. In essence, the boy before her was a mystery. Then he spoke, his head moving towards her sibling now that his observation of everyone else had been done with.

"Daphne," the boy spoke her sibling's name, as a way of greeting, with some kind of emotion, an underlying softness, or was it fondness, coloring the word. She noticed the slight curve in the boy's lips, as if to indicate a restrained smile, and a shimmer in his eyes.

"Hadrian," her sibling spoke back and Astoria exerted restraint on herself, forcing herself to very gently turn her head towards Daphne; it would not befit someone of her stature if she were to act like a low-born and gawk.

The boy, Hadrian her sister called him, might have spoken with a veiled emotion, but her sister did no such thing. In the past six years, she had never heard Daphne speak something in such a manner. It was not just the fact that she spoke the name with emotion, it was not simply the way those accursed jades of hers scoured across the boy's presence in search of something, it wasn't even the open smile her sister had shown.

No, it was more than this.

Perhaps a culmination of all these things, the end result being something which Astoria could not properly perceive or understand, having not been exactly close to her sister for all these past years.

Astoria's thoughts ran amok, and reality paid no heed to her internal demands that she be given time to examine the situation before her. Reality gave no reprieve and the boy bowed his head slightly towards Daphne, one hand behind his back, the other extended towards her, palm up, ready to accept another's in it.

"If you would," the boy spoke very gently, every word spoken in a drawl, "join me in my compartment for a brief spell, I would be glad for your presence."

Then came the subdued laugh from Daphne. A laugh of joy or something equivalent to it and Astoria wished she could throw all notions of proper behavior and decorum through the window and just strangle Daphne.

She was not supposed to laugh. She wasn't supposed to be happy in any manner. Had she ignored the contract, the bindings? Did she think ignoring it would somehow free her? Or was she playing a game here, baiting Astoria into acting before others and revealing herself? Yes, that must have been it. Astoria would not give her the satisfaction.

"Of course, Hadrian," there it was again, that emotion, that wretched joy in the way she spoke the name, "I do trust it won't take too long," those were her final words as she placed her hand, her palm against his, and rose from her seat, not bothering to introduce the boy to the others or them to him as was proper manners. Her hand in his, Daphne following after the boy, they left the compartment and its occupants behind.

Astoria's eyes quickly fixated on the relived form of Delinda Malfoy, the question she wanted to ask already making its way past her lips.

"Who was that boy? I didn't recognize him," Astoria said in a tone of casual conversation, as if she was not indirectly insulted by the boy ignoring her. Ignoring her in favor of her sister.

She noticed how Delinda took a few breaths to calm herself, for some reason, before she replied, "No, I doubt you would. That was Hadrian Potter, he's a third-year like me. Slytherin."

"Slytherin?" Astoria allowed one eyebrow to elegantly rise up, "I can't say I know much about Potters, but I think mother or father would have mentioned them if they were a family that bred Slytherins."

It was then her betrothed spoke, for the first time since the boy, Hadrian Potter, came in alone and left with her sibling in tow, "A family of blood traitors," he started out with a drawl and a visible sneer on his face, "Word is the whole family was killed in the last days of the war, on the Dark Lord's orders. James Potter married a mudblood," if possible, the sneer on his face grew larger, "Serves them right, sullying our world."

"Brother, a word of caution," Delinda spoke with some urgency in her voice, nearly causing Astoria to allow the other eyebrow to join the first in its foray towards her forehead, "Say what you want amongst us, but don't be so hasty and outspoken in his hearing's reach."

"What?" Draco turned towards his sister now, as if he was slapped, "Why should I restrain myself around a filthy half-blood?"

For a moment and no more, Delinda pondered whether to tell her brother about why he should leave this particular half-blood alone. It was true there was some animosity between her and Potter in the past two years, but it had subsided for the most part, neither of them sought out conflict with one another.

That was not what why she had wanted to warn her brother of Potter.

Through her mother, and this was information her mother only volunteered to her with a promise exacted to not spread it around, Delinda had learned what exactly had happened to Gilderoy Lockhart and what had warranted his absence from the leaving feast.

Due to the, rather obvious, fraudulent nature of his books and how he had acquired large sums of money, and his post at Hogwarts, on the premise they were all real and all done by him, despite the discrepancies which forced him to be in more than one spot in the same day, the Ministry had sent one team of their low-level law enforcers, sometimes called Hit-Wizards or Hit-Witches, after the man, to interrogate him, and once his claims have been proven as fake to detain him.

Naturally the whole thing was a blunder, and her mother didn't bother hiding her disgust at the incompetence of the Ministry's lackeys.

Delinda's mother always had a thing for finding out secrets, something apparently inherited from her side of the family, so naturally she took to digging out what happened during this short confrontation between the Ministry-sent wizards and witches that made Lockhart end up in St. Mungo's Harmful Spell Damage Ward; that was the polite term for where those who suffered from Dark magic ended up.

The fact that some Ministry low-level employees had used Dark magic during what was supposed to be a low-threat interrogation had intrigued her and so she dug into her contacts, entertaining them over a tea or two, a luncheon if needed, before the story was spilled for her pleasure.

And what a discovery it had been, to find out that Lockhart had not been cursed by any of the Ministry employees, but rather a student.

Lockhart had done something, while trying to run away from the Ministry envoys, and had somehow ended up crossing paths with one of the students, who for some reason or another, had cursed the man, shattering his bones and slicing deep into his chest, the wounds severe enough to warrant a post-haste trip to St. Mungo's, rather than be treated in the infirmary at Hogwarts.

It took some additional sweetening, a hint of an invitation for a future event, before the name of the student had been revealed to Delinda's mother.

Hadrian Potter.

When her mother asked about whether she knew the boy, Delinda relayed what information of him she had, disregarding to inform her of what her interactions were with him, while a part of her refused to acknowledge that Potter could curse someone.

It was not hard to deduct that her mother was surprised by the presence of a Potter in Slytherin, yet she showed no real sign on whether she believed the boy cursed the man or not. Delinda herself was unsure what to think of; on one hand, pride and a sense of self-worth had told her that despite how skillful Potter might have been on some occasions, jinxing and hexing someone was very different from outright cursing; on the other she had witnessed numerous times how vicious he could be when the opportunity for it arose.

In the end, she had chosen to shunt the information aside, to wait until she could confirm for herself whether it was true or not. Repeating her suspicions now, what her mother imparted to her in confidence, would only serve to cause unjustufied caution around the boy, so Delinda settled for telling them about other things.

"There's something you don't know," Delinda said, her gaze moving from Astoria to Draco, "Last year, when those petrifications were happening," she looked at the two, waiting for their nods to show her that they knew about it, "One pureblood witch was petrified, a Ravenclaw by the name of Luna Lovegood."

"What about her?" Astoria inquired.

"Well, she got petrified along with the Bloody Baron," at this point both Draco and Astoria wore expressions of confusion, at how such a thing might have happened, "And Potter is their friend. Sort of."

"Their friend?" Astoria asked, "Their who?"

"There's a bit of history there, the brief summary is that before my second year, Potter never associated with anyone but the Bloody Baron," Delinda shivered at the thought of even being near the ghost, "Not within the House or outside. Lovegood is the first person, as far as anyone knows, he's approached at Hogwarts and befriended. It happened sometime during the Yule holidays, not sure exactly when but it doesn't matter."

"What matters is that when Lovegood and the ghost got petrified, Potter became... obsessed, I guess you can call it that. He spent days in the library. Morgana's blood, I think that time alone, when those two were petrified, was what propelled him to be the first in our year with his schoolwork."

At this point Draco rolled his eyes, "So what? He's first in your year, all that shows is he can read and memorize books. Nothing more."

"It's not nothing more," Delinda hissed at her brother, his behavior starting to grate on her nerves, "Do you remember Lenkin? Her parents brought her along for one of mother's luncheons a few years back."

"Vaguely," he waved his hand towards her, indicating she should continue her story.

"Well, bottom line is Lenkin had already gotten her claws into two upper-years, Vandergrut and Melwin, I think. And at one point, while Potter was in the common room, she called out the Lovegood girl, saying it was no waste if a pureblood witch like her got petrified or died. After all, this is what Lenkin said, she was a loony. Loony is, from what I understand, what some of the other Ravenclaws called the Lovegood girl, due to some strange obsession about magical creatures."

"That aside, not a second had gone by when spells flew through the common room and she was on the floor, along with those two boys, bruised, bleeding and disarmed," here she paused, as if providing them time to absorb all she had said and then giving them the grand finale, "Potter did that. I'm not even sure anyone saw him move at first from that chair of his, but everyone saw what he did after."

"I think he wanted to do more than just bruise and bleed them, though one other upper-year stopped him in the end and Potter just went off into his dorm. From what the rest of the Slytherins heard, he put several other Ravenclaws in the hospital as well. Fourth-years at that. And then there was that time when he put Longbottom and his pack of blood traitors and mudbloods in the hospital too." She smiled in recollection, having seen how badly the Patil witch looked, even with the salve applied to the welts that Potter had given her. "So you see, it's not nothing more, as you call it, dear brother."

"He attacked Longbottom?" Draco asked with honest curiosity and his sister wanted to scowl for her brother's talent at disregarding everything else but what his ego chose to fixate on, though granted she had a similar reaction to his upon learning of this.

"Yes. Him and four others. At the same time. Do you understand now why you should not insult him to his face? Lenkin still tends to shy away from the side of the common room where Potter usually sits."

Astoria's face showed she was deep in her thoughts, contemplating, absorbing, everything that was said to her now. She had to know one thing before she truly started to look at the puzzle that was Hadrian Potter, "And why did the other Slytherins allow it? He's only a half-blood, no matter what his last name is."

"I don't know," Delinda answered truthfully. She herself was confused by this, and her mind had tried many venues of thoughts to rationalize why a mere half-blood was allowed to assault his betters. "But I doubt it will remain that way after this year has passed."

To this her companions agreed, knowing that a change was bound to happen soon in the noble House of Slytherin, and those without the proper heritage would be excised, cast out like the dredges and filth that they were.

How little they knew of the change that would come.

How like them, children that they were, thinking that all change must favor them and only them.


Not three steps away from the compartment they had just left, she felt him opening his hand so that hers fell away from it. It was not done out of disgust, more likely it was simply discomfort. When he had offered her his hand back in the compartment she had wanted to pull him towards her, to see how he would handle, how he would react, when she took more than he gave.

Oh how Astoria wished she could hex her with only a look, she could feel the glare her sibling was trying to not show. The Malfoys were equally entertaining for their reactions; while Delinda Malfoy's hand tried to subtly creep towards where her wand was, the little Malfoy heir was expressing disbelief, curiosity and disgust in equal measure on his face.

The little wretch, no wonder her parents had arranged that betrothal for Astoria, he was akin to his sister, all pomp, all ego and very little else. Well, lots of monies, that was most likely the cinching factor.

It did not take long before they arrived at the compartment, though before it lay an unexpected view. Even now, it was strange to hear Hadrian Potter laughing, no matter whether it was false or not, though in this case it was most likely the latter.

In the narrow corridor before the compartment doors lay the crumpled forms of two students which Daphne did not recognize. Before they stepped in, she watched Potter's wand appear in his hand and heard the barely audible whispers of a spell which she might have doubted if she had not witnessed the purple-streaks of magic leaving the tip of his branch-like wand.

There were no obvious effects on the unconscious students, but when he turned to the side to slide open the compartment door, there was definitely a smile of glee upon his face and mirth in his eyes.

Stepping into the compartment Daphne was greeted by the sight of the Lovegood girl and Potter's familiar laying about in her lap as one of her hands brushed the reptile's scales. Again, she felt the flare of irritation at Lovegood.

At her presence, at doing something like this, she could not tell. Some, if they had known about it, might have said it was jealousy. And they would be right, in a manner of speaking. Because so many of her plans in their first and second year had initially depended upon being the first to approach Potter, being the first one upon whom he might depend upon and those plans had been shattered into pieces when she had seen him walk with the Ravenclaw girl, away from the Great Hall.

True, she was entertained by the changes that were wrought in the girl, but there was only so much amusement she could let seep through before the irritation took over. Still, it would not do well to show this part of herself to Potter, otherwise the future she planned on avoiding might just become inevitable as others thought it was.

"Hello, Lovegood," Daphne greeted the silver-haired witch with a false smile upon her lips.

The girl titled her head to the side, as if she was examining Daphne, as if this would provide greater insight, "Hello, Daphne Greengrass," then her head righted herself back to its original position and she greeted Potter, a smile spreading on her face when she saw him, who was now in the compartment as well, "Hello, Hadrian. Did you see them?"

"Oh yes," he replied, a grin on his face spreading, a true one if Daphne ever saw any, "What were Chang and Edgecombe doing here?" there was an inflection of worry in his voice as he slowly moved and sat besides Lovegood, while with one hand indicating that Daphne should sit on the seat across him.

"Befuddled and misled by Nargles, I suspect," here the Lovegood girl giggled, "But they found oh so much more in here."

"I see. And what led to their current predicament?"

It was when Daphne finally sat and looked at the girl properly that she noticed Lovegood had her wand tucked behind her ear, while twirling her straggly hair around one of her fingers.

"Poorly chosen words. In their haste to escape the chase of Nargles, they simply spoke their minds and I spoke mine in return. You should have seen Marietta Edgecombe's face when she noticed Eagala around my shoulders."

Lovegood's shoulders shook with mirth, but then her expression darkened a bit, in a way that Daphne could not have ever thought to see upon the young witch's face.

"Then she said something about you and I made sure it was the last thing she said. Mmm, Cho Chang tried pulling out her wand, but I sent her out on her merry way as well."

"Stunning spells?" Potter inquired.

"Mhm, I wanted to do more, but I didn't want to risk one of the Prefects reporting it to Flitwick when we got to Hogwarts."

One of Potter's hands found its way into Lovegood's hair and Daphne felt very odd indeed, as if she witnessing an intimate moment between the two that no other should ever come close to. "And what did Edgecombe say about me, Luna?"

For a moment, it seemed uncertain whether the girl would coo from pleasure or respond to his question, and though the latter prevailed, there was a distant look in Lovegood's eyes and her voice carried as if she was half-asleep.

"At first, nothing. They simply came in here to tell me to behave this year properly, though Cho Chang less so, as she seemed more here as a support for her friend. I said to them that they should heed their own advice. Then when Marietta Edgecombe saw Eagala, she backed away a bit, in fear," the words were spoken with subdued emotion, but Daphne recognized it for what it was: joy.

"With Cho Chang there, I think she regained her courage rather quickly, because she then asked me how much I was paying you... to be my friend."

"Luna," Potter said, the meaning of it unknown to her until the Lovegood girl responded, her eyes a bit more focused on the present.

"She asked how often I offered myself to you."

There was no change in Potter's stance, his fingers did not move out of Lovegood's hair, his face did not tense up, he did not growl nor did he suddenly become abnormally still. The movements continued, but the change in the air was nonetheless palpable.

That delectable swirling of magic, that intensity of his silent rage, she felt it wash over her, and not at her as it was just a few months ago. His hand made its way through Lovegood's hair, the suffocating presence of his magic not abating in the slightest, and he gently turned the younger witch towards him before placing one gentle kiss on top of her head.

In truth, Daphne paid very little heed to sight before her, though her subconscious mind drank in all the little details; the curving of Lovegood's lips, the widening of her, already protuberant, eyes and the way her throat almost seemed to visibly vibrate in content, as if the girl was purring. She saw very little at the moment because the magic in the air completely intoxicated her.

She was right, it had grown, it had changed, he had changed, far more than she could have predicted. The presence around her was different from how it was that day in Diagon when Daphne saw him stumble out of Gringotts. It felt more controlled, precise, focused, yet no less intrusive on the senses.

Slowly, ever so slowly and gently, Potter disentangled his fingers from the girl's hair and rose up from his seat, disappearing for a few minutes to the outside of the compartment, the sliding doors blocking view of whatever he was doing. It did not take long before he came back into the compartment, malice evident on his face, which softened and vanished once his eyes laid across Luna Lovegood once more.

"What did you do to them?" Lovegood voiced the question that Daphne failed to.

"Oh I don't want to spoil the surprise. I'm sure someone will bring it up at the sorting feast," Potter chuckled ominously while seating himself besides the silver-haired witch once more. This time his hand moved towards her lap, an invitation to his familiar, which slithered its way up his arm, before coming to rest on his shoulders.

Daphne bore witness to yet another moment of affection and intimacy, as serpent and human nuzzled into one another, Potter's lips moving and murmuring something which she could not hear. Then his eyes moved towards her, and for a moment the waves of magic, which she felt present, focused on her, wave after wave brushing against her as Potter observed her.

She barely restrained wetting her lips as the sensation intensified, though by no means was it hostile towards her.

Evidently she had done something, possibly betrayed by an involuntary body gesture, because Potter's lips twitched with a restrained smile.

"So you do feel it," he said, his hands clasped over one another, while the serpent partly rested on his shoulders, partly coiled herself around his chest. "I wonder how this came about."

Uncertainty, or was it insecurity, must have shown in some way on Daphne's face, because he turned to Lovegood, an unasked question in his gaze, and she nodded her assent to whatever this silent exchange asked of her.

Potter's wand slid into his waiting hand and once more he bestowed a gentle peck on Lovegood's forehead, while Daphne watched, anxiety, curiosity tingling every fiber of her being.

He had placed one hand behind the Ravenclaw's head and whispered a spell, 'Dormio', before the girl's eyes fluttered and closed, her descent towards the seat eased by Potter's touch. Once he had made sure that the girl was placed carefully in a comfortable position, he turned his attention back to Daphne.

A blink or two had passed before his voice was heard.

"So, now that we're here, Daphne, would you like to tell me why you wish for me to court you?"


From the moment he stepped into the compartment and watched Greengrass' eyes nearly shine in mirth, he imagined that the day would be rather interesting. Seeing the Malfoys and what was most likely a sibling of Greengras sitting there only reinforced the prediction.

The small boy, with his slicked back hair and pale blue eyes, did not even bother to hide anything he felt at the moment and for some reason the notion vaguely disgusted Hadrian. While he would not be one to say that Delinda Malfoy was any better, he would be forced to admit that she was not any worse.

Though the movement of her hand and the twitching of her fingers intrigued him. For whatever reason, Delinda Malfoy was cautious about him.

His attention had shifted from the Malfoys and onto the third girl in the compartment. There were similarities between the Greengrass girls, sans the most obvious difference in the color of their hair and eyes, where the other, the more unknown Greengrass, had light brown hair with equally brown irises.

The younger Greengrass seemed to be more guarded. At first, at lesat.

He had decided to take a risk, to take a chance, and to see how it would sound, to see how she would react, and so he greeted Greengrass with her first name. There was some slight widening of the eyes, but the smile that followed was anything but slight.

She had said his name in return, and for one moment it sounded more akin to the way Yvanna would say it, sans the inflection of her accent. Yet there was that underlying softness, or was it a taunting of sorts, in just the right way when she had said 'Potter' to him back on the train ride in June.

The book she had given him back in June was nothing if not descriptive. He'd known what she wanted from him, what he would initiate with that kiss, and so he had a role to play. Braided hair; he should have expected that one from her.

The right posture, the right inflection, the right movement and positioning of his hand. Then she laughed, her laughter one not of mocking nature, rather the laughter that is the end-result of one's plans coming through. Hadrian had to suppress the flinch when she placed her hand in his, her flesh pressing deeper against his as Greengrass rose from her seat.

He had not missed the look of disgust on the younger Malfoy's face nor the one of absolute loathing that the other Greengrass tried to keep hidden, abysmally so. The first barely concerned him while the second intrigued him, just like so many other things about Greengrass did.

As soon as they were out of that compartment, maybe just a few feet, he had opened up his hand and let Greengrass' fall from it. It was nothing personal against her, physical affection, false or true, was not something he was truly comfortable with.

For Luna's sake, for Yvanna, he had forced himself to endure and initiate it at times, despite his body's protestations, but he'll be damned if he did more than the bare necessities with someone he was not close to. His thoughts about that were pulled away when he had spotted the two unconscious forms in front of his compartment.

While one was known to him, the other wasn't; a relatively pretty Asian girl, an upper-year perhaps, laid across the, most likely, stunned form of Marietta Edgecombe. The latter he remembered solely because he had been accosted by Flitwick in the hallway, where he was reeducating Edgecombe on certain things.

With the remembrance of Edgecombe, the name of the other girl came to his mind in a vague memory, Chang. He'd seen her a few times after the brief confrontation, Edgecombe huddling near her, as if that would have protected her if he had chosen to once more find her and teach her manners.

Certain that their current predicaments weren't undeserved, the ebony slid into his hand and he whispered the words of one particular incantation he had wanted to test out, but until now there was no one on whom to test it. The thrill of such potent magic left him in a slightly better mood than he was before.

There were signs, miniscule ones he had learned to notice, on Luna. It was not exactly trembling or a tremor, something in between, and it was not exactly hurt that she was showing to him. It was anger, subdued, but anger nonetheless, directed at one of the two that laid outside.

His fingers found themselves amidst Luna's hair, seeking to provide comfort, reassurance that he would be here no matter what words came next. It was still uncomfortable on some level for Hadrian to indulge in this kind of affection, he suspected it would be quite some time before his body relearned that not all physical expressions were to be shunned, but for Luna's sake, he'd do anything. Everything, even.

She had tried being evasive about the truth, as if that brief pause between words was not a glaring pointer to what she didn't wish to voice, yet one word from him, one look into the blue and grey he had become fond of, and she told him.

What he wanted in that moment was to walk calmly out of the compartment and bleed Edgecombe to the brink of death.

What he wanted was to break every bone in her body, to rip her apart while she remained conscious and alive for the process.

To suggest such a vulgar thing, to imply Luna was not worthy of a true friendship. His magic hummed, a familiar sensation, alike to one he had felt that day in Gringotts, though it was of a lower intensity.

What he wanted was not what Luna needed. And Yvanna would most likely not approve either.

Was this what she meant by the allure of the Dark? Was this the nudges of some part of him which would enjoy the violence and pain inflicted upon others? Was it the lingering after-effects of the Chimaera potion he had imbibed on that night?

Whatever it was, Hadrian suppressed it utterly, brutally crushing whatever notion his mind conjured up about the girl lying outside the compartment. Still, to hear Luna, if not witness, striking against those who spoke ill of him, again, was on some deeper level very comforting.

It was also perplexing, as Luna never lashed out with her magic when others spoke harsh words directed at her, only when someone spoke something directed at him in her presence would she strike out. It was far too easy for Hadrian to comprehend that Luna had not attacked the two older Ravenclaws for her sake. She had done it for the implication that his friendship could be bought.

The knowledge of this sent a small shiver down his spine. Twisting a tendril of his magic around her, in that same moment when he placed a kiss on her head, he tasted the thorns, the bristling feeling that lingered behind, even though she had used a simple stunning spell. Such intense intent. But what was it she said? She wanted to do more.

He might have pressed on to discuss the matter of 'more' with Luna, but that was not a possibility right now. The matter of Daphne Greengrass and him courting her needed to be resolved. Focusing the tendrils to gather around Greengrass, he watched, with patience, for a flicker of recognition.

It did not take long before a glint in the eye and the slightest of tremors on her bottom lip betrayed her. That would not do at all. He had suspected that Greengrass would not take well, or kindly, to others knowing about her connection to him, for whatever reason, and so he had asked beforehand of Luna if he could put her to sleep with a simple spell, so that he could have this conversation in as much privacy as he was willing to grant Greengrass.

Luna, bless her heart, had offered to leave the compartment, to give them actual privacy, with just the two of them, but Hadrian would not have it, he would not send her away when he could keep her by his side and ensure that privacy was there anyway.

With one subtle movement from his wand, with the incantation, he placed Luna to sleep, placed her body gently down on the seat, and turned his eyes back towards the witch that had been a source of much contemplation this past summer.

"So, now that we're here, Daphne, would you like to tell me why you wish for me to court you?"

It was a few moments, her eyes flickering between the slumbering form of Luna and himself, before Greengrass actually responded verbally, "What was that for?"

"I imagine that you would not disclose your reasons, whatever they may be, in her presence. Or at least her conscious presence. Now, if you would, please answer the question. Why do you wish for me to court you, Daphne?" there, he said her name again, an invitation to some semblance of trust, as if it existed from before, between the two of them.

Her answer was flat in tone, yet her eyes sparkled in some form of mirth, or was it mischief, "I don't."

Hadrian very much wanted to frown, or pinch the bridge of his nose, or just curse the girl before him until she spoke her mind clearly and without obfuscation, but he didn't. His recourse was to continue this talk with her, to admit that, despite it all, she had intrigued him on some level.

"Elaborate then for me as to why you would give me a book on courtship customs, ones dating back more than eight hundred years ago, just right after you told me you wanted a kiss from me in exchange for the previous book."

The twitch on Greengrass' lips could not be anything else but amusement, "And what if I want that kiss right now, Hadrian?" she spoke the name, his name, in a breathless manner, "What if I want more than one kiss?"

Apprehension replaced his need to know, to understand, "That would be your problem, your want, which concerns me very little, if any at all."

"My, not quite as eager as you were back in June, hmm?" the witch teased him, before her face became slightly more serious, "What I want would coincide with what you need and though it might not be as pleasant as a kiss, it would be beneficial to both of us."

"And what would you know of what I need?" already he was getting tired of this kind of conversation, which only served to remind him why isolating himself in Slytherin had been an enjoyable experience for there was no doubt in Hadrian's mind that most of the conversations there would be like this one; pointlessly vague and endlessly elusive. It was a bit of a hypocrisy, he knew, since he enjoyed doing the same unto others. The Bloody Baron had taught him well.

The girl before him seemed to have sensed his irritation, the teasing tone now completely gone from her voice, "Nothing. I'm merely anticipating it. I'll answer your question now, if you still want to know."

"Which question will your answer though?" exasperation clearly present in his tone, "The one where I ask you why you gave me the book, the first one mind you, the one where I ask why you want a kiss, or the one where I ask why you wish for me to know about ancient courtship customs?"

"Any one of them. All of them, if you want," something glinted in her eyes, as if she was daring him, but before he could actually voice any of his thoughts she continued speaking, "Before I answer the first one, I will require an oath. A Wizard's Oath."

He was aware of what such a thing was, only due to some books he had purchased in the summer before his first year at Hogwarts; the binding of one's magic to deeds, or words, and should the oath be broken by the one who swore by it, he or she would be stripped of all magic; becoming a muggle in the truest sense of the word.

Asking for such an oath was not a thing to be done lightly, it implied that the witch before him had thought on this particular subject for quite some time.

"Why?" the single word resounded in the compartment and Daphne Greengrass' face grew solemn at the inquiry.

"To survive," the words struck against something within him, and despite the calm, measured tone, despite the truth that rang in her words, there was a gutted feeling behind those two words, as if it pained her to admit it.

"And what kind of an oath do you want from me?" there was less hesitation now, and if he were pressed to answer truthfully, he could not have named the cause.

"Only that you never disclose what I tell you, in any way," a moment passed, a moment spent in thought, before she spoke again, "And I will only answer this when we're at Hogwarts, in the dorms," the unvoiced 'behind privacy spells' was a certainty, "Agreed?"

It took less time than either of them thought, before silence was breached once more by a word.

"Agreed," the ebony wand slid into his hand and as he raised it upwards, he spoke the words, "I, Hadrian Potter, swear upon my magic that I will not reveal, in any form or manner, whatever is revealed to me by Daphne Greengrass on the night of the 1st of September. So mote it be," a rush of warmth sped through his hand and left through the tip of his wand in a flash of light, signifying the oath was acknowledged by his magic. The witch that sat across him seemed satisfied by his wording of the oath, merely nodding her head to acknowledge it.

"Now which would you like to know first: why I gave you the book on courtship or why I asked for a kiss?"

"Either is fine," he answered and waited for her to elaborate.

A corner of the witch's lips twitched slightly, a semblance of a smirk forming upon it, "I gave you the book on courtship not because I wish for you to court me, but because I wish for others to believe that you are doing so," with a single rise of an eyebrow, Hadrian expressed his momentary puzzlement and bade her continue, "I want for others to believe you are courting me because it will distract them from what I actually want from you."

"And that is?" his curiosity was piqued.

"Your help," the admission seemed to pain her, though her face showed no sign of it. "There are a few people who are a tad too interested in me, and openly discussing certain matters, where others can see and hear, is not something which I am at liberty to do. The courting will provide a suitable cover for the time we spend together."

"You presume that I would agree to this... courting. That wasn't in my oath," her presumptuousness slightly grated on his nerves, and he used this mild reprimand to turn the attention away from him, to hide his interest in what she didn't say.

And were he to judge how well he hid it by her, now open, smirk, Hadrian would be forced to admit that he failed abysmally.

"Oh I think you will be agreeable. Besides, I still haven't told you about the kiss, have I?"

The playfulness was back in her voice, and the smirk had formed into a smile, while her eyes glinted with some kind of unidentifiable emotion.

"Would you like to know that, Hadrian?"

For a moment it seemed like she had moved forward from her seat, towards him, but with one blink of an eye and she was sitting in the seat across, without any inclination or sign to show that she was moving at all.

"Why I want a kiss from you? And it's not a peck on the cheek or your lips brushing against my knuckles that I desire."

Now, there was no delusion and even when several blinks had passed, she was still in front of him, standing, nearly towering in her posture, before she bent herself low, her face uncomfortably close to his. Perhaps others would focus on the witch's face, of how fair her skin looked, of how beatific her lips appeared when she gave a true smile.

Yet Hadrian only watched her eyes, emotions swirling inside those green orbs, an illusory flame almost visible in the center of the pupils. The witch didn't advance, and for a moment he wondered why that was so, before he remembered Eagala's presence on his shoulders; from the corner of his eye, he noticed how the serpent eyed the girl before them, her tongue flickering in and out of her mouth, tasting the air, and conveying something to him across the connection they shared.

Many were the things that Eagala spoke to him in that mind link, many things she had told him over the past year, and he had gained some understanding, transforming the flashing images, the subtle nudges into recognizable words.

Right now, Eagala was telling him something.

'Not a threat.'

'Be wary.'

Two somewhat conflicting statements on a matter which was most confusing. A matter, a situation which should not have been allowed to happen. Why was the wand absent from his hand? Why was the tip of it not pressing underneath Greengrass' chin and forcing her to back away?

Only with these thoughts brought to the fore did the ebony slide down into his hand and its handle, slightly rougher than the polished black wood, was gripped between his fingers. However, there was no rush, no swift movement, as if to stab at the girl before him, when he placed it against her skin. What was bothersome was that she barely responded to it, not once did she diverge her gaze from his eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted her hand and extended it towards his face. Not quite touching, not exactly brushing them against his cheek, yet there they were, her fingers extended, fingernails almost grazing his skin.

And he, for all the curses he had learned, all the spells, all the posturing, gesturing, masks and words, simply allowed her this. Whether it was due to shock or something else entirely, he did not know. A part of him responded to these not-touches, and within a moment's notice the coils of his magic were enveloping the two of them.

It had an effect on the witch that stood before him, her eyelids lowering themselves down, making her appear as if she might fall asleep any moment now. A moment, and no more, later her eyelids lifted and she pressed her lips against his.

Horror and revulsion coursed through every fiber of his being. With open eyes he stared at the sight before him, while his lips remained unmoved, stiff and burdened by another's presence. What was he to do in this moment? He'd pressed the branch-like wand into the girl's chin so much it had surely broken skin and drawn blood, yet she did not relent, thus he was prevented from uttering any incantation.

To try and push her away did not even reach his mind, for that would require him touching her even more, exposing more of himself to her. It was a strange sensation, to say the least, the way her lips remained fixed on his, not exactly moving, but shifting in some subtle way.

Later on, when he would have more time for introspection, he would look back on this and remember that her lips felt far too warm for comfort. Her eyes had been open the whole time, just like his, jades staring down malachites.

What a sight these two were, performing like this, both filled with emotions, both wanting to speak incantations, though each thought of different ones; he thought of a banishment spell, to see if sending her flying across the compartment would shatter her serene visage; she mused about a petrifying one, to see how he would fare if she were to continue this, with him at her disposal.

How long did it last? Seconds? Minutes?

It felt like an age had passed when her lips parted from his, and when she pulled away from him he saw that his earlier guess was right. The skin under her chin was broken and a few drops of blood dripped down to the floor of the compartment.

When he brought his wand to her chin again he only muttered an Episkey instead of the Jacio or Depulso that he had initially wanted. A Tergeo followed, aimed at the spot on the floor marred with traces of blood, and nothing remained in its wake. Daphne Greengrass followed his movements with her eyes and when the wound on her chin was sealed, she ran one finger down across it, as if to test his spellwork.

Seemingly satisfied, she moved back into her seat, putting one leg across the other, hands clasped together across one of the knees.

"You'll need to work on that."

Well, that was the last thing he expected to hear. So he laughed, the sheer absurdity of what had transpired was certainly a laughter-provoking one. But after a few moments, he forced himself to subdue the laughter and reel it in, lest Luna be woken from her spell-induced slumber.

"That's all you have to say?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, you are rather stiff," her brow furrowed in a thoughtful expression, "You won't be able to quite feign courtship to me if you remain unmoved as you were."

With that, his mind quickly shifted onto the matter of courtship and other things, "But that isn't why you want the kiss from me, is it? And I can assume you don't count this one since it was you giving rather than me."

It seemed it was her turn to laugh now. "Deduced that on your own, have you? And no, that isn't why I want a kiss, Hadrian, but it is a part of it. How do you expect for others to believe our little act? No, no, I will be wanting that kiss today, and though it will serve its purpose as part of the courtship, there's more to it than that."

"Allow me to venture a guess: you won't be saying more about it until we arrive at Hogwarts."

"Correct," she gave him a grin, before it turned into a bit more serious look, "I would however appreciate it if you could restrain your magic for the moment, it is becoming a bit of a strain."

Suppressing a grimace, he did as she asked, and soon the coils settled themselves around him again, the relief evident on the witch's face.

"You still haven't told me how exactly you came to sense it."

That had remained a sore point for him. Not even Luna could exactly feel his magic before he interwove the tendrils of it with her own magic; a task which had taken many tries. And afterwards she only became aware of it, conscious of its every movement, because of his constant presence around her.

There was no doubt in his mind that the first time he had infringed upon someone's magic, that it was Daphne Greengrass', yet he never repeated the event, never spent an unusual amount of time around her. There was more to her than she displayed and revealed to him.

"All in good time, Hadrian," there, again, the teasing, or something else, in her voice when she spoke his name and she seemed to be aware of it, yet not inclined to stop any time soon, "But right now, I believe it would be best if you escorted me back to the compartment where you found me, with my sister and the Malfoys."

Now that was interesting. The way she had said 'sister' did not even bother to conceal the loathing, the disgust that colored the word, as if she was vomiting bile. But then again, familial hate, he was familiar with the notion, so it did not disturb him that greatly so much as it intrigued him.

Her eyes shimmered with the promise of something, "All in good time, you'll know the truth of things, Hadrian. Now come along."

How different it was then, that she rose first from her seat and offered him a hand to place his own in. Before he would accept the proffered hand, he murmured the counter-spell, awakening Luna from her slumber and telling her, while she was still in a sleep-daze, that he would return shortly.

Once more he had left Eagala behind, just in case someone had found Chang and Edgecombe by now, removed his spell and traced to where they were before. It would not do well for him to have to go and curse them once more, a thing from which he was not disinclined at all, Prefects and Professors be damned by godsblood.

With words exchanged, with the serpent now placed on Luna's shoulders, he took Daphne Greengrass' hand, rising up and leaving the compartment behind.


This time, their hands did not part. She would not allow it and he had felt it, so there was no effort made to extricate his hand from hers. On they went, hand in hand, earning many a curious glance from people passing them by. And soon there they were, in front of the compartment where he had found her.

Daphne led the way in and Hadrian followed.

The eyes of the occupants didn't bother hiding their interest in the proceedings.

One still felt the initial disgust he had at seeing the boy, though it was tempered with the slightest hint of caution after hearing the tale that his sister had told.

A pair of grey eyes, belonging to another, watched him, followed him, took in every detail of his appearance, more thoroughly since the last time he came into the compartment. The slightest of swells on his lips did not go unnoticed and she pondered what was to happen in the near future.

The third, the one that loathed the witch, and was coming to loath the wizard that glided into the compartment, though the former received the brunt of it, could not completely hide her scowl when she saw the pleased expression on the face of the one that others called her sister.

And the two that came, the witch and wizard, paid no heed to any of them, their gazes and thoughts far too occupied with one another, each of them for a vastly different reason. Sooner than the boy would have liked, the girl had sunk down to her seat, but his hand remained in hers.

Her grip was not as unrelenting as it was in the corridor of the train-cars, so out it went, fingers slipping past by, her fingernails grazing against the bareness of his palm.

The wizard smiled, playing the part, mustering up all the falsehood within him, praying, to whomever might have been listening, that his mask would stay firmly in its place, that the apprehension and anxiety he felt would not dislodge it from its place.

"Daphne," he spoke, his tone implying fond remembrance, "It has been a pleasure. I do hope you will continue to indulge me with your presence."

"I feel inclined to do so, Hadrian. The pleasure's all mine," she purred the words, as if playing the part of one who would seduce, when there was no need for that. She had him, and he did not even know it yet.

So down he went, bending slightly towards her, tilting his head to the side, while his fingers sought out the flesh of her neck, hidden behind the singular braid of blonde hair, and the softness of her earlobe with his thumb.

Lips against lips, a chaste kiss if there ever was one, he restrained whatever grimace, reaction, revulsion, wanted to surface, closing his eyes, feigning the kiss was something he had sought much after and reveled in.

From the two, from the witch and wizard, the first flame had stirred, the first tendril tore away.

Something was forming, as flames and coils mingled, and the witch with green eyes hidden behind heavy eyelids, smiled a small smile against his lips, the taste of them and his magic embedded in her mind.

The first step had been taken.