Chapter 6 In the Midnight Hour

Sunday, August 20 1985, 1:07, 16 Hyde Park Square, London

All was silent in the house. The lights were darkened, everything was still, and the small shape of a growing boy could be seen rising and falling under his blanket as he breathed steadily in his sleep. All was quiet in the house.

And yet…Passing by the sturdy oak door on the ground floor, wherein had been recently carved a majestic griffin carrying a spear and a branch, a slight disturbance seemed to make exception to the rest of the house. A light and rhythmic scratching, broken by occasional pauses, sometimes accompanied by slight mutterings or the off chance curse, came muffled from behind the wood.

Inside, on the door's left side coming in, not far from the wide window that overlooked the Square, stood a desk covered in parchment, at which sat a young man in his mid-twenties, diligently writing away with his quill.

A reprimanding hiss sounded slightly from a chair in a far corner, next to two tall shelves filled with books. Caspian looked up as his familiar scolded him lightly. : You should not work so late speaker. You need sleep just as the young snakelet does:

Caspian smiled gently at Regina. Bless her. She mothered him at least as much as Molly was beginning to wonder how he had ever managed without that snake. Turning his head to the window, gazing out as the moonlight hit the silky leaves of the trees, he sighed.

: I have so much to do, Rege. And I really need to get this done before I write that letter: He was staring at the moon as he said this, the bright disk of its full globe reflected in his eyes.

Regina huffed, or made the hissing equivalent of a huff, but said nothing. It had been the same all week. Between work, and Harry, and the House…it had been a long seven days.

Not that Caspian had particularly minded. He had always been somewhat of a light sleeper, and the sleep he did have was invaded by nightmares more often than not. True, it had gotten infinitely better, once he had –FINALLY- mastered occlumency, but it affected him enough that he'd rather stay awake. Especially at this time of year. And at Halloween, and mid-november, and early May. Too many days he just wanted to forget.

He turned back to his quill.

Having a lot of work was tough, but he'd gotten through worse. After all, Caspian loved a challenge, for which his assignment definitely qualified. Hayes hadn't been joking when he'd warned he would have to work his ass off. Caspian paused again to flex the muscles in his right hand, carefully looking over the last paragraph he had written, as well as the adjoining diagram on which he had just scratched an additional rune. The analysis report was already a good two scrolls and a half long, and he knew it would be quite a few more before he'd finished.

Rather than take his new apprentice's capabilities at his word, the snarky Runesmaster had immediately set him to task, working on a complicated prototype ward he had personally set up for the ministry the year before. Caspian, upon being approved for apprenticeship, had been presented

with an enormous box full to the brim with scrunched up scrolls and messy scraps of paper, all covered in an almost illegible black script. They were, Hayes had explained, his original notes for the project, which he'd kept stored in case of further need. Caspian had been told to sort through all of them carefully while extracting all their useful information, to be written (and in the runes' case; drawn) up in a thorough Analysis Report. Hayes had then, with a slightly evil-looking gleam in his eye, told Caspian that when he finished, he could, if he so wished, attempt the construction of the prototype following his own report. In all appearance completely unphased by all that was required of him, Caspian had simply nodded, taken the box, and taken his leave, seemingly oblivious to the slightly disappointed air of the short man behind him. Clearly, Master Hayes had expected a lot of protest and complaint. But Caspian had grown up with adults waiting for him to fail. The Dursleys. Snape. The Ministry. Death Eaters. Voldemort. He'd been doing this too long for a little hard work to get the better of him. And so, in addition to buying and furnishing a House, as well as completing the guardian and adoption process of one Hadrian James Peverell Potter, Caspian had buried himself in his work. It was grueling and complicated, but also very rewarding, and now, a full seven days later, Caspian was even more determined to fulfill it to the best of his standards.

Shaking the exhaustion out of his sore limbs, Caspian reviewed the original drafted diagram, trying to decipher the many scribbles which it was covered with. He let out a small sigh of annoyance. That these were the work of a genius, there was no doubt. But like many a genius, their author had let his thoughts run ahead of his quill making it nigh impossible for another than himself to reread. Annotations and calculations seemed to be part of integrated thought processes, which having been carefully detailed in Hayes' own brain, had not found themselves on paper. Caspian was proficient enough to manage anyway, but it was tedious, and the main reason behind his slow progress. He was always afraid of forgetting something, or misinterpreting another, thereby rendering the entire thing useless.

He had established, quickly enough, that the prototype he was working on was a variation of an anti-theft ward; though much more elaborate than he'd ever seen before. While Finch had been a brilliant Master, circumstances had made him pursue a more pragmatic approach to Caspian's training. The wards he had worked on had all been centred around tracking, and concealment, things to be used on the run. Though he was skilled, he was yet inexperienced with the kind of runework that had this depth of construction. He was thankful at least, that hiding from and tracking the Black Hands had involved secrecy Runes, or he was sure he would have missed the ones interwoven in the framework of the prototype. They were of such skill that Caspian had no doubt even the more studied runescholars with the utmost dedication to the art would have trouble finding them in such a construction. Dedication. That certainly was something this project demanded. As well as completely focused concentration.

Such demanding work had its advantages however. Just as being tired after Quidditch practice had slowed down the nightmares plaguing him when he was little, so his current exhaustion sheltered him from the recollection and misery of what this week meant for him. Thursday night had been particularly difficult, and he had not slept at all, unwilling to tempt the taunting images of his imagination to attack once more. The visions of his wake were already cruel enough, that he knew he could not bear anything more.

The silver white sway of the silky cloth falling ever so beautifully on her slight form. A gentle breeze caressing the dark red locks of her long hair, framing the dazzling smile of her mouth as she approached him. It was only them. And as she extended her hand to him, he extended his, but the more he extended the further she was…unreachable. Until suddenly, the collar of her dress was stained with red, and a knife fell from beneath her neck. She fell to the ground, lifeless, revealing behind her an evil smirk on a proud face, white blond hair shining as it laughed.

Caspian lifted his head to the window again, gaze lost in the distance. Yes, he had been glad of an opportunity to keep busy this week; focus on something else than the torment of his mind. Drowning himself in his work had prevented his drowning in alcohol. He knew for sure that nothing short of work and taking care of Harry had saved him from the Firewhisky on the seventeenth.

The silver-emerald eyes glistened suddenly, as if polished by unshed tears. Six years that could have been the happiest in his life, reduced to a mere three months. Three months followed by a haze of guilt and misery and the most unbearable suffering he had ever experienced. Caspian looked down at the black band of celtic designed silver which circled the ring finger of his left hand. He shook himself again, this time to ward off his thoughts more than his exhaustion. Stop whining, said a persistent voice in his head, you can't make anything better if you sit on your ass feeling sorry for yourself. There are still people who need you. Harry needs you. Now suck it up.

Harry.

Harry needed him.

Caspian smiled. The voice in his head, which sounded remarkably like his deceased wife (who would surely have hexed him if she'd ever seen him like this) was right. As usual. Harry, (and many others besides) still needed him, and it was no use losing hope now. His smile widened as he thought of the small boy. It had taken no time at all for Caspian to completely fall in love with his newly adopted nephew. He had been scared at first, of the difficulties that would arise in raising his younger self, but had been quick to realize what he had told the Goblin council at Gringotts was true; that he and Hadrian James Potter were different people. The similarities were there, and not such that you could ignore them, but they simply seemed the similarities between a much older brother and his younger sibling. They were alike, yes, but not interchangeable. While their small childhood was identical, Caspian had been made by the next twenty years of his life into a man Harry would and could never become. From the moment Caspian Peverell had stepped over the threshold of number four on Privet Drive, their futures had separated, their identities had split. This Hadrian Potter had been given a new chance, a new life; something that the other had never been offered at such an early age.

It was true of course, that Caspian had escaped the Durleys as well, if only later, by heading off to Hogwarts at just over eleven years old. But he had done so unguided and unprepared both for the world in which he was suddenly thrust in, and the existence he was destined to lead in it. He had learnt as he always had, through experience, stumbling through on his own, as ever relying on himself more than any other. Adults, he was wary for a very long time, as they had always ignored him and his questions, and given him little reason to trust. Even his friends, who had eventually made it through his walls, and stood by him as strong as family (stronger indeed than his blood family), had had trouble breaking down his self-reliance. This Hadrian would never have to go through that. True, the little boy had already been damaged by the neglect and abuse (which thankfully had only turned for the worse much later) from his Muggle relatives and it would undoubtedly affect him for a long time, if not forever. He was unused to any kind of care or attention, was underfed for a boy his age, and looked like he'd been dressed from a charity donation.

But even with all of that, he was also young enough that that damage could be repaired. He was far from the level of distrust and instinctive wariness Caspian had had at eleven. While still nervous and uncertain, Hadrian had yet to completely forego the innocent ability to trust and rely on others. Hadrian already knew, a fact that most children had been protected from at such a young age, that not all the world was good. That there were bad people, like the Dursleys, and like Voldemort, and many others, that would not care for him. But now,Caspian could show him that there were also those that cared, and that there always would be. He knew, moreover, that Hadrian would never be complacent. He had seen, that night in the Dursleys' sitting room, the determination in the boy's eyes that he would never take his parents' sacrifice lightly. He would acknowledge that there were people who cared even when others wished him harm.

Of course, things did not go without a few hiccups. Harry had nearly cried when he'd seen his room. Or more particularly, his bed. He still woke up unnaturally early, and had a tendency to creep into the kitchen, as if by second nature, before remembering he wasn't required to make breakfast, and that Uncle Vernon would not shove him into a cupboard for the day if his coffee was not ready when he left for work.

The worst had been the first morning. Caspian had woken from his first night in Hyde Park Square to the sound of a distressed sobbing from downstairs. The settling in still incomplete, and the kitchen having yet to be stocked, the little boy had not found anything remotely adequate to prepare for a morning meal. Finally fishing out a kettle from a cupboard, Harry had filled it with water to at least prepare some tea. Having no wand, the already stressed child had been unable to work the stove, as it was magically powered. By then completely panicking, his accidental magic had kicked in, overheating the metallic kettle to a hot-iron red, the throthing water splashing and spluttering as it over-boiled, scalding Harry's skin. Feeling himself an incompetent failure and a freak, still not used to his "heathen abnormality" being explained away by magic, he had sunk down to the ground, crying and in pain, waiting for Caspian to come and punish him.

It was, undoubtedly, going to be an uphill battle. Many things, even little things, which Caspian had come to expect when it had been him, pained him when he saw them in Harry. A slight flinch there, a hesitance to start eating, a reluctance in the sitting room to sit anywhere other than on the floor. One thing Caspian was thankful for, though he could see it disconcerted Hadrian greatly, was his own ability to see through the child's defenses. As they had once been his own, Caspian had no trouble seeing past the façade the small boy had constructed, and coaxing him gently out of his hole. It would take time, but Harry would get better. He already was. He spoke up more, and generally managed to avoid calling Caspian sir; at least in private of their new home. In public, he reverted to formality. Any time they were out, usually shopping in Diagaon Alley, the little boy went as far as to leave 'Harry' behind, and invariably became 'Hadrian'. Caspian had not enforced this himself, and had been worried at first that Harry was distancing himself, until he understood that on the contrary, it made his ward more secure. Having always been 'Harry' or 'boy'; appelations usually intoned in varying degrees of mockery, rejection and reproach, 'Hadrian' distanced him from the life he had left at the Dursleys. "Hadrian Hunting" did not slip quite so well on the tongue; he was no longer 'little Harry' or 'that Potter brat' from Miss Ashbury's pre-elementary class, who had no friends and caused trouble; he was Hadrian Peverell, no longer confronted with the perpetual demeaning attitude of adults and children alike. It gave him confidence in himself (though Caspian was careful to not have it turn to arrogance: he refused to raise another Draco Malfoy) and in his own self-worth.

Being 'Harry' only for his closest relations also meant that he had close relations, reminding him once again that he had people who cared. As such, the boy's relationship with his new uncle had developed tremendously. Already comfortable enough with him at their initial meeting to derive comfort from him, Harry had finally started relying on the older wizard in the way a child would be expected to rely on a parent. Slowly but surely, the untamable curiosity which Caspian had never lost himself, stepped shyly forward, the initial hesitant inquiries being followed soon enough by lists and lists of questions. About Magic. About his parents. About the wizarding world as a whole. About Caspian himself. On and on they went, Harry never at his fill. It had made Caspian realise, three days previously, as he had come across Harry stumbling over words in a book, that once unhindered by the necessity of doing worse than Dudley in school (which was a task in itself), Harry would positively thrive on learning. He did not expect, from watching the boy run around the house, chasing after Regina and laughing merrily (a far sight from the Privet Drive Harry already)that he would ever have to deal with a second coming of Percy Weasley, but knew that this Harry would thrive on knowledge. Perhaps Gryffindor wouldn't be such an obvious choice(not that it had been originally either). Rather than become to unstoppable book-worm, he expected that, like himself, Harry would excel in his interests even if he only did average in the rest. Fascinated by both his uncle's masteries, which did not surprise Caspian one bit, as they both had the same natural affinities (being born the same person even if they no longer were); Harry particularly amused him with his interest in Potions. Caspian remembered himself being interested in the subject before Hogwarts, and though it had taken him almost nine years after that to re-appreciate the science in any way, he had managed to become, if nowhere near the level of a Potions Master, quite an adequate brewer in his own worth. His nephew's interest did not surprise him at all therefore, and, whatever Snape might say, he would not be surprised if, given the chance to appreciate it before school; Harry might not develop a brilliance in it of his own.

Thinking about Harry's education at Hogwarts had of course brought over the question of what he intended to do about Harry's current schooling. He knew, of course, that Harry was at an age where he had just begun to learn how to read and write, knowing how to spell out his name( as the boy had indignantly reminded him when signing the guardianship form) as well as starting to recognize sounds and words from groups of letters. Beyond Reading, writing and simple maths, however,he also personally believed that some extent of Muggle education would be necessary, reluctant to have his nephew ignorant of such a large world around them, as many wizards tended to be. He knew though, that he could not send his ward to Muggle school , as it would do very little to prepare him for the wizarding world, and would leave Harry at the same disadvantage he had had. He did not wish his nephew's first attempts at writing with a quill to occur at Hogwarts. With that in mind, Caspian knew he needed a tutor, but did not know how to find one he could trust who would be able and willing to do what he asked. That barred out all Purebloods, and many half-bloods, as well as a good number of people who would be overjoyed to take over Harry Potter's education for their own gain. He knew that his apprenticeship, as long as it lasted, as well as any work he undertook, not to mention the Horcrux hunt and the fight against Moldywart, prevented him from doing it, or he would have willingly done so.

And then, suddenly, the answer had come to him, so simple, so obvious, that Caspian did not know how he had not thought of it before. He knew, of course, that convincing him would be a challenge, and contacting him would take time, but was confident he could manage it.

Which brought him back to that letter. The letter that was waiting to be written, and sent out.

Caspian looked down at his report again, focusing carefully on the last few words. Nodding in satisfaction at his progress, he carefully piled up his work, and put it slightly to the side, before taking out a blank piece of parchment. A familiar hiss resounded from the same corner as before. Caspian rolled his eyes in exasperation.

: I promise I'll go to bed afterwards, Rege, but I've got to write this letter:

The kingsnake, giving the closest thing to a scowl that she could manage, bared her fangs at him, before slithering across the floor and up to her favourite perch on his shoulders.

: Make sure that you do:

Caspian chuckled, and shaking his head at the surveillance of his bothersome companion, set quill to parchment once more.

It was a good half hour later, after scrunching up two wasted sheets, that the young Peverell lord finally sealed up the envelope, pressing his heir ring carefully into the deep blue wax on the back so that the familiar griffin looked up at him. Casting a last protection charm on it to complete the already tight security of the missive, Caspian then turned to the snowy owl perched to the right of his desk. It had been simple enough to purchase Hedwig in Diagon Alley, as well as a medium sized tiger owl Caspian had dubbed Archimedes, that would be useful for missives where Caspian particularly wanted to avoid attention. The two got on well enough, apart from fighting over the honour of postal delivery, but as the brown owl was out already for a mail order, Hedwig stepped forward.

Caspian patted her head gently, receiving an affectionate peck on the finger in return, before standing to open the window to let her out. She set off majestically, gliding smoothly through the cool summer air like a ghost into the night, an envelope just visible clutched in her talons. No longer discernable as she flew swiftly away, yet written clearly on the front:

M. Remus J. Lupin

34 B Turnpike Lane

London Borough of Haringey

London