It was with a small amount of surprise that Hadrian found himself waking up early in the morning. When one considered how interesting and exhausting his first day back at Hogwarts had been, and that was even without any classwork, one might have expected a prolonged stay in bed.
Whether it was the ingrained habit he had acquired during his stay at the Dursley household or something else, it didn't matter; he was awake.
With one flick of a wand and a mumbled Tempus, he acknowledged that it was as good as time to get up as any, despite it being half an hour before his usual waking hour. Throwing one glance at the painting settled above the door told him that the sun had barely begun to rise outside of the castle.
Little time was wasted before he left his room, the door locked with a Colloportus, and behind it he wove a small stunning spell for those that tried to open them with a simple Alohomora before taking care of the trap first, and headed for the bathroom area of the Slytherin boys' dorms.
Just as before, he was up before any of the others and enjoyed the soothing sensation of a warm shower, which promptly awakened parts of his body that still craved for slumber. Eagala voiced herself as well in the back of his mind, staying coiled against his naked flesh, under the steady stream of water that fell upon them in equal quantity.
It was the first time he had taken a shower without his glasses and the experience was quite pleasant. Without the glasses to obstruct the water, and the soothing warmth it brought, he indulged himself a bit more than usual; back at the "Night Bird" there was a bathtub, so the experience slightly differed.
The other major change was he had to take special care in how he washed his hair. When it was fully wet and clinging to his scalp and skin, its length went well past his jaw, only a few inches or so of empty space separating the longest black strands from reaching his shoulders. Still, a bit of extra care and in turn he received a somewhat tamed hair, not a bad trade at all.
When he finally left the shower behind, a towel covering his lower body, water still clinging to him, only then did he notice a few other early risers heading for the bathroom; older students who, no doubt, rose early in the day to gain more time for their studying. OWLs and NEWTs, things he'd have to look forward in the next few years. He shook off these thoughts quickly, there were other things that were far more pressing in the present, foreboding about future academics would do him little good.
Within his room, he had quickly ignited the hearth, despite already drying his skin and hair with a towel along with applying a few drying charms, and enjoyed the blazing fire as it pleasantly crackled. Eagala's content and his own fed to one another through their connection only intensified the comfort they felt individually.
Such trivial and quite common pleasure did not last long, the sun in the painting had risen above the level of the grassy field and now the room basked in the false yellow sunlight, somewhat dimmed by remnants of the morning fog, so common for this part of Scotland, with its lakes, moors, mountains and valleys.
Preparing already for his trip to the Great Hall, he had dressed in the expected attire. A pair of black trousers, feeling rather light against his skin, no doubt the effect of the material upon which Yvanna insisted when they had been buying this year's clothing supplies. A plain white undershirt and over it a silky-like white shirt with a collar, around which his silver and green tie was quickly affixed.
The vest was always the tricky part to put on, for some reason, but Yvanna insisted it was a far better choice for his attire than some form of jumpers or shirts that the other students wore; it complimented his tie, as the material of the vest sported the familiar Slytherin green and managed to make the white shirt look quite silvery in appearance if need be.
It was putting it on a bit thick, he had to admit, what with the House colors and all. Before putting on the final piece of his clothing, the mandatory nondescript black robes, Hadrian took his wand in hand and with the very tip of it glided through the strands of hair that laid about on the back of his neck. Remembering Yvanna's words, he visualized, with great intent, what he wished for to happen; his wand now guided the strands of hair until they tied themselves into a short ponytail.
The seemingly small act of magic had actually taken a fair amount of concentration, lacking an actual incantation put on an unusual amount of strain on him. The deed done, he quickly put on the school robe, straightening it out in places where it had ruffled. While straightening out his robes, the palm of his hand lingered at first on the pendant that clung to his flesh and then, for just a moment, on the badge which proclaimed his House; as if the tie, the shirt and the vest weren't a dead giveaway.
Eagala was comfortably settled beneath the black robes, her presence undetectable by the naked eye; his lean build doing him some good as the form of the robes and the space it provided did such a splendid job at hiding things beneath it.
Leaving his room, he saw more students had risen up, though predictably the first-years still slumbered. Within the confines of the common room, there was more activity, and some students looked like they hadn't slept at all. For a moment or two, he lingered in the room, pondering whether to wait for Daphne Greengrass. Hadrian frowned mentally, conceding that if they wished to pull this courtship off somewhat plausibly, him leaving the common room on the first day without her would look rather odd indeed.
So instead of leaving the dimly-lit, at the time, common room behind, he lingered and laid about in his chair, before the fireplace and the hearth was ignited promptly, with a familiar smokeless flame.
He was lost in thoughts, though he did not know for how long, when he felt her approaching. It was just the barest flicker against his senses, yet it was indescribably her, it could be no other. He wondered if it was just barely felt because of the binding of her magic, or her own restraint.
She had revealed more to him after he had agreed to this new bargain. Such as why she kept her grades and displays of her magic in class just somewhat above average. It would not do well for her if her family saw how prodigious she was in some areas, it could only bring further scrutiny upon her, a thing which she wished to fervently avoid. And she could not play the role of a dullard, they would not believe that either. He imagined it was more than just playing the part, there was her ego in play as well. Still, she would do many things to avoid attracting their attention.
'I imagine I'll entertain enough of that for the Yule holidays, when I go back home,' she had told him with that familiar smile of hers. Whatever else he might have wished to remember from last night, he did not do so.
"Hadrian," her voice called out to him, so soft and tender, one might have thought they were enjoying this courtship for months and not just a day, a day filled with falsehoods, manipulations and hidden truths.
Hadrian rose from his chair and turned his back on the flame, his face forming into something resembling fondness and subdued pleasure before he spoke, "Daphne," with just the barest inclination of his head towards her. She was dressed in the same fashion as he was, except she wore a skirt instead of trousers beneath the black school robes. He noted with some interest that she wore braids in her hair, though much of her hair was allowed to fall down in a loose manner.
Then came the hard part.
He offered his elbow to her and she, with deliberate slowness, he was sure of that, interwove hers with it, placing it on equal level with his; neither higher nor lower, as some might have expected of them. Equals. The few Slytherins that were awake enough to form coherent thoughts filed this quite interesting tidbit of information and act of courtship, possibly even affection, away in the neat drawers of their minds.
Information was quite the proverbial nugget of gold in Slytherin, after all.
That was how they left the Slytherin common room, arm in arm, heads turned towards one another, expressions of mild affection and amusement clearly displayed for all to see, for all to believe. Hadrian was only grateful that the courtship allowed him to delay further physical acts of affection; after all, it would be quite improper and breaching the decorum of such a courtship that the two of them enjoyed if certain things happened too soon.
Still, Daphne Greengrass need not have been so clingy in the arm-hold, the palm of her hand covering the top of his, even if it was simply for the sake of the roles they had to play.
She had asked him where they were headed, as it was rather clear by their route that the Great Hall was not their destination. When he merely replied 'The kitchens, I need to adjust something,' Daphne admitted to herself that she had been intrigued. She was vaguely aware of the kitchens' existence, in the same manner that she was aware that the other Houses had students in them, but it didn't particularly concern her so she never bothered looking into it.
On their way to the kitchens of Hogwarts, they had encountered quite an unusual amount of Hufflepuffs, who either shied away from their side of the hallways or outright ignored them. When she mentioned this in a rather strange form of inquiry, something in the venue of '... baffled and entertaining omnivores seem to be quite common in this area,' he only spoke something about their common room being in the vicinity of their current destination.
She filed the information somewhere away, in a part of her mind which stored all might-be-of-interest knowledge, and asked no more, as they continued their going in silence.
It was, at first, baffling as to why they stopped in front of a rather large painting, but then Hadrian begged her indulgence and disentangled himself from her, before he reached to the painting with one of his fingers and appeared to tickle the pear that sat snugly in a bowl with other various fruit arranged around and below it.
In response to his touch, the whole painting slides along the wall, revealing a large passageway, brightly lit, from which some noise emanated. A whiff of some intermingled smells carried through the passage. When he suggested to her that she might wish to stay outside, that there were various smells in the kitchen which might ill suit her, Daphne shook her head, still keeping a smile, and told him she would not mind whatever they encountered inside.
The opinion was quickly changed as they emerged into an enormous space, filled with kitchen counters, fireplaces, pans, pots and many, many House Elves. If she were forced to count, she would have given up after the fiftieth or so, because the number of the little grey creatures here clearly was double that number, if not more.
Yet her companion didn't mind the ever-moving chaos that was in place here, in fact the curving of his lips told her that he enjoyed it. How odd indeed.
It took a few minutes, spent in... well, silence it wasn't, but silence between the two of them perhaps, before Hadrian spoke again. This time it was to call out to a small, somewhat slightly feminine looking, House Elf by its name. Tally. Yes, a female most likely. It was amusing that he knew this Elf's name, but what followed was even more so.
He had only glanced once towards her, telling her with a look to not say anything, and she wondered why he would do so.
Then he spoke. To the Elf. Inquiring how it was, what it had done during the summer and if a few other Elves were giving her trouble as they used to. It was quite a sight, he talked with the creature as it was an equal, listening with patience, giving all the correct responses one might in such a situation. When the Elf was spent from talking, and Daphne swore there was wetness in the little creature's protuberant eyes, Hadrian had asked her, he actually asked, if she would consider making an adjustment in his diet this year.
When the House Elf vehemently agreed to the request, as if it would have denied it in the first place, Hadrian then told her of a rather specific meal plan for the whole of the year. She noted how odd it was that he knew so much about food in general. In the end, Daphne had filed that bit of information away as well, even the names of the various fruits that he had asked to be served to him for every lunch and dinner, while his breakfasts would remain the usual sort with a pitcher of milk to accompany them.
When the whole mess was sorted out and they left the kitchens, Daphne interwove her arms with his, this time more fluidly and quickly, and gave him an amused look, a question in her eyes.
A sigh was barely allowed to surface and leave past his tight control before he answered the unvoiced question.
"Someone has suggested to me to introduce a bit of diversity in my diet, namely various fruit, if not vegetables."
"And this 'someone' wouldn't be an older witch with dark brown hair, who wears it in a loose bun, would it?" Daphne asked him, taking small pleasure in how his eyes slightly widened at their ends, pleased that she had guessed correctly.
"How do you exactly know of her?" Hadrian asked her, his voice oh so polite, his eyes oh so traitorous, giving away the tension that suddenly sprang from beneath the surface.
"I was brought to Diagon during the summer," her voice dipped in the soft tone she used up until now, her lips threatening to turn into a snarl for a second, "and it just so happened that when I was sitting in a nearby restaurant, I noticed you. Or rather, I felt you," she added the last part in a quieter voice, telling him just how exactly she had encountered him.
"You will never mention her to anyone, is that clear?" His voice had lost all pretense of politeness, all semblance of affection or tenderness.
In response, she threaded her fingers with his, creeping, crawling, entangling, as her hand laid snugly across his in the arm-hold.
"Who do you you take me for? A blabbering Hufflepuff?"
For all their so-called virtues that they liked to proclaim, along with the Hat that did so for them every new school year, the badgers were quite notorious as gossipers. Much of what Tracey Davis had revealed of the rumors that floated about the school were initially initiated in House of the hardworking, House of the loyal, House of the spares.
Daphne found it amusing, when one usually has to look forward and aspire to mediocrity, one can do nothing less but inquire in the affairs of others, more interesting, more worthy ones, than oneself, and spread insipid rumors, half-truths, half-lies and pure manure disguised as words. Still, like manure, they served a purpose. Of a sorts.
"Your secret is safe with me," Daphne said in a calm manner, meant to reassure him and added, "as much as mine are with you," to further soothe and placate.
The coldness was gone from him as quickly as it had come, and though she was no fool to think it was truly done with, Daphne appreciated his gesture of peace and spoke nothing of it. For one reason or another, he did not wish others to know of the older witch, yet it would be a lie and a denial of her own hunger to say that she did not crave the answer.
'Patience,' she controlled that flame within her with a single word.
Time and patience.
Those two would give her all that she might need to know all that was of importance to Hadrian Potter.
He could not honestly comprehend why his actions drew attention from others. Why did people, quite a few of them at that, from the other tables observe him so? Not even the presence of the Bloody Baron by his side did deter them from practically gawking at him. Why was it so intriguing to them that he had started this courtship, based on falsehood that was known only to four in the school, with Daphne Greengrass?
He wanted to say it was childish behavior, but realized immediately how idiotic that sounded, even if it was just a passing thought in his mind.
Despite his thoughts, despite the turmoil that might have broiled within, outwardly he showed nothing but a mild smile on his face, perhaps some softening around the eyes. And then there were the touches. It took more effort than he had thought. It was not much, merely a brush of her fingers here and there, the lightest of touches of her hand against his, yet it made him want to bat them away with a Morsus, to keep her infernal touches away.
But he endured it, as he endured many things in life.
There was some respite from the proximity of Daphne Greengrass when he had risen from the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and followed after their Head of House, both in search of his schedule and to apologize for the rude behavior he had displayed the night before.
The sallow-skinned man looked down at him for a moment, his dark eyes almost narrowing in on him, as if judging and weighing the apology in his mind. He nodded, just barely, and told him that he understood, that his own lack of calm was excused, but just this once, due to a previous stress-filled situation. Bowing his head just the slightest, Hadrian turned away and walked back towards the Slytherin table with Daphne's and his schedules in hand.
She had used even that as a chance to inflict another touch upon him, her fingers almost curling around his as he handed her the wooden board that held the piece of parchment upon it, and that 'Thank you, Hadrian,' of hers could have been done without the almost-purring vocalization. Finally, he was free from any further false physical affections by Daphne being forced to study her schedule, while he looked over his own.
'How lovely, double Transfiguration is the first class of the day, I imagine McGonagall will be even worse off around me.'
The other classes he had for the day was one double block of Ancient Runes, followed by Herbology. Looking over his schedule he saw that Ancient Runes was two times a week, a double block of them on Monday as well as Thursday, right away in the morning. Arithmancy on the other hand had three classes per week, once on Monday, once on Tuesday and once on Friday, a bit unusual.
The rest of the classes, Potions, Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense against the Dark Arts and History were spread all around. Tuesdays and Fridays were going to be intensive double blocks of Potions, Herbology was also on Monday, just one class, Astronomy was on Fridays, at midnight as usual, Charms on Mondays and Wednesdays, a double block of them on the latter and just one on the former, History on Tuesday, after the double block of Potions, and first thing on Friday, would do nicely if he needed an extra nap in the morning, and finally DADA was solely on Wednesdays, double block.
He wasn't quite looking forward to having Transfiguration right after the double block of DADA on Wednesday, but he could do little to change it.
And thinking of Defense, he had failed to hear last night who was the latest would-be-recipient of the curse that haunted the post. No rush, it was presumably someone of Lockhart's caliber. It was quite the dreadful thing to say, but even Quirrell, with his stutter and apparent stage fright before a class of first-years, had been a more effective teacher than Lockhart.
Then again, Quirrell was a better teacher when Hadrian was having one-on-one extra tutoring after classes with the man. Shame he had vacated the post, but it was quite possible he knew about the curse beforehand and packed his bag promptly before he fell under its influence.
"Which electives did you choose?" a voice next to him pulled him away from any further pondering about Quirrell's fate. Turning towards the source of the voice, and godsblood how he hated having to do that, damned be that courtship book, he managed yet another polite smile at her before replying.
"Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. I had considered Care of Magical Creatures, but well... I heard about the replacement last year and decided to stay away. What about you, Daphne?" He asked, actually interested in what she had picked, even if for different reasons than someone else, who had overheard the question, might think.
"The same as you." She smiled at him. "Quite a delightful coincidence."
Her words almost made her appear as some simpering girl, and Hadrian wondered if anyone was actually a fool enough to think of her as such. He almost hoped there was someone like that, if only so he could witness her reaction to them when they somehow confronted her about it.
"Yes, I think Professor Snape had informed all of our yearmates about the change in staff," her nose had scrunched up in disgust, her eyes affixed on the newest addition to the staff table, so easily seen from anywhere in the Great Hall, "but some still took it. Easy grades, I hear. It is a shame how low some people are willing to go, just for an easy 'Outstanding'."
Hadrian didn't bother hiding his amusement as her eyes quickly flashed towards Delinda Malfoy who was oblivious to the exchange between the two of them, what with sitting a fair distance away. The trolls-pretending-to-be-boys were surprisingly not seated near her, but rather her brother and Daphne's sister sat around her, one on each side, while Crabbe and Goyle sat across them, easily taking up the space for four boys their age.
Looking upon them, he felt nothing but disgust, those two were refuse, not worthy to be in Slytherin. Moon had said they were here because no other House was suitable. No other would take them. Why should Slytherin, a House that prides itself on ambition, skill and wit, accept wastes of space such as them?
He had a feeling they were accepted here only because of the 'purity' bit, even though they served better as a cautionary tale about inbreeding too much, rather than the supposed purity of their blood.
He did not waste many thoughts on the two dregs of Slytherin, and his eyes moved towards the table of Ravenclaws, which had been filling out more and more as time slowly edged itself towards the beginning of classes. He had quickly found Luna, so easily standing out amongst the throng of other second-year Ravenclaws, and greeted her with a true smile which she returned to him.
Sometimes, no words were necessary between the two of them, and right now they would have needed to shout to even hear each other over the volume of the noise in the background. 'Gryffindors,' he thought with no small amount of dislike. So early in the morning and they were already so loud that he might accuse them of being obstructive with it.
For the sake of being fair, he had to admit, however grudgingly, that there was no malicious intent here, it was simply their natural behavior.
When breakfast had appeared before them, Hadrian enjoyed the blessed silence, the blessed touch-free silence, wishing it could last longer, while knowing it was not possible. The small portion of rag pudding was savored for its taste, while the glass of milk he drank helped wash away the mildly strong odor the onions added to his breath.
Eagala never really enjoyed tasting it in the air around him. As all good things must come to an end, so did this. He had resigned himself to the role he had to play, but that didn't inspire any more tolerance for it in him. So many, quite outdated, customs to observe.
He rose first from the table, after his empty plate and glass were summoned by House Elf magic back to the kitchens.
He offered his hand to her, while the other arm was held behind his back. He smiled. He said the right words.
He felt spewing acidic bile would be a more desirable action, but he endured it.
And Daphne did ever so enjoy testing the new limits.
On they went, to almost three hours of McGonagall, her stern gazes, her eternally pursed, thin lips and her tightly held bun of hair. The only novelty he would encounter there would be an almost open dislike towards his presence in her classroom.
He'd wonder later on, after the class had ended, if this is what Gryffindors felt like during Potions.
Most likely not, as he had not destroyed any school property in Transfiguration and McGonagall tried, ever so hard around him, to keep up her famous lack of bias. She didn't quite succeed.
To the second year Ravenclaws, their resident oddity had grown even more odd during the past summer. True, they were already acquainted with the sickly sweet poison that could lace her words, the insults hidden within delusional nonsense.
More and more of her words directed against others, who thought to use words to belittle her and harm her, since that rather nasty third-year Slytherin was protecting her, made them feel quite befuddled and confused. They were insults, no doubt, the words she offered up to them, said in that innocent sing-song voice of hers, that dreamy quality permeating everything she said.
Yet none really wished to try something more than just words with her, there was something unsettling in how she twirled her wand constantly, it gave off the impression that there was an itch to be scratched there, and none wanted to give her any cause to scratch. Luna Lovegood had changed much during the summer.
What surprised them a bit more was one of the more reserved Ravenclaws, Morag MacDougal, approaching the oddity and conversing, with normal and actual words, which had no mention of imaginary creatures that might infest your ears and lay their eggs within your skull's cavities, about their classes.
The two girls were quite unlike one another, one with hair like spun silver, the other as black as night; one spoke in a melodious, if a bit disjointed in tone and note, voice and the other in a Scottish inflected brogue. One had her eyes always seeing something else than what was before her, while the other's eyes were utterly clear and focused on whatever was before her.
Yet one thing bound them together: their love of knowledge.
It had started last night in the common room when the Lovegood girl had actually come into the shared space and placed herself in front of one the fireplaces, sitting down there on one of the carpets, before she pulled a book from the bag on her shoulder.
It was quite the monstrous book, size-appearance-and-other-things-wise. One of the curious Ravenclaws actually approached the oddity, to see what she had brought out and the book actually snapped at them! Almost bit them even!
Only Lovegood cooing at the book prevented actual bodily harm to others. Then MacDougal had approached her. Just sat there by her side on the floor, not even really speaking to her, just sort of looking over the girl's shoulders into the book's contents.
The third-years were naturally quite aware of the book. Many Ravenclaws in their third year had chosen a multitude of electives; three, at least, was the standard. Ancient Runes, Care and Arithmancy were the norm, though some took Muggle Studies for extra credit.
Not many were however pleased with Care and the required literature, copies of "Monstrous Book of Monsters" had feasted on their fair share of other books and no few number of summer assignments when the students who bought them grew complacent and allowed the books to be placed near other parchments and books without some kind of placation. So to them to see this second-year girl, this girl whom they only knew as quite an odd witch, handling the book with no small amount of familiarity and skill was quite interesting.
Mainly because they wanted to know how to calm the damned books themselves.
No one really wanted to approach Luna Lovegood though. It wasn't just what had happened last year when the girl had been petrified. It wasn't that some of them had actually found vestiges of a conscience and recognized that their actions and doings were wrong in a moral sense.
They were simply afraid. It was known to a few of Marietta Edgecombe's friends that she had ventured out of their compartment on the train with Cho Chang to find and confront Luna Lovegood, to settle things before they had a chance to happen. Therefore it was known to all of Ravenclaw, as was usually the case.
A few had told Marietta to leave the girl alone, didn't she get the message clear enough when that Slytherin had her nearly cursed in a hallway filled with other students? Wounded pride, wounded ego... it demanded some form of compensation.
When next they had seen Marietta and Cho together, both were blushing to the roots of their hairs. They would tell no one of what had occurred and when asked what happened with the Lovegood girl, neither had any recollection about even seeing the girl. It was most distressing.
It didn't help that Lovegood was still acting quite a bit... well, loony. The thought was voiced less than it would have been last year. Yet her madness didn't seem the harmless kind, like it used to be. Luna Lovegood had a smile filled with razors, a beautiful and disturbing expression. And the way she twirled her wand, and hummed that tune to herself, well, no need to pick on someone so young.
Lies were told to chase away fears and provide a hiding place for them.
Unknown to them all, unknown to Edgecombe, Chang, MacDougal and all the rest that pointed their worried and frightened eyes towards Luna Lovegood, she saw it all.
Luna saw their fears and, in the flicker of a moment, a moment of weakness and desire, she wished for them to come closer so she could surround herself with those strangely beautiful, so fragile and so short-lasting, emotions infusing their magics.
Though she could not feel them, like she could Hadrian, seeing was enough. And truth be told, she had no inclination towards feeling any of theirs magics.
They weren't Hadrian. And Hadrian... he had been good to her, this past summer.
He'd done many things to comfort her, to make her strong, to help her survive. He'd done all this and more, without ever being asked to, without ever expecting anything in return.
She would seek some way to repay the gift that his friendship was to her.
The double block of Transfiguration had proved to be bearable, despite being a class that Slytherin shared with Gryffindor. There were no overt signs of hostility from McGonagall, nothing like what Snape did to Longbottom last year after the Polyjuice incident, but the hostility was there nonetheless. Hadrian liked to imagine the old witch's nostrils flared whenever she had to pass near him.
She had accepted his summer assignment without a word, her lips pursed thin, her eyes practically volatile with emotions. For all her age and magical prowess, the older witch didn't conceal her true-self well; perhaps it had something to do with how not many students would look her in the eyes without shying away from it.
Hadrian on the other hand had very little reason to shy away from her gaze, seeing the eye contact as one way of showing the wrinkle-faced witch that she held very little respect with him. On a professional basis, at least. He did not doubt her magical strength or her proficiency with transfiguration magic, but as a teacher he saw her as a failure.
Hadrian imagined it made him a bit of a hypocrite, seeing as his own Head of House tended to be more open with his disdain towards Gryffindors, but fairness, equal treatments and all the other trite... it was something which rarely truly counted in life, and even more rarely was applied to him. And that woman, that witch, that bitch... he held a special place for her in his heart, just slightly less acidic than what it was like for the Headmaster.
He had not forgotten her words, and one day, they would be repaid.
But to those in class, all except Daphne Greengrass, the animosity between teacher and student was nonexistent. To the Gryffindors and most of the Slytherins, they only saw the same old usual, stern and firm McGonagall, with a bit of an uptake in the stern department.
She took their summer assignments, talked about what they'd be doing this year in classes. Switching spells, where one would either shift a certain part of one inanimate object to another, where one would do the same between live specimens, small mammals like rats, rabbits were mentioned, and then finally, near the end of the year, they would be interchanging properties and parts between animate and inanimate.
The animosity aside, it was not a bad class of Transfiguration. And time did seem to fly quite fast, when Hadrian realized there would be an hour-long break before they headed off to Ancient Runes, which he did not appreciate all that much as he was bound to spend that hour in the company of Daphne Greengrass. Luna had passed him in a hallway during the break, and flashed him a smile, which implied suppressed giggling on her end, when she had seen Daphne so close to him.
He still failed to see what was so amusing about the situation, but the sight of Luna, even in passing, nonetheless made part of the irritation bleed away. For the rest, Eagala took full credit, as she barely remained in one place underneath his robes, constantly shifting, supplying that unique kind of cold that always managed to stave off any potential hazardous rise of his magic, which would force him to resort going back to his room and venting.
With Daphne so firmly entrenched by his side, it was not something he was keen on doing. He was not keen on sharing something so private. Not with her, at least.
And she... oh how well she played her part. The smiles, the words and the damnable touching of hers. He knew about it, of course, on some level, that there would be prolonged physicality exchanged between the two of them. The trouble was Daphne enjoyed testing him, and more so enjoyed him being aware that she was testing him.
Hadrian liked to think of it as merely another symptom of her unhinged mind, but then she'd bite off a sharp retort to someone in passing, subtle and venomous, her eyes as malevolent as they could be, and he would be quickly reminded that the witch by his side had almost killed someone, at the tender age of nine, with a curse. Unhinged did not necessarily mean unsound and irrational.
A part of him admired her for that. To go so far for one's own survival. The determination, the clarity of intent and purpose. Years spent planning on how to break free. Nothing which Daphne Greengrass did was without purpose. He only wondered what she intended to achieve with all the touching. And as if to further perplex him, he felt her fingers brushing along his knuckles and further down, entwining themselves further with his fingers.
"You seem quite thoughtful, Hadrian," she spoke quietly as they made their way without rush to the sixth floor. "A galleon for your thoughts?"
"I thought the saying was 'A knut for your thoughts'?" he replied with a question of his own, allowing a small twitch to appear at the edges of his lips. While his was all falsehood, the one she gave him in return was anything but.
"Oh, I have a feeling your thoughts hold a steeper price," Daphne quipped back at him, while her fingers further sought to entwine themselves with his. Her face held a playful expression for a few moments, and then it softened into something he was not expecting.
"I know you dislike this," she was more quiet than before, her voice holding some semblance of caring. "Whenever I touch you, I feel your magic wanting to lash out at me," she smiled, finding some amusement in this, amusement he couldn't understand. "But it is a necessary evil, if we are to keep up the charade, if others are to think of as nothing else but a couple in the midst of courtship. I won't offer up apologies for doing what I must to survive. You would not do so either."
He had wanted to speak more with her, idle thoughts having grown into concerns during the conversation, but they had already arrived at the classroom for Study of Ancient Runes and so all talk, planned or unplanned, was left unfinished.
Hadrian stood by the side, holding the door open for her, ushering her inside with a pointed look, which would appear as gentle and inviting to any who did not know him. She went in and he followed after her. Perhaps the class would prove interesting enough to divert his mind from things best left unsaid.
Once the double block of Ancient Runes was done with, Hadrian would freely admit, should anyone ask, that the elective was worth taking. Though he did go a bit over the books he had purchased for the class in advance, he did not possess great insight of the subject, but Professor Babbling was one of those teachers who made their classes actually interesting, and he had no doubt that he would deeply delve into the knowledge that the ancient runes offered so freely.
When Professor Babbling had started her introductory lesson about runic alphabets and their curriculum for the upcoming year, they would mostly focus on Norse runes, Elder Futhark to be specific, she had gone in-depth about the potential that laid within these ancient writings. No, not writings. That had sounded far too mundane. In a way, runes were words of power, to put it in the simplest of terms.
Naturally, they were far more complex than just mere words. They were not quite so direct like incantations in Latin for wand-spells, yet the potential within them was undeniable. Though they were mostly focused into carvings on sturdy materials, which would readily accept the forthcoming magical imbuement, runes could be so much more than that. Or at least that's how Hadrian understood it.
He had stayed behind when the class ended, earning himself a questioning look from Daphne, which went ignored, and he had gone up to the Professor, to ask more about learning to read the runic alphabets. When she had recommended him several books which would help him in the task, he politely smiled and explained he had already acquired the books, and that while having a textbook guide for translating specific runes was helpful, he wanted to learn more about the language, or languages, from which the runes originated.
That had earned him a curios look from Bathsheda Babbling, who admittedly held a great love for her chosen subject of teaching, but was not so far lost in the interesting and intriguing world of runes that she was unaware of how some children viewed the subject matter.
True, Ancient Runes always did attract the most number of students who had just chosen their electives in their third year, but as time would go by, before even a half of the first term would pass many would elect to instead switch out for something else, if they did not already have the required two minimum electives chosen in addition to this one. Rare was the child that sought her out, though not uncommon, right from the start on how to acquire more tools for learning about the class.
Daphne had to admit she was interested in the class they, or rather she, had just left behind, but she doubted it was anywhere near the quantity of interest that Hadrian Potter displayed during the class itself. True, she had observed him before, as much as she could, in the previous two years, but did she ever truly see him? There was such an undeniable thirst for knowledge in his face, so plain to see and witness for anyone who might have cast a glance in his direction.
Granted, not many would, the class itself drew their attentions away and Daphne liked to think that her proximity to him also served as an effective deterrent for wandering gazes.
Perhaps that saying was true after all. Perhaps girls really did mature faster than boys. For obvious reasons she could not use Hadrian Potter for comparison nor herself, as they were not exactly the typical standard of measurement. Still, it was a bit tiresome how every now and again a girl would throw her a look in the hallway, and the glares that were so poorly hid clearly showed the source of these actions.
How odd indeed. She wondered if Hadrian knew that he attracted several young witches' attentions. More so, she wondered if he cared. Most likely not, he seemed fairly oblivious or just outright uninterested in such things. Daphne wondered, if she had not taken the appropriate steps with this courtship, would there be another witch that might have interfered with her plans?
Lovegood's presence was enough of a hamper as it was, one which she amicably tolerated. For the time being.
Whatever thought may have come next was interrupted by a softly spoken 'Daphne,' and she turned towards the source of the voice. She blinked when she noticed that his bag of books seemed more heavier than what he had carried with him when they first came into the classroom. She had raised an eyebrow at this, an obvious unsaid question lingering in the air between them.
Unknown to her, he had repeated an answer he'd already given once before to another witch.
"Simply reading ahead."
She might have said something more, delved further into the puzzle presented before her had he not offered her his arm and a subdued, but true, smile which almost seemed to reach his eyes. So on they went, in familiar silence, through Hogwarts, to the last class of the day.
When the day of classes was finally over, and the dirt and sweat of the greenhouses was left behind, along with Hufflepuffs' incessant and unending chatter, Hadrian enjoyed a thorough shower, while his mind still whirled about with new information he had been given by the Ancient Runes Professor.
She had taken a few books from her desk in the classroom, copied them with a simple Gemino spell and entrusted him with them; despite having no great monetary value, to him it was quite the gift. The books were textbooks about Old English, and even with just skimming them over, a thing which should not be done with such a complicated subject, his head started slowly throbbing with the onset of a headache.
Old English was complex, to say the least.
Still, the day was far from over and there were still many hours until curfew, not to mention he had a certain debt to settle with a particular Ravenclaw. Fortunately, he would be going about on his own for this, Daphne had been informed beforehand, lest she ask him out in the open, within the Slytherin common room, where he might be going.
She was far too... clingy? Was that the apt word for it? No, not particularly. Possessive, was more like it.
What truly galled him was that she thought to imply that he should not spend much time with Luna at Hogwarts. For that alone, his good mood had almost instantly vanished and he told her that, in no uncertain terms, that she would never have any say in how he spent his time. Hadrian had also reminded her that he was not under any sort of oath or vow to continue their faux courtship, that he was allowing her too much as it was, and should she ever repeat herself in a similar fashion she would find their current agreement aborted and any future ones improbable to happen.
It was perhaps a bit harsh how he had acted towards her, but he had no intention of allowing anyone to impede his freedom. He did not allow the irksome Headmaster to interfere, no more than the old man could at Hogwarts, when he disappeared for the previous summers in Knockturn, and he would most certainly not allow her to interfere, knowledge of the Mind Arts or not.
Truth be told, Hadrian thought he had sensed some form of annoyance from Daphne towards Luna, but was unclear of the reason behind it. The two of them had never even interacted with one another save for the brief encounter on the train.
He shook these thoughts off with a small shake of his head, while redressing himself. Classes were over and there was no need to wear the standard school uniform; he did however keep the shirt and trousers on himself, the vest had come off, while instead of the mandatory school's black robes he instead picked out one of the many robes from his wardrobe, again some darker shade of green for which he could not remember the name.
He paid some small heed to how tightly his sleeves were pulled about him, he did not wish to constrict the holster on his right hand, and the wand that laid in it, too much, not to mention that Eagala might as well want to roam underneath the robes herself. For the moment, the serpent contented herself with resting her head and neck in the hollow of his throat, underneath his chin, almost like she was laying back into him and enjoying herself.
"Eagala," he murmured to her, "I know you're enjoying this, and so am I, but some might be slightly unsettled by your beauty, so prominently shown, you know how they simply become wordless in your presence."
And all the while, he slid his fingers down and up along the front, or rather beneath her mouth and her bottom body, of her scales, enjoying the vibrations her hissing provided against his throat. It was with a bit of disappointment that she slid away from her position, draping and coiling herself around his chest, against the shirt, in a familiar pattern. He lowered his head down and raised her own up towards him, laying gentle pecks against the scales on her head.
"One day, I promise you, you won't have to be hidden ever again," honest emotion laced the words as he spoke them against her cold, reptilian flesh. A small smile appeared on his face when he felt the tell-tale flicker of her forked tongue against the skin below his mouth.
With Eagala finally settled in a comfortable position, he closed the moss green, now he remembered its name, robes at the front, buttoning up his collar, and carefully observed that he looked decent enough.
It was a small affectation of his, perhaps even some form of vanity; before finding out he was a wizard, before coming to Diagon, before venturing into Knockturn, before Yvanna, he had no true clothing of his, only the second-hand rags which should have been cast into a fire rather than cast off onto a child, so now that he had the funds for them, he always took some small pleasure in the extremely un-muggle-like attire, and even more so since these ones were picked out for him by Luna and Yvanna.
When he passed through the common room on his way out, Hadrian only nodded in the direction of Daphne, who sat comfortably on one of the couches, surrounded by Davis, Zabini, Parkinson and Nott. For a moment, he considered the seating quite odd, how it seemed that Greengrass was at the center and that the position itself conveyed something which he should have been aware of.
He did not linger though, it might have made a few of the more observant students ponder his prolonged observation of the one whom he, seemingly, was courting.
There were still many hours of daylight left and then some more before curfew was in effect. Traversing the school, searching for the Ravenclaw in question was not hard after all, as it turned out. After he had checked the Great Hall, scouring across the Ravenclaw table and having not found the witch with whom she wished to speak, he immediately departed from it and went towards the library.
Where else would those of Rowena's House dwell? Well, that and their common room. From what Luna had told him about the place, it was stacked with bookcases, though from what she could recall about a few of them there weren't many interesting titles which might have intrigued him.
Passing through the school on his own, apart from Eagala that slumbered beneath his robes in warmth and comfort, had earned him a few occasional glances, and a whispered word or two exchanged between groups of students whom he passed by. He wondered what that was all about, especially since he was now by himself rather than with Daphne on his arm. It was irrelevant, in the end.
And just as he dispensed with these petty thoughts, Hadrian arrived at the library.
Unlike other students which currently occupied seats and tables in it, he had come without a book bag that many, if not all, carried with them whenever venturing into the Hogwarts' repository of knowledge. The trouble with the library, naturally, was that it only grew during its millennium-long existence, and was now, quite possibly, large, if not larger, as the Great Hall itself. Still, there was something comforting to be said and felt about the presence of so much knowledge around him.
More than once, his gaze was drawn in the direction of the Restricted Section.
Unwilling to go there physically, he had unfurled a few tendrils of his magic and slithered them carefully across and through the numerous shelves that were in the way of seeing into the contents of the Restricted Section.
When the first tendril reached the very border of it, that tangible place where knowledge was more than just what they were taught in classes, it had tasted and drank deeply of the aroma that lingered in the air. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up with the electrifying feeling, which traveled back along the tendrils to him, that the books there provided.
Some books though... his senses perceived them as something similar, but not the same, to Yvanna. And though there was a pull to them, it was not quite so alive and alluring as Yvanna herself was.
Books about Dark magic, no doubt.
Books which were Dark magic, he knew with certainty which he couldn't trace back to its source.
This was not a lingering presence that was laid across them by someone else, by a wizard or witch who perused them in the past, recent or distant.
No, some of these books were naturally Dark, as if they were crafted and refined from pure magic itself and forced, confined and contained into physical manifestations. Which was the stuff of fairy tales, naturally, but there was no other adequate way to describe it.
Hadrian found himself intrigued with how such a thing could be achieved, to make a book Dark. What he did with the Brown Book could not even begin to compare, it simply radiated his own magic back at him, rather than thrum with its own unique taste. It was more than just the knowledge of such magic that made these books utterly Dark.
However, not many carried this taste to them. It was but a rare, precious few books which almost seemed to call to him. A siren's calling, Daphne had said. Was this what he was experiencing now? An enthrallment which wanted to pull him closer?
The promise of knowledge which these books contained was tantalizing, teasing him to come closer and bask in them, to lay his hands upon them and caress their bindings, to let his fingers linger on the spines, to feel the flow, to lose himself in the secrets they offered to him.
Whether his thoughts, emotions and desires translated themselves along the tendrils and unto those books was not certain. What was certain was the response he received. It could be almost described as approving if such things could be ascribed to these books.
In that moment, he wanted to throw caution to the wind, to drown and strangle any trepidation he might have had about being observed by the Headmaster, and seek out his Head of House for a permission slip, a trivial thing which separated him from so much knowledge, when it should have been freely available, without anyone's permission.
He might have dug in deeper with the tendrils, the longing in him was certainly growing stronger, were it not for the sudden verbal intrusion on his senses.
"Potter?"
He did not want it to end, this sublime and beautiful experience, but it had to. Hadrian did not understand why he felt like doing so, but through the tendrils, that just about lingered on those special few books and their hard covers before departing, he sent an emotion, a statement, one which told them a simple and irrefutable truth.
'I will come to you one day. I will know you, I will open you and cherish you unlike anyone else before. Be safe and keep your secrets, keep them safe from all who are not me. Know me as I will surely come to know you. Goodbye, for now.'
One last feeling traveled back along the tendrils, surging into him, making him wet his lips as if he had traversed a dry, sun-blasted wasteland, and here they were, telling him of the oasis that was just beyond the horizon. He could not capture and contain the emotion, it had eluded his control and escaped into the outside world in the form of a gasp, one born of jubilation.
As the last of the tendrils melded back into the coils of his magic, he turned around, a content smile on his face and a thought 'How fortuitous,' in his mind.
"MacDougal," he greeted the witch that stood before him, and for a moment he felt his control falter slightly, as his voice carried far more affection than it should have; a remnant of the pleasant experience, no doubt. He tightened his throat, an action concealed by the high collar of his robe, and continued speaking in his normal voice. "I was just looking for you."
The girl snorted, "Aye, I'll trust that, though I doubt ye'd have found me squeezed among the books on that wee shelf," she looked over his shoulder, "and I'd like to think meself a bit less dull than the "Ministry Edicts of the 18th century"."
Hadrian's mouth twitched with amusement. The black-haired witch was the only other Ravenclaw, aside from Luna, that he actually didn't mind talking to. They had met only twice last year, and it was upon their second meeting that she had laid out her terms for him copying her class notes and giving them to Luna.
He couldn't recall ever seeing her hair let loose, it was always set in numerous braids, yet unlike the one that Daphne presented to him just yesterday and the ones she wore today, hers had a more wild look to them. Her features were pleasant enough, he supposed, and her light brown eyes held a sort of mischief in them, quite unlike anything what her studious nature suggested.
"Do you already have a table here? And your schedule perhaps?"
"Aye," she replied, nodding as well, "Come along then, Potter. Otherwise Pince will find us here and think us conspiring to ruin and desecrate her precious books, no doubt."
Another twitch of amusement and he followed after the second-year Ravenclaw. Her table was fortunately not that far at all, and it actually placed him just one obstacle away from the Restricted Section. Even without his tendrils stretched out, he felt the pleasant thrum in his being reverberate in response to the pulses sent out by some of the more restless books. Perhaps they had been roused to activity by his proximity?
It was but a fanciful notion, one which he had no way of proving. For now, at least. Hadrian quickly diverted his mind from descending deeper into such thoughts and notions and forced it to focus on present company.
"Can I see your schedule, please?" Hadrian asked politely.
It took a minute or two of rummaging through her book bag before she found the wooden board and the parchment attached to it via a sticking charm. Morag promptly handed it over to the Slytherin sitting across her, and casually observed him. His posture, his hands, his fingers, the slightest hints of movement beneath his robes, no doubt that serpent familiar of his she had heard about before, and finally his face.
It was a bit unsettling, she had to admit, at least at first; last year, she had briefly talked with him about arranging the trade, her class notes for his tutoring in Potions, and back then not many Ravenclaws really wanted to approach the second-year Slytherin. It was common knowledge in the common room, though barely spoken outside of it, that the young wizard had somehow bested five Ravenclaw students, two years his seniors.
Not all of the injuries inflicted upon the upper-years were concealed with robes and other clothing, some had sported small welts and bruises on their faces for a day or two before the medical salves from the infirmary disposed of them.
When someone from another House inquired as to what was the source, they only spoke of friendly duels getting a bit too intense, a spell slipping past its mark and hitting an unintended target. The excuse was easily accepted, but Morag saw that the upper-years feared the young Slytherin, as much as they hated him.
Though she had seen them limping, bruised and one of them was even bleeding when they had come into the common room at first, she wondered what spells were used to make it last so long.
Usually the spells a second-year could wield should not inflict injuries that could not be hidden behind a simple glamor or dispelled with a Finite, yet the welts that the older students wore could be only removed by a particular salve, the bruises lessened, but not vanished, with the same salve before time alone would erase them, and the single cut inflicted, when healed, remained a small, but noticeable scar on Langlock's cheek.
It was a bit of a risk, approaching Potter how she did.
Looking back on it, she could have called out first before tapping him on the shoulder. Lost in thoughts he might have been, but his reflexes more than made up for it as she found the tip of his wand pressed against her forehead. It could have been worse though, the snake that everyone mentioned that always accompanied him, unseen, could have bit her.
Still, she bore it with dignity and did not allow her resolve to falter. She really did need the help with Potions, those wretched fumes, that almost seemed to flock exclusively to her place in the classroom, kept making her eyes water, her vision blurry and her nose seemed to be suffering from a permanent leak whenever she trod into the dungeons.
Had the Potions Master been a somewhat less intimidating man, she might have sought out help from him, and even though he was not hostile towards Ravenclaws, more often than not he was cordial unless you earned his ire by messing up the tasks he set for the class in a disastrous fashion, nothing like how she heard he was towards anything that wore the crimson and gold of another House, Morag decided not to chance it. Still, it did hamper her grade.
An 'Acceptable' was not at all acceptable.
Not when she knew she could easily have, and should have, achieved an 'Exceeds Expectations'.
It was pure luck that they happened across one another; he had been searching for someone who could provide essays, class notes and such for the period that Luna Lovegood missed, and she herself was in need of tutoring.
A chance encounter in the library was all it took, she had heard him asking Madam Pince where he could find books about advanced potions, the ones which did not lie confined within the Restricted Section. The guardian of the library had scowled at the boy, but no more than she usually did at anyone who came into the library and disturbed, what she perceived as, her books.
Then she informed him upon which shelves, amidst which rows he could find something of interest.
At the time, it was just a curiosity, and her mind had not yet compelled her to seek out the boy. All she knew was that he was interested in advanced potions, which barely made him noticeable. However, it was upon his swift return to the desk from where Madam Pince lorded over her domain, and his repeated inquiry into matters that Morag had become more than just curios.
He'd told Pince that the books he had found, in the rows she suggested, were already known to him, as was the information contained within. The librarian had narrowed her eyes at him, trying to see if the boy was deceiving her in some fashion.
Then she had the gall to go and retrieve the books in question, and actually start a small quiz, throwing out one after another potions-related query at him. It started out simple, Shrinking and Swelling Solutions, Deflation Draught, Confusing Concoction, some various and mild poisons, but when the Slytherin kept answering each question in a concise manner, the elderly matron started firing off more advanced questions.
Why was wormwod necessary for the brewing of the Draught of Living Death? What were the ingredients for Polyjuice potion? What could a Runespoor's egg be used for? When was the best time for harvesting fluxweed?
The interrogation she had thrown out at him had attracted a fair amount of attention. How could a mere second-year know all these things? Granted, he was a Slytherin, but still, no one expected this from him. And with this display of extensive and advanced knowledge, he had drawn Morag's attention to himself.
A most fortunate thing as it had turned out. She had asked him first about the possibility of tutoring, and at first it had seemed he would just decline to entertain even a single thought about it. Then he asked her what she could offer to him as a trade for his tutoring.
Morag had then asked for a day to think about what she could offer to him, and when they had met once more, she had offered to him copies of his class-notes and essays. Clearly, he was surprised that she had found out what he wanted from her.
They'd negotiated for a bit, Morag originally demanded an outrageous amount of tutoring, four times per week for the whole of next year. He'd scoffed at the very idea of spending so much time on tutoring, and he'd told her that if she needed that much help, she was beyond any save that of imbibing Felix Felicis on a regular basis when going to Potions.
In the end, after much posturing and vague words, they'd settled on two tutoring classes per week, for the first term of the school year, and if she needed more, one tutoring class per week in the next term.
To others, other Ravenclaws that is, it might have seemed foolish to seek out the unstable, in their eyes, Slytherin for help in anything, when it was common knowledge he sought out no one, kept company with no one but the ghost of the Slytherin House and the Lovegood girl, which happened to be in her year.
Yes, the Lovegood affair, as some, distastefully, called it.
Stupid.
So dreadfully stupid for a House that was supposed to prize and draw in those who possessed intelligence. So what if the girl believed in odd things and occasionally spoke of them? So what if she had that constant far-away look in her eyes and her tone of voice wavered so fluidly, as if in a song? So what...?
A small part of Morag's mind, and perhaps her heart as well, told her she should have noticed these things and told of them to Professor Flitwick. But she was new to Hogwarts, so eager and yearning to learn all that it could offer, so lost in the books that the world around her was lost to her in turn.
She was pulled away from this world of knowledge when the first petrification happened. The first human one, that is. No one really cared for the feline of the caretaker.
There was a healthy amount of fear and caution spread out in the school, no House was spared it, of that she was certain.
Then the holidays came and off she went, like so many others. Back to her home, back to her family. Time flew past quickly and she was back in Hogwarts before she even realized it, her desire and craving for knowledge filling her yet again.
Only this time, she noticed the Lovegood girl. She noticed her words, freshly sharpened and dipped in sweet venom, spat out onto others with that same far-away look in her eyes, with those sing-song tones in her voice. Lovegood was safe, and the sightings of her with a second-year Slytherin grew quite common, the one that so brutally triumphed over his opponents in the Dueling Club, often accompanied by the ghost of Slytherin House, kept her that way.
Until she too was petrified like that first-year Gryffindor, along with the ghost.
It was then that the fear, that they all knew before the holidays, came back. And with it came the fear and caution that the young Slytherin brought along with him. Morag had to admit, the stories she had heard from her Housemates had painted the Slytherin as an unstable, unhinged, aloof, vicious and cruel boy, who enjoyed hunting down lone Gryffindors to hex and curse, when no teacher was around.
Some suggested he was the Heir of Slytherin, despite the fact that Lovegood had been petrified. Some suggested that he might have done so to throw off any suspicion of himself.
They seemed to ignore the fact that Longbottom was the one who spoke in Parseltongue and that Potter never exhibited this particular ability.
Some managed to twist even that, saying that Potter did some sort of spell which made it seem like Longbottom was the one speaking, when in fact it was he, hidden and obscured amongst the throng of students, while everyone's eyes were drawn to the dueling stage.
Some spoke he learned the Darkest of Arts under the tutelage of the Slytherin Head of House, a man who was rather deeply enamored with the same Arts. Pure rumor-mongering, as she had learned herself in the few observations she had of him when coming across him in the library.
Pure cack, more like it. Sometimes she wondered if she was sorted in the right House.
"Mondays and Wednesdays would work best," a voice broke her train of thoughts, "Would that schedule agree with you? The tutoring wouldn't last more than two hours, but would not be less than an hour, that much I promise."
She nodded, "Aye, that's agreeable. What time and where?"
"How much do you know of the dungeons, other than the Potions classroom?" Hadrian inquired.
"Nothing at all. There's hardly any reason at all, other than Potions' classes, to venture down there," she grinned as a thought fleeted through her mind.
The Slytherin nodded his head in agreement, "Yes, I imagine it is so for any who are not of my House. Very well, meet me in front of the dungeon stairwell, the lower level, if you please, at four o'clock in the afternoon on Monday. I'll be showing you a place where we can brew in peace and quiet, and we will meet there in the future." He handed her schedule back and bid her farewell.
Though he held much affection for Hogwarts, right now he was slightly frustrated by the ancient castle. Or at least with one aspect of it: its size. Finding Luna in it was not as easily achieved as one might have thought, given his enhanced perception. But one ought to consider that the tendrils had a finite range, they could not extend to encompass the whole castle, and unless he chose to roam throughout the entire school with the tendrils extended, thus exposing his senses to everyone's magics, he doubted he could find her if he searched by sight alone.
And the option for wandering about, with tendrils unfurled, was not an endearing one at all.
True, he had learned to endure many things. Chief among them was the, quite revolting, presence of the Headmaster, who was still as uncontrolled, though not unbearable, as he was when this ability had just been awakened within him, and the old man grated against the senses.
Time spent with both Yvanna and Luna, time spent in the "Night Bird", his tendrils spread out amongst the many who would come seek comfort of bed, or the sustenance of drink and food, in the many evenings, had taught him how to endure. Yvanna had taught him the most, and for that he had come to care a great deal for her, having him bask every night, at the end of their lessons, in the fully unleashed presence of her magic.
Only after she had shown him herself through the mist, had he come to fully appreciate how much she had done for him.
So no, despite his endurance, he would not send forth the tendrils of his magic in search for the taste of thorns. In a way, it would be cheating, and in a way... he feared that it would only serve to push Luna on a path she had not chosen for herself. That would not do at all. He would rather have her free, have her be herself, than act the role forced onto her, indirectly or otherwise. So he told himself, numerous times.
Which naturally left him with one option. He wondered if she had planned for this, as a sort of a jest, a prank to be played on the others. And the thought of appearing before them had him smiling and loosening the front of his robes, just a little, to allow for more freedom of movement.
That is where he would go to find Luna, and find her he would, of that he was sure.
The Ravenclaw Tower.