And here we are again. I've reclaimed my poor little laptop… For now.
Cannot Fathom Without You
Chapter 11: Strange Day
In Potions, Hadrian could barely resist the sweet temptation of growling at Granger as she tried to scoot closer to him.
They were assigned partners for this particular potions class, and Hadrian knew that this was Snape's way of being cruel.
Sure! Stick Hadrian with the know it all! The one who was apparently boy crazy if said boy proved smarter than herself.
That, of course, would have been good to know before he proved Granger wrong during their heated argument on how to stir their potions project.
He noticed her movement out of the corner of his eye. "Can I help you?" He muttered. He tried his best to sound rude, but it must have sounded the complete opposite to her ears.
"When did you learn about potions?" Her tone was reverent, and her expression was star struck. Hadrian just knew that today, would be a bad day.
If fate were out to get him, now would be a good time to implement the plans it held for him.
. . .
Herbology was usually a nice class… Usually.
Unless his partner, Neville Longbottom, was out to murder him. Hadrian had several incidents as proof.
The quivering lump of flesh beside him was quiet, there was that small mercy, but so far he'd managed to drop one of the potting pots on Hadrian's foot, hit him in the shoulder with another, and nearly knocked him out with yet another. Hadrian was sure Longbottom had it in for him.
"Will you quit that?!" he hissed out as yet another pot narrowly missed him. Longbottom looked clueless.
"Huh?" was the eloquent reply.
Hadrian pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to hold back a hopeless noise.
He turned a sharp look to his Herbology partner as he loomed over their lavender project. "You almost hit me in the head with that last stunt."
Longbottom blinked, and finally realized that yes, he'd almost hit Hadrian with his potted lavender.
The boy must have gawked at Hadrian for twenty minutes after that.
Hadrian let out a huff. "Longbottom… Quit looking at me like that."
. . .
Charms was… Interesting.
His class partner didn't try to kill him… That's probably because Professor Flitwick was doing a pretty good attempt.
So far, he'd almost hit Hadrian in the face with one of the books he had levitated… Until a student had asked him about a problem, and he had lost concentration on the spell…
Which decided that Hadrian's head made a pretty stopping point.
Good thing he had wonderful reflexes, and his skills at dodging were superb.
It sailed right over his head, and Professor Flitwick was very apologetic throughout the rest of the class time.
Hadrian was seriously considering lunch, and then being done with his schedule for the day.
. . .
He was going to die… Thank goodness Draco was there to pat the piece of treacle tart out of his throat.
No one had really noticed he was choking besides Draco… And maybe his head of house, considering the look Snape was giving him.
He was thinking of all this while he walked back towards the Slytherin common room. At least he was attempting to, but he caught sight of a small snake trying to slither into a side room.
What on earth was a snake doing down here? He was pretty sure that the castle was charmed to keep the forces of nature out, unless brought in by another person.
He knew he shouldn't follow the strange creature, but some strange compelling force had his feet following the slithering snake.
It lead him to a strange room not far from the Slytherin common room. The room itself is beautiful, but looks unused. The rich mahogany and greens of the room seemed to make it warm.
He must have been in so much awe, he lost track of the snake. Nor did he see the portrait staring at him.
"So here we meet." The deep tone of Salazar Slytherin's voice echoed through Hadrian's senses.
Startled, his eyes snap to find where that voice had come from.
He saw the full length portrait of the man. He was lean, and tall, bordering on gangly, but it suited him.
Draped in green silk and black dragon scale, he looked charming, and dangerous. His black hair reached his shoulders, but was tied back by a brown leather strip.
"So you've finally decided to come see me," he said with a slight sarcastic drawl. Hadrian blinked.
"If you mean followed a small snake into this room, then yes," he answered honestly.
Salazar gave a laugh. "You followed Edric into the room?"
Hadrian shrugged. "Yeah, not my smartest move, I'll admit. Not the worst either," He pointed out.
Salazar's grin could be seen from Hadrian's position from across the room. "I thought you were supposed to be one of my cunning snakes."
Hadrian crossed his arms. "I possess many traits. Not just my cunning."
Salazar shook his head, the grin never fading. "You don't exhibit any survival traits, that much is obvious."
Hadrian tilted his head in a short glare. "How would you know?" he muttered.
"It's a family trait. Potters always entertain me." Salazar's words echoed in Hadrian's mind. He was tempted to ask the man how he knew, but now he had to play the man's game his way.
He leaned against the closed door, studying his nails, pretending not to give a fuck. "Indeed."
Salazar gave him a knowing look. "This isn't a game, Hadrian."
"Is that why you gave me the most disdainful look?" Hadrian almost demanded, but knew to stay somewhat polite.
Salazar actually looked down. "No. You remind me of Godric. That look in your eyes. The defiant fire lit from an inner source."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "Godric?"
Salazar shrugged, but looked up, an almost contrite look on his noble face.
"Godric and I were a lot more than people made us out to be." Salazar acknowledged what Hadrian had already figured out.
"Not surprising." He gave Salazar a droll, bored look.
"Through your adopted mother, you have a blood link to me, but through your birth father, you have a blood link to Godric."
He would almost balk, if he hadn't been trained not to. "So… The Potter line traces back to Gryffindor, and the Croÿ line traces back to Slytherin?"
"Yes. The Gaunts believed it was their line, but that was only due to blood adoption." Salazar looked down. "The Croÿ line is mine alone, but there was a promise. My line would tie into Godric's somehow."
Hadrian suddenly knew where this was going. "I'm the end of that promise, aren't I?"
Salazar offered up a depreciating smile. "Yes. It was a promise that had to come to an end anyway. I was foolishly in love when I made it. We had lost all hope of being together and Godric was dying. Not much else to do, I suppose." The memories rolled through his still form.
"And this means what to me?" Hadrian knew it meant more than a lineage tracing, but he didn't know the full value.
"You are in for a rough ride. The lines are both blessed and cursed. You'll find that the universe will not leave you alone."
Hadrian remembered his tedious day so far. "As in, it will attempt to erase me?" He wondered.
Salazar only laughed. "I'm not sure what it holds for you. I'd just watch my back if I were you. Go see Godric. He'll have an absolute fit."
Hadrian looked skeptical. "Why is that?"
Salazar laughed, his green eyes gleamed in the dim light. "You have my eyes."
. . .
Godric wouldn't stop laughing!
It was starting to get really annoying.
Salazar's foot was tapping as Godric was rolling along the bottom of the portrait, laughing his fool head off.
His arms were crossed over his stomach while Salazar's were crossed over his chest.
Godric stopped long enough to say a simple sentence. "He really does have your eyes!" Right before he just started laughing harder.
Salazar actually gave Hadrian an apologetic shrug.
"You may want to go find something to do. This may take a while."
Hadrian shrugged and nodded.
He left the fourth floor corridor, and accidently ended up on the third, even though they'd been warned off of it this year.
In honesty he wasn't really thinking about where he was going, and the changing stair cases really didn't help much. So instead of the staircase skipping the third floor, he was trudging along his merry path.
He was half way down the hallway when he heard a strange noise.
It was someone talking… And some growling.
The hell?
He again exhibited the anti-survival skill Salazar had harped on by following the now familiar voice.
Shit! Quirrell! And… A three headed dog. The hell?!
He had to take a moment to remember what kind of day he'd had so far, and mentally gripe at where the rest of his day had led him.
He also had to take a moment to pray to Hecate that this wouldn't be his last part of the day.
So when he decided to peak around the already open door… He wasn't expecting the three headed fuzz ball to try to rip off Quirrell's leg. Well… That was interesting.
He noticed the trap door, of course. So the dog was guarding something… Even more interesting.
So, Tom had his minion on a mission. The remaining questions were those that naturally followed. Mission for what and why?
He noticed Quirrell's session with the dog was ending and quickly made his way for the stairs.
How he ended up on the fifth corridor was as much a mystery to him as it would be to anyone who heard his tale after today.
He knew he wasn't on the right floor this time, but the stair case refused to budge for a good twenty minutes. So, with a defeated sigh, he stepped off.
And he wandered. He was already late for his after lunch classes, but he knew it was just going to be one of those days.
It was after he passed a few doors that he heard the whispered chant.
'Hollowed heavens, take me to where I rest. Hollowed heavens, leave me where I lie.'
He knew, by now, that this was a stupid idea, but he did have some Gryffindor blood in him. Sometimes brave just meant that you had to be stupid enough to forge ahead.
When he got to the right door, the chant had gotten louder. Once he opened said door, the chant literally felt like it was matching his pulse and loud enough to beat against him.
It changed after he opened the door.
'Chosen child of the frozen star, lead me to my home.'
The chant echoed through his mind. It seemed to settle itself into his bones with the vibration of sound.
The soft whispery female voice that chanted at him seemed to surround him, and for a second it consumed all of his senses.
He could hardly breathe, but managed to catch his breath after a moment.
The room was done in creams and dark blues. Tastefully done sitting room furniture with no portraits. It was set up like most of the common rooms in Hogwarts, according to 'Hogwarts, a History'.
In the center of the room, there was a mask. It was a beautiful half mask, one that left most of the nose, lips, and jaw exposed. It was black with a dusting of white across the edges. Sleek, simple, and yet it was enticing.
'Chosen child, I've nowhere else to rest. Claim me. Wield me.'
Hadrian frowned. "Hello?"
'Sweet child, carry me close. Wield me well. Spin the thread that no one else can even see.'
He shuddered, realizing where that voice was coming from. He hated cursed magical artifacts.
'Burden, maybe. Cursed? No.'
He glared at the mask that sat innocently on the dark wooden end table. "I suppose I'm supposed to believe that?" he asked shrewdly.
'Carry me. You do not have to wear me as of yet.' He frowned even more at the reasonable suggestion.
"How do I know you won't curse me if I just touch you?"
'I could have cursed you the moment you opened the door.'
"Point…" He doesn't remember picking up the mask.
. . .
"Hadrian! It's time to wake up!" Draco was shaking him awake.
"Murrrrf," was his (not so) eloquent reply to his best mate.
"I'm serious Hadrian. You skipped dinner and the last four classes. Time to get up. You have a lot to do today." Draco said, giving up on shaking Hadrian awake and moving for the bathroom they shared.
"Don't take too long, prat." Hadrian's eyes didn't have to be open to know what Draco was pulling. The boy tended to take forever in the bathroom. "Seriously, Draco."
After the last shot, he went over the events of yesterday. The last thing he remembered was finding Quirrell and the three headed dog. The rest is a disturbing blank.
His stomach definitely felt as if he'd missed dinner, so he really hadn't eaten anything after lunch. His mind felt as if a blanket had been draped over his brain.
What in the name of Hecate was going on here?!
Had Quirrell caught him, and hit him with a spell? If so, the man would pay dearly for whatever he'd been hit with, hopefully not the Imperio curse.
He had plans for those who tried to hold him down, and if it turned out that Quirrell was trying do such a thing, the man would wish he'd never even heard of Hadrian Croÿ.
Fin for this chapter! What could the mysterious mask possibly be? Is it a curse or a blessing?
Tune in next time for the answers to these nail biting questions!