"Félicitations Madame Evans!"
Lily smiled pleasantly when the call reached her. She turned, folding a strip of pitch black hair behind her ear as the man stopped in front of her. "Merci, Julien." She replied softly, watching as he continued to almost vibrate with enthusiasm.
"I always knew zat boy of yours was going places! You must be so proud!" Julien grinned at her, his sun-kissed skin stretching with his smile. "Ma wife and I 'ave already started collecting the newspapers about young 'adrian. It is about time 'e was recognised more!"
Lily chuckled into the palm of her hand, "It was certainly a surprise to hear. Honestly, I had been hoping Hadrian would not be named."
Julien nodded in understanding, a sympathetic light entering his clear blue eyes. "Of course. Aucune mother should 'ave to watch her son go through such dangers. But fear not, 'adrian is as talented as Merlin 'imself! I 'ave aucun doubt zat 'e will be absolutely fine, Madame Evans."
Lily laughed lightly, "While Hadrian is very good, I'm not so sure he is at Merlin's level, Julien."
The merchant shrugged and winked at her. "Will you be 'eading to Britain, Madame Evans? To support 'im?"
"Julien! You ungrateful swine! Leave ze young lady alone and come 'elp me!"
Julien and Lily snapped to look at the fuming woman at the entrance of the store, hair in disarray and wand waving threateningly in the air.
"J'arrive, ma chérie!" Julien hollered back, voice teasing. He tossed one last dimpled smile at Lily, murmuring a goodbye, before trotting off back to his fiery wife.
Lily stood on the little cobblestone street, her pretty red dress flapping in the gentle breeze, and green eyes fixated on Julien and his wife. She watched as he came up behind the angered woman, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling into her neck until her fierce scowl morphed into a breathtaking smile.
The image the two painted sent a sharp jolt of longing and grief through her, and she quickly moved away before any painful memories began to plague her mind.
With a sigh, Lily disapparated from the bustling street, to the corner just around from her house. She leisurely walked down the scenic path, waving to her neighbours when they called out greetings, or shouted their congratulations at Harry's appointment as champion.
It was only once she was safely secluded in the wards, front door closed firmly being her, that her pleasant mask melted away, replaced by a slight frown.
Lily shed the black shawl and moved into the lounge room. She draped the shawl over the back of the closest chair and took a moment to just stand there.
Even though Harry tended to be gone for most of the year, she never could quite get used to the silence. When she was younger, Lily's home had always had someone there, whether it was her parents, or Petunia, or their aunt and uncle visiting. And at Hogwarts, there were so many people around you, you almost treasured the time you could get alone.
One inevitably got used to the noise of life around them.
Lily had always dreamed of having a large family, with three or four children constantly getting underfoot. She had thought that with James, she would get the chance to experience that life.
She disliked the silence.
She extracted her wand and pulled down the shoulder of her dress, pressing the tip to the small, pale, practically undetectable rune there. With a whisper, her dark hair turned back to brilliant red, and her green eyes dulled back to their natural forest green, rather than the almost illuminous shade of her son.
It was one of the many safety measures they had in place to protect their identities. When they had first arrived in France, Harry had been far too young for Lily to risk using disillusionment charms, or runes, on him. At his age, it could have done some permanent damage to his own magical core.
So to save her son from having to live his life under a charm, Lily, whenever she set foot outside of their home, changed her features to look more like him. With her long, messy black hair, bright green eyes, and sharper features, there was never any doubt as to whose mother she was.
It separated the chances of anyone connecting them back to the Potter family, especially if they believed that Harry predominantly got his colouring and features from her.
She closed her tired eyes in relief, running her fingers through her real hair with a small smile.
When she opened them again, they automatically landed on the newspaper sitting innocently on her coffee table – where she had left it this morning before she left to buy ingredients.
The face dominating the front page was one she was intimately familiar with. Harry's school photo, taken late last year, stared back at her. His lips were quirked in a polite smile, his eternally difficult hair had, for once, succumbed to their wishes. Instead of resembling a bird's nest, as it tended to, it fell in an artfully messy style, one that he had favoured since.
The article focussed primarily on Harry's academic skills, broadcasting his scores and classes, having quotes and comments from his professors, all expressing their lack of surprise at his nomination, and their utmost confidence in his abilities.
Underneath the French newspaper, was a copy of the Daily Prophet.
Compared to the other, this article spoke of Harry's personal life. It spoke of Harry's lack of a father figure, his close relationship with Lily, his natural talent and his charming personality. It was so clearly twisted to show him in a positive light, that Lily had no doubt her son had had a hand in what was written.
And that photo, she did not know whether to be amused or annoyed at how cocky he looked.
Just the sight of her little boy had her feeling even more weary then before.
She left the lounge room, quickly scaling the stairs and heading to her bedroom. She unzipped her dress, letting it crumple to the floor, and set to running herself a bath. As the tub filled, Lily studied herself in the mirror.
It had been just over fifteen years, and she looked like she had barely aged.
Her eyes eventually dropped down to the scars spiralling along the side of her body, stretching from her hip to the underside of her breast. The deep red stood out against her skin angrily. But Lily did not hate the sight of it. She did not recoil.
Because to her, the scars were proof of her survival. It was undeniable proof that she had gotten away.
She had taken such a risk that night, apparating with Harry, when he had been little more than a baby. She could still remember the agony that had seared through her when she had landed in the only safe place she could think of. And of how glad she had been that it was her that had been splinched, and not her son.
Lily switched off the tap, and slipped into the warm water, releasing a soft little groan as her tense muscles began to loosen. She slid down until her nose rested just above the surface.
Her thoughts drifted back to her firecall with Harry, and with the memory, all her reservations came bubbling to the forefront of her mind.
She did not like this at all.
Things were deteriorating more than she had thought possible, and the lack of control she had over the situation was making her uneasy. She did not know what to do. But what frustrated her more was her lack of control over Harry.
Hadrian Evans was supposed to be a mask used by Harry whenever he stepped outside of their home, much like her rune. It was a persona created to shield him from scrutiny. A tool to be used to their benefit. He was their means of getting close to those they needed to further their own goals. He was useful only to ensure Harry remained hidden.
But Lily hated him.
Because Hadrian was not Harry.
Harry was her beautiful, kind-hearted and loving son. Harry was compassionate and sweet. Harry was everything to her.
Hadrian was cool where Harry was warm. He was harsh where Harry was soft. He was Dark whereas Harry was Light.
It was Harry, not Hadrian, who they needed to defeat Voldemort. It was Harry who would rise up with an army of his own supporters and finally end the man who had taken her husband from her.
She hated how she was seeing more and more of Hadrian as the years dragged on. She had known that there would be some drawbacks for Harry – having to play a part for so long, it was inevitable that at some point the two would mix. But she had never expected that Harry would…prefer to play Hadrian.
Her fingers came up and clenched at the edges of the tub.
In the last few months she had become uncomfortably aware of how different her little boy was becoming – of how much Hadrian was affecting him.
It had started small – as most things did. In the beginning of his schooling, Harry would write pages and pages of information to her, covering his entire week. Now his letters were shorter, more spaced out over the term. Not delving into as much detail, sticking strictly to his academic prowess, with only the occasional mention of his classmates.
Whenever he returned home, he took a beat longer to respond to her, as if having to remind himself that Harry was his actual name.
Whereas before, when he was younger, Harry kept no secrets from her. Now he avoided her questions with ease, distracting her with information that he knew would interest her to keep her away from topics he did not wish to talk about.
And now, there was this whole debacle with the Triwizard Tournament. When he had heard of its reinstatement, Harry should have contacted her immediately. He should not have kept the information to himself, he should not have accepted to go to Britain without her permission. He should have consulted her.
Lily liked to encourage independence in Harry, liked to have him solve his own problems. But she did not like how readily he moved around her. He was reckless, and this just proved it.
They could have come up with an alternative plan to avoid him leaving France at all. She could have falsified a medical issue that would have exempted him from being able to participate. It would have hurt his reputation, yes, but not irreparably so.
But instead of thinking, he dove in head-first.
Perhaps she would have found it endearing – that lack of regard was one of the things she adored about James – if Harry had not placed himself in unbelievable danger. Being at Hogwarts, being at the centre of Voldemort's web, was foolish.
Harry might think he understood the risks, but he was a child, and he had no idea of the horrors that the Dark Lord was capable of. Lily had lived through Voldemort's rise. She had witnessed the lengths the monster was willing to go to, to ensure his own power.
And her child was the one, key threat to his reign.
Harry was not indestructible. He was skilled – incredibly so – but he was as mortal as the rest of them.
If Voldemort discovered him…if Harry even slipped once, then everything they had been working for would be pointless.
The situation would have been salvageable, if Harry had not been named champion. He could have passed by relatively unnoticed, and returned to her unscathed.
But he had failed, someone or something had foiled his efforts. And now he was directly in the spotlight, where anyone with even the slightest bit of interest could dig.
It scared her, how delicately everything was balanced right now.
And while Harry was right – about being champion and the veil of protection that granted him, particularly in regards to Voldemort – that did not mean that he was in any way safe. The tasks themselves were designed by nature to be deadly.
Voldemort might not even have to make an attempt on his life. All it would take is one second. One moment of inattention, and Harry would perish like so many champions before him.
Lily was not about to stand back and allow her child to risk his life without someone being there to watch over him.
Her green eyes slid open, ducking off to the side where she could see passed the open door into her bedroom. On her desk sat a folded letter, welcoming her to join the French politician party that would be departing for Britain in the next week, in order to witness the first task.
Lily sat up, water cascading down her shoulders. She had some packing to do.
After fifteen years, Lily was going home.
OoO
Hadrian waved Raina on after the class concluded. He had caught Riddle's eye earlier during the lesson, and he knew the man wanted to speak to him. It was a conversation he was both dreading and anticipating.
Other than Jacob, Riddle was the only one in the whole castle that knew that Hadrian had tried to avoid being champion, and for whatever reason, the man had kept that fact a secret.
Hadrian waited until most of the students had left before he started to walk to the front. He had packed his stationary away, but left his bag on his desk.
He passed Hermione, giving her a quick smile when she raised an eyebrow in question. Her big brown eyes darted between him and Riddle, a strange expression flitting over her face. He had not had much of a chance to talk with the girl the last few days, if only because he had been swept up with being appointed champion, and all the subsequent things that came with the title.
He leaned against a desk in the front row, crossing his arms and ankles to get comfortable as he waited for Riddle to finish whatever he was writing.
Hadrian let his eyes roam over the classroom in boredom, taking in the displays on the walls, the diagrams and specimen. It was quite like how he would set out a classroom, if he were a teacher.
In a glass container, a grindylow stared at him intently, its ugly little face twisting and snarling, snapping its teeth in an attempt to appear ferocious. Hadrian watched it, entirely unimpressed. In a large body of water, he might be a tad more wary about the disgusting looking water demon. But as it was, alone and trapped in a space that only just allowed it to stretch to its full length of 4 feet, he had nothing to worry about.
Riddle had stopped writing.
Hadrian rolled his head back to look at the professor, only to find those steely eyes already locked onto him. Riddle's lips twitched into a smirk.
"I believe congratulations are in order."
He rolled his eyes at the amusement in the man's tone. "Indeed. I think I was the only person actually surprised at my name being called."
"You handled your reaction well," the man complimented easily, "one would not have known you were surprised unless they knew you had tried to avoid it."
Hadrian hummed, tilting his head. "I did not see you at the ceremony."
Riddle smiled at him, "You wouldn't have. I arrived later, and stayed out of sight to avoid disrupting the event."
The younger narrowed his eyes a little, searching for any lie. "Are you disappointed?" The professor asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Hadrian shrugged, "Initially?" He grinned sharply, "I was fucking pissed, but I'm nothing if not an opportunist. Once I had…hmm, calmed down, I was fine."
The man tossed something onto the desk, and Hadrian did not even have to glance at it to know it was the article about him. "I am impressed with how effortlessly you appeared to have tamed Ms. Skeeter." Something much like appreciation lit the man's eyes. "She is…notoriously difficult to have an interview with."
"Speaking from experience, sir?"
Riddle cocked an eyebrow, but did not reply. Hadrian almost snickered at the thought of Skeeter and Riddle in a room together. He doubted a man like Riddle would be able to handle her presence for too long.
"The lovely Ms. Skeeter and I came to an understanding, after a nice little chat." He offered up, grin borderline insolent. Riddle's eyes sparked with interest.
"Oh? Do tell."
Hadrian leaned further back on the desk, uncrossing his arms and placing them on the edge to hold more of his weight. "I merely explained to her the benefits of cooperating with me. Why it would be in her best interests."
"Blackmail? How scandalous." There was a lick of sarcasm in the man's words.
"Not blackmail, sir." Hadrian ducked his head, looking up at the man from under his fringe. "That would be frowned upon. Besides," he smirked. "I have more class."
"Of that, I have no doubt, Mr. Evans." Riddle reclined more comfortably in his chair – if that were even possible in the horrible wooden thing. "Tell me, how goes your research into the first task? I'm interested to see how much progress you've made."
Hadrian blinked, "It's barely been two days, sir."
"And one would think that you would utilise every available second to gather information to improve your own odds." That sounded far too much like a rebuke for his liking. Hadrian felt a scowl pulling at his brows at the arrogance.
He did not bother replying, Riddle was not entitled to anything from him. "Why would you care, if I may ask, how I'm going about my preparations? Last time I checked, sir, you were from Britain. Shouldn't you be running after Draco?"
"Mr. Malfoy is the son of the British Minister. If you think he is not already receiving all the help he could possibly need, then you are more naïve then I first thought."
Hadrian snorted, because while he might be a lot of things – naïve had never been one of them. "So? That does not justify your question. For all I know, any information I give to you will just be relayed back to Draco, to give him an idea of how prepared his opponent is."
"A credible assessment, though you have missed, what is perhaps the most critical point."
Enlighten me.
"You are far more interesting to me than Mr. Malfoy or Ms. Kaiser."
The words threw him for a loop, and Hadrian looked down to study the floor. In all the time he had known Riddle, the man had been generous with his compliments. In every lesson, he never failed to make his students feel like they were appreciated, and he especially gave praise to those he thought deserved it.
Hadrian had known since their first lesson together that Riddle found him interesting. He had known that the man found him amusing and fun to speak with, and over the course of the last few weeks, he had enjoyed testing him. He had known all of this. He had just never really considered how deeply Riddle's interest in him ran.
Hadrian glanced up.
"What's in it for me?" He asked neutrally. In many ways, he felt like he was going about a business deal.
Riddle's face was carefully blank. "Depending on how much progress you've made – a clue as to what the first task is."
Well, then.
"What guarantee do I have that this clue will be reliable? And not just an attempt at misdirection?"
The man inclined his head. "I should clarify. When I stated that I found you to be the most interesting, I meant that I would very much like to see you live through the tournament. You are one of the few of your generation I have seen that has the potential to go on to do great things. It would be a shame, for everyone I believe, if you were to die before you had the chance to graduate."
"And giving me false information would be counterproductive to your goal of what – nurturing my potential?"
Riddle spread his hands, "I am a teacher above all else, Mr. Evans. It is in my nature to help others grow and develop their skills. I see something in you that is worthy of surviving."
Hadrian rocked back on his hands, thinking over the man's words.
It would be very beneficial to have the man on his side. Riddle would have insider information about all of the tasks, and while Hadrian knew the man would not necessarily just hand him the information – hell, he knew the man would make him work for it – it could still be a good thing.
"And what's in it for you? I'm not a fool, sir. I know there is more to your offer than keeping me alive."
Riddle shrugged, the move oddly unrefined for the usually sophisticated man. "That's for me to know."
He scoffed, "Seriously?"
The professor merely smiled at him.
He cocked his head to the side. Did it really matter to him, what Riddle thought he would get out of this? So far this was all very theoretical. They had made no vow, no oath. Hadrian always had the option of refusing if Riddle asked something of him.
He wondered what else the man could possibly gain from keeping him alive. Hadrian might be good friends with a majority of the French pureblood heirs, but that did not grant him anything - yet - and he had no family connections of his own.
Unless…
His thoughts jumped back to the assumption he had made weeks earlier, of Riddle's likely-Death Eater status.
Recruitment.
Was it possible? If Riddle was involved with Voldemort's regime, being a teacher placed him in a prime position to scope future candidates for his master. The idea was full of irony, that one of Voldemort's men would want to recruit the child destined to destroy the man himself.
It was a loose theory at best, but it niggled in his mind.
If Riddle was going to give him a clue to the first task, Hadrian was willing to play.
"Most of my classmates have contacted their families, trying to catch an idea of what the first task could be. Raina-" Riddle nodded to show he remembered the girl, "-her father sent a trunk of documents pertaining to all the previous Triwizard Tournaments. We have been looking through them, and compiling a list of the most likely challenges."
"And?"
He shrugged lightly, "There are several possibilities. However, I am of the belief that it will be a creature-based task."
Riddle's lips curled, pleased. "What led you to that conclusion?"
"Dating back to one of the first recorded instances, eighty percent of the time, the first task involved a creature. The tournament has been stopped for over two hundred years. I think they would like to kick this off with a bang. What could be better than watching a student face off against a dangerous creature?"
"Very good," Riddle steepled his fingers. His glasses had slipped down his nose, but he made no effort to push them back into place. "and right on the mark."
So it is a creature-based task. Fantastic.
"Have I earned my clue?" The sarcasm in his tone was a little too sharp, and an odd gleam came to Riddle's eyes, which quickly darted up and down his body.
"1296."
"Informative."
"Careful, I would almost think you were disrespectful with how flippant you are being with your attitude."
That was true. He had grown far too comfortable with Riddle over the weeks, that he had started to expect the man to be more lenient with him. That had to stop. Riddle might be willing to help him, but he was not an ally. Not until he proved himself.
"My apologies, sir." He dipped his head, accepting the chastisement.
Riddle, satisfied with his apology, waved it away. "I suggest you take a look at trials that occurred in Britain in the year 1296. They will lead you to what you wish to know."
Hadrian chewed on his lip. There would be hundreds of trials that occurred during that year alone, and that is if the records were correctly kept and maintained. Seven hundred years was a long time for things to go missing after all.
"Thank you, Professor. I will most certainly look into it."
"Come back to me when you have your answer. I would enjoy seeing your reaction."
And that did not bode well for him at all. Neither did the chilling smile the man graced him with as he slipped out of the classroom.
Two hours later, he sat down heavily in his room, scrubbing his hands through his hair and over his face. His mind still processing his conversation with Riddle.
There was a storm of ideas and suspicions and emotions raging inside him. Questions over Riddle's motivations, what he wanted and why. Anxiety over the unknown dangers he was going to face. And between those two warring things was a spring of tentative hope that maybe there was someone who could help him.
Hadrian sighed, drawing his eyes over the stack of books, scrolls and loose sheets of parchment in front of him. After their talk, he had all but pillaged the Hogwarts library for any and all information regarding 1296. The pile he had collected was not comforting – he had been right, there had been hundreds of trials – but if Riddle's clue helped at all, then skipping his afternoon classes would be worth it.
He was far enough ahead in them that missing one or two lessons would not hinder him. Besides, Madame Maxime would undoubtedly cover for him, since this was relevant to the tournament. And he knew his classmates would gather whatever homework they were assigned and pass it on to him.
He grabbed the closest book and readied his wand. This was a simple locator spell, to save one having to read through each page separately. It would make the word he was thinking of glow.
"Illuminet verbum creature." He tapped the front cover and waited for the tell-tale flash that signified the spell was complete. Flicking through the pages showed only a few instances of the word.
With a groan, he settled in.
OoO
It was almost midnight, and his breath fogged in the freezing air.
The figure rubbed his hands together to get some warmth, cursing the fact that he could not use a heating charm, lest he alert anyone to what he was doing.
He hovered just in the fringe of the Forbidden Forest, letting the ominous shadows of the trees hide him from view.
Everything had gone to shit, and he needed advice.
This was not supposed to happened. Harry was not supposed to be champion.
He plucked from his pocket, a smooth mirror and held it to his face.
"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."
He waited for the spell to work. In a matter of moments, a familiar face appeared before him. "Padfoot, are you secure?"
He huffed, "Of course, you think I'd be stupid enough to do this where someone could find me?"
His friend raised an eyebrow.
"Whatever Moony, we don't have time for this. Is he there?"
"No, he had to move to go attend to a matter at one of our other hideouts. Why, Sirius? What's happened?"
"You don't know? You haven't seen the Prophet?" Sirius frowned down at his friend.
"In case you forgot, we're not exactly in touch with society these days. Our news updates are always about three days slow."
"Ah, right." He cleared his throat, debating how to reveal the latest occurrence to Remus. "Well, there's no point drawing this out. You'll find out sooner or later."
"What happened?"
"He was nominated. Harry's the Beauxbatons champion."
"What!" Remus hissed, "What do you mean he's the champion! I thought you were there to make sure he couldn't be nominated!"
"I did!" Sirius protested. "I did the spell exactly as he told me to. I used that vial of Harry's blood. There's no way the goblet should have accepted any nomination from him. It would have been automatically considered void. I don't know what happened!"
Remus narrowed his eyes, a glint of amber visible in them. Unbidden, Sirius' eyes swung up to the sky. It was nearing the full moon.
"Something must have gone wrong with the spell, then. Maybe there wasn't enough blood, or the goblet just didn't let the magic affect it."
"Blood rituals are finicky at the best of times, trust me, I'd know. I did the spell correctly, but like you said, maybe the goblet just didn't take it? It is pretty ancient. Who knows what type of enchantments it has in place."
Remus hummed. "We can discuss that at a later time. It's not important. What is important is helping Harry. If he's champion, then he is in a lot of danger."
"I've been trying to snoop around and figure out what the first task is, but you know what politicians are like – bunch of close-mouthed bastards, the lot of them. I can't get anything out of them, other than the general consensus that it's something to do with a Dark creature."
"That narrows it down." Hearing that weary humour brought a short smile to his face.
"I'm keeping an ear out, but there's only so much I can do without someone getting suspicious. And I won't be of any help, to Harry or the Order if I'm captured."
"I know, Padfoot. I know."
They paused, thoughts spinning. And then.
"Sirius. What…What's he like?"
Sirius felt his throat tighten. "I've only spoken to him a few times, Moony. But he's…he's a good kid." He ran over all the small observations he had made about his godson in their brief encounters.
"Cocky, but from what I've heard, rightly so. He's been wiping the floor with all his classes left and right. Heard he was the top of Beauxbatons. He's pretty quick as well, from what I've seen, and he's got a mouth on him. Seems to think that just because he swears in French, no one understands him."
Sirius chuckled. Thinking of the few moments he had passed the other in the hallways, listening with his limited French skills, to hear some pretty inventive curses come from the squirt. It was almost amusing, especially because it mirrored Lily to a frightening degree.
"Got a good lot of friends. All of them look out for him, and I'm pretty sure most of them had a plan of action for if he was their champion. They are…scarily efficient when it comes to keeping people away from him. Especially those girls."
Just the thought of those two spunky firecrackers had him grinning. It was absolutely true. Harry's friends were one of a kind, and he hoped to high heaven that the kid knew that as well.
Sirius understood better than anyone, the value of friendship.
"Have you found out anything about – Lily?"
He snorted, thinking back to the article. "Most of Britain knows about his personal life thanks to that bloody Skeeter. His mother is very limited magic-wise apparently, and they made most of their money through selling potions. Not much about his pre-Beauxbatons life though. If he's one thing, it's smart. He only gave her enough information to appease the general questions."
"What else would you expect from her son?...Do you think she will come?"
And that was the question, was it not? Would Lily return to Britain to help her son through the tournament, or would she remain in France, where she was definitely safer.
Sirius liked to think she would let nothing stand between her and her child, but at the same time, he could hardly claim to know the woman anymore.
It had been so long since they had seen each other. So much had happened between then and now. They would have both changed.
He had wondered for so long why Lily had fled the country at all. Why had she not apparated to the nearest headquarters, where they could have helped her? They were questions he would likely never have the answers to. Not unless he had the chance to sit her down and ask her to her face.
"I honestly don't know Moony. The Lily we knew; she'd be here in a heartbeat. But…"
"Yeah."
The silence between them grew heavy.
"Whether she comes or not, Harry is our priority. We need to do whatever we can to make sure that he stays safe. Even without the tournament, he's in enough danger as it is. With You-Know-Who lurking around Hogwarts, I'm surprised that he hasn't been found out already."
"What do you mean?"
"Remus," Sirius levelled him with a stare. "he looks exactly like James. How the hell no one has picked up on it yet is beyond me."
"He does?" His friend sounded ridiculously pleased with that, but his words were tinged with longing. Sirius could understand that. It was so hard to stop himself from calling him 'James'. Only the knowledge that the result would be disastrous, for both of them, stayed his tongue.
"And well, it has been fifteen years Sirius."
I know. And I have felt every single second of those years.
OoO
Almost a week had passed. Even with the spell, it was extremely tedious to comb through each trial that had involved a creature throughout the entire year.
People back then were even more prejudice then they were now – if that was possible – and there were quite a lot of occasions when a magical creature had gotten caught in the crossfire. It, honestly, made him a little sick.
His classmates, recognising the signs, had grown distant from him. They knew that when he got like this, it was best to leave him be and not disturb him. The only people who dared to approach him anymore were Raina – who had to bodily drag him away from his research to force him to eat – and, surprisingly, Albert.
The other boy had not even asked to help, he had simply walked into Hadrian's room and begun searching through the books with him. It was nice, to have someone sitting with him, providing just a solid company without the inane chatter.
He was also useful to bounce ideas off of. It was nice to have someone new. Hadrian was already intimately familiar with how his closest friends' minds worked. Albert had always been on the fringes, meaning Hadrian had not had the chance to studying him as much; and that meant he had a fresh perspective on things.
A fact he exploited greatly.
It was good as well, because Albert provided him with the reminder to sleep. Too often, Hadrian had worked himself into such a state where he forewent sleep in an effort to reach his goal faster. It was a horrible trait that he had unfortunately cultivated over the years.
He always eventually returned to his normal sleeping patterns, but these restless times had the unfortunate side-effect of affecting his processing abilities.
Currently, he was functioning on a completely inadequate amount of sleep.
It was just so hard, to put his research down, when he felt that he was on the verge of something. Not even Claire or Raina could coax him away at this point.
There was an energy building in him, something that kept him going despite everything telling him to rest.
It was worth it though, when he finally came across the answer he had been looking for.
In 1296, a certain creature had attacked a wizard, mauling him beyond recognition. It only escaped trial because it was too dangerous to be captured.
Hadrian knew, he knew, that this was what Riddle had been talking about.
The thought of the professor sparked his memory of the man's request.
"Come back to me when you have your answer. I would enjoy seeing your reaction."
Hadrian snapped his book closed, startling Albert, who had been dozing next to him.
"'adrian?" The boy groaned, pushing himself up. "Where are you going?" Albert was rubbing his eyes.
Hadrian shushed him, "It's alright Albert, I have just got to go see one of the professors."
"It is almost two!"
"It will be fine." Hadrian shrugged on his blazer, flicking a sleeping charm over his shoulder, towards the other. He heard Albert slump against the bed as he let himself out of his room.
Blinking rapidly to keep himself awake, Hadrian made his way across the grounds and slipped into Hogwarts.
It was well passed curfew, but he paid no heed to the time. Riddle had asked to see him when he figured it out, and so to Riddle he was going.
He made his way to the defence classroom, knowing that Riddle's office was joined to the back of the room.
Hadrian scaled the steps tiredly, smirking when he saw there was still light coming from within the man's room.
He knocked on the office door, waiting patiently.
It took a few moments, but the door cracked open. Riddle blinked down at him, as if confused. Hadrian wasted no time in pushing passed the man and entering his office.
He looked around curiously, having never been inside here before.
"Mr. Evans. Is there a reason for your unscheduled visit?" Even though he asked, Hadrian could pick up on the anticipation there.
He spun to face the man.
"Yeah. I'm going to be fighting a manticore."