Well hello again everyone. So sorry about the random disappearance, things have been happening in my life relationship-wise, and horrid, gooey emotions have poisoned me. Forgive me. Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapters, I always appreciate the feedback!

Hadrian watched quietly through the window as the snowfall continued.

His elbow was beginning to ache from where it was perched on the sill, the added weight from his chin in his palm driving the joint into the corner; but he was oddly calm right now, and had little desire to emerge from his bubble.

It had felt like a lifetime since he had had a chance to just sit and relax.

From the moment he had found out about the tournament, he had been stressed or frantically thinking about something.

How to avoid being champion. How to beat the tasks. How to avoid notice from Voldemort. How to outmanoeuvre Riddle. How to keep his mother safe from the axe precariously swinging above her fragile neck.

It was one thing after another, with barely a chance to breathe.

And yet, right now, despite everything he still had to deal with – Skeeter, Riddle, the Order, his mother – he was nothing but content to watch the snow.

Next to him, Albert sat. The other boy was humming soothingly, reading through several letters as they waited for the sun to set.

Classes had finished almost an hour ago, and most of their schoolmates had joined them in returning to the warmth of the carriage.

Hadrian watched as a group of students – Hogwarts, from their black robes - started throwing snowballs at each other. He smiled lightly at their innocent faces.

He loved winter. He loved the cold. He loved the absolute blankness of the snow, wiping over everything.

He sighed longingly.

At Beauxbatons, it rarely snowed.

Despite being located in the Pyrenees, the wards encompassing the mountain-carved castle kept the academy and its surroundings pleasantly warm. They could look out and see the snowfall, but none of it crossed the barrier.

This was nice.

Hogwarts was stunning normally, blinding people with its unique brilliance. The way the sun glossed over the thousand glass windows and turned the aged stone a beautiful golden shade. It never failed to captivate his eyes and his breath.

But there was something positively magical about Hogwarts covered in snow.

He sighed again, wistfully.

Hadrian loved Beauxbatons. He loved it fiercely, and viewed it as more his home than their house could ever be. But Hogwarts was special to him too, and represented something he wanted yet could never have.

I could have gone here. He thought privately. This could have been mine.

There was the familiar sting of bitterness he always had at the thought of going to Hogwarts. Though it was far fainter than ever before.

He wondered if he was just beginning to not care anymore.

Albert stopped humming.

Hadrian blinked, and drew his eyes away from the gorgeous vision just outside to glance at his friend.

Albert stared at the letter in his hand, face unusually serious. It was unopen, and from his angle, Hadrian could not catch sight of the writing on the front.

He frowned, a little curious. "Something wrong?" He asked softly.

Albert looked at him, face swiftly changing into something vaguely troubled, before a slightly grim smile clawed at his lips. "A letter from my aunt." Was all he said.

Hadrian winced, hissing from between his teeth. "What does she want this time?" He asked, looking down at the letter in his friend's hand as if it would catch on fire.

Albert was always receiving random letters from his estranged aunt. Hadrian had never met the horrid woman, but Albert's muttered stories of her outdated beliefs and controlling attitude were more than enough to make him glad he had never done so.

His friend shrugged, tucking the unopened letter into his blazer's inner pocket. "I don't particularly care to find out. It is either a letter informing me of the latest progression in creature rights in the States, and her laments on how far MACUSA has fallen since the war; or something about you."

"Me?" Hadrian tilted his head in time to catch the bitter glint in his friend's eyes.

"She detests muggles. Thinks the complete worst of them, and only holds a marginal interest towards muggleborns. If they completely accept Wizarding traditions and forsake their other heritage she has no problem with them. If they do not…well," He spread his hands. "they are poisoning society and all that rot."

Hadrian shook his head, biting back a chuckle. "I must make her blood boil then."

"Oh, you do," Albert agreed. "she has nothing but praise for your accomplishments in the tournament so far, but your first interview with that British reporter must have pissed her off, with how you spoke so fondly of your muggle heritage."

Hadrian hid his grin in the palm of his hand.

"Last letter she told me to stay close to you due to your success, but to see if I could, hmm, gently show you the error of your views."

Hadrian's shoulders were shaking, and a hidden smile lurked at the edges of Albert's mouth.

"And if I could not, I must distance myself immediately, lest I get infected."

"Lovely." Hadrian quipped drily. "Better stay back, Al. I might poison you with my dirty blood. That is how philosophies are spread, after all. We can't be too careful."

Albert threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, no. Whatever will I do if you get a papercut? Promise to bleed in the opposite direction, for my sake?"

"Only for you." Hadrian assured him, lips curling into a genuine grin.

While bigots did honestly infuriate him, he often could not resist teasing them for their completely outdated and illogical stances on blood. Witches and wizards such as Albert's aunt were ridiculous, and Hadrian always felt exhausted after dealing with them.

He did get a dangerous amount of glee whenever his mere existence disproved their ideals though.

His green eyes drifting upwards over Albert's head when he saw a figure moving from the lounge room and down the hallway to the bedrooms.

Perfect.

"I'll see you in a bit." Hadrian told Albert, already standing up.

The dark skinned boy waved, watching him go, fingers absently tracing the outline of the letter in his pocket.

Hadrian slipped down the hallway after his target, clearing his mind of the voice – which sounded damningly like his mother – telling him that this was a bad idea.

He came to a stop in front of a familiar door and rapped quietly on the wood. He straightened his back as it opened.

Jacob blinked down at him from the gap, equal parts surprised and anxious. "Hadrian – what..?"

"Can we talk?" He asked, trying to ignore the sudden clenching of his stomach. It had been so long since he had even really looked at Jacob, let alone spoken to him.

It had only been around two months since he had cut ties with the other boy, but it felt like so much longer.

So much had happened in that time, Hadrian had barely had time to even really acknowledge how he felt about Jacob. The confrontation with Claire, Raina and Albert had made it clear that he could no longer ignore the problem, however.

"I-" Jacob closed his mouth, the skin around his lips tightening. "I shouldn't." He said, anger skimming along his words like electricity.

Hadrian felt his shoulders tense at the tone, his own rage – half-forgotten, yet quick in its resurgence – bubbled at the back of his throat. He dared Jacob to say anything with a glare; because Jacob might be hurt over their fight, but they both knew that Hadrian was the victim in this.

The anger drained out of Jacob's eyes, and he wordlessly opened the door more, backing up to let Hadrian enter.

Once he was over the threshold, Jacob gently clicked the door closed and marched back towards his bed.

Inevitably, Hadrian's eyes were drawn to the other side of the room. It looked incredibly bare without someone else staying here. He glanced away, because thinking such things only reminded him of the last time he had been in this room, and that only made him angrier.

He slipped his hands in his pockets and waited as Jacob turned to face him, arms across his chest.

"What did you want to talk about?" Jacob asked, stiffly.

Hadrian took a breath, cutting to the chase and blocking out his irritating emotions.

"I need a favour."

The shock that rippled over Jacob's face would have been amusing had the divide between them not been so gapping.

"…A favour?"

"Yes." He waited patiently.

Just as swiftly as it had disappeared, the anger crashed back over Jacob's features. "Seriously?" The other bit out.

"Over a month I have been avoiding you. I have respected your wishes. I have kept my distance, even as you have dangled your new best friend in my face, and I've not said a thing. And now you come and ask for a favour?"

Hadrian scowled, grappling with his own temper. "Firstly, we both know you have spoken about what happened. Raina, Claire and Albert confronted me about it. And secondly, yes, I'm asking for a favour because you owe me."

He stalked closer and jabbed a finger at the other.

"Snarl all you want over my audacity in asking this, but it does not and will not change the fact that it was your fault I am in this mess." He gave Jacob a small shove, hardly any force behind the move, just enough to sway the other backwards. "You put me in this tournament, any injuries I get are on your head. So when I come asking for a favour, you don't have any fucking right to refuse me."

Jacob looked away, jaw clenched and eyes frosty.

Hadrian watched the other boy intently, searching for any glint of fight.

"What do you need?" Jacob asked stiffly, body held taunt and head still turned away.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes, but took a small step back to give the other more space. He knew Jacob had backed down, but he still had to tread carefully lest he caused the other to lash out again.

"Information." He said, tone as steely as Jacob's. He ignored the dull throb in his chest at how far they had drifted that this was the only way they could talk anymore.

So many years of laughter and support and whispered late-night conversations, and this was the result.

He had always appreciated Jacob's worth, and was aware of how useful the other was. Both his name and his own skillset were quite influential.

And yes, those facts were primarily the reason Hadrian had even approached the other in the first place. His mother had certainly approved of him making connections with the heir of the Korin family.

But he had been young, and Jacob was more charming than he had anticipated, and somewhere along the way they had become friends.

"About what?"

He blinked the thoughts away. "Rita Skeeter."

A flicker of curiosity leaked through the harshness of Jacob's eyes. "The reporter? From the Daily Prophet? What would I possibly know about her?"

"It's more what you can find out, rather than what you already know."

Jacob's body lost some of its tension. "You intend to blackmail her?"

Hadrian did not know if he should be more insulted that that was the first thought Jacob had, or by the lack of surprise in the other's voice. Was him asking for something illegal really that normal? He had never really done for anything like this before.

Of course, he had used Jacob's webs for information on people. Certain Lords and Ladies of France's high society that he needed to have dirt on in the event they ever posed a problem for him.

But still.

"I need to keep a handle on her." Was all he gave in response.

"So blackmail?" Jacob asked, almost snidely.

"Look, can you do it or not?" He snapped, patience frayed. His meeting with Skeeter had rattled him, and he knew that leaving the tenacious woman alone for any period of time was asking pain and destruction. He needed something to keep her under his thumb before she ruined everything.

Jacob's shoulders twitched, and his expression flattened. "Give me a couple days. I should have something by then."

Hadrian nodded, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, vainly trying to ward off his impending headache.

"What did she do to warrant this?"

He peeked up at the question, frowning lightly. "What?"

Jacob tilted his head forward, "Skeeter. She must have done something to have you this worked up." There was a flash of what might have been guilt, but just as easily could have been pain, over Jacob's face. "Or to have you come to me."

Hadrian sighed again, biting his lip as he contemplated what he should say.

"She…is a wildcard. And recent events have told me it would be better to have some more control over what she published about me."

The breath Jacob released was piercing in the quiet. When Hadrian looked to him, the expression Jacob was aiming at him was somehow both fond and annoyed.

"I miss this." The other admitted softly, and the whimsical note of his voice caught Hadrian off-guard. "I miss listening to your scheming and watching you hatch plans and theories." Jacob looked down. "I know I made a mistake, and I know that what I did to you was unforgiveable. I honestly don't even know what I was thinking."

Jacob scoffed, the derision aimed nowhere but himself. "Something stupid, no doubt. But whatever it was, it wasn't worth losing your trust." Vulnerability shone through Jacob's eyes. "I am not asking for forgiveness, Hadrian. I just want you to know how much I regret what I did, and how, when you got injured…" Jacob broke off, swallowing.

"All I could think when it hit you, was this is all your fault you stupid boy, you did this to him, he's dead because of you, and I wanted nothing more than to take back everything. It doesn't excuse my actions, but…" He made a helpless gesture with his hands.

Hadrian, despite the anger stilling burning in his chest, felt the smallest edge of affection creep into him. He would not forgive Jacob – could not, for now – but they had been friends for a long time, and a part of him would always hold some measure of feelings for him.

"I cannot accept your apology," he said plainly, and Jacob nodded lowly. "not yet, at least."

Horrible hope blossomed in Jacob, and Hadrian held up his hand to forestall it. "Possibly not ever." He clarified.

"I do not know what will happen, Jacob. You hurt me. A lot. And I am not one to forget things like that. But I said it to the others, and I will say it to you. I don't want my opinions to influence how our friends and classmates treat you."

He had not been blind to the way Jacob had seemingly slipped into obscurity amongst their classmates. While many of them had not been privy to the argument between the two of them, the fact that something serious had occurred had affected them.

One would have to be an idiot to not see that Hadrian had been furious with Jacob, and like the children they were – sons and daughters of politicians they may be, they were all still young – their classmates had begun to subtly shift their attitude towards Jacob.

Hadrian was the champion of their school, and on good terms with nearly every student. Those two factors had secured him their unwanted support almost immediately. No matter how loved Jacob was, he had still suffered from the quiet judgement of their peers.

That had never been Hadrian's intention – even if some dark part of him had rumbled in satisfaction at seeing the other boy brought low. So he would try to rectify the situation.

"We won't be friends, but I can play nice. You are welcome to have breakfast with me tomorrow."

Jacob blinked in bewilderment, and Hadrian gave him a slight, grim smile. "Besides, it's not me you have to bother with. The others are quite pissed at you, and will not make anything easy for you."

Jacob grimaced, understanding exactly what lay ahead of him. Raina, especially, would been vicious with him.

The thought of the dark haired girl brought something else to mind, and suddenly Hadrian was hit with a wonderful idea.

"There is one thing you could do." He began, unable to keep his voice from going sly. "Claire."

Jacob cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "What about her?"

Hadrian rolled his eyes, moving to leave the room. "Ask her to the ball you twit."

He might have mixed feelings about Jacob, but he was willing to put his own misgivings aside for the benefits.

One of those benefits being the blinding grin on Claire's face as she hugged him the next morning and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

The second, would be the slip of paper Jacob handed him three days after, containing a very interesting fact about the lovely Rita Skeeter.

OoO

Hadrian sat in his mother's lounge room, staring up at the ceiling with a small, pleased grin on his face.

In his pocket, the folded piece of parchment rested.

Just the thought of it had his chest warming, because he had her.

There was no way Skeeter could threaten him, not when all it would take is an anonymous tip that there was a non-registered Animagus skittering around Hogwarts, and she would be gone.

Hadrian was well-versed in the laws about Animagi, having studied it intently for himself. In France, the offence for not registering was a hefty fine and a nice vacation with the aurors.

In Britain, well. Before Voldemort's reign, it was a short trip to Azkaban. Now, the stay in Azkaban had been lengthened to an almost ridiculous period.

Though Hadrian could understand the dangers of being unregistered. There was no telling what someone with those skills could do, depending on their animal transformation.

He did not care particularly what would happen. All he needed to know was that Skeeter was playing with fire, and if she wished to keep her perfectly manicured talons free of burns, she would do what he said.

He hummed in contentment.

"Sweetheart?"

He opened his eyes and turned to look at his mother. She was dressed nicely, and looked lovely. He told her so, and she gave him an indulging smile.

"Thank you, but what are you doing here?"

Hadrian shrugged, utterly relaxed. "I am getting stressed being surrounded by all the preparation for the ball, measuring for suits an such," he waved his hand vaguely, "and merely wanted to get away. Your rooms are thankfully free of bothersome people."

Lily approached him and gently began carding her fingers through his hair. The touch so absentminded and instinctive that Hadrian hardly batted an eye. He merely enjoyed the sensation of her nails running over his head.

"I'm heading out soon, though." She told him.

Hadrian looked up at her beseechingly. "Please maman." He said, voice edging on whining.

She raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

"I just want to relax for a bit. I'll be gone before you get back."

Lily sighed, but she nodded reluctantly at his request.

"Fine, just don't go into my room, please."

Hadrian smiled up at her, closing his eyes as she bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Have fun with…Mr. Abernathy." He told her, lips stretching a little wider to cover his discomfort at his mother's chosen company.

Lily smiled at him, giving a short wave as she closed the door behind her.

Hadrian stared at the wooden door for long minutes, waiting to see if she was coming back. When almost five minutes had trickled away, and the handle had not so much as twitched, he sprang upwards.

With a flick of his wrist, the lock clicked into place, and ensured he would at least have some warning before she came back.

"Now," he said to himself, "if I were Riddle, were would I put a listening device?"

Luckily, Hadrian had experience dealing with the man and his quick mind.

He headed for the bedroom, ignoring the small flicker of discomfort he got from disobeying his mother so blatantly.

Riddle would not have entered her rooms, the wards his mother had placed over the area would have alerted her otherwise. And seeing as the man had only had two – that he knew of – encounters with his mother, it greatly limited the number of anchors he could have used for his spell.

The safest bet would be a piece of clothing, or jewellery that she had been wearing the day he confronted her. It would have been child's play for a man of Riddle's talent and power to set up a rudimentary listening charm, and do it without his mother noticing.

Hadrian slipped into his mother's bedroom, eyes methodically skimming over the entirety of the room.

He licked his bottom lip and headed for the wardrobe. The spacious walk-in lightened as he entered, easily illuminating everything in front of him.

Hadrian rubbed his chin in thought, scanning through the items of clothing on display.

He honestly felt quite weird right now. Rooting through his mother's personal clothes was not by any means a pastime of his, and he was invading her privacy spectacularly right now.

But still, he had to find and get rid of the listening charm Riddle had tagged her with. That was of the utmost importance.

She had no idea what she was dealing with, and while Hadrian would like nothing more than to grab her and tell her everything, he was too cautious to risk Riddle's wrath.

With that, Hadrian reached out and let his fingers brush over the first shirt he touched.

He frowned, wandlessly casting a detection spell and waiting for the faint tingle in his fingers that would signal his success.

He repeated the process with several more items before he paused.

This doesn't make sense though. He would not bother tagging a shirt or pants – not something she would only wear once or twice a week. He would want something she would use regularly. Which means…

Hadrian's head swivelled until he was looking out of the wardrobe and to the cloak draped over the foot of his mother's bed.

That's it.

He picked up the finely made cloak and cast the detection spell again, releasing a savage grin when he got the confirmation.

I win this round. He thought in satisfaction, as his magic rose to begin ripping the listening charm to shreds.

Only once he was certain the spell was gone – and that there were no more, nasty surprises lingering on the fabric – did he begin to lower it.

As he did, something caught his eye.

Hadrian frowned at the mess his mother's desk was. She was always such a meticulous person, seeing her work station in such disarray was disquieting.

Cloak still in hand, he approached the desk.

It was even worse up close, and Hadrian wrinkled his nose in confusion. It did not make sense to him, that his mother would ever allow her space to become so cluttered.

He thoughtlessly reached to bundle a few pieces of paper together, when he stopped. His heart gave a dull thump when an envelope was revealed.

The thick parchment, at first glance, was one of many. It was simply addressed, with Amelia Evans written in smooth cursive. But the longer his eyes stayed on the parchment, the more his senses screamed at him that it was more.

Never one to ignore his instincts, Hadrian's fingers zoned in on the envelope and touched the surface.

The moment his skin came into contact, there was an almost unnoticeable buzz in the air. Hadrian watched with wide eyes, as the green writing of Amelia Evans, rippled and became Lily.

His breath lodged itself in his throat, and Hadrian choked.

He ripped his hand away, and stared as the writing reversed itself.

Hadrian took half a step backwards, mind roaring with dozens upon dozens of thoughts.

Why does it have her name? Who is it from? Why does she have it? Why did it react to me? Why does it have her name?

Hadrian drew in another breath, concentrating on making this one go correctly. He exhaled, dropping his gaze back to the letter in question.

It was open, which could only mean that his mother had already read what was inside.

His hand began to inch towards it, only to hesitate.

Was this really any of his business? This was his mother's mail. Hadrian had never been so disrespectful as to go through it before. He trusted his mother to let him know if anything important came up.

On the other hand…it had her name. It was clearly supposed to be a secret, if the concealment spell was any indication. Which meant they had been compromised. Someone, somewhere, knew who they were and was trying to reach them.

Hadrian had a right to know who, and why, and what. This was serious. This was dangerous. He had a right to know.

He did.

Hadrian plucked the letter up before he could begin to question himself, and pulled the letter free of its confines.

My dearest Lily –

He closed his eyes, throat suddenly dry. He pushed through the strange emotion in his heart – fear? Concern? He could not quite name it – and started again.

My dearest Lily,

It warms my heart to finally have news of your survival after all these long years. When you disappeared, we were so fearful of what had become of you, and of young Harry. To know you escaped Voldemort's clutches is a great relief to myself, and the rest of the Order.

Hadrian lowered the letter, eyes unseeing. "The Order?" He whispered, voice raw. "But this is…"

These years have been hard on all of us, and our losses are incalculable. So many innocent people, torn and ravaged by the acts of one man. But regardless, we still stand tall and strong in the face of his hatred.

Please, my dear girl, let us once again join forces against our greater enemy. Both you and young Harry are invaluable to us, and I know that this is the moment we have been praying for. Your return could very well turn the tide of this war.

You have done so well, Lily. But together we can defeat Voldemort.

I implore you, consider my offer, and let us know of your decision. Should you agree, time is of the essence, and seeing you this coming Christmas holiday would be the greatest gift.

- Albus.

After a long moment, Hadrian mindlessly refolded the letter and slipped it once again into the open envelope. His mind was quiet, even as he took a seat on the edge of his mother's bed and stared blankly at the wall.

He…

He did not understand.

His mother and the Order – Albus Dumbledore, it was Albus Dumbledore – were communicating. Had been communicating. This letter was proof.

The Order knew that they were back. They were trying to meet with them. They were sending letters to them.

No. Not them.

They were sending letters to his mother. They were trying to meet with her.

Hadrian suddenly had trouble breathing. He hunched forward, one hand coming up to clutch at his shirt, crinkling the white fabric in his trembling grip. Each inhale was too quick, half-finished in his throat; his chest jerking each time he tried to breathe again.

She had not told him.

She had not told him.

She had been speaking, organising, planning. All of it, behind his back. And not once – not once – had she designed to tell him.

It was still in the early stages, nothing was concrete. But she had not told him.

Hadrian closed his eyes tightly, trying to get his lungs working while battling with the sudden and sharp hurt in his chest.

His mother had been lying to him. She had been deceiving him with this. She should have told him the moment the Order contacted her.

But she had not.

And sure, Hadrian was keeping secrets of his own. But that was different. Riddle was threatening to kill his mother if Hadrian told anyone. The Order had hardly forbidden Lily from speaking with him about this.

And his mother hated the Order of the Phoenix. He could still recall her voice, soft yet harsh as she whispered names and ranks in his ear, in lieu of lullabies. He knew all of the original members of the Order, knew their strengths and weaknesses. She had taught him all he needed to know.

She had told them they could not be trusted. That the Order was filled with traitors, that they were the reason his father had been killed.

He had listened to it all. Where she hated, Hadrian loathed. He did not trust the Order, because that was what he had known growing up.

And now she was…consorting with them.

Dimly, he heard the rattle of the doorknob, the muffled voices in the other room. He heard footsteps – two sets – approaching the bedroom.

He remained where he was when the door swung open, and the two abruptly stopped talking.

An icy sense of calm washed over him. Whatever had been clogging his throat vanished, and his next breath was crisp and clear.

Hadrian raised his head and stared hard at his mother. His eyes locked with hers.

He could see the second she understood what had happened. How her gaze drifted from him, to her cloak, to the letter held loosely between his pointer finger and thumb.

She looked angry. Angry and disappointed.

"Hadrian -"

"Care to explain?" He asked, voice unwavering, tone casual. He lifted the letter for emphasis. "Well, mère?" He hardly ever addressed her so formally.

Lily's face tightened, and by her shoulder, Abernathy looked distinctly uneasy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hadrian knew this was not a conversation to be had in front of the man. But at the same time, all he could process was the easy familiarity between the two of them. How quickly his mother formed a bond with the man.

He had a feeling Abernathy was more involved in this business then he let on. The fact that his mother made no move to evict the man confirmed his theory.

"Hadrian -"

"I find it funny," he carried on when she tried to speak. Because he knew that tone, was well acquainted with the authoritative ring of it. She was trying to shut him down. "that after everything you have told me, every reassurance of 'just you and me, Hadrian', you do this."

He dropped the letter so that it landed on the carpeted floor, just before half-way. "How long?" He asked.

Neither made a move to answer him. His lips tightened as the beginnings of his rage bubbled forth. "How long have you been contacting the Order?" He demanded.

Lily scowled at him, disapproval in every inch of her face.

It was hard not to flinch away from that visage, but he was so mad.

"Well?"

"Harry."

Abernathy took a step forward, and hearing his true name uttered so gently, so achingly soft from this stranger's mouth snapped his last reserve.

The pillows on his mother's bed exploded, raining feathers down on them.

Abernathy halted his tentative approach at the sudden assault of fluffy white pieces. His hands hovered listlessly in the air.

Hadrian zeroed in on the man, because he could not bear to look at his mother right now.

"Which one are you then?" He asked, "Which one?" He prowled towards the man, eyes bright and hands trembling with the urge to just blast something.

"Diggle? Dearborn? Fletcher?"

Abernathy faltered at the rapidly listed names, clearly not having expected Hadrian to actually know.

"N-no. None of them."

"Which one then? I know Arnold Abernathy is a lie. Are you new, then?" He laughed caustically, "Recruitment must be a bitch for you people. You tend to lose members faster then you can gain them."

Anger and pain crawled over Abernathy's features, which was good. He was reacting. Hadrian wanted a fight right now. Anything to get rid of the itch under his skin.

"Hadrian, that's enough!"

His mother's voice cracked like a whip, and despite everything screaming otherwise – Hadrian stopped. He shook in his place, jaw clenched so hard his teeth throbbed. The rush of blood in his ears was deafening.

But he made no move to continue.

Abernathy's shoulders dropped in obvious relief. There was still a touch of concerned-awe in the man's eyes as he gazed at Hadrian's frozen form.

Somewhere off to the side, Lily sighed.

From the corner of his eye, Hadrian registered her hair bleeding back to red as she removed her disguise.

"Enough, okay?" She stepped closer, but she made no move to touch him. Which was good, because Hadrian had no idea what he would do if she actually tried. The uncertainty was both electrifying and terrifying.

"Let's discuss this like adults." She continued, eyes scanning Hadrian critically, before addressing Abernathy. "Drop your glamour." She ordered.

Hadrian kept his eyes fixated on Abernathy, a snarl barely contained when the man's wand rose and cancelled the spell.

He watched as midnight dark hair appeared, skin paled, and features sharpened into something markedly pureblood. Eyes as grey as storm clouds peered back at him.

The man in front of him was familiar, the sight of him tickling the back of his mind with violent intent.

He knew this man. He was sure of it.

The man grinned at him, faltering and so horribly sad. Faded laugh-lines, covered by much more weary, tired ones, came to the surface.

"Hey kid," he greeted, voice stilted but still incredibly warm and kind. "you probably don't remember me."

Hadrian made no acknowledgement of his words, too busy trying to place where he had seen this man before.

He was young, underneath the creases formed from years of hardship. Close to his mother's age.

"I…" The man glanced at Lily, expression briefly morphing into something helpless. "I'm an old friend of your mum's. And James. We – well, we went to school together."

Hadrian remembered the man's slip during their first meeting. James. His father's nickname…it had been –

"Sirius Black."

It had to be. His mother's age. Close friends with both of them. His obvious affection towards Hadrian from the moment they had met. His parents had many friends, but it made sense that only one of their best would be placed so far into enemy lines to establish contact with them.

All that, coupled with the man's clearly pureblood features. The famous Black looks. Even so far in France, the Black family was notorious for their beauty.

Sirius' face brightened a little when Hadrian said his name.

"That's right."

The man took a step closer to him, hands raised as if asking a question. Hadrian stared at them blankly.

When he made no move to back away, Sirius took that as permission to come closer. Hadrian's whole body pulled taunt when those firm arms wrapped around him and slowly guided him into a broad chest.

He stood stiffly, arms pinned to his side, as Sirius hugged him gently – as if he were something precious.

This was his godfather, he realised numbly.

Hadrian had never met one of his parent's friends before, much less one that featured as prominently in his mother's tales as Sirius did.

The way Sirius held him, the faint tremors Hadrian could feel running through the man's larger body, the almost inaudible breath hitches in his ear.

Hadrian blinked, and was surprised at how much his eyes burned.

He was no stranger to hugs. His mother hugged him all the time. His friends and he were never shy with their affections either. Hadrian had received many, many hugs in his life.

But there was something about this one in particular that had his throat working and his eyes watering.

And the plot thickens! I'm actually quite surprised at how well my plot has fallen together tbh. So many things I set up donkey's years ago are now moving, and the future events are all tying together nicely in my mind that I'm shocked at my own planning :')

So, Harry and Jacob are in a semi-okay place, but only so Hadrian can use Jacob. It's kinda the best of both worlds for those divided on the Jacob-front. He's back in the group, but he and Hadrian ain't gonna be buddy-buddy aannyy time soon.

And things are moving on the Order front, with Dumbledore contacting Lily. Hadrian's stumbled onto it, and now Sirius and him are going to actually have a relationship of sorts! I'm legit so excited guys. I have soooooooo much planned and I'm practically frothing at the mouth that it's all finally rolling!