I wrote this frantically in two days - I'm happy with it but I'm so sorry if it comes across as rushed omg. Thank you all for your lovely comments last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one as well!

Sirius felt numb.

Next to him, Lily was silent.

They had not really spoken since that night, since they had retreated to the Order for advice and to regroup and plan their next move with Hadrian in the wind. They had not spoken to each other in the following days, either. Sirius, too hot with anger and brimming with disappointment, and Lily churning with guilt and a misguided sense of righteousness.

They had, at Dumbledore's suggestion, come to watch the second task – not that Sirius would have missed it. Even if Lily was still coming to terms with her mistakes, Sirius did not want Hadrian to spend one more minute than necessary thinking that every adult in his life wanted something from him. With or without Lily, Sirius had fully intended to track Hadrian down after the task and try and speak to him, to see if he might do something to fix the heartbreak he had seen etched across his young face when he had run from the hotel.

Seeing the boy emerge from the tent, standing tall and looking remarkably at ease, had let him breathe a little easier. He had been so worried, after he had vanished, that Hadrian would not be in the best frame of mind. He had feared…but his fear was unfounded. Hadrian was stronger than any of them gave him credit for, and Sirius wondered when he was finally going to let that fact solidify in his mind.

Hadrian was not a child, he was not weak or broken. He was more resilient than people twice his age were, and Sirius was both so grateful and so sad that that was the case.

He had watched, proud and terrified as his godson had worked his way through the task, had almost had his hand crushed by Lily when Hadrian had been attacked by the redcaps, and had nearly crushed hers in return when the Durmstrang champion had come out of nowhere and left Hadrian abandoned without his wand.

Lily had not seemed overly concerned, and Sirius had been disturbed by her lack of anything ,when the Hogwarts champion – Malfoy's spawn – had suddenly come face-to-face with a bloody werewolf.

He had almost risen with the crowd, watching the boy be bowled over – because while he hated the Death Eaters, that was still a kid being savaged, still Narcissa's boy crying out in pain – and the relief was double at seeing Hadrian come to his rescue. His legs turned to lead in the following minutes, his heart in his throat and fingers growing purple from Lily's grip, staring helplessly as Hadrian faced down a feral werewolf.

Sirius would never forget the sound of Hadrian's scream.

It had been over an hour since then, the students had been escorted back to the castle, the Beauxbatons' one in particular putting up an impressive fight – but they had cleared off under the sharp instructions of their headmistress.

Now, Sirius sat with Lily, a little way off from the healers' tent, waiting for there to be word on Hadrian's state.

Lily was stiff and pale beside him, her green eyes distracted and dull, charmed hair hanging loose around her face. Sirius watched her from the corner of his eyes, only occasionally glancing away whenever someone hurried passed them. No one seemed to be paying them any mind, and he was glad for it.

"Lily," he tried, voice low and careful, "Lily, are you alright?"

Her head turned to him mechanically, eyes not quite focussing on his face. She did not reply, and Sirius tried to summon the energy to smile. "I'm sure he'll be fine. He's a tough kid, and he's with the best healers in the country right now. He'll bounce back."

Lily blinked, finally seeing him, and after a long moment her expression shifted, her mask crumbling. "What if he doesn't?" She whispered, "What if he doesn't, and I never get to speak to him again? What if that night is his last memory of me?"

Sirius sighed, reaching out and pulling her into a loose hug. Lily slumped against him; her head buried in his neck. "It won't be, Lils. Hadrian is strong, he'll be back on his feet in no time. And once he is, you two can talk and start to sort out all your issues."

Lily's fingers curled deeper into Sirius' shirt. "I…I need to apologise to him," she murmured, sounding dazed. "I shouldn't have hit him. I didn't mean to make him run. I just wanted him to stop talking."

Sirius closed his eyes, mouth tightening. "You need to apologise for all of it, Lily," he told her, gentle yet firm. "He needs you to apologise for everything, all the lies and manipulation, all the pain and guilt. It's the least he deserves."

She went quiet, still, and Sirius braced himself for anything. An argument. Tears. Hatred.

But she only settled against him more. "I – I will." She said, her voice heavy with shame. "I will, Sirius. I don't want to lose him. I didn't mean to push him away. And I don't want him running to Voldemort, either. I want him back."

It did not mean much, Sirius knew. Until he saw Lily actually try to uphold her words, then he would never fully believe them. And most of him still thought that this entire situation was solely her fault – could not help but think this a twisted form of justice.

This was the first time he had heard her say anything along these lines, of her considering that she was in the wrong. This past week must have been eye-opening for her. The realisation that she could very well lose her son must have shaken her, and the longer Hadrian went without returning had driven her to retreat into herself.

And now this, Hadrian laying, potentially fighting for his life, and Lily must have finally understood.

Sirius just hoped that they could still salvage this. That they had not lost Hadrian completely.

Though a part of him would not blame the boy if they had.

OoO

Simone was on a warpath.

Her boots clipped against the stone floor as she made her way through the hallways. Her eyes were burning with rage, and everyone standing in her way threw themselves aside as she stormed passed.

Her aide, William, hurried alongside her, hovering half a pace behind her as they came towards the office the other ministers had claimed.

She had only just come from the grounds, after arguing with a healer's assistant for twenty minutes, trying to glean any information she could on Hadrian's wellbeing. Now, having confirmation that he was stable for the moment, she had turned her sights on her next target.

She came up to the right door, not even pausing as she used her wand to fling it open. The door cracked against the wall, the noise startling everyone in the room.

They all looked up as Simone entered, and she saw the brief flashes of discomfort in their eyes as she stood in the doorway, radiating anger.

Good, she thought viciously.

She marched forward, headed for the desk that Malfoy was sat behind. "Werewolves?" She hissed, slapping her hands down on the surface and leaning forward, thrusting her face into the British Minister's. "Werewolves, Malfoy? What the hell kind of tournament are you holding here? It was not enough that you botched the first task with faulty equipment – now you are letting feral creatures run around your school's grounds? What the fuck happened to your safety measures?"

Malfoy stared at her blankly, and the lack of response – positive or negative – made her snarl. She lashed out, her hand shoving a pile of books, scrolls and stationery off the desk with a clatter.

"Calm yourself, Minister Lécuyer." Oscar Nyberg, the Scandinavian Minister, said scornfully, and Simone's lips peeled back to show her teeth. She twisted to face the stout man.

"You do not get to speak, Nyberg," she spat, "not after your champion's behaviour during the task. She should consider herself fortunate that I have more important things to worry about right now then her."

Nyberg puffed up defensively, wide mouth pursing. "Her actions in the forest were perfectly within the rules, Lécuyer. As you well know. She is part of a contest, conflict between participants is expected. Galiana is not at fault here."

"No," Simone agreed, her voice turning honey-sweet and fierce, and Nyberg and his assistant shifted uneasily. "Your champion's selfish, childish actions merely led to my champion having to fight off a werewolf without his wand." Simone stalked forward a pace, staring Nyberg down. "She went out of her way to attack Hadrian, and in doing so –"

"Galiana had no way of knowing –"

Simone cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand, not willing to give him an inch. "Do not try that with me, Nyberg. Kaiser's actions were driven by pettiness and jealously. Your pathetic attempts to cite her lack of knowledge does not undo the fact that she directly contributed to what could have been the loss of two champions in a task where such confrontations were completely unnecessary."

Nyberg's face turned red with anger. "That is a ridiculous claim!" He blustered, "And it's not like it mattered anyway. What kind of academy do you even have over there? A boy his age should not be able to harness wandless magic, not to that degree!"

Simone raised her eyebrow, her initial anger cooling rapidly into an icy front. "Are you honestly trying to argue against Hadrian's prowess, when he successfully fought off a werewolf and managed to save not only his own life, but the life of another champion? What does it matter where or how he learned those skills? That has no bearing on this conversation. Kaiser had no way of knowing Hadrian could utilise wandless magic, yet she stole his wand and left him in a life-threatening situation out of cruelty and prejudices. If he were not as proficient without his wand, he would be dead, and so would the other boy."

Simone paused to regain her breath.

The revelation of Hadrian's talent had been a surprising one. Simone had known of the rumours for a while now, had read the reports and praises from the boy's teachers – it had been the reason she had even sought Hadrian out in the first place – but she had never expected that his abilities might be at such a level already.

Wandless magic took years of training to hone. Nyberg might be a distasteful politician, but he had posed a good question, one that Simone fully intended to investigate privately. A seventeen-year-old should not have that much control over wandless magic.

But that would come later. For now, she would back her champion.

Nyberg grew flushed at her rebuttal, struggling to regain the ground she had ripped out from under him. Simone smiled thinly at his efforts, tilting her chin up. "Instead of standing there and trying to degrade my champion after his commendable, downright heroic, actions tonight, perhaps you should go and collect Hadrian's wand from Kaiser. I am sure he would be most glad to have it back in his possession."

The man spluttered, "She won that match fairly –"

"And yet somehow, I think the wand will feel differently." She interjected smoothly, her tone biting and victorious. "It would not be so easily swayed. French wands tend to have standards." She punctuated the last word with relish, enjoying his ineffective attempts to speak. "Go, Minister, I am not in the mood to pander to your fragile male ego right now. I will take the return of Hadrian's wand as a gesture of good faith from the girl, to make up for her deplorable behaviour."

"'Good faith'?" Nyberg snapped, shoulders rising at the condescending words, but he stopped when Simone pierced him with a dark look.

"Go." She ordered, and after a long, silent moment, the man fixed his attire with a huff of irritation.

He turned on his heel and went for the door. Simone flicked her gaze to William, who had been waiting patiently behind her. He was the only aide she had found in years that did not flinch when she looked at him.

"Accompany the minister," she said, "make sure nothing happens."

Nyberg sneered in offence, "I would not sabotage a wizard's wand," he snapped.

"I would never suggest it, Minister," Simone replied, still gesturing for William to follow the man. "Merely imply. Bring the wand to me once you have it, William."

William nodded, dashing after Nyberg and closing the door shut behind them.

The air in the office grew heavy with tension immediately. Simone took a steadying breath, then pivoted to stare at Malfoy. The man was still in his chair, looking unruffled despite everything that had happened. "Now, Malfoy," she began, "I want you to explain to me exactly how Hadrian has, once again, landed himself in the hospital wing during your tournament. I want you to tell me how a feral werewolf managed to claw through your wards and maul my champion."

She clenched her fists, pushing down her urge to hiss in warning. "I would like to know why he is currently under heavy sedation, because of a situation that should have never happened. And your answer had better be adequate, or you can forget about having an amicable relationship with France after this. Hadrian is my champion –"

"And Draco is my son." Malfoy said, voice hoarse and cracking, the only show of weakness he allowed himself.

The words drew her short.

Simone stepped back, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she tried to gain a hold over her warring emotions. In her haste, in her anger and the dire need for retribution – for Hadrian, so small and pale and covered in blood as he was carried into the healers tent, his back a mess – she had forgotten that she was not the only one that had the right to be angry.

Hadrian was Beauxbatons' champion, yes, and Simone had a vested interest in his survival, had plans surrounding the boy that she desperately hoped he would agree to. But Hadrian was not her son. He was not her heir. He was not her flesh and blood. She had not been there when he was born, had not raised him and carried him and soothed him over the years.

If the boys died from this, she would lose a valuable resource. Malfoy would lose a child.

Simone sighed, slow and deep and tired. Her shoulders bowed and her back curved. She opened her eyes and stared at him; gaze less heated, more exhausted.

She lowered herself into the seat beside her and pressed her palm to her forehead. "What is going on here, Lucius?" She asked finally, glancing up at him. "Why are so many things going wrong? There were always going to be complications with the tournament, but this is…First the manticore breaking free and almost killing Hadrian, and now a werewolf getting through the wards and going after your son." Simone rubbed at her brow, feeling the familiar dry patch at the back of her throat and the growing ache in her lungs.

"What the hell is happening?"

Malfoy looked back at her, before blinking and moving his gaze to the window. The sky was still dark, but the moon was high and almost taunting with its soft glow.

"I don't know, Simone. I honestly don't know."

His hands tightened over the necklace he was holding, and Simone made an inquiring noise. "What is that?"

The skin around Malfoy's eyes creased as he stared down at the pendant. "The portkey Draco had on him. We found it almost clear across the clearing they were in. I kept wondering why he wasn't, why he didn't try…but he couldn't. If your boy hadn't stepped in…" Malfoy cleared his throat, looking away and pressing his lips into a tight line.

Simone hummed, watching the weary man. "Hadrian had his on him," she confessed, "but not once did he go for it. Perhaps if he were alone…but he was not. Using it would mean leaving your son, and I do not believe that thought ever entered his mind."

Malfoy's next breath was hitched, punching out of him. He rubbed at his eyes, in that moment looking decades older than forty-four. Simone sat in silence with him, giving him the chance to regain his composure.

She could be patient, for this.

OoO

"You are a fucking moron," Adalard hissed, watching from the porthole as the minister spoke frantically with the headmaster just on the shoreline. There was a sharpness to their movements, their hands jabbing the air around them. The only one seemingly unconcerned was the third man – the French Minister's aide, if he remembered correctly – and his presence, with Nyberg, did not bode well.

Behind him, Galiana scoffed, though it was soft and not as abrasive as her arguments earlier. Perhaps she was finally beginning to realise just what a mess she had helped create. "It is a tournament, Adalard, we are enemies. It is hardly my fault that Evans decided to jump between a werewolf and Malfoy."

Or perhaps not.

"Are you truly that blind?" He snarled, startling her with his volume. The others in the room were studiously ignoring them, knowing better than to draw his ire. "Do you not understand what you have done? To us? To your own reputation? You hunted down a fellow competitor purely to fight him, and then took his wand and deserted him. That alone was bad; but then he went out of his way to rescue 'the enemy' and got grievously injured doing it!"

He walked forward, getting into Galiana's face and sneering. "Not only do you look like a bitch in the eyes of the world; you look like a spiteful, cowardly child compared to Evans. You have dragged Durmstrang's standing down with you."

Galiana flushed a deep red, "There were no rules stating I could not fight Evans." She said, and Adalard had never felt more frustrated than in the wake of those words.

"Because it should not have been necessary to spell it out!" He shouted, throwing his arms out wide. "This tournament is supposed to be friendly, you fool! We are supposed to be making allies – not pissing off a whole fucking country! Do you think France is just going to sit back and let you get away with this? Do you think Beauxbatons will? Or what about Evans? You just put yourself at the top of his list. Did you even think any of this through?"

Galiana did not respond, her eyes fixed on the wall behind his shoulder. Her jaw was clenched stubbornly, not a hint of apology to be seen. Adalard wanted to shake her. He spun away from her in disgust, hands covering his face.

"You are just mad that your pet project is hurt." Galiana hissed, and Adalard snapped around to face her again.

"Of course I am mad that you went after Evans," he said slowly, holding back the urge to scream at her. "Anyone with eyes and half a brain can see that he is going to be a significant player in France in the future. Unlike you, I have actually been doing what is expected of me. I would much rather be considered an ally by him, than an enemy. If you have undone all my work to get him to like me, then you will not survive the trip home because I will kill you."

The silence after his declaration was thick and heated. Galiana stared at him, betrayed and bitter, but Adalard was firm in this.

There was a knock at the door, before it was opened and the headmaster entered, followed closely by Minister Nyberg and the French wizard. Adalard twisted away, crossing his arms and leaving Galiana to their judgement.

"Mademoiselle Kaiser," the French aide greeted, stepping forward calmly. It was a rather bold move, doing so without allowing the minister or headmaster to speak first, borderline rude, but neither man spoke up. There was no sign of condemnation on the French wizard's face, but Adalard could feel the tight coil of the man's magic that revealed his anger.

He held out his hand towards her, "I 'ave been told to reclaim Monsieur Evans' wand from you. If you please?" His voice was soft but steely, refusal evidently not an option.

But Galiana was too bull-headed to understand. She raised her chin defiantly, "It is mine. I won it. I will not return it."

The headmaster took a quick step forward, but it was the French wizard's reaction that held Adalard's attention. He nodded agreeably.

"Of course, if you would be willing to prove it?" He asked, blinking languidly, "A simple spell using Monsieur Evans' wand should suffice, to show the ownership 'as transferred."

Adalard closed his eyes in prepared embarrassment. This was going to be humiliating. There was too much confidence in the man's request for it to be anything but a trap.

But again, Galiana ignored common sense. She tugged Evans' wand free and aimed it at a small glass bowl on the closest table. Adalard considered them lucky that she at least had the foresight to not try and damage the wand.

"Accio," Galiana said, confidently.

Nothing happened.

Adalard shook his head, biting down on a sigh.

"Accio," Galiana repeated with more force behind her voice. She yelped, letting go of the wand when bright sparks erupted instead, singeing her hand in retaliation.

The French wizard held out his hand, and the wand flew into his palm eagerly. Adalard had never seen a wand with such personality before. It was like it knew it would be returned to its master if it allowed the man to take it. His lips parted in intrigue.

"Well then," the man said idly, unbothered by how Galiana now cradled her hand in front of him. His smile was crooked and pleased, "Thank you for your cooperation, I will ensure the wand it returned to its rightful owner. 'ave a pleasant evening, children. Minister, Headmaster," with a polite nod of his head, the man turned and exited.

Adalard released his sigh, looking away when Nyberg requested to speak to Galiana privately.

He hoped she learned her lesson and stayed out of Evans' way once he was back on his feet. There was no doubt in Adalard's mind that he would be out for blood. And something told him that a vengeful Evans was more dangerous than they could handle.

OoO

Narcissa carefully folded Draco's hand in her own. It was far too pale, and the skin felt hot and feverish. She reached over and gently dapped a cloth at the sweat beading on his forehead.

Even deep under the potion's effects, Draco's face was creased in pain. Her heart ached for her little boy.

She swallowed thickly, blinking twice to banish the dryness of her eyes, and cast her gaze across the tent to where the second boy – Hadrian Evans – lay limp and alone. Unlike Draco, he was positioned on his front, leaving his heavily bandaged back face up and well within sight. Underneath those white layers, Narcissa knew were deep gashes from the werewolf's claws, now thankfully covered with silver and dittany to encourage healing.

He would scar, horribly so, but Narcissa had listened to the healers' diagnosis, and knew that they believed he would suffer no lingering impairment. Evans was out of danger for now, only his magical exhaustion posing a threat to his recovery.

It was Draco they were unsure of. The wound to his leg – also wrapped and covered in solution – was too disfigured to be able to discern whether it was a bite or a scratch, and the uncertainty tore at her. She would love her son regardless, but the idea that he might forever be cursed to change under the moon's cycle terrified her.

She and Lucius would stand by him, and Narcissa knew Hermione too would still support Draco despite the danger. He would not be alone.

She stared down at the ring on her finger, wishing her husband could be here beside her, though knowing it was better to have him hunting down the individuals that were responsible for this attack. He was more useful out there, then sitting next to her worrying.

Narcissa sighed, the sound loud in between the soft breathing of the two boys. It must be close to dawn now. The healers had left only minutes ago, and Narcissa felt weary in a way she rarely ever experienced.

The tent doors parted, the whisper of fabric catching her attention. She looked up to see her Lord enter, his aged guise in place, and Narcissa began to stand.

Her Lord stopped her with a raised hand, his expression kinder than she had ever seen it. "At ease, Narcissa. That is not needed, not now." She slumped back in her chair in gratitude, clutching Draco's hand. "How is he?" Her Lord asked, approaching.

"Sleeping, the wound is taken care of, but his magical systems are still in shock. He is unconscious for now, to give his body a chance to heal."

Voldemort nodded once, "And do they know yet?"

Narcissa looked back to her son, throat tight. "No. They took some blood to test it, but they will not know for a few more hours."

Her Lord stepped up behind her, his warm hand settling on her shoulder in a surprising display of comfort. "Your son is strong, Narcissa. He will recover, and should other measures be needed, young Draco will have my full support." Her head snapped up in shock. His eyes were burning red, but the fire in them was more simmering than boiling right now. "You and Lucius have always been loyal, dedicated followers, Narcissa." He said, almost chiding, "Of course I will ensure your son is cared for, should it become relevant."

She bowed her head, breath trembling. "Thank you, my Lord." She whispered. With the backing of the Dark Lord, no one – not even his most zealous – would dare treat Draco as lesser.

Voldemort hummed, looking over his shoulder, and it was then that Narcissa realised that someone had accompanied him into the tent.

"Severus," she said, relief coursing through her at the sight of her old friend. "Thank you for coming."

The potion's master inclined his head in greeting, his gaze darting from her to the prone form of Evans on the second bed.

"I saw fit to bring Severus along," Voldemort informed her, "to see if he might be able to provide either boy with some…extra care."

"You are too kind, my Lord," she said, eyes lowered respectfully.

At Voldemort's gesture, Severus stepped forward to Draco, casting one last lingering glance at Evans. He placed his bag on the table, leaning over Draco's flushed form and studying him critically. Narcissa silently rose to allow him more room to complete his examination.

"What can we expect, Severus?" Her Lord asked, his voice distant. Narcissa looked over to see him seated next to Evans. It was the only other available chair in the tent, but the sight of him there was odd. It made Narcissa wonder just where Evans' family was. She had only caught a glimpse of the boy's mother before, but why was she not here now?

Severus waved his wand over Draco's head and chest, a thin purple mist forming above him. Her old friend stared at it with narrowed eyes, apparently seeing something in the swirls and movement of the particles.

He cancelled the spell after a long minute of observation. "We will have to wait for the test to be sure, but I believe he should be fine." Severus said, meeting Narcissa's eyes. "I can detect no foreign invasion in his magical system. It has been over an hour since the initial attack?"

Narcissa nodded, breath held.

Severus stood back, "There should have already been signs of lycanthropy if he were infected. That's not to say he is fully cleared; there could merely be a delay in symptoms. But I do believe he won't turn, Narcissa."

She had to lock her knees to stop herself from crumbling in relief. "And what of his fever?" Narcissa asked, hand resting at the base of her throat.

Severus shook his head, "It is a common reaction to a werewolf attack, bite or scratch, it doesn't matter. He will be fine by morning."

She pressed one hand over her mouth to hide the quivering of her lips and closed her eyes. "Thank you, Severus."

He did not smile, but the area around his eyes softened, and she knew he felt her relief.

"And what of him?" She inquired then, turning to look at Evans in concern. "His wound is arguably worse than Draco's, yet his fever is mild in comparison. Draco is restless, yet he has not moved in all the time I have been here."

Severus looked uncomfortable, but he obligingly moved to hover over the other boy. He waved his wand, frowning intently at whatever information he was finding in his spells.

"The boy has severe magical exhaustion. The healers likely gave him stronger potions to help repair whatever damage he did to his coils in the attack. As a result, his fever has only just begun to set in. It will probably be worse than Draco's in a short while. He will need watching to make sure it remains manageable."

The Dark Lord hummed, neither approving nor disapproving, and Narcissa watched him watch Evans with hooded eyes.

"Will there be side effects?" Narcissa asked, returning her attention to Severus. "I know werewolf wounds scar, but I've heard stories…"

Severus shrugged, "Nothing too serious. Perhaps a craving for rare meat, some agitation around the full moon, but beyond that, I doubt it."

Narcissa released a light sigh.

"I'm sure you are pleased to hear that, Lady Potter." The Dark Lord said, and Narcissa turned in surprise.

There was a woman standing in the entry of the tent, her hair and eyes marking her instantly as Evans' mother. The man beside her looked tense and grim, but it was the fury on the woman's face that drew her back in before she could pay him much attention.

"Get the hell away from my son, Voldemort," the woman snapped, fists shaking at her sides.

Voldemort laughed, soft and challenging, "Why? It's not like you were here to support him in this trying time. I'm sure he will be honoured to know that his warden stopped by to check on him though."

Narcissa blinked at the absolute savagery in his tone, and the scorn in his eyes when he looked at the petite woman.

And that was when she registered what he had called her. Lady Potter.

Narcissa sucked in sharply, eyes falling on Evans' face, scanning the features there – too pointed to belong to the son of an almost-squib, too regal, too familiar. In an instant she was transported back to her Hogwarts years, to seeing James Potter in the short time their education had overlapped, and it was like gazing directly into her memories.

How had she missed it? How had she overlooked the similarities?

She stared with wide eyes at the boy on the bed, her fingers curling around her necklace.

This was the child her Lord had been hunting for almost two decades now, the one that had escaped his grasp. The one who's father had sacrificed himself, giving him and his mother precious seconds to run and disappear.

Narcissa turned back to the woman – Amelia Evans, Lily Potter – and tried to calm her raging thoughts.

"And who are you?" Her Lord continued smoothly, his eyes now pinning the unknown man in place. "Arnold Abernathy is a lie, so which one of Dumbledore's pets are you?" He was still reclining in his chair, utterly at ease if not for the intensity on his face.

The man drew himself up, mouth pinched in denial.

Her Lord waved a hand, smile mocking. "You have nothing to fear from me or mine, I have no interest in thinning out the herd. Besides," he continued, showing his teeth, "I already have what I want." Here, he laid a hand on Evans' bed, and Lily Potter let out a noise not unlike a growl.

'Abernathy' glared hard at the Dark Lord, jaw grinding, before he opened his mouth.

"Don't." Potter snapped, but 'Abernathy' ignored her.

"No point lying about it now, Lils. He knows pretty much everything anyway. Might as well come clean before he decides to get difficult."

As she watched, Narcissa saw the plain features ripple and distort, becoming terribly familiar to her, once again taking her back years. "Sirius," she whispered, staring at her cousin in shock.

He quirked a tight grin at her, and even that looked the same even after all this time, "Hey Cissy," he said, "long time no see." She swallowed, overwhelmed.

Sirius, despite being on the run for so long, hunted like an animal, looked good. He looked solid, settled, where before he had always seemed restless and seconds from clawing out of his own skin.

"Black," her Lord greeted, oddly calm in comparison to how he spoke to Potter. "I should have known you would eventually crawl out of the woodworks."

"Your Lordship," Sirius replied, grin sharpening, "mind taking your hand off my godson's bed before I remove it for you?"

"Sirius!" Narcissa reprimanded, swinging to glare at him.

He glared back, just as obstinate as he was as a boy. "And you, Snivellus, if you don't step back too, I'll blast you into the floor."

"Good to see you are still an idiot, Black," Severus sneered, though his face was pale, and his eyes were periodically moving to stare at Potter. "If you used that lump between your ears before you spoke, you would see I am helping the boy."

"Oh, go back to your hovel, you overgrown goblin." Sirius spat, striding forward.

Narcissa wanted to throw something at them.

"Sirius, get back here." Potter called, grabbing his arm and holding him in place. "Severus, shut up. Why are you even here?"

Narcissa's shoulders rose in offence. "Do not speak to him that way. Severus has as much right to be here as Sirius, he is Draco's godfather."

Her cousin laughed, loud and obnoxious. Around Potter's small frame, he jabbed a finger at Severus. "Someone made you a kid's godparent?"

"I did." Narcissa bit out.

Severus stepped forward then, scowl in place and lips curled. "Out of the two of us, Black, who would you say actually met their duties?" His dark eyes flashed up and down Sirius' derisively, "It certainly wasn't you."

"You son of a –"

"That's uncalled for –"

"If you're all quite done?" The Dark Lord interjected, and all of them fell silent.

Narcissa met those red eyes, saw the disappointment and anger there, and flushed at her own childishness. The sudden, long nurtured but rusty instinct to blame Sirius was strong, but she bit down on her tongue.

"How wonderful to see you can all act your age," Voldemort remarked, pushing himself to his feet. He was taller than all of them, and Narcissa was pleased to see both Potter and Sirius step back when his gaze slid to them.

"Narcissa, Severus, keep watch over Hadrian and Draco. Black, I suggest you put your glamour back on if you want to avoid a trip to Azkaban. Lady Potter," here Voldemort's mouth flattened in disgust, "doubtful though it may occur, if your son wakes up before I return, try not to break him again. Surely you can manage that?"

Voldemort stepped through them, ignoring Sirius and Potter's protests, heading for the entry.

"My Lord?" Narcissa called after him, confused at the sudden departure.

"Keep an eye on them," he replied, clear enough that they all heard, "if they attempt anything, detain them. I promised Hadrian I wouldn't harm his mother, and I suppose I can include Black just this once in that deal. I will be back."

"And where are you going?" Potter demanded.

The Dark Lord glanced over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow, "I thought the boy's peers might be pleased to hear he will make a recovery. The last thing we need is a bunch of students attempting to smuggle their way into the tent." He looked over them once more.

"Behave."

And then he slipped into the cool night air.

OoO

The chatter in the common room dropped into complete silence as the headmistress slipped inside, clicking the door closed behind her.

Albert and the others looked up immediately, all of them filled with palpable nervousness as they waited for her to speak.

Madame Maxime looked out over them and smiled lightly. "He is resting," she told them, "the healers are sure he will make a full recovery within the week."

There was an audible gasp of relief from around the room.

Albert sat back in his chair and rubbed at his face, closing his eyes and releasing some of the tension that had been building since Hadrian had first disappeared from their sight.

Next to him, Claire and Raina were leaning against each other, the former's eyes wet with tears.

"I expect all of you to be there for Hadrian in the coming weeks, to ensure he is well looked after, that he is not straining himself, or experiencing discomfort. Can I count on you?"

There was a murmur of agreement, and Madame Maxime nodded in approval. "Very well. There is nothing more we can do tonight. Make sure you all go to bed shortly."
Their headmistress walked carefully down the hallway towards her own quarters.

Albert watched her go, waiting until her door closed, then turned to his friends. "What are we going to do about Kaiser?" He asked, voice low but venomous.

Jacob looked up from where he had been studying the carpet, his face pale and drawn. "What can we do? She will be protected by the tournament rules. Technically, she was within her rights to attack Hadrian." From his tone, the fact made Jacob bitter. That was the only reason Albert did not snap at him for his words.

"Regardless, she needs to pay." That was Claire, her voice frigid in her rage. Raina patted her friend's hand lightly.

"She will," Raina assured the other, "even if we cannot outright confront her, we can still make her regret every choice she has made since she was born."

Albert smiled at the dark glint in the girl's eyes.

"But we will wait for Hadrian, before we go through with anything," Raina continued, raising her voice enough to carry across the room. Instantly, she was the centre of attention. Raina continued to smile calmly, ignoring the rush of protests from her peers.

They had clearly not been the only ones planning retaliation.

Raina held up a hand, and eventually the noise subsided. "We will wait for Hadrian," she repeated, "because anything we come up with will never measure up to his own plans. If we strike out without his permission, it could negatively reflect on him. For now, we will be a united front, and when Hadrian is back with us, then we may take what is owed."

Albert glanced over the numerous faces looking back at them, and wondered absently if Hadrian knew just how much they all loved him.

OoO

The grass was soft beneath him, lush and green and sweet-smelling. Hadrian ran his hands over it, quietly enjoying the sight of the Eiffel Tower from his place under one of the sprawling trees of the Parc du Champ-de-Mars.

It felt like years since he had been here, and Hadrian closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree and listening to the faint bustle of people – muggle and magical alike.

He had always adored this place, of the subtle blend between his two worlds. He sighed.

There was the quiet crunch of footsteps approaching, and Hadrian felt as someone settled down next to him.

He cracked his eyes open and glanced to his right, blinking in shock at the man seated beside him.

"Père?" He gaped, sitting upright and staring in amazement.

The man smiled, eyes crinkling, and Hadrian noticed they were a blazing green instead of the soft grey of the photo his mother carried. "Not quite," the man said gently.

Hadrian's mouth felt parched, and he shifted backwards, wrong-footed and uncomfortable. "You're…me?" He asked, more than stated.

This strange version of himself smiled wider, tilting his head curiously. "I'm whoever you want me to be." He replied evenly, watching Hadrian with a steady gaze that was frightening because it seemed to reach right into his soul.

He swallowed, legs curling up defensively. The man wearing his face saw the movement and laughed, finally turning his gaze out across the field. "You've got a long way to go." He commented lightly, mouth twitching.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hadrian demanded, digging his hands into the soft earth.

"Nothing," his double answered, "just that you still have a lot of things ahead of you. You know that."

Hadrian shuffled in place, frowning, staring hard at the man as if he could peel all his layers away. "I don't understand," he started, "who – what are you? What's going on?"

The man hummed, sounding pensive. "Depends on your perspective. You're unconscious, for one."

"I know that," Hadrian snapped, "I can tell when I am in a dream."

His double inclined his head in acknowledgement, but he continued as if the interruption had not happened. "You are at a crossroad; I think would be the easiest way to put it. Your last few months have been hard. This is…a reprieve, of sorts. A defence mechanism. Your magic is exhausted, this is your minds way of coping with the shock to your systems as you burn through the fever." He gestured to the world around them.

That made sense. "And you?"

The man smiled again, "What do you think I am?" He asked instead.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes, but he took a moment to consider the possibilities. "A figment of my imagination?" He asked, tone dry, though after he said it, he realised how right it sounded. "A projection of my mind?"

The projection gave him a crooked grin, "It is not often your own subconscious plays a part in your intervention," he said teasingly, swaying close enough to knock their shoulders together.

He felt damningly real.

"'Intervention'?" Hadrian asked, curious.

His projection nodded, "You have gone through a lot recently, haven't you? I suppose I am here to help you come to some conclusions."

Hadrian looked away from those piercing eyes, back out to the grassy field. He watched the people – blurred and misshapen now that he focussed on them – meander back and forth.

"I don't know what you mean," he said, throat tight.

"Liar," his projection murmured, but there was no bite to the accusation. "What do you need to decide, Hadrian?"

He hunched slightly, jaw clenching. "I don't –"

"What are you going to do about Lily?" His double cut him off, voice suddenly turning serious. Hadrian whipped back to look at him, eyes wide.

His projection's face was intense, almost pleading. "What are you going to do about your mother, Hadrian? About Riddle? You need to make a choice."

Hadrian stood, stepping away and glaring up towards the tower. He stayed silent.

His projection sighed, after a moment, and Hadrian listened as the other stood as well, the grass underneath him rustling as he moved.

"I am not trying to pressure you, Hadrian. But you know you need to confront this. You can't keep going on –"

"Just shut up." Hadrian snarled, jerking away, arms curled around himself. The only upside to this was that there was no one real around to see his weakness. "I know, okay. I know. But what can I do? There's – there is so much going on, all the time, and I feel like I can barely breathe most days, and it's only gotten worse since my mother –"

He choked off on the word, closing his eyes and shaking. "I'm just tired," he whispered, looking up at his projection desperately. "I'm so tired of all of it. I just want things to go back to the way they were, before any of this started."

His double watched him kindly, then asked, "Do you really?"

Hadrian looked at his shoes, but slowly shook his head. "No," he admitted sullenly, "I just miss when it was all clear, when I knew who I was."

"You know who you are," his projection said, stepping closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. There was weight and warmth in the simple hold. "I think this is the first time in your life you have had the chance to know yourself."

They stood in silence once more, Hadrian quietly contemplating everything that had brought him to this place.

It hurt, remembering how he used to live. The driving need for his mother's approval, the quiet shattering of his heart whenever he failed. The easy detachment from his friends, the divisions and roles they all played. Even his goal had been obvious to him.

But now, he felt lost. His mother despised him, her touch on his life had been toxic and destructive, her every word a manipulation – and he wanted to hate her for what she had made him into.

"Is it wrong," he asked, "that I still love her?"

"No," his projection said softly, "I think you will always love her, to some degree. She did raise you, and in her own way she loves you. But is that what you want, to go back to her, knowing that she will always see you as a weapon first?"

Hadrian shook his head mutely.

"Then you need to decide. What do you even want, Hadrian?"

He took a shuddering breath, "I just want to be me. I want to not have to forever worry about others' opinions. I want to just be able to live."

There were tears in his eyes now, and Hadrian folded easily when his projection pulled him in for a hug.

"There you go," his double murmured, holding him close. "So, what are you going to do to make that happen?"

He knew the answer, it filled the air around them, but his projection pulled back and caught his eyes. "Say it."

"I'm going to leave her," he said, the words so, so freeing. "I'm going to tell her that I don't want her in my life anymore. That I don't want to kill Riddle. That I'm sick of being her puppet – being anyone's puppet."

"Good," his projection said, smiling once more.

The other reached out and brushed some of his fringe away from his eyes. "Don't let either of them – Lily or Riddle – hold your ropes anymore, Hadrian. If they want you, they can prove it, but don't ever feel lesser because you refuse to dance to their tune."

It was getting lighter, Hadrian noticed. He blinked, glancing around. He could not see the tower anymore, their surroundings beginning to morph and disappear.

"You're waking up," his projection told him, still grasping his shoulders. The man looked down at him, expression strange. "You need to be careful, Hadrian," the projection said, hands tightening as the light grew stronger. "Look out for your friends, treasure them, they will be your greatest allies. Say you will."

Hadrian stared up into those green eyes, startled. He thought of Raina and Claire, of Albert and Jacob, Draco and even Hermione.

"I will, of course I will."

His projection faded in the next moment, and he squinted as the light seemed to explode around him.

Hadrian opened his eyes.

There's nothing quite like having your subconscious make you confront your glaring psychological issues and help you make tough decisions. I hope everyone enjoyed! I know this was a rapid update - compared to my normal rate, but I wanted to try before I get swept up in work in the coming weeks. This probably won't happen again so savour it my darlings!

Let me know your thoughts and as always, my tumblr is 'Child_OTKW'. Come along if you want to discover theories, or scream at me, or discuss my new snippets! Thanks guys!