"... right, Potter? Potter!"
Hadrian blinked quickly, lifting his head to Malfoy's gaze. "Sorry?"
Malfoy snorted, and Greengrass looked at Hadrian with a sneer. "Looks like someone didn't get much sleep last night, Potter," Malfoy said with a lazy grin. "Embarressed about your rubbish performance in Charms yesterday? You should be. It's one thing to be utterly inept at magic - I expected as much from someone with a mudblood mother - but to fail so pathetically after boasting of your skill…"
Hadrian resisted the urge to rub his eyes. Ignoring his exhaustion, and hoping the bags under his eyes didn't look as bad as they felt, he replied, "We have Defense today, Malfoy. Perhaps you'll get to see my true skillset then." Malfoy snorted, and Greengrass's eyes narrowed.
"You can bluster all you want, Potter," she drawled, "it doesn't change the fact that a wizard who can't even control his magic enough to produce a simple Lumos Charm can hardly be expected to be even remotely competent at defensive magic. I'd advise you to stop running your mouth about your nonexistent skillset, try to scrounge up what little dignity you can find, and refrain from embarressing our house in our lessons today."
Hadrian bristled, opening his mouth to respond, when Zabini cut him off. "Now, now, Daphne dearest," he said, flashing his brilliant white teeth, "why don't we give him the benefit of the doubt? After all, he is The-Boy-Who-Lived… perhaps he will wow us with his extensive dueling skills. Perhaps yesterday was merely a ploy to get us all to underestimate him."
Hadrian's fingers curled around his glass of pumpkin juice, his eyes narrowing slightly. What was Zabini doing? He didn't believe for one second that he was merely defending him out of the goodness of his heart. He reminded Hadrian too much of Elena for that to be true. He had no reason for believing him, either; if Hadrian were him, there's no way he'd show his support. His housemates shared his disbelief; only Rowle managed to keep a straight expression.
"Of course," continued Zabini, just as smoothly, "if he fails so drastically as yesterday, then it will reveal not only his magical ineptitude, but a weakness of judgement and character. But I'm sure he's not so foolish as to that."
Hadrian bit his cheek. So that was Zabini's ploy; he'd underestimated the other boy. Zabini was smart, perhaps smarter than he realized. He was hedging his bets, and had backed Hadrian into a corner at the same time. If Hadrian actually managed to succeed, and crawl out of the pit he'd dug for himself yesterday, then Zabini would be the only one who wouldn't look like a fool for doubting him, he'd get a leg up on everyone else and leave room for an alliance. If Hadrian dropped the ball again, then Zabini wouldn't lose face, his last words a stab at him. Perhaps he would be Hadrian's biggest obstacle, or even a powerful potential ally.
"Anyone who thinks magical ability is based on the performance of a single charm is naive," was all Hadrian said, sliding two satsumas into his bag. When the conversation at the table finally drifted away from him, he made sure to slip more food into his bag. Old habits died hard. He was afforded a fortunate distraction of the Great Hall being flooded by owls. He was surprised to see two owls fly towards him; they landed next to his plate, and he quickly unfastened a letter from each of them. They both took a rind of bacon from his plates before departing.
The first letter was clearly from his family; the front of the envelope had a simple 'Sin' on the front, and Hadrian made a mental note to tell them to write Hadrian on the front, although he couldn't hold off a smile.
Sin,
We miss you so much. Light's going crazy without you. I think Roach is, too, although he won't admit it. Your school sounds so fancy! I'm sure they wouldn't be too sad if a golden goblet or two went missing. Of course, you know the place better than I do. I hope classes went well! Spider's trying to teach everyone to ride a bike, and it's going… well. It's certainly a challenge. I think he enjoys it, though. Keeps his mind off things. Speaking of which, with you gone, he's been back to the Fights, and won all his rounds, but I've half a mind to tell him to stop. He broke a rib last night. Toxic had to take him to the hospital. I think they're starting to suspect something when kids keep dodging questions and running out before they can call anyone.
Don't worry too much about us, though, we're doing fine, aside from Spider being a dumbass. Keep your focus on doing well in that fancy magic school of yours. I hope you make some friends.
Love, Hero
Hadrian smiled at the letter, trying not to acknowledge the ache in his chest. He didn't think he'd miss them this much already. He shoved the letter into his bag and opened the second one.
Hadrian,
Making a splash with your sorting will probably work in your favour, if you play it right. You want to play nice with everyone right now, but especially Malfoy and Greengrass. They don't have to like you, but you can't afford to get into conflict with either of them yet. All I know about Zabini is his infamous mother; rumour has it she killed her past five husbands. I met the woman once; wouldn't put it past her. They're Italian, moved to Britain only a decade ago. I don't have many contacts within the Italian ministry, but from what I've gathered so far they're a pretty prestigious family over there. As for Rowle… I know her parents were both Death Eaters, and her father is in prison. The mother wasn't convicted. She's an Unspeakable. Be careful around her until you can figure her out.
As for your scar, I'm not quite sure. I'll ask around about curse scars, I've got a friend in the Department of Mysteries who might know a bit more about that area than I do. If it happens again, let me know.
Elena
He slid that letter into his bag as well, he'd respond later that night. He new most of what she'd said about Rowle, but Zabini's situation was interesting. He was surprised nobody had mentioned his mother's situation; it seemed like precisely the thing the Slytherins would jab at eachother with. Or maybe it was old news.
They had Defense Against the Dark Arts last today; it was preceded by Potions and then Transfiguration, both classes that filled Hadrian with no small amount of trepidation. As they made their way down to the dungeons, Hadrian noticed that Davis made an effort to keep a step behind him. He glanced at her, and she averted her gaze but didn't divert her path. He couldn't figure her out.
They were all lined up in front of the classroom doors by the time the Gryffindors entered the hallway. They hadn't had any classes with the lions yet, and Hadrian was curious about the other house; apparently they had quite the rivalry. They certainly couldn't be missed, with all the noise they were making. Whispers and low murmurs seemed to be foreign ideas to the Gryffindor students.
"There, look!" One of them said loudly - the ginger boy that Hadrian had lied to on the train. Weasley. "It's him!" He was pointing at Hadrian.
"Looks like you've got yourself a fan, Potter," observed Zabini with a grin. Hadrian rolled his eyes, and before he could respond he was interrupted by the boy in question, who had approached him with two friends.
"You're Harry Potter," he stated loudly. Hadrian blinked.
"That's me," he said slowly.
"On the train, you didn't tell me that!" The redhead said hotly. Hadrian chuckled weakly.
"Yeah, sorry about that, I was -"
"Oh it's no problem, I'm not offended," the boy dismissed, "just thought it was kind of rude. Anyway, I'm Ronald Weasley, this is Seamus Finnigan," he gestured to the boy on his right, "and Dean Thomas," he nodded to the boy on his left.
"Well met, Weasley, Finnigan, Thomas," Hadrian responded pleasantly.
Weasley stared at him in horror. "Oh Merlin's pants, you haven't subscribed to that pureblood dung have you? You've been in Slytherin all of two days and you're already been brainwashed!"
Hadrian blinked. "Look, I'm not trying to be -"
"It's alright, you just need better friends," Weasley said. His constant interruptions were beginning to annoy Hadrian. Weasley stuck out his hand. "You know, just because the Sorting Hat made a mistake doesn't mean you have to stick with it. I'm sure Dumbledore would let you get resorted if you asked, and in the meantime you can just stick with us!"
Hadrian's gaze flickered down to Weasley's outstretched hand and then back to his face. "Sorry," he said coolly, "I think you must be misinformed. I wasn't wrongly sorted, and I definitely don't want to be in a different house. I'm just fine where I am, thank you."
Weasely looked like someone had just told him Merlin was about to pop out from behind the door. "But - but - you can't mean that! Don't you know they're all Dark?"
Hadrian raised his eyebrows. "What, you mean to tell me that everyone who possesses cunning and ambitious traits have an affinity for one brand of magic? I'd think that would be some kind of statistical improbability."
Weasley stared at him. "What -"
The door to the dungeons opened, and Hadrian couldn't help but be a little pleased that it was the ginger who had been interrupted for once. Professor Snape stood by the door, glaring at the group of first years over his hooked nose. "In," he said shortly.
Snape started by taking attendance, and as when he got to Hadrian's name he paused. "Ah yes. Harry Potter, our new celebrity." Malfoy and his goons sniggered to Hadrian's left. Snape stared at Hadrian with cold, empty eyes before moving on.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began, his voice a low whisper, yet still demanding the attention of the room. "As there is little foolish wand-waving in here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Hadrian looked up at the tall man. If he could really stop death, perhaps - perhaps there would be a way to -
But then he realized what the man had said. He could pause death, but there was no way to reverse it. Hadrian gripped his quill tighter, a lump in his throat. He felt like an idiot for getting his hopes up, even for a moment.
"Potter!" Snape called suddenly, and Hadrian looked up in surprise. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
One Gryffindor girl's hand shot up immediately, and Hadrian merely stared at the professor. How was he supposed to know that? It certainly hadn't been in the first few chapters of the textbook… did he expect them to memorize the whole thing?
Then he remembered that while the first chapter never mentioned wormwood, it did mention asphodel. "Um… a sleeping potion? Sir?" He guessed. The book had said asphodel had powerful drowsiness properties, especially when added to a healing herb.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "A sleeping potion? Oh, it's only the most powerful sleeping potion in the world, known as the Draught of Living Death. Let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"
This time, Hadrian had no clue. He didn't even know what a bezoar was, let alone where to find one. He was sure, however, that there had been no mention of that in the first three or four chapters of the textbook, and his other professors had only expected he would skim the first one.
"I don't know, sir," he answered, gritting his teeth. What was his deal? The Gryffindor girl - Granger, he remembered - clearly knew the answer; why didn't he call on her?
Snape's lips curled into a nasty sneer. "Fame clearly isn't everything. A bezoar is a stone found within the stomach of a goat that can be used to cure most poisons. Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
Hadrian bristled, forcing himself to refrain from yelling. He cleared his throat before replying, "Actually, Professor, I did, but the first few -"
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" At this, Granger started waving her hand wildly through the air, as if she thought she wasn't being called on because Snape couldn't see her. The potions master resolutely ignored her, and Hadrian was now annoyed on both of their behalfs. He racked his brain, but he was sure that hadn't been anywhere in his potions textbook -
Then he let out a small sigh of relief, as he remembered browsing through the third chapter of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. "Nothing," he responded confidently, not breaking eye contact with Snape. "They're the same plant."
"You look smug, Mr Potter… Did you want a congratulatory pat on the back for knowing the bare minimum? You didn't even mention the plant's third name, aconite."
Hadrian glared at him. What was his issue? It seemed like he had a personal vendetta against him. Besides, Malfoy had been boasting at breakfast that Snape favoured Slytherins! Why was he doing his best to make a student in his own house look like such a fool?
"Pair up, everyone; let's see what kind of miserable excuse for potioneers I've been handed this year. Open your books to page seventeen, and begin brewing the Cure for Boils. You'll have until the end of the lesson to submit a vial of your potion at my desk. Begin."
He swept around the room while the class got to work, looking down at everyone's cauldron's over his long, hooked nose and muttering disparaging comments to nearly everyone. As Davis began crushing the snake fangs, and Hadrian weighed the dried nettles, Snape swept up beside the two of them.
"Davis, are you illiterate?" He asked.
"Sorry?" Davis all but squeaked.
"Are you incapable of reading? It says crushed snake fangs. Not powdered. You've completely ruined them. If you want your potion to have even a slight chance of not completely failing, you'll have to redo them."
One of the Gryffindors snorted, and Snape whirled around to face them. "You lot think that's funny? At least Davis managed to measure out the correct amount, as I see you haven't, Finnigan. And Weasley, you obviously heated the potion much too high, it shouldn't even be remotely blue."
Hadrian's eyebrows rose slightly. This man chose teaching young children as his profession? He shrugged it off as Davis added the snake fangs to the cauldron. They made a good team; they worked quietly and efficiently, and as they turned down the heat to leave for half an hour, the shade of orange in the textbook hadn't been exactly achieved, but it was pretty close. It was certainly better than Bulstrode and Nott's potion, which was a deep red. They were both standing over it with creased eyebrows, and Bulstrode's usually hair was falling out of her bun.
Davis went to add the porcupine quills but Hadrian caught her hand before she could. "No," he said quickly, letting go at her look of surprise. "We have to take it off the heat first." He pointed to the instructions, and she put the quills down with an embarrassed smile.
"Sorry," she said quietly, taking it off the fire. She then looked at him questioningly, and at his nod, she tossed the quills into the fire. It sparked and then faded into a soft pink; only a few shades off the picture in the book. Snape stared at the potion and opened his mouth, but a loud hissing noise ensnared his attention. The dungeon filled with acid green smoke; one of the Gryffindor boys had managed to melt his cauldron, and it was now seeping across the floor, burning holes into peoples' shoes. Within moments, the class was standing on stools, and the Gryffindor boy was hunched over and groaning, covered in boils.
Snape cleared the sludge away with a wave of his wand. "Idiot boy!" He snarled. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
Davis shot a conspiratorial glance at Hadrian, who grinned back at her.
"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at the unfortunate boy's partner, Thomas. Then he rounded on Weasley and his partner Finnigan, who had been working next to them. "You - Weasley - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's five points from Gryffindor." Weasley's partner opened his mouth to argue, but obviously thought better of it.
By the end of the lesson, Hadrian couldn't help but feel relieved as he handed a small vial of their potion into Snape. Their potion was incredibly close to perfect; it was identical to Malfoy and Parkinson's, and only one potion was better. The Granger girl's potion was perfect. Hadrian was shocked; she was very clearly a muggleborn, yet not only had she known all the answers to Snape's questions at the beginning of class, but she was also clearly a very talented brewer? He made a mental note.
"I suppose this is almost adequate, Potter," was all Snape said when he took the vial from him. Hadrian didn't bother replying, even when Snape waxed praise about Malfoy's vial. He would pick his battles.
They had their first Transfiguration lesson after Potions, and Hadrian found himself liking Professor McGonagall much more than Professor Snape. She wasn't a teacher to cross, she was strict and had no time for nonsense, but she was also very clever, and unlike Snape, she was fair.
As soon as the class was settled in, she started her warning preface to the class. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. At this effortless display of complicated magic, Hadrian couldn't help but lean forward in his seat. Even the purebloods in the class who had grown up around magic seemed quite impressed, but they all soon realised it would be a long time before they would get to try something of that level. Instead, they had to take a lot of complicated notes on theory before they could even begin using magic.
After forty minutes of note-taking, they were each given a match and told to turn it into a needle. Hadrian grinned inwardly; after a lot of practice overnight, he had managed this spell already.
He looked around; to his fortunate surprise, everyone seemed to be having a much more difficult time with this spell than with the Lumos Charm. Nobody managed it on their first try; even the purebloods were getting frustrated. Eventually, Greengrass and Rowle managed to turn their matches silver, and Zabini managed the full transfiguration.
Malfoy noticed him watching the rest of the class. "What, scared to try it yourself, Potter? Afraid of a repeat of your absolute disaster in Charms yesterday? I don't blame you, I'd be humiliated too if I were you."
"Oh, no," said Greengrass, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "Remember what he said this morning? One spell isn't a measure of a wizard's worth. Apparently he's quite the caster. Well? Do go on. Show us your talent, Potter."
Hadrian ignored them, but allowed a faint smirk to twitch on his face. "Acusato!" He said firmly. His match shimmered slightly before transforming into a perfect sewing needle. Malfoy's jaw dropped, but Greengrass had the class to merely raise an eyebrow.
"See?" Asked Zabini, tone smug. "Yesterday could've been a fluke."
Malfoy snorted. "Well it's like you said, Potter. One spell isn't a measure of a wizard's worth. You boasted of your skill in Defensive magic; we'll be sure to watch you next class." Hadrian chuckled.
"Oh, I'm counting on it, Malfoy."
Professor McGonagall walked past, noticing Hadrian and Zabini's needles. "Well done, both of you! It's not often that more than one or two people manage anything in the first class. Ten points to Slytherin. For those of you who didn't manage it, I want you to practice for homework; next class, we'll make sure everyone can cast this spell before we move on. Dismissed!"
The Slytherins filed into Defense Against the Dark Arts excitedly; Hadrian had been looking forward to this class. He wasn't quite sure what to expect from it, but he was confident he would be able to shine here. Elena had made sure he knew several simple dueling spells, and he had done some practice by himself. Sparky in particular had been happy to help; she seemed to find the idea of her legs feeling like jelly, or temporarily losing all her hair, or even being temporarily paralyzed, as the height of comedy. Personally Hadrian thought she was almost too enthusiastic about him practicing jinxes on her, but he wasn't going to complain about a willing practice dummy.
He was immensely disappointed to find that Professor Quirrell's class was a bit of a joke. The whole classroom smelled strongly of garlic, and a funny smell hung around the professor's turban. He spoke in a funny, staccato way that had nothing to do with his stutter but made it seem like he was afraid of his own shadow. However, that didn't bother Hadrian so much as the fact that it seemed there would be very little magic actually performed in class; they spent the whole first class listening to a very long-winded introduction that didn't really mean anything, and they were given textbook reading for homework.
Hadrian returned to the Slytherin Common Room pissed off; that was supposed to be his chance to show off to his housemates, to make sure they knew not to fuck with him. Now he would just have to work doubly as hard in all of his other classes.
With a sigh, he spread his History of Magic notes on one of the desks near the glass wall looking into the lake. He didn't get far into his homework before someone knocked his copy of A History of Magic off the desk.
"Oops," said Malfoy carelessly. Hadrian sighed, exasperated.
"That was childish, Malfoy, even for you," he said, picking the book up from the carpeted floor.
"It's a shame you didn't get the chance to show off your dueling skills in Defense today," Malfoy said, Crabbe and Goyle smirking behind him. "I was quite looking forward to you making a fool of yourself. Again. Well, sure, you did fine in Transfiguration, but even mudbloods have flukes sometimes."
Hadrian snorted. "Malfoy, that Granger girl is already better at potions than you, and she managed to turn her match into a needle when you couldn't. When will you admit blood status has nothing to do with magical ability?"
Malfoy's nostrils flared, and Hadrian could hear Elena's voice in his ear. Quiet, you fool, her voice hissed, you don't want to make an enemy of him. Hadrian ignored it; he wasn't going to spend the whole year allowing Malfoy's racist and completely unfounded digs to go unchallenged.
"So!' Malfoy said loudly, and Hadrian cringed. "You're defending mudbloods and muggle scum, are you? I knew your mother had dirty blood, but I had hoped your father could have evened it out. No such luck, it seems. You're a stain on the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!"
The common room was now completely silent, and Hadrian stood up. Even the upper years were watching the exchange. "What did you say?" He asked dangerously. Malfoy sneered at him.
"You heard me. You're a blood traitor, a dirty mudblood-loving mongrel, and a stain on your bloodline."
"You're very brave," Hadrian said coldly, "with your little friends behind you." Please, he thought privately, please let him take the bait.
"I'd take you on any time on my own," Malfoy said. Hadrian smiled inwardly as the blond boy continued. "In fact - I will. Tomorrow night, the trophy room, you and me. I challenge you to a duel."
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