A yawn fought its way out of Hadrian's mouth as he pulled the chair out from under the table, a tear of liquid exhaustion forming in the corner of his eye.
"Long night?" Tracey asked sympathetically, clearing a few rolls of parchment off of the table so he could place his books down next to her. He nodded with an internal chuckle, collapsing into the chair and letting his bag slump to the floor. In truth, it had been a steady stream of long nights; studying ahead and practicing his spells by night had begun to truly wear on him, and while the runes he had carved into his bed helped with the nightmares, they didn't dispel them altogether.
He rubbed his eyes again before unrolling his half-finished History of Magic essay. "How far did you get with yours?"
Tracey showed her parchment to him, already a foot longer than his despite the much smaller and neater handwriting. "I'm nearly finished," she replied, "I only need to do the conclusion."
Hadrian snorted. "Bully for you. I still need to write about the historical impact of the failed Goblin Treaties of 1414."
Tracey rustled through her bag before withdrawing a thick tome and setting it down beside him. "It's all about goblin history in the fifteenth century. Chapter eight is the most helpful."
With a grateful smile, Hadrian pulled the book closer. "Thanks," he said, flipping through, "It might -"
He was interrupted by someone gently clearing their throat. Looking up, his smile widened as he recognized their visitor.
"Hermione! Excellent timing, I was about to bore myself to sleep with our History of Magic assignment. Did you finish the book I lent you?"
A toothy grin beamed across Hermione's face as she nodded, setting down a copy of An International Guide to Wizarding Customs of the Twentieth Century next to Hadrian's essay.
"It was fascinating," she enthused, "I'm not sure I agree with the necessity of continuing some of them today - many of these traditions seem utterly impractical, particularly in today's day and age - but I feel much better knowing about them nonetheless. Now I understand why some of the students speak so formally; at first I just thought they were mocking me." Her cheeks tinged pink at the confession.
Hadrian chuckled with a nod. "Indeed. And I finished yours," he added, handing her a massive leather-bound tome.
"And?" She asked eagerly, her brown eyes sparkling. "What did you think?"
"I'm not sure I'd go as far as to say it was fascinating - I'm afraid the linguistic theory behind the first Runic languages isn't exactly my cup of tea - but it was certainly informative." Hermione's shoulders sank slightly before she bolstered herself, a determined look in her eye.
"I'll make sure you enjoy the next one," she said firmly.
Hadrian grinned. "I don't doubt it. I'll see you in Potions tomorrow?"
Hermione nodded and, with an almost wistful look, turned and disappeared into the bookshelves.
"Where is this pet project going?" Tracey asked in a low voice, her tone surprisingly cold. The sudden shift in Tracey's usually shy, positive tone caused Hadrian to pause in surprise before answering.
"I'm not totally sure what you mean," he said slowly. The scratching of Tracey's quill became louder, but she didn't say anything. "I like Hermione." A derisive snort was Tracey's only response, and Hadrian conceded with a tentative grin, "But… I also don't think it will hurt to have the top student in our year close at hand. And publicly befriending a muggleborn is a statement." Her quill's scratches grew more aggressive.
"A stupid one. The rest of Slytherin -"
"The message isn't for them. Although I don't regret stating my point in that direction, either. But, Trace, that's not the only thing. I really do like her. She's brilliant, yes, and I'll admit a little headstrong, but she's also quite sweet. And very much a Gryffindor. It's a bit of a relief, to talk to someone who isn't in Slytherin, who I don't have to dance around with my words."
The tip of Tracey's quill snapped, and a blot of black ink began to spread rapidly through the parchment. Tracey swore and dabbed at the spill with her sleeve, managing to still most of the damage before the rest of her essay was ruined. "Damn it," she sighed, and quickly excused herself back to the common room to clean herself up.
With a heavy sigh, Hadrian turned back to his essay. He managed to slog through nearly the entire thing before he was accosted by the faces of a pug and an albino ferret, along with their two body-guards. Suppressing a long-suffering sigh, he smiled politely at the four inconveniences that now stood before him. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you trying to ruin your reputation, along with the dignity of our noble house?" Parkinson asked snidely. "Or are you stupid as well as traitorous?"
Hadrian couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Look," he said flatly, "I'm really not in the mood. You've already proven that all your ridiculous insults are baseless, and as neither of you are prepared to back up your claims," his eyes slid to Malfoy, lips sliding into a quiet smirk, "Then I think we all know how this ends. Just as every silly little spat between us does." He rolled up his parchment, shoved it in his bag, and said nothing more as he walked away.
"No wonder he's a blood traitor," sniffed Parkinson, "His mother was a mudblood, wasn't she? I can't fathom why James Potter would want to dirty his bloodline, but here we are." Malfoy guffawed, and Hadrian gritted his teeth as he walked out. No reason to argue with fools; there were better ways to teach them lessons.
Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair, as the deadline for the History of Magic essay was today, and as such there had been late nights for many of the first years. Hadrian in particular had been up most of the night, although his essay had been finished hours beforehand; he was almost finished with The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, and he had been determined to go through all of the spells before the Christmas holidays. He had managed it, but only just; the mending charm, Reparo, had taken two full hours of repetitive practice before he'd been able to mend even a torn piece of parchment.
Despite his exhaustion, Hadrian felt better than he had in weeks. The sense of achievement was a major boost to his self-esteem, and he was having a thrilling time imaging all sorts of ways to get back at Parkinson and Malfoy. He was so caught up in his complicated schemes that he almost missed the morning mail, until an enormous eagle owl landed next to his porridge. Hadrian quickly untied the thick envelope that was tied to its right leg, and the owl gave two throaty hoots before taking off again, knocking over Tracey's goblet of pumpkin juice as it went.
She swore at Hadrian when he apologized faintly before rolling her eyes and dabbing at the mess with a napkin. The envelope was simply addressed to "H.J.P;" his family still struggled with calling him Hadrian, which he quietly appreciated.
Sin,
It's hell without you here. We all miss you so much, and I think Spider is getting antsy without someone to spar and train with; he's been entering far too many Fights than he should. No more injuries, though, thankfully. His rib healed up and he's back in tip top shape. Roach begged him to teach him how to fight, but I nipped that in the bud. Light's birthday is this week, and he's sad you won't get to be there, so I told him we'd have a second party when you come home for the holidays. I don't think he really understands why you're gone.
Toxic keeps sneaking out to meet with her girlfriend, and she thinks we don't notice. It's sweet, really. She misses you, of course, but I also think she's a little glad you're not around to tease her - don't worry though, Wheels and Sparky are more than making up for your absence.
I can't wait until your Christmas hols. We miss you so much, Sin. I hope school is going well and you're learning lots and making friends; I want to meet some of them this summer! Sparky's fascinated by the idea of magic, she could probably ask them questions for hours. On second thought, maybe you don't want some of your friends to come over.
Be safe,
Love Hero
Hadrian felt a painful twinge in the pit of his belly as he thought about Light. He hadn't even remembered it was his birthday, he had been so caught up in the politics of his housemates and the day-to-day life of Hogwarts. He needed to do better. Swallowing down a lump in his throat, he furrowed his eyebrows at a second letter stuffed in the envelope. On the back, inked in Spider's messy scrawl, were the words Sorry, your vamp bitch wanted this included. I wasn't going to argue. Hadrian sighed as he turned it over.
Hadrian,
Stop making a fool out of yourself. The one duel was forgivable, if only for the fact that you were the one challenged, but you're holding onto it, using brawns over brains. Make nice with Malfoy, his name and family are too powerful for you two to be feuding already. Remember, strength matters among Slytherin but more so does cunning. Stop talking, start listening and 're not a Gryffindor, so stop acting like one.
Elena
Gritting his teeth, Hadrian stuffed the letters into his bag. He knew he wouldn't be able to use the duel as leverage forever, but the thought of making amends with Malfoy made his nostrils flare. Groaning internally, he reached for a slice of toast when he caught sight of Parkinson's watery eyes. Tilting his head in interest, he noted down the letter she was clutching with white knuckles, and he began to butter his toast. Perhaps a practice round was warranted… besides, she and Malfoy were close. It couldn't hurt to get a feel for their attitude first, from a lower-profile target.
As the students filed out of the Great Hall to their first classes, Hadrian brushed past Parkinson on his way to Bulstrode and Zabini, who nodded in greeting.
"Bulstrode and I are going to sneak down to the pitch after Potions," Zabini said quietly, "and borrow some of the school brooms. You want to come?"
Hadrian cocked his head in thought. "You don't think the school will mind?"
Bulstrode cracked a wide grin. "I wouldn't worry. Marcus Flint - you know the captain of our team? - his father works for my mum. If we're caught he'll cover for us."
Hadrian agreed with nod, filing that information away under Zabini's sharp brown eyes. He was quietly just as excited as Bulstrode looked; to be able to fly on a broomstick without being constrained by the watchful eye of Madam Hooch… History of Magic seemed to drag by even slower than usual. By the time Potions was over, the three of them rushed out of class when Hadrian remembered the letter sitting in his left pocket.
"I'll meet you two down there," he murmured to Zabini. "There's some things I have to take care of first." The taller boy quirked an eyebrow but didn't press when Hadrian failed to elaborate, letting him brush past Malfoy and head deeper into the dungeons.
Hadrian returned to the Slytherin common room, taking a seat in the corner and keeping his eyes on the students coming in and out. In particular, he watched Parkinson and Malfoy, who had set up their books on a table near the window into the lake. Malfoy furrowed his white-blond eyebrows, a crease in his pale skin as he dug through his bag. Finally he said something to Parkinson before heading up into the boy's dormitories. Hadrian didn't allow a smile as he stood, making sure his bag was closed and Malfoy's copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 wasn't visible.
"Well met, Parkinson," he said courteously. She glanced up at him and sniffed, a small scowl lining her features.
"What do you want now, Potter?"
Hadrian sat down in Malfoy's chair. "I'm so glad you asked. I think we can help each other."
Parkinson snorted. "What could I possibly want from a blood traitor like you?"
"Lots of things. For one, I'm sure you'd like the rest of the house to stop treating you and Heir Malfoy like pariahs." She glared at him. "For another, I can't quite see Lord and Lady Parkinson being too thrilled that their daughter not only managed to alienate herself from the majority of her house, but also the Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." Her scowl didn't change, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes now.
"If you think I'm going to turn on Draco, or start licking the boots of mudbloods just because you think -"
"I'm not asking you to take a stance against Malfoy," he interrupted, "I'm merely offering a truce. And to sweeten the deal…" a calculated smile ticked at the corners of his mouth, "I won't tell Malfoy the real reason his manor was raided again last week. And how the ministry knew exactly what to look for." The colour drained from Parkinson's rounded cheeks.
"I don't know what you -" she started, but Hadrian cut her off again.
"We both know you do. Don't insult either of our intellects by blustering." As his unyielding gaze held her attention, he silently slipped her letter from that morning back into her bag, as well as Malfoy's textbook. He didn't break eye contact with Parkinson as she gazed at him, her face pale, before she gritted her teeth and swallowed hard. Triumph sparked in Hadrian's chest.
"Fine," she exhaled reluctantly, "But you won't say a word to anyone about that. I don't want to know how you found out."
"Not a peep," Hadrian agreed, holding out his hand. Parkinson swallowed again before grasping his forearm tightly as they both bowed their heads. "It's been a pleasure, but I have somewhere to be." He excused himself from the common room just as a frustrated Malfoy descended the steps from the dormitories.
Hadrian hadn't expected his pick-pocketing skills to be so useful in his life at Hogwarts, but they were certainly coming in handy today. He allowed the political maneuvering to recede to the back of his mind as the excitement to be on a broom again, without teacher supervision, filled him. He made it to the pitch quickly, where Zabini and Bulstrode were trying to convince Greengrass to fly with them.
"Come on, you know you'll love it when you're up there! Oh, hello Hadrian - come, tell Daphne she's missing out!" Bulstrode said, before offering a knobbly broomstick to Hadrian. He took it with a nod of thanks before chuckling at Greengrass's expression.
"No thank you," she said primly, "I will be staying down here with two feet firmly planted on the ground. Not a single part of me wishes to go zooming through the air and get my hair all tangled up."
"Your loss," shrugged Hadrian, swinging a leg over his broomstick.
"Race you around the goal posts and back?" Zabini asked, and Hadrian grinned widely.
"You're on," he replied, kicking off the ground. Zabini was less than a second behind him, and they rushed through the darkening sky, the wind stinging Hadrian's face. His stomach felt weightless and he let out a loud whoop as the adrenaline swept through his body. Both brooms were old school models, but the boys pushed them to their limits and were neck and neck as they shot through the air. They reached the goalposts at the same time, but Hadrian pulled the broom in a dangerously sharp turn, the edge of the third goal post scraping his forearm. He shot back towards Greengrass and Bulstrode, who was floating gently above the ground and watching the boys; Zabini swore loudly as his wider turn forced him to give up speed, and Hadrian dived towards the ground. He pulled his broom to a stop and jumped lightly onto the pitch before turning to smirk at Zabini, who was scowling as he flew down.
"Luck," Zabini sniffed as Greengrass congratulated Hadrian with a chuckle.
"You know," said Bulstrode, "you're quite a good flyer, Potter. That was a very controlled maneuver."
"I think that's going a bit far," Zabini disagreed haughtily, but he too had turned to give Hadrian an appraising look.
Hadrian rolled his eyes. "Did we come out here to stand around and chat, or to do some flying?"
"I like where your head's at, Potter," Bulstrode replied approvingly, pulling a small brown bag out of her pocket. She opened it and withdrew three muggle golf balls. "Blaise lost the race, so he can fly up there and toss these for us to catch." Zabini grumbled under his breath but didn't argue, taking the bag and the golfballs from Bulstrode. They spent twenty minutes chasing golf balls through the air, and Hadrian loved every second of it. The rush and the liberation from the ground felt fantastic, and he managed to beat Bulstrode to every ball but one. By the end, his confidence had grown, and he was doing fancy twists and loop-de-loops around Bulstrode, laughing as she hurled good-natured insults at him.
"Potter! Bulstrode!" Shouted a voice, and the first-years froze mid-flight. Hadrian peered down at the pitch where Gemma Farley stood next to an irritated Greengrass, her arms crossed. "Land your brooms!"
"You'd better be right about Flint," Hadrian muttered to Bulstrode as they flew towards Farley. Bulstrode didn't look worried.
Farley's expression was unreadable as they landed before her. "You've got moxie, firsties, nicking the school brooms to fly around at night. I'm impressed." Hadrian let out a quiet breath; her tone seemed to imply she wasn't going to get them in any sort of trouble. "Speaking of being impressed, however… Potter, your flying was incredible, and I haven't seen seeker skills like that in years." Hadrian's cheeks heated gently. "I'm not just saying that to be kind," she continued. "I think you should show Flint what you can do. Merlin knows we need a new seeker, Higgs is rubbish."
Hadrian goggled at her. He loved flying, and he was good at it, but being on the team had never been part of his plan - however, as he thought about it, he realised it could only help his chances. Especially if he did well. "I, uh, I thought tryouts had already happened," he said, at the same time Bulstrode interjected with "First-years can't have their own brooms!"
Farley waved a hand dismissively. "That doesn't matter, we can find a workaround, and I'll get Flint to give you an exception. He's nearly as desperate as I am for a new seeker; our star graduated last year and Higgs couldn't catch the snitch if I threw it at him. And he was still the best that tried out." Her forehead creased in disgust. "We need you. I'm going to talk to Flint; can you be here at the same time tomorrow?"
Still a little bewildered, Hadrian nodded.
"Good. Now, I don't blame you for wanting to have a go on the brooms without Hooch making you do hover drills, but if you're going to be down here again tomorrow, you probably ought to do some work tonight," she said to Hadrian, quirking her eyebrow at him. He nodded.
"Right then. See you tomorrow. And Bulstrode - you weren't too poor a flyer either. You ought to try out next year." She waved them goodbye and headed back to the castle.
There was a long pause after she left, broken by Bulstrode's murmured, "I bloody hate you, Potter."
The following morning, Hadrian found it very difficult to sit still. He'd never played on a proper sports team before; he enjoyed a bit of footy with his family in the abandoned courtyard behind the warehouse, but he didn't think that really counted. Part of him was nervous; it would be a big deviation from his and Elena's plan, would draw attention to him he wasn't necessarily looking for yet, and had the potential to cause tension among the other first years. Another part of him, the eleven-year-old boy who was quickly growing exhausted with acting far older than he was, longed to spend afternoons on something so trivial and quidditch practice.
However, he thought as he watched Malfoy roll up his transfiguration essay, he couldn't allow himself to just be a child quite yet. Once the other boys had left the dorm, and it was just the two of them, Hadrian approached Malfoy.
"Good morning, Heir Malfoy," he began respectfully.
The blond's slender grey eyes narrowed in automatic suspicion. "What do you want, Potter?" He half growled.
Hadrian smiled pleasantly. "To be frank, I think we've been hostile for long enough." Malfoy only glared at him. "Look, Malfoy, we would benefit from an end to this pointless feud. I'm offering a truce," he continued airily, "an olive branch, if you will. We will both be civil; you will stop blatantly insulting me and mine - that includes Tracey - and I will stop holding the duel over your head, and convince the others to do so as well." He paused. "I think that sounds fair. This feud is -"
"You think I would ever consider a truce with you?" Spat Malfoy, his face red with rage. Hadrian looked at him in surprise; he knew Malfoy didn't like him, but he hadn't known he hated him so vehemently that it would blind him to such an obviously smart move.
"Look, I know we have had our disagreements, but surely you can agree that having the Heir to the Noble and most Ancient House of Black as an enemy isn't -"
Malfoy shoved him backwards, and Hadrian was so surprised at the muggle behavior that he didn't think to avoid it, stumbling back into Nott's bedpost. "Don't you dare say that to me!" Malfoy snarled, rage spitting from his lips. "I was supposed to be Heir Black, not you! It was - my mother - that title is my birthright, and you stole it from me!"
He snatched up his bag and stormed out of the dormitory without another word, leaving Hadrian to watch him go with a sick feeling curling in his belly. The rest of the day, his excitement over flying for Flint was spoiled by the distinct feeling of failure. However, when the time came, even his encounter with Malfoy couldn't stop a small grin from spreading across his face as he walked down to the pitch.
Farley and Flint were already there. Farley greeted him with a nod, but Flint, a tall bear of a boy with crooked teeth just spat at the ground and said, "Gemma tells me you're a fantastic flyer. I find it hard to believe that an eleven-year-old can out-fly everyone who tried out for our team, but Higgs is pathetic, so I'm going to give you a chance." Hadrian nodded nervously.
Flint first put Hadrian through some basic flying maneuvers, and though his grumpy expression didn't change, he never once insulted his flying; he corrected his form once or twice but that was all.
"You're not bad," he grunted, "But we still don't know whether you'll be any good at catching the snitch." He pulled out a golf ball and, with a whispered spell, it zipped off into the air. Hadrian caught it in under a minute.
Ten golf balls and twenty minutes later, Flint's expression had gone from sullen to quietly approving. "Farley wasn't lying. You're good. Unfortunately, you're not allowed a broom, and I can't see Dumbledore bending the rules for the Slytherin team. There's no way you'll be able to keep up with everyone else on a school broom. Besides, I don't like the idea of putting an eleven-year-old in the match. A bludger would probably kill you, and if someone slammed into you in the air you'd fall right off you're so skinny." He crossed his arms as Hadrian felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Right, here's what we'll do; you can be reserve seeker. You can learn to fly with the team and next year, when you're bigger, we can see.""
"Are you completely daft?" Demanded Farley. "He's ten times better than Higgs. Flint, think! With him on the team, we might have a chance of keeping our streak!"
Flint shook his head. "My decision's final. Be grateful he's on the team at all," he said, his tone hard, and stalked off towards the castle. Farley and Hadrian watched him go.
"He's a nasty piece of work," Farley said, turning to face Hadrian with an apologetic look, "but he's a damn good flyer, and we've won every year with him on the team."
Hadrian shrugged, trying to quell the disappointment in his belly. "I knew it was a bit of a long shot."
"It wasn't," Farley disagreed, "Flint is just being a prat. We've got a game in a week, and you're loads better than Higgs without a single practice. If Higgs doesn't suddenly wake up a completely different person, we'll be on our way to losing the house cup." Her eyes twinkled with a sudden idea, and a slow, wicked smirk wrote its way across her face.
"What are you thinking?" Hadrian asked cautiously.
She chuckled mysteriously. "Never you mind," was all she said, "You just make sure you practice over the upcoming week."
She refused to tell Hadrian what she meant during the walk back to their common room, despite his pestering her the whole way there. "You just concentrate on keeping your skills up," she said as they parted, "I'll worry about Flint and the rest."
Potions on Friday seemed to drag on forever. The dungeons, usually quite cold, were stuffy and humid amid the fumes of the Grafting Solution they were brewing. At the end of the lesson, Hadrian turned in a vial of the exact shade of green that had been described in the textbook. Professor Snape took it from him with a sneer and a "I suppose it isn't completely useless," before turning to snap at Longbottom and his vial of bubblegum pink solution. Hadrian smiled supportively at the poor boy, who looked on the verge of tears.
As Hadrian gathered his things and made to leave the room, he noticed Hermione trying to catch his eye. He raised his eyebrows at her and she gestured with her head to a small corridor outside the classroom. He nodded and slipped quietly inside, followed moments later by Hermione and Longbottom.
"Thanks for waiting, Hadrian," she said with a smile, "Neville here was a bit nervous to speak to you on his own." Longbottom let out a squeak of protest and looked at her, betrayed, but Hermione brushed past, "He would like to take you up on your offer."
Hadrian looked at the other boy. "You would?"
Longbottom nodded. "Yes - yes please. I… I can't go on like this in potions. I'm so rubbish I'm afraid they'll kick me out soon," he said morosely.
Offering him a kindly smile, Hadrian said, "That won't happen, and I'm sure you just need a bit of help to get on track. Give me the weekend to figure out a place for us to practice, and maybe after classes on Monday we can have our first session?"
Longbottom nodded. "Thank you," he said gratefully, staring at his shoes.
"Excellent," replied Hadrian, "I'll let you know before then where to meet." Longbottom nodded again before quickly making his way out of the corridor.
Hermione smiled toothily at Hadrian, slipping her bag off her shoulder. "I think you'll love this one," she said, pulling a leather-bound book from her bag and handing it to him. The words A Beginner's Guide to Dueling: Strategy and Technique Beyond the Spells shined up at him in glossy gold lettering.
"Wow," he said, impressed, "This looks amazing."
Hermione beamed at him. "I knew you'd like it. It's supposed to be excellent for younger wizards because it isn't just about being able to cast powerful spells."
"This is really incredible," he told her. "I'll find you something to read this weekend." She smiled happily as they walked out of the slender corridor, where they nearly slammed right into Flint.
He scowled at the two of them. "Get rid of your Gryffindor girlfriend, Potter, we need to talk." Hadrian gulped, and nodded at Hermione who left him with a nervous smile.
Flint crossed his arms to glower at Hadrian. "Somehow," he said shortly, "Higgs has lost all sense of kinesthesia. He keeps knocking things over and when he tried to grab his quill, he yanked on my shoulder. I was two feet away from him. We think he was jinxed, maybe by the Gryffindor opposition… or someone else." His tone was accusatory.
Hadrian stared at him, and Flint's scowl deepened.
"What are you gawking at? You're our reserve. The game's tomorrow. I'm not happy about it, but it looks like you're going to be playing. You have tonight to practice with us. Oh, and Potter?"
"Yes?" Hadrian responded with quickly, hoping his voice didn't sound as high to Flint as it did to him.
"You'd better catch the damn snitch."