Firstly, I want to thank everyone for their comments for the last chapter. Seeing so many enjoy this story has been such a high point for me, and I'm really grateful for the continued support. Secondly, I want to say thanks for being so patient with me. These last few months have been really difficult writing-wise. I just haven't been motivated to update anything, so the fact that everyone has been so cool about the lengthy update period has really meant a lot.

I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. There's not any Riddle/Hadrian action, but we do set up quite a few interesting elements here that I can't wait to flesh out!


Hadrian made his way back to the carriage alone and in a daze.

He let habit guide his movements as he slipped into the common area and down the hallway to his room.

He dropped his bag on his bed and devested himself of his blazer, draping it over the back of his chair before sinking down into it.

His mind was still far away, consumed by the implications of what had happened in Riddle's classroom, and he only became aware of the passage of time when there was a knock at his door.

The ache in his back made itself known, but he ignored it as he straightened. "Come in," he called absently, hand rising to comb through his messy hair. His nails scraped his scalp and he shivered lightly as he remembered the sight of Riddle on his knees before him.

"Here you are," Albert said, walking inside and leaving the door partially opened. Hadrian looked over at him, taking in the dirtied but comfortable athletic clothes he wore. "I saw you come in, but when you did not come back out to join us, I figured that you had chosen to skip the obstacle course."

His friend's dark eyes scanned him swiftly, and the amusement in his expression flipped to concern when Hadrian did not respond. Albert knelt next to him, tilting his head to stare at Hadrian's face. He frowned when he saw the tight lines of consternation there, carefully reaching out to lay a warm hand on Hadrian's knee.

"Are you alright?"

Hadrian closed his eyes, sighing as he opened them again. "I am fine," he assured, leaning back, and wincing as his spine cracked. "Just…processing something."

Albert very kindly did not call him out as a liar; the other boy merely hummed, watching him intently. "I am happy to lend an ear. Would you like to talk to me about it?" He asked, no expectation in his voice.

Hadrian shook his head.

Without offence Albert continued. "Would you like me to find Raina?"

Hadrian let out a biting laugh, unable to help himself. "Knowing her, she is already on her way. She can probably smell the emotional instability."

Albert's smile was more natural, a decadent curl of his mouth. The skin around his eyes creased with suppressed humour. "She does have a knack for knowing when you need to vent."

He patted Hadrian's leg. "I will stay here until she comes," he stated, lowering himself fully so that he was seated on the ground, his back against the desk.

"You don't need to do that," Hadrian murmured, though he was touched at the concern. Albert's friendship was an understated thing, but no less appreciated.

"Need and want are two different things," the other replied, smiling softly at him. "Besides, if our dear Raina and Claire found out that I had left you alone while you were upset, they would gut me without pause."

"Not true," Hadrian countered, relaxing at the easy banter. "Claire would definitely hesitate."

Albert made a noise of agreement, tipping his head in acknowledgement. "Fair point. But Raina would still murder me."

Hadrian snorted, shaking his head in amusement. He looked off to the side, eyes tracing over some loose pieces of parchment littering his desk – assignments and homework that he still needed to complete.

It was surprisingly mundane, considering the chaos of his life. He could not recall the last time he had given serious thought to his actual schooling. Everything had become eclipsed by the tournament, by Riddle, by his mother and his dealings with the Order.

He had trouble remembering sometimes that he was a student, for all that his days were spent in a classroom.

He sighed.

"Hadrian?" The call of his name brought his attention back to Albert. He raised his eyebrows at the other boy in silent prompting.

Albert had an odd expression on his handsome face, a mix of frustration and intrigue, all barely covering a river of boiling anger. It was plainly felt in his magic, and Hadrian was surprised enough that he pulled his own back into himself.

"What are you going to do about Kaiser?"

Hadrian blinked, wondering where the question had come from.

Kaiser was a problem, certainly, but like with many things, she was comparatively low on his list of priorities. Hadrian had not even spared the vicious girl more than a few thoughts since he had woken in the hospital wing.

But Albert's interest made sense, he supposed. To those unaware of the games he was playing with Riddle, the tournament would be the most logical thing that he should be thinking about. Albert, like most of Hadrian's classmates, would still be infuriated at Kaiser's actions.

He crossed his arms and pursed his lips as he thought. "It depends," he answered honestly, shrugging.

"I will not concern myself with her until the third task, anyway."

"She attacked you," Albert pointed out, still with that burning anger.

"I hadn't noticed," Hadrian replied dryly, rocking back in his chair.

His friend gave him a droll look as he spoke, "She should be punished. It is bad enough that they did not penalise her in the second task. If you let it go unchallenged, she will think she can do it again."

Hadrian smiled, though it was a mean one. "I underestimated her once, Albert. I will not do that again. No matter what the third task involves, I will show Kaiser precisely why antagonising someone like me is a foolish idea. Until then," he said, injecting some false cheer into his tone, "let her stew in uncertainty."

Kaiser knew he would be looking for revenge. She would spend the next few weeks leading up to the third task constantly looking over her shoulder, suspicious of everything and on the lookout for any subtle attempts at sabotage.

Hadrian was hardly stupid enough to chance it, given that if anything actually happened to the girl, he would automatically be a prime suspect – and not to mention the protection afforded by Riddle's bracelet.

He was content to let her squirm for now.

Though, a part of him could not help but muse, I wonder if Riddle would deactivate her bracelet if I asked?

It was an amusing thought to entertain, at least until he was reminded starkly of the man in question gasping before him, face flushed, and eyes glazed with too many emotions to name.

Hadrian shifted in his seat, clearing his throat quietly and waving away Albert's inquiring look.

"Kaiser is not a problem," he reassured once more, trying to distract himself.

Albert settled reluctantly at his words, though his mulish expression quickly changed when the door opened suddenly.

Raina and Claire stepped into Hadrian's room, their eyes snapping to the two of them with unnerving intensity. The frown on Raina's face eased as she took him in before her eyes dipped to where Albert was seated.

A silent conversation seemed to happen between them, one Hadrian was not privy to, but that had Albert hopping to his feet gracefully. The other boy clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him lightly. "My offer is still open," he said quietly, and Hadrian gave him a thankful smile.

"I might just take you up on that one day," he murmured back, and enjoyed the flash of pleasant surprise that darted through the other's eyes. Albert was a good friend, and he had proven himself reliable and adept at keeping his silence.

Perhaps he might be another Hadrian could entrust his secrets to.

Albert smiled at him, then nodded to Claire and Raina as he walked past them to the door. It closed behind him with a soft click, leaving the three of them alone now.

Hadrian looked at the two of them, taking in their twin expressions of determination and worry, and felt a wave of fondness bloom in his heart.

"What happened?" Raina demanded, her hands finding a perch on her hips. She had lost her blazer at some point, and the tailored cut of her blouse accentuated her shape nicely as she stared at him boldly, as if daring him to try and avoid her question.

Hadrian raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his seat. He heaved a sigh and gestured at his bed invitingly. "Sit," he said, and some of his confusion and anxiety must have been noticeable, because they both did as he asked without complaint.

He watched them, his thoughts already turning back to earlier today, and with it came the suspicion.

He desperately wanted to dismiss it all as a trick, a mistake that he had made in the heat of his triumph over Riddle, of scoring a blow against a worthy opponent. But he could not.

The fact of the matter was, he had understood what Riddle had been saying – though it had admittedly taken him time to pick out the subtle sibilant rasp to the man's words and realise it was not English.

Hadrian honestly did not know what to do with this. He did not know if this was just a temporary side-effect of the ritual, or something far more permanent. Knowledge of Parseltongue was limited since it was typically a jealously guarded trait by all who spoke it; and the few texts that tried to explain the mysterious ability were filled with little more than speculation.

It had been frustrating back when he had been studying Voldemort, hunting through as many obscure scrolls as he could get his hands on, trying to find anything that might qualify as a weakness. In the end, he had had to let that avenue of research die, the lack of credible sources making it a useless pursuit.

He might need to revisit it now, though.

"What happened with Riddle?" Raina asked once more, expression drawn tight.

Hadrian sighed again, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Nothing much," he replied, blasé in a way he knew rang false.

"Really?" Raina asked, drawing the word out, unimpressed. "You expect me to believe that the two of you calmly discussed the alterations to the brand?"

"You know, you have the remarkable gift to sound like you're scolding me without actually doing it," Hadrian commented flatly, fixing his gaze on the far wall.

"Hadrian," Claire said, soft and pleading. "Tell us."

He closed his eyes, jaw clenching. "I might have used the bond against him," he said finally, "and he might have reacted…strongly."

Raina's eyes narrowed at that.

Hadrian continued, his leg beginning to bounce in agitation. "We might have kissed."

Claire's delicate face scrunched in discomfort, either from imagining Hadrian kissing Riddle, or from Hadrian kissing Riddle.

Raina's attention remained sharp on him, unwavering and compelling. "That is a lot of 'might have's," she said pointedly.

"It gets better," Hadrian replied dryly. "I think I can understand Parseltongue now."

There was a moment where the whole room seemed suspended in time, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out, and then all at once it broke.

"What?" Raina's voice was like ice.

"Parseltongue," Hadrian said, keeping a tight leash on his own re-emerging panic. "I think I can understand it."

"How?" Claire asked, leaning forward with wide eyes. Her hands gripped her knees, "Did he say something to you in it?"

Hadrian clicked his tongue, frowning. "He always uses it around me," he told her, scrubbing at his face. "I thought I was just hearing things at first, but there was this odd undertone to his voice, and while it sounded like English it wasn't at the same time." He spread his hands, looking at them both.

Raina leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, and pressing her palms together firmly. She closed her eyes, brows knitted together in concentration. Hadrian watched her, watched the play of emotions and thoughts across her face as she came to the same conclusion that he had.

"The ritual, the blood. Dammit," she hissed, "why didn't I think of this? I should have taken it into account. Dammit."

"Hey," Hadrian said, moving swiftly to kneel before her and grasp her wrists. "It's fine, Raina. It's alright. I did not consider it either, and out of the two of us, I am the one who has more exposure to Parseltongue. This is on me, not you."

She looked at him searchingly, a trace of misery in her eyes at her perceived failure, but it slowly faded when Hadrian reached out and tapped her chin affectionately.

"What are you going to do?" Claire asked, shifting enough so that her shoulder brushed against Raina's in silent comfort. "If you truly do have Parseltongue – will you…tell him?"

Hadrian stared at where his hand gently curled around Raina's wrist as he thought.

He likely should tell Riddle, he knew. The man was the only openly known Parselmouth in the world currently, and if there was one person who could teach him how to use the snake language, then it was the descendant of Slytherin himself.

But Hadrian was not entirely sure he wanted to.

Parseltongue was something sacred to Riddle's lineage, a trait only those related to him should have.

Hadrian, for all his insight to Riddle's mind and temperament, could not say what the man's reaction would be if he found out that Hadrian now possessed his family's most revered talent.

Would he be pleased at yet another thing to tie them together, or would he be furious at what essentially amounted to bloodline theft. Just the idea of Riddle thinking of him in such a way made something in his chest ache.

This whole mess was completely unintentional – but would Riddle see that? Could Hadrian take the chance that the man would not react poorly?

"No," Hadrian eventually said, biting his lip. "No, I won't tell him. I don't even know if I can speak it. Or if it will even last. It could just be a lingering effect from me using the bond against him. Perhaps there was a bit more than emotions being transferred between us. Until I know the limits of this, I can't risk him finding out."

Raina sighed, swaying forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "Alright," she said, "but that means we will need to find out just how this works. We will need to do tests. Safely." She stressed, fixing Hadrian with a warning glare.

He snorted, hardly offended at her insinuation. "What? It's not like I was planning to walk up to every snake I see and talk at it. Give me some credit."

She hummed, unconvinced. "Regardless, we will try something tomorrow, after classes. We do not have Defence tomorrow, so that removes the risk of you accidentally revealing anything to Riddle."

"Again, your faith in me is overwhelming."

The girls laughed at him, and Hadrian felt his own smile grow at their amusement.

Claire curled towards him, her eyes sparkling. "So, what did he say to you in Parseltongue?"

Hadrian flushed.

OoO

In the safety of her room, Lily sat with her head in her hands.

Her eyes were closed, her brows puckered in distress. With nothing but her own thoughts to torment her, the silence was incredibly loud. The cutting memory of her last conversation with her son was impossible to ignore, and his venomous words festered like a wound in her heart.

She could still see Harry – Hadrian – and the hard glint in his eyes when he had stood across from her, the distance yawning between them like a chasm. She could still see the crushing weight of anger in the set of his shoulders and the hurt in the curl of his mouth.

She could still hear the waver in his voice when he told her that love was not enough. That their love was not enough.

Lily's face creased as her grief pitched higher. Her eyes burned with unshed tears until she had to grit her teeth with the effort to hold them back. Her throat ached, thirst and sorrow a painful combination.

She hated the emptiness inside her, this suffocating sense of loss that had bloomed when Hadrian had walked away from her; and it had only grown since Sirius had quietly ushered her back to the Order's new headquarters.

She wished, desperately, that he had just left her a Hogwarts – that he had left her to wallow in the broken remains of her family. It was the least she deserved.

Her next breath was erratic, rattling in her lungs.

"You manipulated me."

She shook her head, pressing the heels of her palms into her skull and biting her bottom lip hard enough to taste iron.

"You hurt me. You twisted me up to suit your interests."

Lily shot to her feet, hands sliding up to grasp her red hair in brutal fists. She began to pace the length of the room, green eyes roaming sightlessly over the spartan space as she tried to ignore the haunting echoes of Hadrian's words.

Nothing could drown it out, however. They taunted her relentlessly, each a dagger twisting and twisting in her gut. All she could see was the pain in her son's eyes, the clench of his jaw, the tremor to his hands.

All things she had caused.

"You hurt me."

Remembering was not even the worst of it. No, the worst thing was that nothing that Hadrian had said had been a lie.

Lily choked back a dry sob. She covered her mouth swiftly, muffling the sounds that slipped out as her shoulders began to tremble. She came to a stop in the centre of the room, hunching from the force of her regret.

She felt splintered right down the middle, carved in two, exposed and raw.

A memory came to her then, of Harry – Hadrian – young, too young, staring up at her as she told him that the truth was always more devastating. It had been an offhand remark, a single drop in the ocean of advice she had given him over the years – but she was beginning to realise just what an attentive listener her son was.

And how many of her lessons he had embraced.

It was sick. She was sick. Because even underneath her own shame and devastation, she could feel the dark fissure of pride sizzling in her gut at how strong he had become.

"How does it feel to know that you raised your boy into precisely what I desire?"

"Shut up," Lily whispered, twisting on her heel to face the bed. She moved closer until she could latch onto the metal footboard, gripping so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Voldemort's smug, satisfied voice wound through her mind, insidious and unwelcome.

She bowed her head, almost panting as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her chest felt heavy, each inhale sending a wave of agony through her.

"I was always a weapon in your eyes."

Bile rose, and she only just managed to keep it down. Truth, she thought in despair.

After – after losing James, some part of her had always looked at her son and only measured him by his usefulness. She had become so consumed with the idea of defeating Voldemort, with finally claiming revenge for her husband's murder, that she had forgotten that her son was her son.

Somewhere along the way she had lost sight of herself, and in doing so, she had lost him. The fact that Lily could not even pinpoint the moment when this started horrified her.

Everything was wrong and she did not know what to do. She did not even know if she could do anything.

Hadrian had made his stance clear, and Lily was far too hesitant to try and cross him now.

A tear finally escaped her, sliding damningly down her cheek. She gasped when there was a sudden knock at the door, and hastily wiped at her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, grappling for some control, before clearing her throat.

"Come in."

The aged hinges creaked as the door swung open, and some of the tension in Lily's back eased when magic – familiar and warm – unfurled through the room. She looked up as Dumbledore entered, his face concerned, eyes kind.

"My dear," he greeted, closing the door gently and folding his hands in front of him. "How are you feeling?"

Lily looked away from his probing gaze, an almost hysterical laugh bubbling in her chest, desperate to escape. "Like shit," she answered honestly, one hand absently moving up to cup the side of her neck.

The old wizard let out a soft noise of understanding and started to approach with precise steps. "You look tired," he commented, one hand gesturing towards the bed. "Come, let us sit, it will be more comfortable, I think."

The last thing she wanted to do was sit down, but at his urging she realised how unsteady she truly was.

Lily sank down onto the mattress, her arms folding across her knees as she leaned forward to stare at her socked feet.

Dumbledore settled next to her, arranging his robes carefully before he seemed to slump in place. For a long moment they sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts; but before Lily could think to speak, Dumbledore broke the stillness that surrounded them.

"I heard of your disagreement with young Harry," he said, a thread of frustration entwining with the obvious compassion. "I am sorry, my dear."

Lily almost snorted. "A 'disagreement', Albus? That implies it is something that might be fixed." She swallowed, fingers digging into the flesh of her arms as she held herself. "I don't think we can come back from this. Harry…Hadrian. He – he wants nothing to do with me anymore."

The old headmaster reached over to grip her hand, and Lily could not help but cling to that thin connection. "He was," her eyes fluttered, "he was so angry, Albus. So angry. And I deserved it. I deserved it all. I…I have made so many mistakes with him, and now I don't see how I can ever get him back."

She sniffled, hovering on the edge of crying. Her voice grew thick and wet, "Sirius was right. I've lost him."

"No, Lily," Dumbledore murmured, his arm slipping around her to pull her tenderly into his side. "You have not. Harry is your son. He loves you, of that I have no doubt."

She shook her head, burrowing into his shoulder. "Love isn't everything though," she heard Hadrian say, "especially when the person you love doesn't love you back."

"I only wanted to keep us safe," she gritted out, struggling to say the words around the sharp spike of anger she felt, aimed entirely at herself. "I was so obsessed with keeping us alive, with getting things ready, that I forgot he was my baby. What kind of mother does that?"

Albus' hand moved to cradle her head, the simple weight more grounding than anything. "You were so young, Lily," he told her, "so very young. And with youth comes mistakes. It is how we learn – how we grow."

Lily let out a rasping laugh, eyes shut tight. "I grew wrong."

"You did the best you could with the situation you were in," Albus said firmly. "You have lost and sacrificed much, Lily. You and Harry both."

They had, and Lily used to think it would all be worth it. That the things they had given up would balance out once they had killed Voldemort.

But Lily had never imagined an outcome where her son would not remain by her side. It was inconceivable even just a few short months ago but faced with the reality now made her want to scream at the heavens.

She hated how unmoored their lives had become, hated how adrift she felt without the certainty of Hadrian's support – and then she hated herself for being the one that put them in this position.

"This is all my fault," she mumbled, numb with the knowledge. "I did this to us. To him."

Fingers caught the edge of her jaw, pulling her face to him. Albus stared at her, his eyes more steel than blue. "You played a part, Lily, yes. But do not forget who the blame truly lies with. The one responsible for this in the first place."

Her face twisted at the reminder, and she pulled away from him, her skin prickling like livewire.

"Voldemort." Just saying the name made her gut churn in fear and rage. She would bet anything that the Dark Lord would be ecstatic to see how far she and Hadrian had unravelled.

"Hadrian doesn't…he doesn't see the war the way we do," she confessed. "He has no concept of it because even with all the stories I have told him, even with all of the death and pain and destruction – he hasn't seen it. He didn't live it."

She shuddered, her mouth pinching. "He came here thinking he would see a monster, and instead he met a charming man that practically made it his mission to sweep him off his feet."

Lily looked down at her hands, clenching them into fists.

Admitting to the strange, unhealthy fixation between her son and Voldemort hurt. She felt like a failure for allowing Hadrian to get so close, and for not realising the extent of their interest in each other until it was too late.

"Tom has always been skilled at attracting powerful, intelligent people to him," Dumbledore said, and for a moment he sounded wistful. "He has a habit of collecting those he finds curious, and not letting go until he has wrung every secret from them. Until he knows their hearts better than they themselves do."

The man looked off to the side, his gaze fixed on the distant past. Lily observed him quietly, wondering just what he was remembering. What must it be like to have memories of such a dangerous, toxic person from before they had come into their own?

"I don't want him to know Hadrian's heart," she said in defeat. The very idea was abhorrent to her, though a large part of her worried that they were long past that point.

"Then we must see if we cannot do something about this," Dumbledore told her, with a spark of something fiery in his tone. "Harry is so incredibly important, Lily. To the war. To our cause. To myself and to you. We need him if we want any hope of putting a stop to Tom's reign."

"He won't," she breathed, eyes fluttering closed. "He won't fight. He told me that day that he wants no part in any of this anymore."

"But perhaps –"

"Perhaps nothing," Lily snapped, smacking her palms against her legs in agitation. She stood then, glaring down at the man with an ire she never would have dared to show in the past. "Hadrian has made his choice, and my son isn't one to just change course so easily. Riddle might have led him to the precipice, but Hadrian jumped of his own accord. He left us. He left me."

Dumbledore stood with her, aged hands coming to rest on her shoulders. Somehow, Lily found the restraint to not throw him off her.

"He made his choice," she repeated miserably, "and it wasn't us. There is nothing that will make him change his mind now."

The old man stared at her for a long moment, his eyes piercing, searching for something in her.

"What if there was?" He asked, quiet but no less intense.

Lily blinked at him, confused.

"What if there was a way to bring Harry back to us? A way to secure his assistance with eliminating Tom?"

"What are you talking about?" She asked, unable to describe the sudden chill that swept through her at his words.

Dumbledore leaned towards her, still watchful and cautious. "I am old, my dear, and I have learnt much in my life. I spent my youth…regrettably," a worn kind of grief darted across his features before melding away. "But in my studies, I discovered many ways to…persuade people. Magically or otherwise."

"Albus – what…what are you suggesting?" Lily's hands rose uncertainly from her side to hover before her chest.

The old headmaster was silent and eerily still, and Lily had never once truly feared him – but in this room, seeing the strange glint in his eyes, she was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of danger.

Dumbledore released a whistling sigh and patted her on her shoulder. "It is merely a thought, dear girl. I will discuss it with you another time; once you have had a chance to rest properly. It was quite rude of me to interrupt you while you were in such a state."

He slipped back from her, a kindly smile on his face. Lily reeled from the shift in attitude.

"Get some sleep, Lily. Think on what I have said, and once you have had a chance to consider what you would like to do, we might touch on this again."

"Albus –" Lily turned as he moved back to the door, but the man did nothing but grace her with another smile as he left the room. Leaving her feeling more unbalanced than she had been before.

OoO

After dinner that night, they retreated to the common room, carrying the sense of contentment from the Great Hall with them.

Hadrian sat slumped in one of the comforters, reading from a tome that Albert had lent him while the others chatted around him in low tones. The heat from the fireplace warmed the whole room, chasing away the night's chill and causing his eyes to droop in contentment.

"'adrian."

He looked up at the call, green eyes falling on the towering figure of his headmistress who was watching him from the hallway that led to her office. Hadrian straightened in his seat, snapping his book closed and giving her his full attention.

Madame Maxime held out a beckoning hand, her smile softening the sharp cut of her features.

"Come, it has been too long since we last spoke."

Hadrian put his book down and stood obligingly. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his pants and nodded in thanks when Raina and Jacob shifted out of the way so that he could pass. He approached the woman, tucking his hands behind his back and accepting the brief press of her fingers against his shoulder as he came to her side.

He followed her quietly into her office, though he stopped just a few steps inside to blink at the woman standing near the cabinet on the far side.

"Minister Lécuyer," he greeted, bowing lightly in respect to cover his confusion. He cast a quick glance around the room before returning his attention to the minister. "I did not know that you had come back to Britain."

Lécuyer smiled at him, the rush of sweet amusement on her face almost enough to distract from the exhaustion in her eyes. "Good evening, Hadrian," she said. "I managed to finish my business earlier than expected, so I thought I would pop over to see how my champion was faring. I apologise that it is so late."

"It's fine," Hadrian replied with an easy tone. He was still in his uniform, and it would be a few hours yet before he would even consider retiring. "It's good to see you."

Lécuyer chuckled as she turned to face the cabinet, her gaze roaming over the bottles there. "You as well," she said, reaching out to pluck a glass from the platter and holding it enticingly. "Drink?"

Hadrian tilted his head in question, then looked at his headmistress. While he was of age and had joined his fair share of Beauxbatons parties, drinking so openly in front of Madame Maxime without her express permission would feel almost criminal.

With a quirk of a smile, she waved her hand in invitation, clearly unbothered.

"Thank you," Hadrian said, stepping forward to take the offered glass, now half-filled with clear liquid.

Lécuyer's smile grew mischievous, and she winked at him. "Normally I would not allow this, but it has been a long day for me, and I always feel sad drinking alone."

Hadrian hid his own smile by taking a sip. He made a curious sound and pulled back to study the glass with interest. "Gin?" He guessed, tongue chasing the taste on his lips.

The minister tapped a finger to her nose as she moved over to one of the plush seats arranged on the right of the office. As she passed Madame Maxime, she held out another glass, which the older woman took with a regal nod of gratitude. Lécuyer sat down and crossed her legs, one hand idly tugging on the edge of her coat. "Don't tell anyone, but I much prefer muggle alcohol over our own."

She drank, then closed her eyes and hummed deeply in appreciation. "It tastes simpler. Purer."

Hadrian came closer to the small circle of chairs, though he waited patiently until Maxime had folded herself elegantly into her seat before taking his own. He sank into the soft cushion, holding his glass loosely between his fingers as he observed the two women across from him.

He was still mildly confused as to what had prompted this meeting, but he did remember the minister mentioning wanting to speak with him after she had returned his wand to him.

The relative silence that enveloped them broke when Lécuyer sighed. She adjusted herself in her seat, and when she looked at him, she lacked the earlier levity. "Tell me, how are you?"

"Good," he said, mustering a small smile. His free hand rose to clasp at his shoulder, "My wounds are coming along nicely according to the healer. I was told that there would be no lasting damage."

Madame Maxime's breath of relief was audible, the tension in her large frame easing at his words. She would have seen Hadrian over the last week, but this was the first time he had had the chance to speak with her since the second task. Having him confirm what she already knew must be a weight off her.

Lécuyer nodded, similarly pleased. "That is good news," she murmured, her eyes sharp as they met his. Hadrian could not help the way he automatically straightened under her assessing gaze. "You did a commendable thing, helping Draco Malfoy against that werewolf. Your actions spoke highly of who you are as a person."

She leaned forward, "I know that you already know this, but it bears repeating. Beauxbatons, myself, and indeed all of France, are honoured to be represented by you in this tournament."

Hadrian swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He knew the opinions of his classmates, considering their support and bolstering encouragements were a constant force in his life. And he knew that his country was proud of his performance so far – but to have it stated so plainly by his minister, by someone he admired greatly, was especially heady.

He dipped his head respectfully, and when he caught Madame Maxime's eyes, large and dark and sparkling with pride, he had to look away in embarrassment.

Lécuyer sat back, her chin coming to rest on her delicately curled fist. "How have you been otherwise. Are you experiencing any difficulties with your schoolwork? Or is there anything else that is bothering you?"

Beyond everything, Hadrian thought wryly. "No, Minister. I have kept on top of my assignments, and when I do need help, Raina and Claire have been able to provide."

"It is good that you can rely on your peers," Maxime said, and she did sound happy to hear it. As someone who had dedicated her life to her school, it must be rewarding to see her students embody the same traits she had worked hard to implement.

Her expression quickly grew solemn though, almost contrite. "I feel the need to apologise for not being more available to you," she began, one hand flattening over her thigh. "It was never my intention to have such little contact with you during the tournament. I am sorry."

"There is nothing to forgive," Hadrian assured her swiftly, and he believed that wholeheartedly. Madame Maxime was strained enough just managing the other twenty-nine Beauxbatons students – organising their lessons, fielding questions, marking assessment pieces – all the while having to run the academy from a great distance and also act as a political asset in Britain. Hadrian was capable of getting through the tournament without her assistance; just the knowledge that he could lean on his headmistress was enough for him, really.

Besides, Hadrian would not delude himself into thinking he could go to the woman for everything. He knew that Maxime would have some issues with his more recent actions if she knew about them, so he knew it would be best to maintain his silence.

Lécuyer tossed back the rest of her drink and pursed her lips. She placed her glass on the table and turned her gaze to Hadrian. "I am glad that you are doing well. I must admit that I was quite worried…seeing that werewolf attack you as it had was – confronting." She shook her head, eyes shadowed with a muted kind of anger.

Hadrian grimaced, and the wounds on his back pulsed with the memory of agony. He looked away, feeling the familiar acidic burn of guilt in his gut. He could still hear the crack of the werewolf's spine folding around the tree trunk.

"Is there any news on that? Do they know how she got through the wards?" He asked.

"Not yet," Lécuyer answered, her words clipped with frustration, "though they have launched an investigation. I somehow doubt they will draw any satisfactory conclusions. This tournament is rife with misfortunate oversights, it seems."

Hadrian watched her curiously as he took a drink, making note of the leading, accusatory undertone in her voice. He chose not to comment on that. If someone were trying to sabotage the tournament, he would hardly be surprised. It was historically notorious for causing discourse.

He would have to be extra cautious in the final task just in case.

Madame Maxime shifted in her place, drawing their attention. She levelled a pointed look at the minister. "Perhaps it is time we discuss the purpose of this meeting?"

"Of course, Olympe," Lécuyer said, bowing her head in concession. "I forgot myself for a moment." She uncrossed her legs and laced her fingers together. "As Olympe said, there is something I wished to speak to you about, Hadrian."

"Minister?" He raised his eyebrows, attentive but apprehensive.

The woman's gaze was unwavering, her eyes alight with an inner fire. "Tell me, what are your plans for after you graduate from Beauxbatons?"

The question had him blinking. "After?"

Lécuyer nodded, and she seemed delighted to have caught him off guard. "Yes, after. Olympe said that you had not marked anything down on your fifth-year forms and claimed that in all of your interviews you seemed unconcerned with your indecision."

Hadrian darted a look at Madame Maxime, who remained quiet and serious by the minister's side.

He frowned lightly, trying to understand what was happening. "I wasn't aware that the minister had access to our academy files," he said slowly.

Lécuyer smiled, just a hint of her teeth showing. "Technically I don't. As the minister I have no rights to your files, not without an official request through the courts, of course." The easy way she replied to that told him that she was testing him for something, though what he did not –

"Ah," Hadrian uttered, running the tip of his tongue over the roof of his mouth as the answer suddenly came to him. "You meant as a recruiter."

This time the minister's approval was star-bright when she nodded.

"As a recruiter you can request access to see if a student is interested in your field; and can have interviews with staff to better understand their temperament and skills." Hadrian breathed out softly, then gave the smirking woman a rueful look. "You could have opened with that."

"I like watching you think," she answered with a negligent shrug that was anything but.

"While I am flattered, Minister, I have to ask – why me?"

He expected a half-answer, something inane wrapped up in pretty words; and perhaps Lécuyer knew that because her response was nothing he could have prepared for.

"Because when I look at you, I see France. Not as it is, but as it could be. I see a young muggleborn that is a force of nature trapped behind a nice façade. A young man that is surrounded and supported by the heirs of some of the most prominent European wizarding families. I see someone magically and mentally strong, someone quick and intelligent, but restrained when needed. Someone that has the unique qualities it takes to be the leader of a country."

Hadrian stopped breathing, his eyes widening at the declaration.

Lécuyer stared back, intense and fierce and challenging, as if daring him to refute what she had said. "I could tell from the moment I met you that you were a talented young man, Hadrian. But having had the chance to observe you properly, to speak to your peers and teachers who have watched you grow over the years – it has only solidified my opinion of you."

"You want me to, what, be minister?" Hadrian asked, his voice cracking over the title with a mangled combination of hysterical amusement and despair.

A part of him longed to laugh, to bury his face in his hands and choke on the irony of the situation. He had just broken off from his mother, had just come to terms with paving his own path and not following their lifelong plan for him. And yet here was the Minister of France herself implying that he might make a good successor.

Dear gods, his mother would be so fucking proud.

That thought alone made him feel sick.

Some of it must have shown on his face because Madame Maxime rose and gripped his shoulders in concern.

"Not just yet," Lécuyer said after a pause, clearly worried at his reaction. "That was what I wanted to discuss with you. An opportunity to get into the political sphere."

"Simone," Maxime hissed, harsh disapproval settling over her face.

"It's fine, Madame," Hadrian said, shaking off his shock and focussing on the minister. "I…would like to hear this."

Maxime clicked her tongue but kindly returned to her seat. She shot a warning looked at Lécuyer though, and if Hadrian were not dealing with the rush of bitterness at crossing off another step in his mother's dream for him, he might have found the protectiveness amusing.

Lécuyer took the warning for what it was because her approach was noticeably gentler as she continued. "As you know, a vast majority of the council in France consists of members from the oldest wizarding families. They have substantial power and influence in how France is governed. You might also know that getting into the upper echelon can be difficult."

Here, she looked at him with raised eyebrows. Hadrian nodded; his mouth pressed tight to convey his annoyance over the fact. Blood purity was not necessarily a major issue in France, but some in the older generations still clung to outdated ideals, and most muggleborns found it intimidating to try and step into their ring when they lacked significant power or wealth.

Lécuyer nodded in agreement. "While I think that you would do very well holding your own against anyone that tried to come at you – I do think that it would be beneficial if you had some more accomplishments to your name before taking a step into this world."

"Winning the Triwizard Tournament wouldn't count?" Hadrian asked blandly, and Lécuyer's lips twitched at his cheek.

"Unfortunately, no. While that would certainly help, something extra would definitely give you some more credibility." From her pocket, she pulled out a folded slip of paper. Hadrian took it and opened it, eyes skimming over it.

In the topmost corner, the crest of the French Ministry sat, the words 'Incanté, Envouté, Conjuré' printed underneath it.

And just below that – Bureau de la Justice Magique.

"Our auror department has recently announced an eighteen-month internship program," Lécuyer explained. "During that time, you would be assigned to a pair of aurors while they go through their daily routines. You would assist with paperwork, gain a comprehensive understanding of how the department functions, and help with cases. You would be working within the Ministry, so it would provide a unique opportunity to make connections."

Hadrian traced a finger over the seal at the bottom of the page, the official mark of the bureau, and his thoughts whirled. He had never even considered being an auror, any notions of his future always being focussed on becoming minister.

But now, holding the flyer in his hands, he could not help imagining.

"For you, I feel that this would be a wonderful chance to grow a bit more before moving on to other projects. After the internship ends there is a placement should you accept. I think someone like you might do very well in the department for a few years."

Hadrian did not look up from the paper as he asked, "'Someone like me'?"

"Driven. Smart. Powerful." Lécuyer's eyes narrowed, "Able to use wandless magic."

That did make him raise his head. The minister did not look displeased, but there was something close to suspicion burning in her eyes. Hadrian just hoped she did not outright ask him how a seventeen-year-old managed to cultivate that particular skill. He was not in the mood to lie.

His refusal to address that left them sitting in a heavy pause, but thankfully Lécuyer did not push. She sighed once more, looking down at the carpet. "I do not want to pressure you in this matter, Hadrian. The choice is purely yours. I simply wanted to let you know that you had plenty of options available to you, regardless of what you inevitably pick."

Hadrian took another moment to study the paper, then folded it carefully and slipped it into his pocket. He looked up and met Lécuyer's gaze squarely. "Thank you. I will definitely take it into consideration, Minister."

Some of the tension around her eyes and mouth ebbed, leaving her once again looking tired. "That is all I ask. You may go now, Hadrian."

He left his glass on the table, then stood and bowed to both women. As he left the office, he could swear his pocket was filled with rocks.


Let me know your thoughts guys!

As always, my tumblr is 'Child_OTKW'. Come along if you want to discover theories, scream at me, discuss my new snippets or get some behind the scenes commentary! Thanks guys!