The Arena was a communal haunt in the heart of London. It served largely as a recreational gathering hub for wizards and witches who worked in the area, both Ministry workers and those involved in private enterprises. It was not a Slytherin institute, as Tiberius plainly commented. Not any more, at least, although it had started as such. There was a noticeable Slytherin presence, but considering its origin and its word-of-mouth propagation, there was no way around it.
That weekend evening, there was tinge of tension in the Arena's air. Hardly surprising, of course, that socializing with one's fellow wizards seemed to have taken the back-seat in the shadow of a war.
Still, Adrian and Tiberius watched as Kenneth and Terrence duelled each other in the pit. After their dance concluded, Tiberius nervously made his way to stand opposite Montague.
There was no question about his ability, but Tiberius was clearly on his way to losing. The loss didn't really bother Adrian because it was tradition, in a way, to lose to one's seniors. The duels, and the Arena, were always more about fraternizing and networking anyway. Rather, what concerned Adrian was Tiberius's hesitance, unwillingness even, to cut corners. To really let his skills shine in the way that Adrian was certain they could.
Montague crossed the pit towards Tiberius, returned his disarmed wand. Tiberius rubbed the back the neck, accepted the wand and the critique with honest appreciation.
Tiberius was walking back to his seat when his path was blocked.
Adrian frowned lightly at the back of Draco Malfoy's head as he seemingly said something to Tiberius.
Tiberius pressed his lips together, and his eyes flicked briefly to Adrian before returning to Malfoy. He replied succinctly then, attempted to walk past him, and found his path blocked again by Malfoy.
And Adrian got up from his seat.
"Ready to head back, Ty?" he asked casually when he neared them.
Malfoy turned to him with a bored look. "Pucey," he acknowledged him politely. "I'm challenging your brother to a duel. You can go back to your seat, we'll be a while."
Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, was the first thought that went through Adrian's head as he took in Malfoy's appearance. He was dressed impeccably, but there was an undeniable weight behind his eyes, a dullness to the pale of his skin, a strain in the way he carried himself. And Adrian might have pitied him for it too, if he didn't notice Crabbe and Goyle rearing to jump out of their seats some distance away.
"And like I said, no," Tiberius said firmly. "I decline."
Malfoy smiled maliciously, inched closer to him. "Not nearly as brave without Rookwood at your side, are you?" he asked in a low voice.
Adrian stiffened. Malfoy couldn't possibly know the truth about Tiberius's relation to Augustus Rookwood. He could not know.
"Get out of my face, Malfoy," Tiberius growled, matching his tone.
Malfoy rubbed elegantly at his jaw. "It is tradition to accept an honest challenge," he said airily.
"It is also tradition to challenge the victor, not the loser," Adrian countered, breaking into their contest of wills. "Unless you want to duel the weaker wizard, of course."
Malfoy flushed lightly, turned to give him an icy stare.
Tiberius used his momentary distraction to squeeze past him, towards Adrian.
Malfoy clenched his fists, stepped closer to Adrian. "I challenge you then," he enunciated.
"As interesting as that sounds, I must decline as well," Adrian replied, letting Tiberius move past him so they could return to their seats.
Malfoy curled his lips lightly. "I'll see you at Hogwarts then, Tiberius," he said, his eyes still on Adrian, his tone dark, and his words full of intent.
Adrian paused, slowly turned back to him. "I'd rather you don't," he stressed carefully.
"Who's going to stop me?" he asked, softer, sneering.
Adrian felt one of his eyes twitch in response. "Take out your wand."
A corner of Malfoy's mouth turned up slowly. He took a step back, then with his nose in the air, he turned around and paraded towards the pit.
Tiberius grabbed Adrian's arm from behind him. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "He's full of shit. I can't believe you're letting him goad you into a duel."
"He knows you were there at the Ministry," Adrian said calmly.
"So what?" he exclaimed fiercely. "His father was there too, remember? He can't shout about one without shouting about the other."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's going to be a short duel. And he's going to mind his own business afterwards."
Tiberius roughly let go of his arm. "I could fucking handle him," he said, no doubt in his tone. "He's all talk anyway. I can't believe you." He turned around and marched towards Terrence and Kenneth.
Adrian sighed lightly, turned around towards the pit.
It was going to be a straightforward duel. Malfoy merely needed a reminder that Adrian could curse the life out of him if he wanted to. A little healthy dose of fear to keep him in his place. It was going to be an uncomplicated duel.
It was going to be… until Adrian caught a glimpse of Malfoy's arm, specifically his left forearm.
Augustus's words rang in his ears. New blood. A new generation.
Adrian darted his wide eyes back to Malfoy's manic face. It was something else. It had to be something else. A trick of the light. His eyes must have deceived him. Because Malfoy couldn't possibly be Marked. He was young. So painfully young he wasn't even of age.
Adrian pursed his lips, made a casual sweep of the onlookers. Crabbe and Goyle were still inching to jump into the fray, but his eyes passed over them until - there. Two of them in dark robes standing at the back of the crowd, a woman with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the duel, a man twirling his wand in his hand, looking bored.
He turned back to Malfoy, exhaled slowly. Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban. Malfoy could not know of Tiberius's fate. Paranoid, that was what Adrian seemed to have become. And yet… he weakened his grip on Malfoy's arm.
Malfoy took the opportunity ot lunge towards his disarmed wand and Adrian "attempted" to stop him by snagging his sleeve. The certainty of the seeing the Dark Mark on the his hit Adrian much harder than the haphazard fist Malfoy threw at him.
Mr Pucey's words rang in his ears; Augustus could sell water to a drowning man. And it looked like he did. Because Adrian's arm was clean; Malfoy's, however, was not.
Wand in hand, Malfoy immediately went on the offensive, his hits coming wilder and faster.
It was as though Adrian was watching himself in slow motion, watching himself from the end of the room where the two who were not Death-Eaters were watching. The sounds of the crowd echoed louder, and Adrian goaded Malfoy, taunted him until he was perilously close to losing his wand a second time.
Adrian could have moved out of the way, could have disarmed him, hexed him before the Curse left this mouth. Instead, he clutched at his wand like a lifeline, let the whispered Cruciatus find its target. "I yield! I yield!" Adrian cried as the Curse wracked through him where he writhed on the ground.
Malfoy stopped the attack, abruptly lowered his wand. His eyes, still seemingly crazed, remained on Adrian.
The Cruciatus didn't hurt nearly as much as his first time with Krum, Adrian mused as he caught his breath.
"Adrian, Adrian," Tiberius chanted in a worried tone, holding Adrian's face in his hands.
Adrian moved to seat himself up. "I'm all right," he reassured softly.
Tiberius turned to Malfoy. "You bloody cheat," he spat.
Malfoy's lips curled up slightly. "That's why you're in Hufflepuff," he said, amused.
Adrian tightly grabbed Tiberius's arm before he could run his mouth. "Help me up, please," he requested, as much to give Tiberius something to do as because he needed the aid. "I'd like to go home now."
Tiberius frowned lightly, assisted Adrian to his feet.
"I must say that was a poor show, Pucey," Malfoy said, making a show of dusting himself off. "Frankly, I'm a little disappointed."
Adrian lowered his head lightly in acknowledgement. "You and me both," he said cordially, extended his hand towards him for a handshake.
Malfoy's eyes widened briefly, before he clenched his jaw, stiffly took the proffered hand.
Disappointed was not the right word. It was too many things. An aching sort of pity, for a boy who was forced into boots several sizes too big for him. A selfish sort of relief, that it was not he who was forced.
The silence of the crowd was loud in Adrian's ears. He wondered how many of them, if any of them, heard Malfoy use the Unforgiveable. And if they did, their reaction was so predictable he wasn't surprised in the slightest.
Adrian found himself thinking of Hermione, found that he wasn't really surprised by that either. She wouldn't have remained silent while he cried under the Cruciatus. Even if it hadn't been the Cruciatus and even if it hadn't been him on the ground, she wouldn't have remained silent. A part of him felt hysterical, for some reason, and he choked out a cough to restrain himself from laughing like a madman.
He cleared his throat then. "We'll bid you a good evening, Malfoy," he said. Starting to move away, he paused briefly. "My regards to your mother," he added, gentler.
Malfoy scowled lightly. "Mine to yours," he echoed tightly.
Adrian nodded, ushered a glowering Tiberius away.
"Why did you throw the duel?" Tiberius seethed softly.
Adrian let go of Tiberius's arm he was using as support, rubbed at his forehead. "You owe Montague a drink," he said, ignoring the question, ignoring the burning in his limbs. "Go find him. We're leaving."
Tiberius gave him a stony stare, scowling lightly as he scrutinized him. He jerked around wordlessly then, marched away from him towards Montague.
The start of the school year arrived without fanfare. Arrived like nothing was changed in the world. Adrian accompanied Madam Pucey to King's Cross to see Tiberius catch the Hogwarts Express to the school.
On the platform, families seemed to stick in closed circles with their own, reminding themselves and others of the dangers around them. There was no tangible excitement in the air for the start of the school year. Whether Adrian felt that way merely because he was no longer a student or because the atmosphere really was depressing, he couldn't be certain.
Madam Pucey once again polished Tiberius's prefect badge that was pinned to his robes at his chest.
Adrian swept his eyes through the crowd on the platform, in search of Hermione, a vaguely hoping to see her before she would become ensconced in Hogwarts during the months to come. Not that he could think of a good excuse to slip away from Madam Pucey's side.
Eventually, the time for the Express to leave the station neared, and Adrian walked Tiberius towards his compartment.
"You'll be all right, then?" Adrian asked.
Tiberius slipped a hand into his pocket, where Siren was settled. "Yeah, I will be."
"Write to me," he said. "For anything."
They reached the door, and Tiberius turned to face him, smiled lightly. "Still weird you're not coming with me."
Adrian shrugged lightly, crossed his arms to quell the urge to polish the other's prefect badge. He turned his gaze out to the crowd, his eyes inevitably drifting towards the prefects' carriage where he presumed Hermione must be.
Tiberius tried unsuccessfully to coax Siren out of his pocket. "Well, I'm not sure she's going to miss you."
"Probably not," Adrian said, frowning lightly as the students rushed onto the train. "You should get on."
Tiberius hesitated at the door. "You'll write too, won't you?" he asked, a bit uncertainly. "For anything?"
Adrian nodded. Even if he wasn't sure he would write for 'anything'. And by Tiberius's pleading expression, it seemed like he too doubted it. Adrian stepped back from the train. "I'll see you soon," he said, instead.
Tiberius smiled, a tad unsteadily, nodded, slipped in between the cluster of students boarding the train.
Adrian pressed his lips together, turned around to head back towards Madam Pucey.
As he walked up the platform, feeling, despite himself, slightly nostalgic for the train ride to Hogwarts, he spotted Hermione. His heart leapt in recognition of her mass of brown curls as she walked hurriedly to the train, Weasley at her side. Since his other options were calling for her and drawing needless attention to himself, or waving to catch her eye and also drawing undue attention, Adrian found himself chanting a silent prayer to Merlin so she would look his way.
The final whistle sounded then, and Adrian had only a small moment in which he caught her eye before she hopped onto the train. Hermione waved lightly in greeting, smiling warmly, and disregarding that Madam Pucey likely had her eye on him, Adrian raised his hand in return, smiled lightly in acknowledgment.
And just like that, Adrian found himself alone.
As the school year picked up pace, Adrian found himself constantly writing letters to the castle. It was the simplest way to correspond with Hermione, of course.
Tiberius, who typically wrote to Madam Pucey, also sent short missives to Adrian every week. The first week that Tiberius wrote to him instead of to their mother, Adrian was mildly surprised. The second week, he was frightened enough to implore to Tiberius to write to her too. The third week, the letter was addressed to Madam Pucey. And Adrian did not receive any mail from him at all for several weeks after.
On the work front, business steadily picked up at the company. People who hadn't bothered to look at their last will and testament since the War, the first one, suddenly needed to set their affairs in order.
Mr Abbott, for example, spent an entire afternoon at Adrian's office. His wife was reported missing a week later. And after two more days, she was found dead. The funeral, one of too many funerals that Adrian attended, was a small affair. Close family and the closest of their friends. And Adrian, maintaining a delicate balance between retaining compassion and staying detached, to handle the paperwork.
Because it was not the first death, and it was absolutely unlikely be the last.
In an attempt to grasp the subject, Adrian picked up Tiberius's copy of Unfogging the Future, an introductory book on Divination written by the Seer Cassandra Vablatsky. His teacup remained on the table after it was emptied while he pondered the leaves at the bottom. He searched the stars for a sign of the time to come. And if any of it ever seemed to make some sense to him, he couldn't help the feeling that he was only seeing what he wanted to see. Eventually, he relegated the book to bedtime reading.
Weeks thus passed, Adrian adapting to the world, the world evolving to remain ever so slightly out of reach.