The castle was just as impressive on the inside. Even with all of Elena's training on hiding his emotions, Hadrian had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping as he beheld the extent of the castle's age and wealth.
To his relief, he wasn't alone, even among the pureblood first-years. Even snobbish Malfoy and cool to the point of icy Zabini were wearing looks of wonder and amazement. While Zabini hadn't allowed his mouth to gape even for a second, his eyes widened and sparkled with wonder.
The entire warehouse Hadrian lived in could have fitted into the Entrance Hall, it was so large. Flaming torches were fastened to the stone walls in iron brackets, casting the Hall into a jolly, dancing light. The ceiling was too high to see, and a polished marble staircase led them to the upper floors.
As Hadrian beheld the magnificence of the room, a tall witch in emerald green robes and a stern face approached the gaggle of first-years.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She cleared her throat once, swept her gaze once over Hadrian's year, and said, "Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in teh Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts." Internally, Hadrian chuckled. "You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
Her eyes drifted over the students in the front of the crowd. Hadrian ran his hand through his hair, even though he knew it wasn't going to help. His hair was just a mess.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," Professor McGonagall said finally. "Please wait quietly." She waited a beat and when there were no questions, she left the chamber. Hadrian breathed in deeply, trying not to betray his nervousness.
Not only was this his first day of school, but also his first public reveal in the wizarding world, and the beginning of everything he and Elena had worked towards. He was finally starting to set in motion what the two had spent over a year planning. He swallowed thickly.
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" He heard someone in front of him ask.
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred says it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking," replied the ginger boy, rubbing his nose.
Hadrian pressed his lips together. Elena had told him it was a hat that read your mind, and while he wouldn't put it past Elena to lie to him, it was too ridiculous a lie to tell, even for Elena.
"Ooh, do you think it'll be a test? Oh goodness, if it's a practical I do hope I've memorized enough spells to pass," said the bossy girl from the train, biting her lip. Hadrian blinked, a worm of doubt beginning to wriggle in his belly. Elena had made sure he knew plenty of spells, that was true, but they had been specifically jinxes and hexes. As soon as he got a wand, she started coaching him in dueling - but that was it. He had been too busy honing his wandless magic skills to practice anything else on the side. The worm began a slow crawl up his stomach, and his chest was tight.
How could I have been so stupid? He thought angrily. I need to be the best. I can't do that if some unprepared muggle-born who only found out about magic a few months ago beats me out in any practicals.
He was so busy berating himself he didn't even notice anything happen until the rest of the students gasped, and several behind him screamed.
Nearly twenty translucent beings had just glided through the walls into the room. Hadrian's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He knew ghosts existed, but to see them in person was another thing entirely.
"Holy shit," he murmured under his breath, his gaze tied to the ghosts. He felt someone swat his arm, but was too transfixed to turn and see who.
"Language," scolded a familiar bossy voice. Ah. So that was who.
"New students!" Cried a squat, pearly-white monk. "Oh I do hope to see you all in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know," he finished with a conspiritorial wink. The murmuring among the first-years grew louder.
"Move along," called a stern voice; Professor McGonagall had returned. "Form a line now, the Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
Hadrian did his best to school his features into an impassive mask, lining up behind a sandy-haired boy and the eager ginger boy from the train. He felt a pang of guilt about lying to him; he was going to find out anyway, so the lie had accomplished nothing. He couldn't afford to alienate his peers by being so careless, but apologising now would make him seem indecisive or weak. He'd apologise after the sorting, in private.
Professor McGonagall led them through the massive oak double doors and once again, he lost his composure for a split second before forcing his mask back into place.
He had never seen such careless splendor. Thousands of candles floated in the air over four long tables, where hundreds of students were sitting. The tables themselves were covered in golden plates and glittering goblets. Hadrian's hands twitched. His eyes roamed over the expensive-looking crockery before shifting up to the true masterpiece of the room; the ceiling.
He bit his tongue to keep from swearing again. In place of wooden rafters, there was a velvety blackness dotted with stars. It was magnificent.
"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts; A History," whispered the bushy-haired girl.
Hadrian cast his gaze around the room once more, privately wishing Stickler were here to tell him if the plates were really solid gold, before landing on a droopy, patched wizard's hat that sat upon a small four-legged stool. So Elena had been right. He let out a small breath of relief.
Suddenly, he was struck by the thought that this might be worse. If they had actually had to prove their magical ability, he was sure he would have been fine; he'd had lots of practice, and if worst came to worst he could use his wandless magic and babble some nonsense to avoid suspicion. On the other hand, if the hat could read your mind like Elena had said, then he didn't have a clue where he would end up.
He was distracted from his anxious thoughts, however, as the hat twitched and then a tear opened at the rim, and it began to sing.
"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me
You can keep your bowlers black
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be
You might belong in Gryffindor
Where dwell the brave at heart
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set
Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind
Where those of wit and learning
Will always find their kind
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap
You're in safe hands, though I have none
For I'm a thinking cap!
The hall burst into applause, and Hadrian heard many of his yearmates breathe a sigh of relief. It was quite a good singer, for a hat. Sparky would have enjoyed it. However, he did feel the worm of uneasiness wriggle back into in his belly at the thought of anyone - even an old hat - being able to read his mind. He wondered if an Occlumens would be able to keep the hat out. Of course, that wouldn't be any use to him today, but he was curious.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward and unrolled a long roll of parchment, clearing her throat. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said.
"Abbot, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blond pigtails hurried up to the stage, looking very nervous. The brim of the hat fell over her eyes. There was a short pause, before the hat cried out "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table on the right cheered and clapped, and Hannah hurried over to sit there, a grin pasted on her previously nervous face. The ghost of the fat monk from earlier waved at her.
"Bones, Susan!" Hadrian stood a little straighter at the name. The niece of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - someone to keep an eye on.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" Came the hat once more, and Susan ran off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"Ravenclaw!"
The table second from the left clapped this time; several older students stood up to shake hands with Boot as he sat down.
"Bulstrode, Millicent," became the first Slytherin, and Hadrian fought to keep an eyebrow from raising. Interesting that the first Slytherin sorted came from a historically light family. He knew it wasn't unheard of, but it wasn't exactly common either. Perhaps she would feel isolated in Slytherin. He marked down a mental note of that as well.
As she went to sit down, a ring of boos sounded from the Gryffindor table, and Hadrian's eyes narrowed slightly.
As the Sorting continued, he made a mental list of who went to which house to send to Elena later, and then they could adapt their plans of forming alliances accordingly.
"Granger, Hermione!"
So that was the name of the bossy-sounding muggle-born. Hadrian barely gave her a second glance after the hat cried out, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Many students later, "Malfoy, Draco!" was called, and Hadrian kept his sharp gaze on the swaggering boy. Definitely a potential player; he was the heir to a Noble and Most Ancient House, as well as the son of an exonerated Death Eater.
The hat barely touched the boy's head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
Hadrian nodded to himself; as expected.
There weren't many people left now. When a thin-faced boy, Theodore Nott, went to Slytherin, Hadrian blinked. A debt of servitude was owed by the Nott family to the Blacks. He tilted his head, a small smile playing along his lips.
"Perks, Sally-Anne," was called, and then finally -
"Potter, Harry!"
As he stepped forward, he ignored the burst of whispers that hissed like snakes - he chuckled inwardly - and schooled his features once more into a polite mask. As he sat down on the stool, and hat dropped over his eyes, he clenched his fists suddenly. He didn't like his sight being cut off. His skin prickled.
"Hm," said a small voice in his ear. "Now this is an interesting case. You've had quite the life already, Mr Potter… or should I call you Assassin?"
Hadrian tried not to scowl.
"Difficult," continued the voice, oblivious to his discomfort. "Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness yes - and a thirst to prove yourself. You certainly are an interesting case. I haven't seen such potential to tip the scales in nearly fifty years… and in either direction, nonetheless. Not to mention… you've come in here with a very elaborate plan, Mr Potter. Lucky for you, Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that… well better be - SLYTHERIN!"
The Great Hall fell silent. It was as if they were afraid to even breathe. There was a long pause, and when Hadrian stood to make his way to the Slytherin table, not a single one of them clapped. They just stared at him, mouths agape. The Gryffindors even forgot to boo him.
Finally, as he slid into a seat next to Malfoy, one of the older students began to clap. The sound seemed to jolt everyone else out of their stupor, as he was quickly joined by the rest of Slytherin - albeit rather subdued - and eventually the rest of the Hall. The Gryffindors still didn't boo, but most of them didn't clap, either. Hermione did, and several upper years, but there was a significant black cloud over the red-and-gold table.
Malfoy nodded at him pompously, and Hadrian cast a quick glance over the rest of the students in his year. Millicent Bulstrode had a stony expression, and next to her sat a short girl with a face like a pug. Parkinson, he recalled.
On Draco's other side were two heavy-set boys, reminding Hadrian unpleasantly of Dudley. One of them - Crabbe - had a wide face and a dark stain on the front of his robes. The other, Goyle, was cracking his knuckles loudly.
Looking distastefully at Goyle from across the table was a slim, platinum-blond girl with icy blue eyes; Daphne Greengrass. A small pendant hung around her neck, that the girl next to her was eyeing curiously. Hadrian identified the mousy brown-haired girl as Tracey Davis; judging from her surname, she clearly wasn't a pureblood - and therefore he knew nothing about her. He narrowed his eyes. Hadrian didn't like not knowing.
He drew his gaze away from the table and up to the sorting; Professor McGonagall seemed to have recovered as she had called up "Rowle, Leah," who was also sorted into Slytherin. The daughter of convicted Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle. She took a seat between Bulstrode and Nott, her dark eyes scanning the table and latching onto Hadrian. She fixed him with a cat-like stare, as if he were a particularly juicy mouse she planned to play with before eating. He did his best not to wither under her calculating gaze.
Hadrian turned his gaze up to the staff table, keeping his head high and ignoring the many jaws that still lay agape. In the center of the the table sat the caricature of a muggle's idea of a wizard; the tall, thin man wore half-moon spectacles over a long, crooked nose. His silvery beard was so long he had it tucked into his belt, and he had a jovial smile on his face as he clapped politely for Rowle. Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful - and therefore dangerous - man in Britain. And Hadrian was an eleven year old child.
He suddenly felt very overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. He wished his family were there to comfort him. Spider would say something sarcastic, Sparky would clap him on the shoulder, Shade would -
No. She wouldn't.
Hadrian wondered if it was just him, or if the mood in the Great Hall had just blackened. He blinked hard, before focusing back on the Sorting.
The ginger boy he'd lied to was sorted into Gryffindor nearly immediately, and Hadrian saw him exhale a sigh of relief. Two boys at the table with the same hair whooped loudly; brothers of his, presumedly.
Zabini, unsurprisingly, was sorted into Slytherin, and he slid onto the bench to Hadrian's left. He nodded politely, still looking bored. Hadrian wondered if it was a mask technique or if he truly found the experience tedious. Probably the former.
Dumbledore got to his feet, spreading his arms as he beamed out at the students. "Welcome!" He cried. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our banquet, I'd like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
The hall clapped and cheered, although Hadrian noticed it was much more muted at the Slytherin table. Hadrian, privately, thought he sounded a bit mad. However, he didn't have time to dwell on it; the table had suddenly filled itself with dishes of the finest food Hadrian had every seen. There were platters of roast chicken, roast beef, potatoes, steak, green beans, broccoli, pork chops and lamb chops, carrots, Yorkshire puddings, gravy, and, peculiarly, pieces of small black liquorice.
Hadrian's mouth watered, but he made sure everyone else had reached for food before he dug in. He filled his plate with roast beef, green beans, and Yorkshire pudding, drowning everything in gravy. He felt a twinge of guilt at eating like a king while his family stole for scraps, but there wasn't anything he could do about it; so he dug in.
He inhaled his food, momentarily forgetting he was meant to maintain his composure. He was halfway through a mouthful of potato when a cool voice began, "Well, this certainly is a suprise." He looked up, and Greengrass had fixed her icy gaze upon him. She dipped her head slightly, and Hadrian could sense the mocking air coming from her.
"Daphne Greengrass, Heiress of the Noble and Ancient House of Greengrass," she said, a cold smile on her lips. Hadrian swallowed.
"Well met, Heiress Greengrass," he replied, bowing his own head in response. "Hadrian Potter, Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." There was a still over the table. Only Malfoy and Zabini were unaffected. Greengrass's frosty look was replaced with shock. "And yes," he continued, "I gett the impression my sorting is causing quite a stir."
"Black?" She repeated. Hadrian nodded pleasantly. "How -"
"Well met, Heir Black," cut in Rowle. The predatory gleam in her eyes had only grown. "Leah Rowle, of House Rowle."
"Well met, Rowle."
"How is it," interrupted Parkinson, "that the infamous Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin? Hm? Wouldn't your mudblood mother be dissapointed? Besides, what makes someone from a muggle-loving family like you, Potter," she sneered, "think they belong here?"
Once again, his yearmates fell silent. Hadrian could feel all eyes fixed on him, and he took a quiet breath. "Slytherin is a noble house, Heiress Parkinson," he responded calmly. "I'm sure my parents would have been proud. Especially as I continue the Black tradition of being in Slytherin."
Parkinson's face drooped into an ugly sneer, and she sniffed before turning her attention back to her pork chops.
Inwardly, he held his breath. Staking claim to the Black family would win him some points, but he also wanted to establish his place in Slytherin without relying on his name. If he came across as weak now, it would be that much harder to gain support and power later. Elena had told him to have patience; we're playing the long game, she had said. Others were bound to have a head start at first; the advantage of growing up in this life. But he could catch up. He could do more than catch up. And he would.
"And the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, infamous for their… values, have a half-blood Heir? You certainly are a fascinating one," mused Nott. "There must be something special about you, to upset tradition in such a way, and then claim refuge with it and the Black legacy. Is it bravery, Potter? Or foolish ignorance? Either way, perhaps you would have been better suited in the house of your dearly departed parents."
Hadrian smiled without warmth, spearing a piece of Yorkshire pudding on his fork. "Mm, I wouldn't have expected such crude insults from someone who I assume would be well-acquainted with foolishness. You know, given your family's… situation."
Nott's fingers turned white as he gripped his cutlery tightly, glaring at Hadrian, but he didn't speak again. Hadrian didn't break his gaze. The Nott family had recently lost a lot of money when they got in bed with a potion trading company from America that had been embezzling funds from their UK clients, not to mention smuggling illegal potions and ingredients in and out of both countries. Nott Sr was currently being audited by the minstry, and while one of Elena's contact informed her that it was likely he would be cleared of his charges, it was still costly and humiliating.
The atmosphere at the table had dropped several degrees, and it was broken by a low chuckle that grated over Hadrian's spine. "He has teeth!" Exclaimed Rowle, who had grabbed a handful of of liquorice and was plonking them on her place piece by piece.
Parkinson seemed to have lost interest in Hadrian now that he proved he wasn't easy prey, and she had set her sights on Tracey Davis.
"Interesting that we have two mudbloods in Slytherin this year," she sneered at the girl. Okay, maybe she hadn't totally given up insulting Hadrian. "You've been noticeably quiet, Davis. What, you think your dirty blood makes you too good for your house?"
Hadrian blinked. Learning about the rampant blood prejudice from Elena was one thing, but seeing such vicious learned racism from an eleven-year-old was a different story. Even worse, the sense that it was normal. Expected, even. Only Davis flinched, but Bulstrode at least had the decency to look uncomfortable.
When Davis didn't reply, Parkinson smirked. "Just goes to show. Mudbloods are weak." Hadrian pitied Davis, but he was also annoyed at her show of weakness. She wasn't helping his case, as the only other half-blood in the house.
The timid girl murmured something under her breath. "What was that?" Parkinson asked loudly.
"I'm a half-blood," repeated Davis.
Parkinson snorted. "It doesn't make your blood any less -"
"Don't be so crass, Pansy darling," sighed Zabini. "We grow weary of your voice." Parkinson looked affronted, and her forehead began to turn red, but curiously, she didn't respond. She only stabbed potatoes considerably more aggresively than before. Hadrian noted the interaction; were they close? Or did Zabini have some pull over her?
Malfoy, Zabini and Greengrass fell into a conversation about a recent gala the Malfoys had held, and Hadrian only half listened as he turned his gaze up to the staff table. On Mcgonagall's other side sat a hook-nosed, sallow-skinned man with long hair that looked like he hadn't ever heard of shampoo. Severus Snape, he assumed. Elena had told him to keep an eye out for Professor Snape; notorious for blatant favouritism of Slytherins, a wicked good dueler, incredible Occlumens, and incredible Potions Master.
Why he's working as a school teacher, Elena had said, I have no idea. That man could be making a fortune as a private potioneer, and it's not like he has a mentorly disposition.
Next to Snape was a pale, jittery man with purple turban wrapped around his head. He seemed very unsure of himself, and he was laughing weakly to whatever Snape was saying.
Hadrian sucked in a sharp breath; his forehead had flared up in pain. It was gone as quickly as it came, but no less painful because of it. His forehead creased. His scar had never more than twinged; it couldn't be a coincidence that his first real night as himself in the magical world was the first night his magical scar flared up. He resigned to write to Elena about it.
When it seemed everyone had finished eating, the food disappeared from everyone's plates, leaving them sparklingly clean. Hadrian cast a quick glance along the table, and when he was sure nobody's attention was on him, he slipped a gold spoon into his wrist. Hogwarts seemed just ridiculous enough to give students real gold cutlery.
The tasty savoury courses were replaced with pudding; mountains of ice cream in every flavour, towering chocolate gateaus, plattters of iced biscuits and chocolate eclairs and jam donuts and every other sweet think Hadrian could think of. He felt a familiar pang in his stomach as he beheld the decadence. As everyone dug in, Hadrian reached for an eclair, carefully sliding a second into his sleeve. Under the table, he wrapped it in a napkin and shoved it into his pocket. Just in case.
"... and then she got the ice sculptures wrong! She delivered ice phoenixs, not ice dragons; and after admitting the mix-up, she tried to bluster her way through by saying since it was a gala for St Mungo's, that the phoenix sculptures might be better! The impudence! Anyway, my father had her fired, of course, and I'm quite sure Mother won't be working with that company again. Disgraceful," Malfoy sniffed, "I'm just glad we had time to fix it."
"Indeed," Zabini replied, sounding even more bored than before, if such a thing were possible. "If it weren't for the quick thinking of your father, I'm sure the whole gala would have fallen apart."
Malfoy scowled. "I'll have you know," he snapped, "That the minister was there, and he quite liked the dragon sculptures."
Zabini snorted, but didn't deign to respond verbally.
"I thought the dragons were lovely too, Draco," Parkinson said hastily, but Malfoy only huffed and didn't respond. Hadrian managed to sneak another two eclairs into his pocket as the blond boy drew everyone's attention.
He managed just in time, as not long after the food disappeared from the plates again, and Professor Dumbledore stood. The hall quickly fell silent.
"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered," he said warmly. With every cordial smile and joviall word, Hadrian found his distrust of the man growing. "I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." His twinkling eyes gave an unsubtle twitch toward the Gryffindor table.
"I have been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind ou all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Hadrian blinked. He couldn't be serious. This was a school. Perhaps it was a poor attempt at a joke? However, before he had time to truly process this announcement, Dumbledore moved on.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing our school song!" He cried. Hadrian chuckled at Zabini's exaggerated eyeroll.
"Why they let this madman run the school," Draco grumped, "I'll -"
He was quickly drowned out by the noise of the rest of the hall erupting into song. Hadrian gritted his teeth and the loud, grating noise. Not a single person seemed to be singing to the same tune.
When it was finally over, and the two ginger twins at the Gryffindor table had stopped wailing, a breath of relief escaped Hadrian's lips.
"Ah, music," said Dumbledore, beaming, "a magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
"Right, first years, you lot follow me!" Shouted a tall, dirty blonde Slytherin upper-year. Hadrian stood and followed his year-mates out of the Great Hall through a small door on the left. They seemed to walk down an endless set of stairs, before they evened out into a stone corridor lit dimly with torches. They seemed to stop in the middle of the hallway for no reason, when the blonde girl turned to a stretch of blank wall.
"Serpent," she called out, and a section of the wall slid away to reveal a narrow corridor. She ushered the first-years inside, and Hadrian took in the common room. Almost everything was emerald green, with several sets of comfortable chairs and a few tables. Two staircases led to what Hadrian assumed were the dorms. A fire flickered in the grate of a black marble mantelpiece, and an enormous portrait of a great serpent was hung above the fireplace.
However, most intriguing of all was that one wall was entirely glass. He couldn't see anything at the moment, as it was pitch-black, but he assumed it would be a window into the lake. He couldn't help but appreciate it.
"Welcome to Slytherin," said the blonde girl. "My name is Gemma Farley, and I'm one of your fifth year prefects. This is the other prefect from my year, Horus Rosier." A burly, sandy-haired boy nodded as Farley gestured to him. "First of all; congratulations. It is an incredible honour to be sorted into Slytherin. We only take the best. You don't get here by being mediocre, or weak."
Parkinson snorted. "That's debatable," she sniffed, nodding at Davis.
"That being said," Farley continued, her tone sharpening, "while you have been sorted, who will still have to earn your place here. In Slytherin House, we do not tolerate failure. If you are struggling with your studies, you will come to me or to Rosier, and we will figure out a plan. If you are struggling with any other problems, you will solve them. And most importantly; we present a united front. Frankly, we as prefects don't care what petty squables you have among yourselves - as long as they remain in here. When you are outside of these walls, it doesn't matter whether or not you get along. You will support each other, you will back each other up, and you will not weaken the noble reputation of Slytherin." She let her gaze linger on every first-year before finally saying, "I'm glad you all understand. Now, I'm sure you're tired; go to bed. Boys' dorms are up the left staircase, girls' the right. Schedules will be posted on the notice board in the morning. Classes start at eight thirty, but while your schedules will contain maps, it's best to alot at least fifteen minutes to finding your first class. Good night."
The first-years trickled upstairs, and Hadrian followed Malfoy into their dorm. There were three beds on either side of the wall. Zabini was already sprawled across one next to the door, and Hadrian quickly claimed the other one opposite him. He felt much better knowing he would be sleeping closest to exit.
"Look how drab these hangings are!" Exclaimed Malfoy, grabbing a fist of the green velvet hangings over his bed next to Zabini. "I think I shall have to write to father and have some sent from home. Look, the corners have started to fray!"
Nobody acknowledged him, too busy getting ready for bed. Hadrian felt a little uncomfortable when Nott took the bed next to him, shooting him a smile that spoke only of malice and spite.
Hadrian released his hangings down around him as he pulled a bejeweled knife out from a hidden pocket in his sleeve. He carved the rune from Elena's paper into the headboard before discarding the knife beneath the bed and pulling the covers up over him. It was the most comfortable bed he'd ever felt, and he fell asleep almost immediately. As he drifted off, he dreamt of a dragon made of ice, breathing fire over his home. Elena sat on the dragon's back, wearing a purple turban. Shade came running out of the warehouse, her flesh melting from her face, and Hadrian tries to run to her, but was held back by lengths of fabric from Elena's turban tying him down.
He woke suddenly, in the middle of the night, and with a groan he carved a second, more detailed rune into his headboard before falling back asleep. This time he didn't dream once.