Hadrian tilted his head. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Malfoy," he replied coolly, "but as I'm the one being challenged, shouldn't it be me who sets the time and place?"
Malfoy's face reddened. "I suppose," he said stiffly, "but what's wrong with the trophy room?"
Hadrian raised his eyebrows. "I think we should do it here. We don't want to get caught, and bring shame upon our house, do we? Come on, Malfoy, show a little house unity."
Malfoy swallowed, and both boys turned sharply when a throat was cleared. "There's a dueling pit," a third-year boy said. His dark hair was slicked back, and his pointed features gave him a handsome air. "It's behind the dormitories, and used for precisely these sorts of occasions. You'll need a dual mediator; I'd like to offer my services." He bowed at Malfoy, and then Hadrian. "Cassius Warrington," he introduced himself to Hadrian, who presumed he and Malfoy were already acquainted.
"Well met, Warrington. Heir Hadrian of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Hadrian replied slowly; he hadn't spoken to anyone outside his year yet, and he didn't have a clue what Warrington was like.
"Well met, Heir Black. Now, you were correct; as you were challenged, you get to choose the time and place. Would the Slytherin dueling pit do as a location?"
Hadrian nodded. "It'll do perfectly. And I think Friday night, eight o'clock, will do for the time. Is that amiable for you, Malfoy?" He asked.
Malfoy's face was still pink, but he nodded. "Crabbe's my second," he said quickly. Hadrian inhaled quietly; he hadn't expected Malfoy to go through with that particular formality, it was archaic and completely impractical. However, now he was on the spot, and he didn't have a second.
He cast a quick, hopeless glance around the common room, and was forced to confront the hippogriff in the room. He didn't have any allies, no relationships or connections. He was vulnerable, and everyone knew it. He could see the sneer in Malfoy's gaze, and Hadrian tried to keep the desperation from his face when his eyes locked with Tracey's.
She lowered her gaze to the floor and said nothing.
Hadrian swallowed before meeting the Warrington's eyes, ignoring Malfoy and his sly snickers. "I'm not naming a second." Warrington's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't argue. It wasn't a requirement, although it was tradition when invoked.
"Nobody wants to tie themselves to a drowning man, Potter," sniggered Malfoy. Hadrian narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not naming a second, Malfoy, because I'm confident I won't need one. The same can't be said for you, it seems," Hadrian said coolly. Malfoy scowled, but Hadrian himself knew it was weak.
"Then it's settled," Warrington said after a long pause. "Friday night, eight o'clock, the Slytherin dueling pit. Heir Malfoy second Crabbe versus Heir Black."
There was another pause, and then a fourth year said, "Well. It's been an interesting first few days back." That seemed to break the silence, as a few chuckles rippled through the common room and then attentioned seemed to slowly shift away from the first year boys.
Warrington's eyes flicked from Hadrian to Malfoy and back again, before he nodded and left the two of them standing there at the table.
"Savor these few days, Potter," Malfoy said snidely. "I'm looking forward to proving you aren't worth the name Black." He sneered at Hadrian, straightening the front of his robes, and turned away, stalking off into a corner where he was quickly joined by Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson.
Hadrian sat down and resumed his History of Magic homework, his mind racing. He needed allies. He had been banking on impressing everyone with his skill and power during class; that clearly wasn't working. He needed to win this duel. Everything depended on it.
Pulling a fresh roll of parchment from his bag, he began scripting a letter to Elena. He knew she would be disappointed with the progress he'd made, but he also knew she'd be pissed off if he didn't keep her updated. He packed up his things and pretended not to notice the eyes that followed his movements - some more subtly that others.
After delivering the letter to the owlery, he stopped halfway through a corridor of empty classrooms. He needed to make sure he could win this duel, and to do so he needed two things. Practiced, powerful spells, and the element of surprise. He daren't practice in the common room again; who knows how long Rowle had been watching before she revealed herself last night, and now every Slytherin would be extra keen to trace his footsteps. No, he needed somewhere more discreet, somewhere he wouldn't be chanced upon by any of his housemates - and an abandoned classroom seemed a reasonable place to start.
He still had over an hour left before curfew. After glancing up and down the hallway, he slipped quietly into an empty classroom. It hadn't been used in some time, as there was a thin layer of dust covering all the furniture. The chalkboard was covered in faded calculations that were far too complex for Hadrian to recognize, and there were only two desks, pushed up against the wall.
Closing the door behind him, he took a slow breath, trying to decide which spells would be the most useful. Assuming the duel would end when one party either yielded or was unable to continue, the full Body-Bind Curse would probably be his best bet at a final blow. However, Hadrian didn't just need to win the duel; he also needed to demonstrate his magical prowess. Therefore he couldn't just hit Malfoy with the Body-Bind and be done with it; he needed to show off, to prove it wasn't just a lucky first hit. He'd have to toy with Malfoy, but make sure he didn't grow overconfident and allow the other boy to get in a few hits himself.
He had nobody to practice his spells on, without Sparky to cheerfully volunteer her services, so he would merely have to cast them at the wall and hope he was practicing them correctly. Hadrian soon lost himself in the drills, in the elegant movements and the familiar incantations. Slowly he fell into a rhythm - he made sure to change up the order of the spells he practiced, as not to fall complacent, but when there was nobody to send spells back at him he couldn't help but settle into a comfortable tempo.
Incantations flew from his lips and jinxes rang from his wand. It was difficult to keep the magic from seeping through his skin and out of his fingertips; he was controlling the deep pit of power within him, but with every spell he was tempted to release the hold he kept on himself and see what he could do, see the extent of his abilities if only they were set free -
But then he remembered the warehouse he'd blown up in Knockturn Alley, and tightened the grip on his magic. It didn't matter how euphoric it felt to give himself up to it; he needed to control himself.
Half an hour into this dance, Hadrian felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He dropped his wand arm from where it had been in the air, the Full Body-Bind Curse halfway out of his mouth. His breath caught as he realized the door was cracked ajar, when he had most certainly closed it on his way in. Stowing his wand back into his robes quickly, he hastened to the door and peeked out, looking up and down the hallway. It appeared just as empty as it had when he had first arrived. He swallowed uneasily.
He didn't dare remain when he felt someone watching him, so he quickly returned to the Slytherin common room, a blank look on his face but deeply ill at ease underneath. He barely spared a glance at his housemates as he retired to his dorm, fervently hoping Elena's reply would be swift. With any luck, he might have some advice the morning of the duel.
Sleep did not come easy that night.
In the morning, Hadrian awoke with a new determination. Their first class was Charms, and when Professor Flitwick had them all attempt Lumos again, Hadrian cast it perfectly his first try. He saw Tracey suppress a flicker of a smile.
He tried to pay attention the rest of Charms, but his mind couldn't help but wander towards their next class - Flying. He had to actively suppress a stupid grin from stretching over his face at the thought. He didn't have a clue what it would be like, but it sounded incredible; the height, the speed, the freedom… it was the class he had most been looking forward to. He had been tempted to buy a broomstick to try it himself before he even went to Hogwarts, but Elena had cautioned him against it. Plus they were incredibly expensive, and his life had warned him against extravagent expenses.
Try as he might, he couldn't help but look excited as the first-years funneled out of the castle and onto the field. However, he wasn't alone; Gryffindors and Slytherins alike wore expressions of anticipation. Only Zabini managed to preserve his near-permanent expression of semi-boredom. The Slytherins organized themselves into a neat line beside a row of broomsticks and after a faint pause the Gryffindors mirrored them.
Their instructor, Madam Hooch, walked up the line between the two houses. Madam Hooch was a wiry, athletic woman with short silver hair and yellow eyes like those of a hawk. She watched as the students put their hand out over their brooms and tried to get it to rise.
There were cries of "up!" from all the first-years and Hadrian noticed unpleasantly that Malfoy's broom jumped into his hand immediately. He cleared his throat and stuck his hand out, saying firmly, "up!"
He grinned when his broom jumped into his hand at once. His grin widened as he watched Zabini finally lose his cool as his broomstick refused to budge. Greengrass's only wriggled, and Parkinson's refused to move at all, but Tracey managed to lift hers after only a few attempts.
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms correctly, and walked up and down correcting people's grips. Hadrian couldn't help but feel delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," instructed Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle - three - two -
But one of the Gryffindor boys, Longbottom, had pushed off before the whistle had touched her lips. Madam Hooch shouted at him to come back down as he rose quickly in the air, but Hadrian could see Longbottom had no control over his broom, the poor thing was clinging on for dear life. Hadrian could see his pasty face pale and he whimpered as he looked at the ground before gasping and sliding back off the broom, landing on the ground with a dull thud and a nasty crack. The broomstick, untethered by the boy, twitched in the air slightly before sinking slowly to the ground. Hadrian watched as Madam Hooch scooped up the boy, mutter about a broken wrist, and turn to the class.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch". Come on, dear."
She led the sniveling boy back towards the castle, and no sooner had they hobbled out of earshot than Malfoy burst into peals of grating laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle joined in on his laughter, while the Zabini and Greengrass rolled their eyes.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Patil, a Gryffindor girl.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Parkinson. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvarti."
"Or maybe she just understands house unity, a concept that seems to be lost on Pansy dearest," Hadrian muttered so only Tracey could hear. She smiled at him despite herself.
"Look!" Cried Malfoy suddenly, snatching something up from the ground. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" He held up a glass ball the size of a marble full of white smoke. Hadrian glanced questioningly at Tracey.
"Remembrall," she whispered, but didn't explain what that meant.
"I reckon I'll hold on to this for the little piggie," Malfoy said with a chuckle, pocketing it.
"Don't be a prat, Malfoy," said Weasley, his tone exasperated. "Give it here."
Suddenly, Hadrian realized what an opportunity was being presented to him. An opportunity that, if properly utilized, could greatly better his position. While Malfoy and Weasley argued, Hadrian tugged gently at the wriggling feeling in the back of his mind. Softly, the Remembrall rolled out of Malfoy's pocket and onto the grass.
Everyone else was too preoccupied with the argument to notice the tiny glass ball roll across he ground and beneath Hadrian's robes. He willed it to rise up the leg of his trousers and let the magic go once it was safely tucked into his pocket.
Malfoy and Weasley's fight was brought to a close when Madam Hooch returned, and they were all allowed to try gently floating on their broomsticks. Hadrian wondered how long it would take Malfoy to notice the Remembrall was missing.
After Herbology, which Hadrian found he disliked as it reminded him too much of doing gardening for the Dursleys, Hadrian raced to complete all of his homework. This time, he was much more careful as he left the common room, careful to make sure he wasn't followed. He found a different unused classroom - Hogwarts seemed to have an abundance of them - and resumed his practice from the night before. Everything rested on this duel. If he lost, he didn't know what he'd be able to do to regain any sort of foothold. He doubted even Tracey would still talk to him.
The next day, Hadrian couldn't concentrate in any of his classes. His skin buzzed with apprehension all day. He was confident he would win - he'd faced far more formidable opponents than Malfoy - but non had had such stakes, non had been in front of the people he had to live with for next seven years.
After supper, Hadrian waited until nearly all the Slytherins had returned to the common room before he left the Great Hall, walking quickly after a group of Gryffindors. Weasley, Finnigan and Thomas were laughing loudly, Longbottom trailing after them.
"Can I have a word?" Hadrian asked politely but quiety. Longbottom jumped and turned to face him and blanched.
"Um - er - I -"
"Hadrian Potter, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," he introduced himself, smiling.
"I know who you are," squeaked Longbottom, before his eyes widened and he seemed to realise what he'd said. "I mean - er - Neville Longbottom, Heir to the Noble and M-most Ancient House of Longbottom."
"Well met," Hadrian replied pleasantly, a little taken aback by the boy's meekness. Nonetheless, he pressed on. "How's your wrist?"
"Fine," Longbottom answered, still looking petrified. "M-Madam Pomfrey fixed it."
Hadrian smiled again. "That's great! I grew up with muggles, so it still seems incredible to me that broken bones can be repaired so quickly." Longbottom only stared at him. "Listen, so, you dropped this that day during flying class, and I haven't had a chance to return it until now." He held out the Remembrall, and Longbottom blinked.
"How - how did you get that? Ron said Malfoy -"
Hadrian shrugged. "He must have dropped it going back inside, I found it in the grass. Slippery little thing."
Longbottom took it slowly, as if not quite believing what was happening. "Thanks," he said cautiously. Hadrian waved away his gratitude.
"It's no problem," he said cheerfully. "I'm just glad you're feeling better. Well, see you in Potions!" He left the poor boy standing there bewildered and made his way back to the Slytherin common room, feeling pleased. He'd finally done something to make progress.
His satisfaction slowly drained away as he neared the common room, the impending duel weighing upon him. He sat at a small desk and set out his half-finished Herbology homework and pretended to read the textbook, but really all he could think about was the duel. When he finally realized he wouldn't be able to concentrate, he pulled Elena's reply from his bag and broke the wax seal.
Hadrian,
You're a damn fool. You have no business dueling when you haven't owned a wand for more than a few months. And angering the Malfoys is a dangerous mistake to make.
But I suppose there's no use arguing about it, you can't back out now. The only choice you have is to win, gracefully, and hope the Malfoy brat doesn't run home to his father and complain. I taught you the spells you'll need, and if you've any sense in that damn fool brain of yours you'll have practiced them enough to cast them in your sleep.
You'll be tempted to use your other ability. In the heat of the duel, you'll want to fall back on something you're more comfortable with. Don't. Even if it's the only way to win. Better you lose a petty duel in first year than reveal your biggest trump card.
Of course, you still can't lose. You'll have to win with just your wand. And next time, consult me before you decide to get caught up in a duel.
Elena
Hadrian put down the letter, sufficiently chastised. Malfoy had challenged him, he thought indignantly. It wasn't his fault!
Quietly, however, he acknowledged he had baited him into it. It had seemed the smart move at the time, but now he wasn't so sure. His hands were sweaty as he crumpled the letter up into a little ball, shoving it into his bag. The grandfather clock at the base of the stairs ticked gently and he glanced at it, biting his lip. Ten minutes to go.
With a sigh of acceptance, he put away his homework and hauled the bag over his shoulder, dumping his stuff in his dorm before returning to the common room. He had only just stepped down when Warrington stood in front of him. "It's time," he said with a grin. "This way to the dueling pit." Hadrian only nodded and followed him through a door next to a large portrait of Merlin. He led Hadrian through a hallway with several doors on either side. At Hadrian's curious eyes he said, "O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. study rooms." Hadrian didn't ask what O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s were.
Finally at the end of the hallway a shiny black door led into a large room with a long pit in the middle. Leveled seats were placed on either side to observe. Hadrian was impressed; he hadn't expected it to be so professional looking.
What suprised him more, however, was the amount of people sitting on either side of the pit. Nearly everyone third year and under was here, including several upper years. Hadrian even spotted Gemma Farley, the prefect. He wiped his sweaty palms on his robes as he approached the pit, where Malfoy already stood next to Crabbe, a smirk on his face. It only widened when he caught sight of Hadrian.
"You took your time, Potter," he sneered. "I almost thought you'd decided not to show up. You sure you don't want to run away?"
Hadrian forced himself to laugh derisively. "Trying to get me to let you off? If you didn't want to duel, you shouldn't have challenged me. It almost sounds as if you're trying to back out, Malfoy," he taunted.
Malfoy's face grew a shade pinker, but before he could muster a retort Warrington's voice broke out loudly, "We are gathered here to witness a wizard's duel, between Challenger Heir Draco Malfoy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy and Challenged Heir Harry Potter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. They will fight until one party has yielded, been disarmed, or is unable to continue. I now call upon the seconds!" Hadrian tried to squash the shameful burn in his belly as Malfoy smirked at him. "Will Challenger Malfoy's second please step forward!"
Crabbe stepped forward, leering at Hadrian. "I, Vincent Crabbe, am Heir Malfoy's second, and vow to pick up his wand should it fall for the last time." The ritualistic words betrayed the uselessness of the formality; unless it was a duel to the death, seconds were forbidden from actually participating. Still, Hadrian had to hand it to Malfoy; it was an efficient way to humiliate him, to remind him he had no allies.
"Will Challenged Potter's second please step forward!' Called Warrington, and Hadrian's cheeks burned red. They already knew he didn't have a second. Warrington was toying with him. A dull, excrutiating silence filled the hall, and Hadrian opened his mouth but someone else broke it before he could. To his utter shock, Blaise Zabini stepped forward from the stands.
"I, Blaise Zabini, am Heir Potter's second, and vow to pick up his wand should it fall for the last time." Hadrian only stared at him, and he knew he wasn't the only one. The entire room goggled at him, many open-mouthed. What the hell was Zabini up to?
Warrington was the first to recover. "The - er - the seconds have spoken," he said, his tone perplexed. "The duelers may take their positions."
Hadrian didn't take his eyes off of Zabini as the two of them walked to the other side of the pit.
"If I didn't know better," Zabini murmured under his breath, amusement playing upon his dark features, "I'd say you were less than thrilled at my volunteering. Strange, I didn't see anyone else stepping up."
"What game are you playing, Zabini?" Hadrian asked suspicously. Zabini only raised his eyebrows.
"I'm merely doing what Slytherins do best. Backing the winning side." And with that there was no more time to talk, as Hadrian had to turn to face Malfoy, Zabini standing off to the side.
"The duelers will approach," Warrington called, and Hadrian and Malfoy met in the center of the pit. "The duelers will draw." Hadrian and Malfoy did so, their wands held in front of their faces.
"Scared, Potter?" Asked Malfoy tauntingly. Hadrian only smirked in response.
"You wish."
"The the duelers will bow." Both parties leant in shallow, insulting bows, before returning to the ends of the pit.
"The duelers will fight!"
Malfoy didn't even wait for Warrington to finish before he cast his first spell, the Jelly-Legs Jinx. Hadrian ducked beneath it easily, and as he did so, all his trepidation and anxiousness fell away. Suddenly he felt he was back in the fighting pits, Spider cheering him on from the sidelines. Malfoy was merely another Skullfinger, or Steelfist. And this time, Hadrian didn't have to worry about not using magic.
It came apparent very quickly that while Malfoy was perfectly competent at spell-casting, he had never properly faced anyone in combat before, dueling or otherwise. And as Hadrian dodged a second, and then a third spell, he felt an easy grin spread across face. Malfoy's face reddened and he tossed jinx after jinx, but Hadrian evaded them easily, as if they were poorly thrown punches.
"Coward," spat Malfoy, who had a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. "You're only proving yourself to be a filthy little -"
But he never finished, as Hadrian cast his first spell of the duel, a simple stinging hex. It hit him mid-sentence and he cried out in pain, the area beneath his left cheekbone swelling rapidly. Hadrian didn't allow him any time to recover. "Tarantellegra!" He cried, and Malfoy's legs began to dance around uncontrollably. It wouldn't be enough to just defeat the other boy; he needed to humiliate him, to convince the rest of the house he was powerless next to Hadrian.
"Furnunculus!" Hadrian cast, and ugly boils erupted all over his opponent's face. Malfoy yelled in outrage and finally recovered from the dancing jinx enough to respond.
"Densaugeo!" Shouted Malfoy, but his aim had only grown worse with his frustration, and Hadrian sidestepped it effortlessly. Now, in the heat of the duel, he couldn't remember what he had been so worried about. Malfoy shot another Jelly-Legs Jinx at him that he deftly avoided, and responded with a trip jinx. Malfoy managed to jump aside but Hadrian was already casting a follow-up spell, a second trip jinx, and it hit Malfoy squarely in the knee. The blond boy fell flat on his face, and as he struggled back to his feet Hadrian hammered the final nail.
"Petrificus Totalus!" He intoned, and Malfoy took the body-bind curse to his shoulder, his body freezing up on the ground. The dueling chamber was deathly quiet as Hadrian walked over to Malfoy and yanked his wand from his hand, tossing it to the ground a few meters away.
Hadrian turned his gaze to Warrington, a small smirk playing over his lips. Warrington was looking at him with bugged out eyes, his lips parted in surprise.
"Challenged Potter is victorious!"
His words seemed to break a seal of silence on the spectators, as they all broke out into a deafening storm at once. Some were whooping, others shouting arguments or disputing the fairness of the duel, and still others find their friends in the crowd and passing coins between them. Hadrian felt his heart thundering in his chest, an intense satisfaction bleeding into pride as he looked on the prone body of his defeated opponent. He was so caught up in the feeling of victory he didn't notice Zabini's approach until the boy was already next to him.
"Congratulations," the taller boy offered. Hadrian whipped around to glare at him, his eyes narrow.
"Why did you do that?" He demanded.
"I told you," Zabini replied smoothly. "Backing the winner is always a smart move."
"But how did you know I would win?"
Zabini only smiled. "Call it a hunch. Now if you'll excuse me, I've quite a bit of money to collect from dearest Pansy." He made his way out of the pit and into the stands, leaving Hadrian to watch him go.
He heard a commotion behind him and turned to see Malfoy snatching up his wand, after Warrington had performed the counter-curse. Hadrian opened his mouth to offer sarcastic condolences when Malfoy pointed his wand at him.
"Titillando!" He spat, and Hadrian jumped out of the way at the last moment.
"Malfoy!" Snapped Greengrass, who had been sitting in the front row. "The duel is over. You've embarressed yourself enough as it is. Don't squander what little dignity you have left." The dueling hall had fallen mostly quiet again in the face of Malfoy's dishonor.
"You must have cheated!" Blustered Malfoy, and Hadrian only looked at him distastefully. He could see nearly everyone else also had disgust written over their faces as they stared at Malfoy. It seemed the blond noticed it too, because his scowl deepened and he shouldered his way through the crowd.
"Move," he hissed, shoving people out of the way to get to the door. Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson followed him quickly afterwards. This seemed to indicate the end of the event, because the spectators began to slowly trickle out after him. To Hadrian's surprise, many of them came up to congratulate him before they left.
"Nicely done, Potter," Gemma Farely said with a genuine grin. "You're quite the dueler already." Hadrian only nodded in thanks.
"Congratulations," Greengrass told him. Her tone wasn't warm, exactly, but it was certainly less icy than he'd ever heard it. "You fought well." She didn't wait for his response before she left.
He beheld Rowle warily as the girl approached him. "I ought to thank you, Potter," she said, amusement ringing throughout her tone. "You've made me rich. The odds were certianly against you."
He furrowed an eyebrow. "Then why'd you bet on me?"
She only smirked. "I knew you'd win." He was unable to question her further because a strong hand clapped him on the shoulder.
"It's about bloody time someone put that prat in his place," Bulstrode said, her smile ear-to-ear. "He's utterly insufferable. I owe you one, Potter." When Hadrian raised his eyebrows at her lack of decorum, she waved him away. "Oh, he's got the fancy name, but he's also the biggest git I've ever met. Well, I'll see you tomorrow then." She nodded at them both before leaving.
Hadrian couldn't quite believe the shift. Only an hour ago, he hadn't had any allies, and the only person who even spoke to him without attempting to ridicule him was Davis. Now, people who weren't even in his year were speaking to him with respect.
That night, he had the best sleep he'd had in weeks. When he woke, both Nott and Zabini nodded to him as they left for the feast. He stared at them as they left the dorm, then quickly hurried after them. He wasn't in the mood to be alone with Malfoy and his cronies.
When he sat down for breakfast across from Nott, Zabini sat to his right, and Bulstrode slid in at his left. "Morning, Potter," Greengrass greeted, spreading marmalade on a piece of toast. Hadrian nodded back stiffly, still not totally sure they weren't all playing a practical joke on him.
"Greengrass," he greeted in reply, reaching for a flagon of pumpkin juice to fill his goblet. Bulstrode handed it to him.
"So, how's are champion today?" She asked, grinning. He chuckled.
"Not looking forward to writing this Potions essay," he admitted easily. She laughed loudly, pouring milk over a bowl of cereal.
"You and me both, Potter. You and me both." Greengrass rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and Hadrian felt a small speck of warmth blossom in his chest. They talked and laughed and whinged about homework and for the first time, Hadrian felt like a normal child. It was an absurd notion, given that they were only treating him like this because he'd won a magical wizard's duel, but still. It felt good, and simple.
The conversation grew tense when Malfoy and his goons arrived. Malfoy didn't look at Hadrian. "Pass the toast, Daphne darling," he said condescendingly. She didn't respond, only turned slightly away from him to ask Nott a question about something from the newspaper. Draco scowled.
"Forget it. Theo, the toast?"
Nott didn't ignore him as Greengrass did, but he looked to Malfoy with an expression of distaste and didn't reply. Malfoy flushed, before finally Parkinson took pity on him and passed a rack of toast. For the rest of the meal, all but Parkinson Crabbe and Goyle resolutely refused to speak to Malfoy, or acknowledge him past a dirty look.
"Daphne and I are going to the library to tackle that essay together," Zabini said as he finished his bowl of porridge. "Care to join us?"
Hadrian blinked. "Why not?" Greengrass nodded with a smile, and the three of them headed to the door of the Great Hall when they were stopped in their tracks by the greasy-haired potions master.
"Mr Potter," he drawled quietly.
"Yes Professor?"
"Follow me please. The Headmaster would like a word."