Hadrian followed the potions master through the castle in silence, desperately hoping the man couldn't sense how nervous he felt. This would be his first true test; the duel had been important, yes, it had won him respect, but now he would face the biggest player on the board. It would be the first move in a very long game.

"We're here," Professor Snape said shortly, eyeing Hadrian with distaste. Hadrian didn't know what he'd done for the professor to dislike him so; he was polite and respectful in class, had top grades in Potions, and was in his own bloody house!

Whatever it was, Hadrian didn't have time to ponder the problem, as Professor Snape turned to a Gargoyle set in the wall where they had stopped and said, "Sugar Quills." The gargoyle twitched and came alive, jumping aside. The stone wall behind him split down the middle and opened, revealing a spiral staircase that slowly spun upwards. Professor Snape stepped onto it and Hadrian quickly followed suit and they rose for an almost uncomfortably long time, before the stairs eventually grinded to a halt in front fof a gleaming oak door decorated with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffon. Hadrian pressed his lips together to stop a snicker from escaping.

Then Professor Snape knocked on the door three times and all amusement faded, replaced by a sense of trepidation and a rather attractive desire to run back down the stairs, out of the castle, and all the way home.

A small part of him thought he was being silly; how dangerous could Dumbledore really be? He was an old man, the head teacher of a school. His time had come and gone, however powerful he had been in his youth.

But the rest of him knew better. Anyone who had managed to become Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was no one to be trifled with. However, the titles weren't what had seeded the pit of terror within Hadrian's belly.

"Albus Dumbledore is the most dangerous man I have ever met," Elena said, dipping her quill into a pot of ink. She began scratching away on a piece of parchment as Hadrian slumped in a chair beside her.

Hadrian snorted. "He's some old teacher, and some of the books say he's half mad anyway. An old crackpot, well past his prime. He doesn't scare me."

Elena's eyes rose from her letter to meet Hadrian's, her gaze unwavering. "Then you're a fool," she said plainly. "He scares me. There are three people in this world I'm frightened of, Hadrian - truly frightened of - and he's at the top of the list. He terrifies me."

Hadrian blinked at her, incredulous. Elena was the most dangerous person he knew, and she had taken on Mr Noir's lackeys single-handedly. How could she be terrified of some old man?

He shook his head. "I'm not afraid of him," he said stubbornly, but a worm of doubt wriggled in his stomach.

Something foreign bloomed in Elena's eyes and she set down her quill. "Hadrian," she said, quietly but firmly, "bravery is not incompatible with fear. They are interconnected. Only when you are afraid does it require courage to act; only then can you truly be brave. It is okay to admit to yourself when you are scared. To pretend you are never afraid is folly, and will cost you dearly one day. Do not underestimate Albus Dumbledore, Hadrian. Everyone who ever has has paid for it."

The doors opened. "Go on," Professor Snape ordered, a sneer curling his upper lip. Hadrian didn't spare him so much as a glance before stepping through the doors and hearing them close behind him; he was alone.

It was the strangest room he'd ever seen. Large and circular, spindly tables scattered haphazardly throughout the room held curious instruments whose functions he couldn't begin to guess at. Most were moving, spinning and whirring and tinkling, and Hadrian felt his eyes widen in wonder in spite of himself. The walls were covered with portraits of men and women sleeping, slumped in their chairs. He presumed they were the former Headmistresses and Headmasters, as they all sat upon the same chair, one that was tucked behind an enormous claw-footed desk in the office. On the grand bookshelf behind the desk, to Hadrian's surprise, sat the Sorting Hat, looking just as shabby and tattered as it had the day of the sorting. Hadrian bit his lip, but before he could reach for it, he heard a melodic trill echo from behind him. He turned around to see a magnificent bird, it's red plumage tinted with gold, cocking its head at him. It trilled again, more softly this time, and Hadrian felt a tinge of warmth run through him, settling some of his nerves.

Then he heard the creak of a door and whirled around to see a the door beside the portraits open, and Albus Dumbledore step out. "Harry, my boy," he said with a gentle smile, "how are you?" Hadrian blinked, and for a moment he forgot he was supposed to respond. The silence stretched out between them and suddenly Hadrian remembered how to speak.

"I'm well, Headmaster," he replied respectfully, trying to let neither his fear nor his disgust at the man's easy familiarity ruin his tone. He made sure not to meet his eyes; Elena had been very explicit on that front. He was never, under any circumstances, to look directly into the man's eyes. He swallowed, his eyes fixed on the wiry bridge of Dumbledore's glasses, half-moon spectacles.

"Good, good. Are you enjoying Hogwarts?"

"Yes, Professor. Classes are very exciting," Hadrian replied, his fingers twitching. Something about Dumbledore's congenial, grandfatherly manner grated on his nerves. Slowly he felt his fear fade to a simmer, irritation quickly replacing it. Dumbledore could not hurt him here. He would not dare.

"I'm glad. I heard you gave a very powerful display in Filius's class the other day," Dumbeldore continued, pulling out the tall chair behind the desk and taking a seat. The tips of his fingers met as he awaited Hadrian's answer.

Hadrian glanced at his toes and offered up a shy smile, giving the impression of a flustered little boy. "Yes," he admitted with a embarrassed laugh, "I, um… it was the first spell I ever tried. I guess I just thought there would be more to it."

Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly. "Yes, we do sometimes get the occasional incident with those who haven't grown up in our world." There was a pause, and Hadrian realized they had finally arrived at the point they were really here to discuss. "I must confess, my boy, I was rather surprised when you wrote back so quickly. It's a rare thing that those who grew up with muggles believe the letter is real, let alone are willing to accept a place in a school they've never heard of."

Hadrian feigned confusion. "Then why send letters to muggleborns at all? If you don't believe they'll accept?"
"Uusually we send a follow-up administrator, Professor McGonagall, or Professor Flitwick, and have them explain the situation. Do a magical demonstration for the child and their parents. I had expected we'd need to send someone to explain it to you."

"But my aunt and uncle knew about magic, Professor," Hadrian responded, keeping up the charade of false puzzlement. He wanted to confirm his theory.

A pitying smile fell across Dumbledore's face and Hadrian was seized by a sudden, nonsensical urge to reach out and slap the old man's ridiculous spectacles off of his face. Maybe break his nose for what looked to be a fourth time. "I regret to say, my boy, that having met your guardians, I was doubtful they would be so forthcoming about your parents' world."

Hadrian forced out a laugh as the pit of disgust in his stomach transformed into a quiet, icy rage. "Well, you were mostly right. They didn't say anything for most of my life, but when they saw the letter my Aunt Petunia told me everything. She seemed to think if she didn't allow me to go, 'my lot' were going to show up and curse her."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. "Hm. Petunia always seems to surprise me. As do you."

"Sorry, Professor? What do you mean?" Hadrian asked, raising his gaze to stare at a wrinkle on the headmaster's forehead.

"Well, I'll be the first to admit your sorting was a shock to us all. Both your parents had been in Gryffindor, after all, and given your history…"

"My housemates seem to think the same thing, Professor," Hadrian said easily. "I guess I'm not exactly what most people expected."

"No… no, I don't suppose you are, Harry," Dumbledore agreed with a conspiritorial laugh.

"Hadrian, Professor."

"Sorry, my boy?

"My name is Hadrian. Not Harry." For the first time since the conversation had started, Hadrian's tone was firm and genuine. Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, his blue eyes twinkling madly, before nodding.

"Of course, my apologies."

"Thank you, Professor. And I'm sorry to be rude, but I was wondering if I might go soon? It's just, I promised Zabini and Greengrass that I would meet them in the library, we're supposed to be doing our homework…"

Dumbeldore's expression didn't change, but he paused just a little too long before answering. "You're doing your homework with Zabini and Greengrass? Interesting company to keep, for a Potter."

Hadrian bit his tongue before replying. "They're both very bright," was all he said.

"Yes, well, I'm glad you're making friends. You may go now, sorry for keeping you this long - you must forgive an old man's curiosity, Harry."

"Hadrian," he corrected again.

"Right, of course. My apologies."

Hadrian thanked him left as quickly as he could, feeling Dumbledore's eyes glued to the back of his head as he left the office and descended down the spiral staircase.

Disconcerted, he played the conversation over and over again in his mind as he wandered back to the library. He hadn't seemed dangerous - in fact, he had seemed more like a genial old man than a brilliant politician and powerful wizard.

And that, he knew, made the man all the more dangerous. Everything about him was clearly cultivated to make you underestimate him, to make you open up to him and trust him. If Hadrian hadn't been warned, even he might have fallen for it. However, there remained a sliver of something unforgivable that shattered the grandfatherly façade. Dumbledore had clearly been aware of the Durselys' views, and what kind of people they were. Even if he wasn't sure exactly how far they would go, he had made no attempt to check up on Hadrian. If he had, and hadn't interfered that was even worse. The moment Dumbledore confirmed his knowledge of the Dursleys' character, Hadrian knew the man was his enemy.

His mind was so preoccupied he nearly ran headfirst into Tracey when he turned the corner.

"Oh my - Potter, I'm sorry, I -"

"Don't apologize," Hadrian dismissed easily, a quick grin on his lips. "It was my fault, I wasn't paying attention." There was a long silence as he waited for her to say something, but she only stared at his shoes. He raised an eyebrow. "Okay then," he said slowly, "if you're -"

"I'm sorry," she murmured again, quieter this time.

"I just said -"

"No. Not about that. About…"

And suddenly Hadrian knew what she meant. He remembered his expression the week before, when he'd met her gaze with a desperate question in his eyes and she had turned away and remained silent.

"I don't blame you," he told her honestly, his voice matching the her low volume.

Tracey lifted her eyes to his, a small kernel of hope dancing in her soft brown eyes. "You don't?"

Hadrian smiled. "Truly. I probably would have done the same thing. I wasn't exactly a popular player, and it didn't look like I was going to win. Malfoy may be a bigot and a prick, but he was right; nobody wants to tie themselves to a drowning man."

He could see relief flood Tracey's face as she spoke. "I am sorry, though. Truly. I'm just not… I'm not brave," she admitted, shame colouring her tone.

Hadrian chuckled. "You made the smart choice. In fact, if you had volunteered to be my second, I might begin to wonder if they'd sorted you wrong." This got a small laugh out of Tracey, and he could see a weight lift off her shoulders.

"I'm heading to the library to work on that potions essay with Zabini and Greengrass. Care to join us?"

Tracey shook her head. "They're not exactly my biggest fans. Thanks, Potter, but I'd rather not. Besides, I've finished the essay already."

"Alright, if you're sure. And - Hadrian."

"Hm?"
"Call me Hadrian." He smiled at her and held out her hand. She blinked at him before grinning slowly, taking his hand.

"Hadrian, then. And - call me Tracey." They shook gently before parting.

When Hadrian finally arrived at the library, Greengrass and Zabini were already halfway through the essay. They looked up when he lifted his bookbag over his head and set it down on the table next to Zabini.

"Took you long enough," Zabini said, his tone bored. Greengrass didn't look up passed a nod in greeting, but Hadrian could tell by the way they had both stopped writing, pretending to be proof-reading, that they were eager to know why he had been called into the headmaster's office.

"Well," he said lightly, spreading out his potions things, "That was a complete and utter waste of time. He didn't have a thing to say that would have made it worth the trip."

"Oh?" Greengrass replied, finally lifting her gaze to meet Hadrian's now that she was sure her curiosity would be quenched. "What did he want?"
"Nothing of import, it seemed to me. He asked me how I was finding Hogwarts. Wanted to make sure I was settling in. Seemed a little surprised about my sorting."

Zabini snorted. "Well he wasn't alone. I think poor Nott nearly had an aneurysm, and you should have seen Daphne dearest's face. Her eyebrows rose so high I feared they'd never land back on Earth." Greengrass whacked him on the head with her book, and he flipped her the bird.

"Well? What'd you think of him?" Greengrass asked, a little too nonchalantly. Hadrian blinked.

"Well, other than being a creepy, condescending old man who's clearly holding onto biases of a different time, I suppose he's alright."

Zabini and Greengrass glanced at eachother before cracking grins. "Daphne here was worried you'd get indoctrinated into his cult of loyal Light ass-kissers," Zabini said, and Greengrass wacked him on the head again.

Hadrian feigned a gasp of surprise. "I can't believe you'd have such little faith in me, Greengrass. I'm insulted." Greengrass rolled her eyes but Zabini's grin only widened.

"Ooh, be careful with that one Daphne. If you wound his pride too much maybe he'll challenge you to a duel. It would be a sad thing to watch you humiliated the way Malfoy was." The three of them laughed, and Hadrian felt a strange warmth bloom behind his ribs.

That night, after penning letters to both Elena and his family, Hadrian made sure everyone in his dorm was asleep before creeping out of the dorm and down the stairs. There was nobody in the common room, not at this hour, but he daren't risk another encounter like he'd had with Rowle. Next time he might not be so lucky as to get off with an ominous warning.

So instead he continued through the common room to the door by Merlin's portrait. Merlin himself watched him with deep green eyes but the ancient warlock said nothing, only followed his movements. Hadrian opened the door, unsettled by Merlin's watchful eyes.

He hurried through the corridor before gently trying the door of one of the O.W.L study rooms. It was locked. Cursing quietly, he tried the next one. It opened with a soft click, revealing a comfortable room the size of a small classroom. One wall had several black windows and another a large blackboard. The remnants of a complicated looking diagram covered the majority of the board, while several flyers were stuck to one end of it. There were several large mahogany desks that had been pushed into the centre to form one large table, comfortable green chairs haphazardly placed around the edge, some pushed in and some not even facing the table.

A brass model of the solar system was sat in the center of the table beside a broken quill, and Hadrian made sure to lock the door behind him as he set down his Charms textbook, opening it to the second chapter, and got to work. The control came much easier than the first time, and he went to bed two hours later satisfied with himself, excited for class.

Hadrian began to settle into a rhythm at Hogwarts. Nearly every night, he'd wake around two, practice his magic for an hour or two, and then go back to sleep. It was difficult but very quickly it began to show results. Each spell he attempted came easier to him, and by October, he barely had to concentrate on actively tapping the well of magic within him in order to cast one. His performance in Charms and Transfiguration increased drastically; the only people that managed to keep up with him in Charms were Rowle, Zabini, and the Hufflepuff boy Macmillan. In Transfiguration, he and Greengrass were tied for the top of the class; however, Hadrian heard that the Gryffindor girl, Granger, was still beating him in both classes, by a wide margin. It irked his pride to hear, but they weren't in either class together, so there was no true sense of competition.

It was a different story in his other classes. In History of Magic he was further behind than every one of his housemates. While he had a pretty good basis on recent history and current events (courtesy of Elena's insistent lectures), he'd never heard a thing about the witches and wizards of the Middle Ages; while Emeric the Evil and Aelfen the Valiant were common household names among wizarding families, Hadrian hadn't heard of them until Binns began to lecture on the subject. So during class, while everyone else ignored their professor and read the textbook or completed homework for other classes, Hadrian did his best to listen attentively and write sufficient notes. It was extremely difficult not to let his mind wander, or even to drift off to sleep; Professor Binns was boring at the best of time, but Hadrian was running on much less sleep than everyone else, and was already nearly constantly drowsy. To Hadrian's dismay, Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't any more exciting than History of Magic. It was a little easier, as he wasn't so far behind, but Professor Quirrel was hardly more interesting than Professor Binns. They never did any practical work, and while according to Gemma Farley that was common in first year with any teacher, it was still irksome. Herbology was slightly better; it still reminded him far too much of the Dursley's yardwork for him to truly enjoy it, but he didn't hate it quite so much.

Potions, however, was his crowning glory. He seemed to grow better with every lesson, and soon he was surpassing even Granger. Professor Snape always did his best to find something wrong, but his criticisms quickly grew more and more nitpicky.

One Wednesday morning, after brewing a near-perfect potion that even Professor Snape couldn't find anything to complain about, Hadrian noticed Longbottom's sweating face and irregular breathing patterns that were almost worrisome by the end of the lesson. Hadrian watched him pack up his things morosely, and an idea began to formulate within Hadrian's mind. Tracey waited for Hadrian to finish and walk with her but he waved her away, pretending he wanted a word with Professor Snape.

"It's your funeral," was all she had said before walking out the door with Bulstrode. Hadrian made sure the class had all filtered out before he darted out of the dungeons and turned left instead of right, following the pack of Gryffindors. A dejected Longbottom trailed slowly behind them.

"Longbottom," Hadrian called out, and the pale boy turned around. "We keep meeting like this," Hadrian joked, but Longbottom looked nearly as nervous as he had last time he'd spoken to him.

"Well m-met," Longbottom greeted, but Hadrian just smiled.

"I don't think we need to be quite so formal anymore, our conversations would just become exhausting otherwise. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you because I noticed you're not doing too well in Potions."

Longbottom seemed to shrink before him. "I know. I'm hopeless," he said miserably.

Hadrian shook his head. "You're not hopeless, but I wasn't talking about your talent anyway. It looked like you were having a panic attack back there."

Longbottom looked shocked at the idea. "I - what?"

Hadrian offered a kind smile. "A panic attack. Your breathing pattern, the sweat on your brow… did your chest become tight? Did it feel like the room was spinning?"

Longbottom looked at him like he was mad. "How - how did you know that?"

"That's what panic attacks do to you. My sis - um, my friend gets them sometimes. I just wanted to speak to you about it, because I've noticed it happen in the past three Potions classes."

Longbottom looked at the ground.

"Look, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I just wanted to offer my help."

At that, Longbottom raised his head in a mixture of surprise and confusion. "H-how? And - why would you want to help me?"

"The attacks tend to happen when Professor Snape yells at you, or tries to humiliate you, and he does that whenever he gets an opportunity - which is whenever your potion goes wrong. I thought I'd offer to help you with potions. We could meet up maybe once or twice a week, and I'd help you out with the theory and maybe practice a brew or two. How's that sound?"

Longbottom's stare turned almost suspicious. "Why?"

Hadrian shrugged. "I was the one who was doing rubbish at the beginning of the year. I guess I just wish someone had offered to help me." When Longbottom didn't reply, Hadrian clasped the other boy's shoulder gently. "You don't have tell me now. The offer isn't going to expire. Just… let me know if you change your mind, okay?" He offered the boy one last smile before turning back around and heading to the common room. His cheeks felt strange from all the fake smiling.

The next morning, as Hadrian, Tracey and Bulstrode finished breakfast, they were barred from leaving the Great Hall when Weasley and Finnigan stepped in front of them.

"Harry," Weasley said, and Hadrian's fingers twitched in irritation, "Could we have a word?"

Hadrian blinked. "Why of course," he said pleasantly, not moving a muscle when the two Gryffindors gestured for him to follow them. Weasley gritted his teeth.

"I think you'd prefer if we spoke just the three of us," he said.

"And I think I'd prefer it if we spoke here," Hadrian replied mildly.

Weasley crossed his arms. "Fine. You -"

"Is this weasel bothering you, Potter?" Came Greengrass's smooth voice as she stepped up beside Bulstrode, who chuckled. "Would you like to arrange for pest control?"

Weasley flushed. "Shut up, Greengrass," he spat.

Greengrass only raised a singular brow. "Oh, devastating comeback. How am I to recover from such a blow?"

"Ignore her," Hadrian advised Weasley, almost pitying the boy. "Greengrass is all bark and no bite. Well, mostly. Well, no, she's mostly bite. But I digress. You wanted something?"
Weasley managed to turn his attention away from Greengrass, but his skin was still stained pink. "I was going to say," he replied, drawing himself up and regaining his confidence, "that I'm sure Dumbeldore would be okay with it if you wanted to sit with us at meals."

There was a long, flat silence. Hadrian looked at him increduously. "Excuse me?"

"You know. So you don't have to sit with them anymore." He gestured toward Greengrass and Bulstrode. His tone made it seem obvious.

Hadrian could only stare in disbelief. Was he being serious? This had to be some sort of prank. The boy's older brothers were famous for that sort of thing. But as he studied Weasley's expression, it appeared completely genuine.

"What, you think he wants to sit with you?" Bulstrode asked, as dubious as Hadrian felt. "Why in all the hells would he do that?"

"I'm talking to Harry, not you," Weasley snapped, and Hadrian stilled his fingers.

"Look, Weasley," Hadrian started, and he got not two words out before Weasley interrupted him.

"Ron. You can call me Ron."

Hadrian was growing rapidly impatient with the other boy. "Weasley, I'm flattered that you seem so eager for my company," he heard Bulstrode and Davis snicker quietly, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your offer. Generous as it may be."

Weasley bristled. "What, you'd rather sit with Death Eater spawn?"

That had an impact. A silence quickly blanketed their end of the Great Hall, a great many spectators watching the confrontation.

"That's a bold accusation to make, Weasley," Greengrass said icily.

"It's true though, isn't it?" Weasley demanded stubbornly. "You're lucky the Light is so forgiving, or your parents would all be rotting in cells -"

Before he could finish his sentence, Hadrian had pointed his wand at his legs. The Slytherins moved subtly, blocking the view from the teacher's table, as Hadrian cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Weasley stopped talking as his legs wobbled back and forth and he lurched to the side, clutching at Finnigan's robes before collapsing to the floor.

Hadrian moved Weasley's robes out of the way with the toe of his boot. "Go on, brave lion," he said quietly. "Go run to the teacher's table. Hide behind Dumbledore." Without a second glance, Hadrian exited the Great Hall, Tracey, Bulstrode and Greengrass following closely behind.

I hope you enjoyed! Sorry it was more of a filler, but please please let me know what you think! Reviews are what motivate me to update :)