Chapter 15

Meddling Affairs

Harry had a foreboding feeling as he watched the words come to life, which wasn't even based on what they said. It was instead the reminder it served him... of Tom Riddle's diary that gave him a prickly ice-cold chill down his back. All roads lead back to Riddle, he thought wryly. As he watched, more words followed.

All information accounted for:

Yes

Blood sample A correct verification:

Yes

Unlocking:

Yes

Unlocking Now

Suddenly a mess of scrawl filled the creamy paper, then he flipped through the rest of the papers to see the same happening. It was a tiny, cramped, and cursive muddle to Harry, with phrases and references he did not understand. It looked to be the work of a Healer, with reference to balms and magical maladies. He decided to start reading from the beginning...

"I expect that all the proper paperwork is accordingly there for your... browsing enjoyment," the tall man assured with a gratuitous smile. Mrs. Cole was surely getting along in age, but she was still flustered with this young man- barely thirty three perhaps, at the eldest. He was just so deliciously handsome, with that silky looking hair...

"Why, thank you, Mr. Black. I am definite that there will be no complications in the process. We shall have him called here for a while during his school holidays, and you can meet him. Then also, you may go through with such a big life step as adopting a... young man. I congratulate you!" In her excitement to see this man again, she forgot entirely to warn him of the freakish occurences when it came to Hadrian Riddle, letting Mr. Black leave without any forewarning.

Mr. Orion Black personally had no idea what his Lord was planning when it came to the adoption of some random kid. A more-than-likely mudblood. But he obeyed his orders, regardless of personal confusion. That was what he always did, for he knew his Lord's temper was not to be underestimated and his Lord's judgement could generally be trusted.

Generally.

27. April. 1960

The struggle grows stronger by the day.

My patient's regular absorbance of magical aura is not nearly high enough to support two lives. The child will certainly not make it into the final trimester. Perhaps not even the second. The mother's consumption of food has drastically decreased and yet her child grows stronger, an odd phenomenon. But the child will both pass away with such clear deterioration of the mother's health. It only will take time to watch it happen.

Harry spun through the short, unidentifying entries on this doctor's patient's health, before coming to a stop when the painfully neat writing became sharp and scrawling.

13. August. 1960

The child is strong, stronger than his mother for many weeks now. He swells in magical aura and health on seemingly nothing as his mother consumes little to no food and barely can move from exhaustion. And I have found the answer to this 'phenomenon' as I so foolishly called it. Her unwillingness to eat and lack of movement is a cause of the creature growing inside her. It is taking her magic. and once this is drained, the child will go for the weak crumbs of her life force to help itself survive. It is an ancient sort of wizarding child, created when a mother is intended to be replaced and there is no use for her but her child. I have now discovered they can be replicated accidentally? it seems. I hope. The devoratrix now will take her life, I am now sure of it. Can I stop this? Will she allow me to do so?

If her spouse were to discover what part I have played in concealing her, and then practically insuring her death, I will face a horrible fate. My days are as numbered as the wife.

A dilemma.

14. August. 1960

She refused to be rid of the child, claiming its innocence of all things. So that may be, but it will still kill her in the end.

She also remained staunchly against the idea of even writing a letter to alert her spouse of the child or her survival of the attack. She says he will then find us some way and it is best to avoid all contact, and I -truly- do not doubt this.

Remarkable man.

But it boggles me that she does all this hiding and running to save a child who will kill her. I would most likely attempt to contact her spouse to alert him of his wife's well being and the devoratrix, however I am aware I will be the one penalized for the current situation.

There was a noticeable lack of writing for nearly two months. The next divulgance laid in November.

24. November. 1960

My patient is nearly comatose for most of her time. The devoratrix is ridiculously strong. I stay adamant in my view that she will not survive. It would take a miracle. Her spouse grows more agitated in his actions by the day. The lack of her seems to be taking its toll, and his hope of her survival dwindling. I regret nothing more than hiding her here with me, but what is done is done. And there is nothing I can do now to fix any of it.

I am a coward. A woman dying is braver than I.

10. December. 1960

The child will be born within the next couple of weeks. Its health is prime and the Missus is truly, completely out of it for the majority of the day.

Yet again, there was a lack of personal entries. Instead, pages upon pages of potion mumbo-jumbo and scrawled notes lead up to the last entry.

31. December. 1960

It is a true miracle sent by Magick herself I am certain! The child has arrived, and she has survived the birth! While still weak she should slowly recover her health

There were was ink trailing from the last 'h' as if someone has suddenly yanked their hand back and the quill was jaggedly ripped against the parchment. Harry could tell without a doubt that hadn't been the intended end of the entry.

Harry was not dull in the head, regardless of what Draco Malfoy thought. He could draw himself the conclusion that the child referred to was none other than him. He felt a warm gladness that he hadn't killed his mother upon birth, before shaking it off.

The wasn't really him. It was just a back story for this boy he created.

"Harry, you in here? We wanna check out the grounds, you coming with or what?" Sirius' young voice permeated the wards around the bed. Hadrian popped his head out of the curtains and grinned.

"Sure thing," he said and slid out of his fortress. The files became meticulously stacked with the casual flick of his finger behind his back. "I could use some fresh air."

"Alright, let's go," James announced from beyond the dorm door, muffled by three inches of wood. Sirius bounded to the door and Hadrian followed in a calmer fashion. Yet the enthusiasm was contagious and he felt lighter after the load placed on his shoulders through reading about his birth.

He was a monster, that put his birth mother through excruciating pain and suffering to gain power himself. He nearly killed his own mother, and now it was unapparent what had even happened to her. From the sparse information in the Healer's entries, his father either knew nothing of him or wanted nothing to do with him. Most likely both.

It hurt, if he was honest.

Yet again, he was the anomaly, the oddball out. That woman died for him. For the boy he now was. Is there ever a universe where people do not die for him?

"Madam, please have a seat," intoned Mr. Dumbledore. Half moon glasses glinted with the reflection of the fireplace as the newest Defense professor sat herself down. She looked around the office, and made no obvious expression to the variety of splendid magical trinkets. Her gaze returned to the Headmaster once he began to speak. "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We are happy to have you here- I especially as you have finally given into my pleas. Thank you for accepting application. I am certain you will do a wonderful job with molding the young minds."

"Molding young minds?" She mocked tsked and stuck her nose dramatically into the air. "I am a young mind myself, than you so very much, Albus. If anything they will be teaching me." Sinking back into a more comfortable position for her sky high nose, she held a tight smile that slowly faded away as she looked at her old foe's sad eyes.

When had my utmost enemy become my only solace?

I am truly, now, alone.

But alas, Albus is as well.

But that was his own choice.

"I feel old now, dear. Not at all like one such as yourself." The Headmaster spoke slowly. There was a very long moment of silence following that. The one moment where everything seems to slow and you feel the beginning of something, or maybe the end. Or maybe just some indigestion.

Neither moved.

The silence stretched on for ages. Maybe just seconds. The Headmaster stared blankly at her forehead. She was unsure whether he expected the response anymore.

But that nagging nostalgia swells inside her until it is a crushing wave that engulfs her small frame. There is an eternal stupidity to the youth. But there was a special wisdom too- that she just could no longer capture as she did.

Too much time has passed, and yet never enough. The words still came too easily, said too often before.

"Alas, you must see, I am twice as tired, " she returned. The once automatic phrase was still just as sickly sticky comfortablehomehomehome in her mouth as ever.

"Yes, you are, m'dear, " The Headmaster said. He then looked away to the blank wall, and she blinked quickly in rapid succession.

The woman stood, and then proceeded to swiftly walk to the door. She opened it, and on the way out turned back just once to see her witty old nemesis (he really had gotten quite old) bow his head into his hands.

This is what we are reduced to now, Albus. The same level of broken after all we have done and what has been done upon us.

I have never felt more equal to you, and I had never imagined it would taste so sour.

"I cannot believe it's already getting breezy. It's only the third of September! I had hoped we'd have a spot more sun." James threw his arms up and tilted back his head. "A little bit of warm wouldn't hurt anyone, you know!" He spun in place, and quickly lost footing at the loss of his equilibrium. With a small squeak (that if you were to inquire upon you would find never happened) he tumbled down onto his arse.

He groaned and flopped down entirely into the grass, eagle spread. Sirius nudged at him with one foot, and James pitifully slapped at it. In a loud, conspiratorial whisper, Sirius leaned back to Hadrian saying,

"I think he's gone round the bend. Pity, we didn't even know him that long either." James moaned in despair. Harry leaned forward to Sirius and said, in the same tone,

"Well it may be that's the problem. Pr'haps he's always been bonkers, we just haven't been round long enough to see it." James sat up onto his elbows.

"How'd you know?" He asked with the most innocent voice he could, and a tilted head.

Before they could say another word on the subject, James leapt to his feet his gaze going far past Harry and Sirius. And he grinned in the most unhinged way that Harry had seen since the lovely Bellatrix Lestrange of his day.

Sarcasm should be noted in this instance. Bellatrix had never posessed any loveliness.

"Look at him!" James crowed, pointing viciously. "Bloody hell, no Sirius- that one! Him right down there, never seen a shower I'd reckon." A bit beyond and to the left of the boys was the Great Lake, and next to it was a large weeping willow. Right outside the curtains of the tree sat a small figure whom, even from their little distance, could clearly be seen to have hair so greasy that it shone.

It shone, and there was not a true ray of sun.

Harry easily could assume that the black strands belonged to one dour Potions master, Severus Snape. He felt a twinge of pain, thinking of their similiar upbringings.

It was best to nip this situation in the bud, he knew.

"James," Hadrian started slowly. "You really shouldn't tease him. You don't even know him or anything, and it's really rather unfair." James snorted.

"Unfair? I think it's unfair that we are forced to deal with people like that who can't even be bothered to wash themselves. Anyway, he's a snake." James pointed to the green and silver robes. "My father was right about them sneaky bastards. I mean Heir Malfoy is such a prat! I think you should've spelled him to the bottom of the lake!" Nip it in the bud, nip it in the bud, Harry's mind chanted to him.

"They can't all be the same, I mean think about Gryffindors. Are we anything like Sayre and his goons?" Sirius' eyes went wide and he barked out a sharp laugh.

"No- that nuthead- no."

"Exactly," Harry continued with a shrug. "So how do we know he'll be like Malfoy?"

"Yeah well, I'm not going to have to talk with him or anything, so I guess it's not that big of a deal." James kicked idly at the ground, his interest in the subject having evaporated entirely. "Let's check out the Forest." He started walking towards it abruptly, gaining speed as his excitement rose at the prospect. Sirius was right behind him, and Harry lingered and called out,

"It's real dangerous you know!" Yet, he still followed. If anything Harry thought to himself, I can protect them better than themselves in dire situations. At least we have that.

At the edge of the trees the boys stopped, Sirius and James didn't seem nearly as confident anymore.

"We won't go far, " Sirius said. "Just a bit, y'know." James nodded sagely.

"Just to look around a bit." Harry smiled lopsidedly.

"It's alright I guess. As long as we aren't caught." James shot a look to the bent figure of Snape, but the boy was still mezmerised by the textbook in his hands, unaware of the trooping Gryffindors.

A man of impressive stature gazed into the dark woods. His blonde hair was windswept to the side in a modern, stylish manner and his rich blue robes were elegant. Clearly tailored by those of the finest degree. He looked the part of a nobleman, an aristocrat of a time gone by.

Behind him stood a foreboding silence. A thousand men stood in a uniform shape, black hoods covering half of their faces. The darkness of the material seemed almost alive like the night sky itself- if you got too close the fabric would suck you in.

The man stepped forward once, as if crossing some imaginary line. No one saw his shit eating grin, the crinkle of his weathered eyes that did not yet betray his age.

Then he took another step, then another, then another.

The rows upon rows of the shimmering night cloaks followed, swiftly and in silence. Their leader reached one hand up, to gently finger the thin silver chain around his throat that on the end carried the symbols of all he wanted for.

A wand.

A stone.

A cloak.