Hadrian Potter wasn't quiet what Tom Riddle expected. He was tall for a fifteen-year-old, with shaggy black hair. He was pale. Angular features were prominent and defined, a clear sign of good breeding. His posture was relaxed as he made the line at the Ice Cream Parlor, at ease in public. More than one person stopped and stroke up a brief conversation. Apparently, the eldest Potter child was hardly a recluse or a pariah, which had been Tom's previous assumptions.
He looked around Diagon Ally and couldn't suppress a smirk. Here he was, the most wanted man in Britain, strolling along its most populated commercial hub. Not a single suspicious eye landed on him. This was true power, no glamour necessary. The picture the prophet had publicized of him was unflattering and outdated to say the least. These days he looked so human that it took but nary a spell to allow him to roam free the streets of Magical Britain, with no one the wiser.
He'd been watching Potter for the last hour as he went about his Hogwarts shopping. Unsurprisingly, the teen had a guardian with him. If Tom's info was correct – and it better be – the tall, aristocratic man was one Sirius Black, Lord of the House of Black and the only Gryffindor in the entire history of the Black family. A miracle or a blasphemy depending on whom you asked.
Information on Black was easy to come by, especially for the Dark Lord. Information on Hadrian Potter was a little more challenging. Information regarding on why the eldest Potter child was raised by his godfather was almost non-existent. The more he'd dug around Potter, the more interesting he became. Alas, almost was the key word.
As Black moved to continue shopping, Potter had stopped and signaled the iconic Ice Cream Parlor. After a brief and quick exchange, Black went on with business and Hadrian moved to the line. As Tom watched him pay, he was surprised that the young teen made a beeline towards him; carrying himself with all the grace of a feline. It was undeniable, Hadrian Potter had an air to him, of danger and power that was eye-catching. Voldemort wasn't insipid enough to deny the teen was attractive.
He had to keep himself from sighing at the thought. As much as absorbing part of his soul had been critical for his continued success, sometimes the inherited hormones of a piece of himself as a 16-year-old were more trouble than they were worth.
Green eyes bore into him, hiding an entire universe of magic and secrets. His grin was dashing and his tone of voice was easy as he handed him an ice-cream cone, eyeing him up and down. For a tiny second as he grabbed the offered sweet, Tom had to entertain the idea that he was being picked up by Hadrian Potter but as he eyed the ice-cream he realized he was mistaken. Vanilla. He inspected it. Ah, and veritaserum.
"Why don't we sit down and you let me know why you're following me?" Potter asked good-naturedly, already making his way to the farther booth in the parlor. Tom smirked, amused, and followed him. This reconnaissance was proving to be much more fun than he thought it'd be.
"So?" Potter says as they sit down, waving a hand that encapsulates them in a silent bubble. Wandless magic. His green eyes are dark and murky; they remind Tom of darkness of the Hogwarts lake seen from the Slytherin dorms. A lot of secrets and dangers were hidden there too. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, your letter did say you'd like to negotiate the terms for an agreement." Tom enjoys the exact moment where Hadrian Potter realizes just who is sitting with him in the middle of Diagon Alley. He savors it. It's hard to keep his face into a neutral expression, he doesn't remember the last time he had this much fun. Potter looks around bewildered for a moment but manages to pull himself together quickly enough. He stares at him in complete surprise before bursting out laughing. The sound is boyish and melodious.
"Of course." He says between chuckles, eyeing the cone Tom is throwing away. "How…?" He shakes his head as if realizing that questioning the Dark Lord is probably useless… and most probably suicide. "It's obvious you read my letter." He sates. The mood in the table changes.
"A very creative piece of writing." Impossibly, Potter's eyes darken.
"We both know every word of it is true." He says with a shrug, trying for nonchalant.
"You're committing treason to everyone you've ever held dear."
"I'm 15," the boy stresses "therefore, I've hardly pledge allegiance to anyone." Including you hangs in the air. "Political differences are hardly a rarity, even amongst friends and family."
"Do you expect me to believe you contacted me because of political differences?"
"No, I never said I agreed with your political agenda." Hadrian's eyes are far away. "But your means and ends do overlap with my own."
"Dumbledore."
"…Indeed."
"If you expect my help, I expect your loyalty and devotion." Tom's voice is that of man who can casually ask for such things, knowing he will get them. He cannot wait to pull one over Dumbledore, the older brother of the chosen one, a Death Eater! Poetic is too mild a word. "All of your loyalties. War on my side is a sacrifice and a commitment, you do not get to take what you want and leave what you do not." For a split second, Hadrian face made an expression. It looked awkward, almost as if his factions had very little practice in looking hesitant. In a flash, he closed up and met Voldemort's gaze.
"My conditions stand." He said unwaveringly. "I want an unbreakable vow. Promise me that and I will swear loyalty to you. You can brand me right here, right now." His green eyes seemed more vivid than ever, and if Tom didn't know better he could almost see electricity cursing through them.
"You must think me a fool." Potter pulled out a small vial and set it down on the table between them. Tom had to still himself, lest he shift in discomfort. His hair standing on end on his arm, the back of his neck… there was no mistaking what was in the vial: Potter Blood.
"Do the vow, and I will give you this… willingly." Potter was pale, whether by nature or by nerves had yet to be determined. He seemed composed, but Tom could glance that his hands were shaking. Hadrian Potter might be a bright wizard, but he wasn't immune to Lord Voldemort's reputation and power. "I want you to leave my brother in my hands, he will not come for you. I want the few people I care about to be protected. I want Albus Dumbledore dead. If I cannot stall my brother, and he comes for you the vow is null."
"You believe you can curve the destiny of the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"I believe that my kid brother should stay far away from adult war business." Voldemort raised a brow.
"A bit hypocritical, no?"
"Believe me, when I say," His voice was suddenly empty. "I've hardly ever been a child."
"Will you really commit yourself to my cause?" He questioned. "We don't do things like you're used to in the Light side."
"Light wizards hardly carry vials of their own blood around, now, do they?" Tom once again had the vivid images of green eyes. Suddenly, he had the very real realization that Hadrian Potter had played a role in his defeat 10 years ago and Tom wanted to know what. Tom had wondered the suspiciously timed blood, after all; Potter couldn't have known he'd meet Tom here. He could think several spells off the top of his mind that required the casters blood. None of them legal. He smiled. Yes, the mystery of Hadrian Potter was amusing.
Potter laid his left arm on the table, rolling up his sleeve. Did he even know what he was offering? His face was set, his pale skin unblemished. Tom could not wait to taint it. He knew Hadrian thought himself a Dark Wizard, that much was clear ,but just how far could he push him? Just how far could he make him fall? He'd look beautiful with Tom's brand on him. Pale fingers reached for his arm.
There was electricity in the air. A part of Tom howled in delight at the contact and he had to reign in his magic. This boy was special. Tom would use him, he'd enjoy him. He'd twist Harry Potter into the poster boy of his cause, his most ardent supporter and he'd exploit the sentimentality of everyone who knew him.
He wondered, briefly, what ran through the mind of a child submitting himself to the Darkest Wizard to ever live? It was foolish and risky but for a moment, the heat cursing through his veins really did want to mark Hadrian Potter right there in the middle of Magical Britain's most populated shopping district.
"Harry? Who's your friend?" The spell broke. Suddenly, with reflexes he did not catch, the vial of blood vanished. Tom saw the way Potter's entire body stiffened, and he showed the first signs of real humanity underneath his perfectly constructed mask. Bingo.
When Hadrian Potter had sat down to commit treason, he had obviously known that he'd meet Lord Voldemort. Really, it was a given. From that simple fact, though, he would've need to be a seer to think up the scenario where he is ambushed at Fortescue's and is forced to introduce him as his friend to his very much Light-inclined godfather. Tom had been wondering who else in the Light had Hadrian Potter's contempt, but this man clearly had quiet the opposite.
So, Young Potter had quiet the glaring weakness.
"Sirius!" His eyes were blown wide, clearly he was affected by the exchange of power that had occurred. Tom could feel his heartbeat in his chest, which showed him to be just as affected. Interesting indeed. Hadrian threw up a charming smile, but Tom could feel his pulse where his hand still grabbed the other's forearm. His heart rate was furious. "This is uh…"
"Tom." He extended his hand, smiling genuinely. He really needed to get out more, this had been brilliant. "Harry and I are pen pals. He goes to school with my cousin, we have some… interests… in common." If Harry disapproved of the cover story he did not flinch. Sirius shook his hand warmly.
"Pleasure." Sirius said curtly, but his eyes were soft. Tom noted for a moment that no one had looked at him like that, ever.
"What's up with your eye?" Arcturus questions, because it's the third time Hadrian reaches out to touch it and its an odd gesture in his usually unflappable cousin. They're sitting in the library by candlelight, making some after-hours research.
"It got plucked out and then stuffed back in." Hadrina says, resting his head on his palm nonchalantly as he turns the page. He looks up to settle green eyes on Arcturus and a shiver travels down the young man's spine. Hadrian smiles, but there's nothing cheery in the gesture, just a stretch of the lips, a body without a soul. "It itches." Silence greets the statement and Arcturus sighs.
"I really don't understand your humor sometimes." His cousin bites a laugh. "Did you hear that Moody missed class today? The first years were so relieved I thought they were going to cry." The auror had garnered copious dislike in the Hogwarts population, seemingly alienating every student he came across whether by personality or reputation. Arcturus doesn't think he is necessarily a bad instructor, if a bit more hands on than the Slytherin is used to.
Hadrian humms in response, clearly uninterested in the subject. Arcturus closes another book about potions and opens the remaining one of Herbology. After two nigths of research, he's ready to call this thing off but there's no such thing when it comes to Charlie Potter, Arcturus knows, but he's restless and bored. And Hadrian keeps dodging every question Arcturus has asked.
"How do you know what the Second task is?" There's no need for subtlety, Arcturus loves the game, but he also loves to win and with Hadrian there's simply no point. His cousin looks at him with an unimpressed eyebrow, but leans in to whisper a secret.
"I have Barty Crouch Sr. under the Imperius. He told me." Arcturus deflates.
"I hate you so much."
This time, Harry does laugh.