A.N.- So I was going to edit this more but I started getting really lazy and I had no idea what to do with the dialogue. This would be perhaps the worse dialogue I've ever written XD, also the cheesiest chapter I've ever written. But oh well. My imagination doesn't want to reform this chapter in any way so this would be the finalized results of a really moody, cold, rainy day inside. With my laptop. For three hours. So Enjoy~
BC- XoXo
Six years later… in the outskirts of Paris, France.
It's freezing cold. There was barely any sunlight drifting through the nearby bracketed windows. He was crying again, as he lied on that rickety old bed in that sorry excuse for a room. It was him, he thought, a weaker, smaller version of him. But from the slightest twinkle of those emerald-green orbs, he faltered in his steps closer. He widened his eyes in astonishment.
"Who are you?"
He stared at his dream self and his dream self oddly stared back. His mental repertoire was beginning to confuse him, if not completely freak him out. He made to tread closer, the creaky wooden boards sliding easily underneath the soles of his shoeless feet. However, as he was about approximately three steps away, his body was pulled back by an unseen force. It dragged him out the bedroom door and all he could do was try to keep eye contact as he was hazily knocked out of his reverie.
Opening his eyes, he sneered at the glaring sunlight. Why was it so goddamn bright this morning? Quickly blinking, he peered around the room to inspect for any differences. There was none whatsoever. He had his humongous canopy bed and his room was elegantly furnished and vastly spaced out, like always. Neat, clean, grime-less— unlike that awful room. Finding nothing amiss, he settled down on his satin comforter with a low sigh. Such beautiful green pools that gazed through him as if he was invisible, but at the same moment, noticed him like he was the only light pulsing through the shady darkness. He'd had many dreams of this mysterious stranger, but this was the first instance he'd been able to proceed close enough for a look. Since the beginnings of these peculiar dreams, he had always thought it was himself, or perhaps his future self. Now, he wasn't so entirely certain. One thing reigned true, every time he had these 'nightmares' he found himself waking up drained and awfully tired.
"Darling, are you alright?" The musical voice stemmed from his doorway as he tried to control his breathing. Within minutes, he felt nice, cool fingers delicately run through his shaggy hair. She was dressed beautifully, as always, in one of her delicate summer robes. The incoming wind that drifted through his open balcony concurrently waved her light blonde hair, only adding to her magnificence. Maternal instincts at arms, she wearily gazed at him with a questioning glance. She was his adopted mother and he loved her very much, but sometimes the woman could get a bit too overwhelming.
He deftly leaned, "It was nothing, Mother. Just another bad dream."
"You can tell me anything, Hadrian. You know that." She insistently declared, "Was it the same one?"
"Yes." The somberness was evident in his tone even as he calmly acted as if it was much less than nothing.
"Well…Do you want to talk about it?"
Silently assessing the question, he sternly shook his head, "I don't need too. It's not real after all." He sat up and began pushing down the blankets that somehow ended up wrapped and twisted around his legs as he slept. Passing his mother to get to the bathroom he did not identify the wary frown that blemished her lovely face. In the mid-morning's chill, something caught his interest as he gazed at his face in the mirror. The scar on his forehead was a throbbing red, and oddly warm.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
He carried himself highly, as his mother had taught him. He never lowered his eyes for anyone. It was inept, rude, and a sign of weakness, and Hadrian was never weak. Straightening his back, he strolled towards the grand piano that sat there on the podium, innocently vying for his attention. With an elegance that was due from his upbringing, he gracefully bowed towards the humongous audience before gliding onto the extended stool. Mentally flourishing his études, he instinctively glided his fingers across the keys before thusly beginning what he had titled, Perpetual Sleep.
The haunting, sad melody pealed from the piano strings and echoed throughout the concert hall. The middle chorus strung the song along with a new, genuine tenor that, from his memory, reverted between the contrasting traits of intoxication and liberation of control.
His audience gawked in awe at hearing such raw passion coming from a young boy no older then ten. He didn't care for the wiser and didn't spare a look at the sea of people who were admiring him. The sadness came to him from his heart, it strung him up like a puppet and gave him a song to play. Violence. Fear. Sadness. Anger. It dabbled into his music and as the final string was made, he could begin to hear the roaring claps of the spectators and the un-resting voices that desired an encore. He quietly stepped off the long bench and gave his bow, not before spotting his mother talking to a tall, bird-like woman in the front rows. As he strode off the platform, he was still able to hear little clips of their conversation backstage.
"Ah, c'est vraiment magnifique! Mademoiselle Valentine, your son will be attending at my school Beauxbaton's next year, no?" The bird-like woman inquired gleefully, still clapping her hands.
"Je suis désolé Madame Maxime, mais non. We are moving soon." His mother replied, smiling at the towering Headmistress.
"Oh? Too bad. To where exactly?" the accented English was slurred.
"England."
"England?"
"Precisely, I want him to be able to live in England for a portion of his teenage life; get to know where he came from, find his roots, that sort of thing." She drawled on. "We will be residing in London."
London? Hadrian raised his perfectly arched eyebrow, what in god's name has come over her? Suddenly out of the blue she wants to move to raining, drizzling, moody London when they could stay here in the sunlit part of Europe? This wasn't normal, even for her.
He grasped his coat off the chair rack and dashed in their direction, ignoring all the other exchanging banters that were spoken between him. And as he was a step away from the chattering pair, a firm pain made itself conscious in the deepest depths of his stomach. He stopped mid-way and instantly fell over onto his knees. Panic widened his eyes as he grasped his chest with one hand. He groaned as the painful twinge began to throb. His lips mashed into an expression of pure agony and he could not recall anything but the lasting torture. Receding voices yelled his name but he couldn't tell who was who. An elliptical blackness filled the void of his mind and the last thought that flashed through his head was a mystifying word, name, that he could not evoke:
Harry.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A voice kept calling him and yet his ears only met with silence.
He tried moving his fingers, they were all there. Thank Merlin. Then he tried shifting his toes, apparently they were also still movable. Then he tried repositioning his upper body and instantly winced at the heavy soreness of his chest. He gradually cracked one eye open, then the other, and saw a blank white ceiling towering over him. He moved his head to the side and groaned at the stiffness of his neck. A white curtain covered the whole of his bed and he could hear a distinct conversation happening between his mother and, probably the mediwizard that healed him.
"What's wrong with him? Why hasn't he woken up?" She frightfully yelled in French.
"I assure you Mademoiselle that there is nothing to worry about. He will awake soon enough." The mediwizard replied also in French.
Hadrian opened his lips to answer her weariness but paused when he heard the next few words, "However, whilst he still slumbers, we must discuss what is happening to your son. Tell me, did anything major occur in his past that would lead to this untimely attack?"
A moment later, "I cannot fathom anything that would induce him into such pain. What sort of ailment does he have?"
"Interesting. It just so happens that the healers and I have concluded on a rather interesting result. Your son has been placed under binding magic."
"Binding magic?"
"Yes, an unobstructed kind that was passed on in his infant years. Astonishing really. If true, he would be the youngest wizard to have survived such a powerful infliction."
"That is not possible, I—I've kept him from that! It's just not possible…I raised him!" Hadrian heard her let out a groan of frustration before continuing, "What will happen to him?"
"Binding magic is a type of wild magic that is employed in the sorcery of Wizard's oaths that usually correlates between two magical beings. In your son's case, he would be one of those two, while the second other is someone else. Now, we did a full magic scan and it seems that the scar on his forehead is the connection between the two. It is the object that had initiated the pain but, unfortunately, we cannot remove it without risking the child's death or loss of his magic."
"Then, then what do I do?" She swiftly inquired.
"Hadrian has never shown sign of being hurt until now?"
"Yes, never."
"That deeply concerns me." The mediwizard sighed.
"How come?" His mother grumbled with a hint of irritation.
"Wild magic is not like any other customary type of magic, Mademoiselle. The longer it lays dormant, the more it imbeds itself into the child's mind, body, and soul, causing the reaction to become stronger after every attack."
"Then tell me what to do!" She furiously inquired, tightly grasping her fists.
"I figure the best thing to do would be to find his other link. They are still in the early stages of the binding but to affect Mr. Valentine's well-being so harshly would only mean that whoever is connected to him is in grave danger. And earlier this evening, that person was very close to falling. If they are not able to break the bond then it scares me to say that if one goes, so does the other." The mediwizard ominously finished.
Hadrian widened his eyes— if one goes, so does the other? He definitely did not like the sound of that.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The blisters.
The sores.
Everything hurt so much.
The unadulterated pain that striked at his skull made him cringe with anguish.
Unnerved at the initiate sting of his chest as he tried to get up, he changed his mind and simple laid there, trying to recollect what happened the day before.
He was at school, in the library minding his own business. Then Dudley came along with his gang. And as per-usual, he made to swiftly pack his books into his rucksack and quickly get out. Yells that promised a deadly beating only aided his swift steps, but as he paced in the opposite direction, he peered back to see if they were still chasing him— and there it was, his first mistake. He peered back and promptly bumped his head against a hefty chest, a chest that belonged to Earl Winston, one of the more violent, burly members of his cousin's little group. The brutish-looking boy smirked at him as he instinctively scurried backwards against a wall. No one was there to rescue him, the hallway was completely empty. Soon enough, all of them surrounded him with duly guilt-free smirks.
Dudley stepped forward and just as he was about to strike him, the most unusual thing happened. Dudley's hand pierced quickly through the air, the pending pain made Harry foolishly widen his eyes. An inch or so away…and the fist disappeared— Vanished into thin air along with his cousin's body. Moments of shock passed and at long last came the horrified gasps and shrieks that filled the hallway. Teachers and students popped their heads out of the doors to watch the commotion. Most of Dudley's band ran away with terrified expressions. The left-over stragglers sprinted to the Headmistress's office and reported the incident, also holding Harry accountable. Teacher's defended him of course, already noting the band of miscreants who were involved.
He had to admit it was all well worth the one hour duration it took for the constables to locate poor Dudley. They found his cousin hanging by his under-trousers on top of the school's grand flag pole. The boy was sniveling for all he was worth as the school janitor slowly and carefully got him down. It was beyond comical for Harry, and disgust for every one else, as they stared at the humiliated fat buttocks waving in the air. For every five minutes the old caretaker pulled the strings and lowered Dudley down, he would warily pull up again just to make sure Dudley wasn't going to fall. It was a long and humiliating process for his cousin, and Harry loved every minute of it. His cousin had received his just rewards. Now when they had gotten home, that was another story.
As soon as he got through the front door, being dragged out of the car by the top of his hairs, he was pushed roughly into the basement. He was made to stand as the lashes came. The smacks of the whips against his back stopped and his uncle sadistically smirked, putting on a pair of brass knuckle braces. He was punched and beaten, harsher, faster, and in more brutal ways then he had ever been. And when the man was done, he was left on the cold ground for death. Yet he wasn't dead.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Tender cheeks compressed against his chest and the sweet scent of honey suckle delicately preened his senses.
"Vous êtes mon amour. You can't leave me, Hadrian." She leaned further into him and cried into his shirt. Her petite height made it all the easier for him to grasp her waist. He would miss her plenty. They had been childhood friends since he was five. He had attended the Royal Prepatory School for the Early Gifted, as a countenance for his abrupt magic at the age of five and thus, they had met. Five years brought tides of change as their relationship transcended from friendship to innocent, young love.
"I have no choice, Anna."
But we are meant for each other, are we not?" She gazed up at him imploringly.
"Of course, but this is important."
"More important than me? I bet you're going to fall in love with all those other girls in England and forget all about me." She frowned and gloomily lowered her head.
He crisply exhaled before delicately tangling his fingers through her wavy blonde hair. Like ivory and silk dashed in shining luster, he thought to himself. Hadrian lightly dragged his fingertips under her chin and tipped it upwards. Gazing at the deep sapphire pools of her irises, he began to reassure her, "Do not ever doubt that I love anyone other then you. Hopefully, this transfer will only be for a little while. I'll be back before you know it."
"…There's no other girls?" Came the pouting reply.
"None. There's only one. There's only you."
Anna's lovely pink lips curled upwards. They continued standing there in the middle of the train station, completely enamored in each other and absolutely ignorant of the attentive looks they were receiving. As the conductor yelled for the last call, he could do nothing but reluctantly pull away. After this journey was over, he hoped he would find himself back in her arms. Hadrian waved a final time at her before boarding on, followed by his mother. She patted him on the shoulder with a half smile before leading him towards their private compartment. Hadrian sat near the window and stared at the lolling green fields that were passing him by. His mother smiled at him from across his seat, "Don't worry, Darling. I know you'll love it there. There are theatres and orchestras, and these lovely little coffee shops, and—,"
"Harry. Who is he?" He said, abruptly putting a stop to her coercing.
Her smile faltered a bit before settling into a stiff line.
"I assumed you'd like to know."
"Please." He answered, leaning his head into the seat.
"I trust that what I'm about to tell you is strictly private between us, and only us." She gravely put out.
"Of course. It's not like I have anyone else to tell, Mother."
They briefly exchanged glances, "I think it is time for you to acknowledge something, Hadrian… you have a twin." She flatly stated, slightly smirking at her son's broadening eyes. Few moments passed by before he could utter the next few words, "A- a twin you say?"
"Correct, and I—,"
"You believe he's binded to me?"
"No, I'm quite sure that he's binded to you."
"And this twin…he lives in England?"
"An intelligent guess. I have trained you as well as I could, Dear." She teasingly cooed, also leaning back in her seat.
"Tell me more, is he the one in my dreams?" He gasped out, stiffening his shoulders.
"I have no doubt that he is."
"Then it was all real…all the nightmares that I had." His voice took on a grave tone. "He was beaten and starved, and left there for death. Every night…"
His mother frowned and moved over to his seat. She lovingly held his stiffened self and stated, "We're coming to get him."
"That's not the point! He's my brother and he's been living there with those rancid, filthy muggles, and they've been beating him for Merlin knows how long! I see them, Mother. What they do to him! How they do it! To inflict that on my brother, they're wishing for death!" He grasped his fists protectively.
"Calm down, Hadrian." She cooed, "I'm sure he's fine for now. We're only two hours away."
Xxxxxxxxxxxx
"Ah!" He cried at the sudden feeling of the leather whip lashing against his back. Someone had ticked Uncle Vernon off today. Harry was dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night and was made to stand for punishment on behalf of whoever had angered his uncle.
"Keep quiet you good for nothing freak! If Petunia hears you scream, I'll make you regret ever being left on my doorstep!" Vernon heatedly growled, quickly letting out three more lashes in rapid precision to one area of his back. He immediately groaned in pain, feeling the skin break and blood dripping down his back. He panted and tried to catch his breath, but failed. The increasing lack of oxygen made his brain go awry and he evidently swayed on spot before dropping to lie on his side. He curled into a protective ball, praying for it to all stop.
"Pathetic." Vernon disgustedly spat, throwing his bloodied belt across the floor.
Harry lay there, relieved when the door finally slammed shut behind him. Why? Why did he have to live here with people who hated him? He questioned himself. He didn't even know why they hated him so. He had never done anything to them. Always trying to be good, he hardly ever got in trouble, and yet they tortured him everyday for their own sadistic pleasure. If people only knew what the Dursleys were actually like behind closed doors.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
One afternoon,
"Vernon! Look at what I found in the mail!" Petunia excitedly screamed, staring at her loving husband as he took his lunch. She eagerly waved a small piece of scarlet red parchment at him as she stalked nearer to the kitchen table.
"What is it?" He grunted, his mouth still openly gnashing away.
She held the paper at face view and began reading,
"Dear winner, you and two others of your choosing are cordially invited to spend the next two weeks cruising through the Mediterranean on our companies own private ship. Enclosed in this envelope, you should find three passes to gain you entry on our ship. This opportunity is hereby fully paid for by our personal benefactor. Should you refuse this once in a lifetime offer, please resend this letter back with your passes. Sincerely, E. Valentine, Co-founder of Ocean Views. Isn't that wonderful darling? It'll be like a small holiday. You, me, and Dudleykins." She cheerfully went on as she poured some tea for her husband. She set it down and handed him the flyer that came in the envelope.
"It all sounds very interesting Petunia, but what are we going to do with 'it'." He sneered at the last word.
She stared at the locked cupboard and also sneered, "This is unfair Vernon! Every time we go on vacation we have to bring him! Why can't it just be us for a change? I mean it, Vernon, I want this trip!" She growled, suddenly angry.
Vernon widened his eyes in surprise at the sudden fright of emotions, "It's not my fault, Petunia. We had conceded that we would take care of him."
She grumpily sighed. "Perhaps we could leave him here. It's only for two weeks. What could possibly happen to him in the span of two weeks?"
"I would love too Petunia, you know that! But…"
"Just this once, Vernon?" She sickeningly pleaded, wrapping her arms around his massive neck. "It's not like 'they' check up on him every second of his miserable life. They won't even notice we were gone." Moving her spider-like fingers around his massive shoulder, she began massaging him into giving in.
He crookedly smiled and inclined his head to peer up at his wife, "Well, alright. I don't see the harm."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Come on Vernon, or we'll be late for the appointed time!" Petunia yelled earnestly from the car.
Vernon was at the front door, firmly glaring at the bedraggled disgrace he had to put up with. "Wherever you are, whatever you're doing— just remember Potter, I'm watching you. If you have any sense of self preservation boy, you'll stay away from trouble for the next two weeks. Understand me?" He grumbled, tightening his hold on the boy's shoulders.
No response came, only a weak groan that clearly protested the abuse.
"Are you retarded now as well, boy? Speak!" He squeezed even harder and evilly grinned when he heard the loud cry of, "Yes, Uncle Vernon!"
"Good." Vernon placed on his cap and strolled to his car. They all carelessly left, smiling and laughing all the way down the street. Harry silently stood at the front door, watching as the mobile van vanished off the corner of the street. Not capable of holding in the enormous grin that seemed to just explode onto his face, he smiled. Finally he was alone. Even if only for a spare amount of time, he was happily and peacefully alone.
About to close the door, he shortly stopped as he saw a blue mail truck come swerving down the road.
Odd, he thought, it was Sunday. There were never any posts on Sundays. The blue truck paused roughly in front of his driveway and a postman got out. The postman, whilst humming a light tune, stepped in front of the Dursley's mailbox and casually placed a letter into it. The postman then retreated back into his truck and drove away; peculiarly not stopping to place any other mail into the neighbor's boxes.
Harry furrowed his brows in confusion before stalking out the doorway towards the white mailbox. Before opening the lid, he stared up and down the streets to see if the local kids were playing a prank on him. Obviously not, there was no other people outside at the moment. Interesting, he arched a perfectly raised brow. Sunday always had people out and about. Mrs. Henderson would usually be outside tending to her garden and Mr. Boiler would be trimming his hedges, and yet there was not a hair in sight.
He shrugged it off as pure coincidence. Perhaps the Summery air was too much for them. Opening the lid, he took out a plain, white envelope and inspected it for the prior greeting. It didn't show. Minutes passed as he searched for it, finding himself becoming more and more interested in what lied behind the white cover. He couldn't possibly open it, Uncle Vernon would skin his hide if he found out. As he was about to give up and lay the forbidden letter aside, the edge sliced across his thumb.
"Ouch." He winced and dropped the damn thing. It actually sliced him. Blood soaked the edge of its white cover and suddenly, to his amazement, the red mark vanished only to be replaced by elegant, black-lined letters that were slowly emerging onto its center. Harry widened his eyes as he read the materializing words,
"Open me."
He peered around the street and nobody was watching him, yet he couldn't help the insecure sense that somebody had their eyes on him. He quickly paced backwards to his house and shut the door. Fastening and securing all the padlocks before proceeding into the living room. He leveled his stare with the letter, but it was ever unchanging.
He began to think that he might've been hallucinating and had overlooked the statement. Of course it was truly there. Things didn't just appear out of nowhere. He unsurely nodded his head in acceptance. That was it. It was there and he just didn't notice.
Scratching the opening off, he took out a thick piece of white, elegant parchment. Harry flipped it over to its backside and saw there were no words written, similar to its front. Before he could even guess what would happen next, words began materializing out of nowhere once again. Harry jumped in fright and threw the letter onto the patio table. Warily treading closer to the parchment, he shakily read the question,
"Can you keep a secret?"
His brow rose in confusion, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Wrong answer." A playful voice stated huskily from in back of him. Harry instantly opened his mouth to scream bloody murder but a hand clasped over his lips and before his brain could even assimilate the distressing feelings, his body stiffened and he was plunged into darkness.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Harry unconsciously buried himself deeper into the material he was resting on. The satiny feeling of it glided pleasantly against his skin and the full softness under his body comforted his still aching back. Like a cloud, he thought while smiling in his sleep. Perhaps he had died and gone to heaven? Well then, heaven's beds are most assuredly the best he had ever had the opportunity to sleep in.
"Wake up." The words were softly spoken, the voice fairly recognizable.
An angel maybe? He instinctively arched an eyebrow with his eyes still closed. Opening one eye, he crookedly smiled at what he saw. To himself, he was still oddly disorientated enough to not notice that he was staring at a mural-painted ceiling. Doves and small baby cupids were wondrously drawn across the entire wide span of the room in water colors and oil pastels. It was all richly detailed that perhaps almost real to a clearly put out Harry Potter. He had not even noticed the daunting figure at the foot of his bed or that his hands and feet were bounded by rope.
"So here we are at last." The figure's voice insistently cleared. His wonders mentally blurred and he quickly widened his eyes, whipping his head towards the direction of the voice. Sitting next to the coveted lamp shade with his arms knotted across the broad spread of his torso was an almost exact copy of Harry, with the exception of his eyes— a warm chocolate brown compared to his cold green-emeralds— And perhaps his strapping, elegant exterior. Harry even had to admit to himself that he was malnourished.
He kept a wary gaze on the stranger. Of course, knocking off the fact that the being was his replica, those agonizing russet orbs were unforgettable. He had seen them somewhere; it was practically on the tip of his tongue, the brink of his mind. But who…he thought. And just after that last thought, memories exploded through his mind. He could not stop the clouding visions as they swarmed his brain with clips of dreams and reveries that varied from when he was awake and daydreaming until he was asleep in his cot. All of them were of his duplicated self.
After the initial shock wore off, Harry opened his lips and loosely stumbled on his words, "Y-you look the same as me!"
"Your deductive reasoning is fairly adequate, which means that I hadn't hit you as hard as I thought." Came the pleased response.
"You were in my dreams!" Harry gasped out once again.
"As you were in mine." The ladder stated cheekily.
"Who are you? Why do you look like me?" He shakily screamed, pausing to widen his eyes at the braces tied to his hands and feet.
Ignoring Harry's question, his look-alike drifted closer and inclined his head curiously. "I hoped the dreams weren't so true…" The stranger put out. "You're so skinny…" he blindingly inspected Harry's weak figure from top to bottom. Harry immediately began to lean away. His kidnapper was donned in a fine linen white button-up and fitted black slacks that seemed all too posh compared to his overly large tee-shirt and red pajama bottoms.
"What are you playing at?" Harry uncomfortably snapped.
His kidnapper leaned amusingly closer to his face and huskily stated, "You're as fragile as a baby bird."
"I am not! Now tell me what you want with me!" He defended, pulling at his tied left hand to get farther away.
"I want you to calm down and take a deep breath. And I won't let you off those chains until you have."
Harry gawked at him, "Th-that's it? You're not going t-to kill me?"
"My dear brother, if I were to kill you then it would be down-right suicide on my part. There's still so much I have to do." His kidnapper rang out in amusement.
"Brother?" Harry was winded. He was in a room with a psychotic loon who happened to look exactly the same as him..
"Yes. In fact, twin brother, but maybe you've already noticed that." His so-called brother hinted amusingly, gazing at him with a teasing lilt.
"B-but how? I don't have a brother." He murmured, the last sentence coming out to sound like a question.
"I guess you don't have a choice now, brother. We're connected, you and I."
"Stop lying! You're not my sibling! I've never had one!" He furiously screamed.
"It sounds oddly like you're trying to assure yourself, Harry."
Harry broadened his eyes even further, if possible. "H-how do you know my name?"
"I've known you all my life, brother, but the cut on your thumb confirmed it." His twin leaned over towards his left thumb and smirked as Harry hovered away. "It confirmed your magical binding to me, and I to you. You're a wizard, Harry, and you're my brother." Harry cautiously gazed at those smoldering brown orbs. He couldn't trust this stranger, could he?
"My name is Hadrian."
Harry found no malicious intent, or a lingering craze in the latter's eyes, but that was no reason to pull down his guard.
"I do apologize for tying you up like this, but it wouldn't do well if you woke up and started wondering around by yourself." Hadrian stated, snapping his fingers. The ropes that bounded Harry to the bed immediately vanished. "You're no longer in Muggle London." He exclaimed, inclining his head at the balcony window.
Harry raised his eyebrow at this and kicked off the satin blankets. As he placed his feet on the ground, his knees were wobbly and his body felt unsettled. Soft hands were placed on each side of his waist to keep him upright and away from the carpeted ground. He tried to push away but the strong hold over him would have none of that. Hadrian guided him to the large window and the closer they got, the more Harry saw of the lower streets. The height of where they stood made him somewhat nauseated but amazed to see all the small markets and towns from such a high place. It didn't quite look like anything from London. More like a bazaar if anything else he could think of.
But that wasn't what had him absolutely bewildered. A boy about twice his age was somehow flying on a broom and heading straight towards his window. With sudden fear, Harry jumped away from the glass, afraid that the young man would crash into the solid window. A low chuckle rang from in back of him as hands calmly clasped around his frightened body. "He's our mail deliverer." The voice teased.
Harry peered back to see that the person had stopped right at their balcony and was carefully placing a package in front of the window. He paid no heed to them and quickly sprang back onto his broom to continue his routes.
"H-how was he able to fly?" Harry muttered, vaguely interested as he continued watching the broom drift away.
"The muggle legends happen to be true about one thing…We, witches and wizards can fly magical brooms. And there's Quidditch Harry, I'm sure you'll love that. I'll even teach you myself." Hadrian proudly stated, still covering his brother in his arms.
Harry nodded, still staring at the multiple brooms speeding through the air.
"But I've got to get your pledge. Are you staying with me, or do you want to go back to them?" Hadrian finished with a hint of distain. Harry peered up at his brother; a saddened look had overtaken his amused expression. Hadrian stared imploringly at him, "I've seen what they do to you, Harry. Mother and I will take you away from all that and give you a new world to call your own. No one will ever tell you what to do while you're here, and we'll never hurt you. If you desire it, I'll even kill those filthy muggles for their acts against you." The seething anger that seemed to come off of Hadrian in waves affected Harry's emotions in someway. It made him feel irritated at the Dursleys, like they were a bug that needed to be gotten rid of. He had always hated the Dursleys, but he never wanted to actually kill them.
"So what do you say? Come live with me?" The suggestion was said in a tone that was suddenly blithe and chipper.
Lightened by the prospect of finally ridding himself of his horrible aunt, uncle, and cousin, he couldn't help but wonder the dangers of getting caught. What if Uncle Vernon comes back and finds him gone? He had once ran away from home and was caught by a patrolling constable. When he was back in the clutches of his uncle, the result wasn't pretty and left him sleeping on his stomach for the later five days. Swallowing a sob, Harry shakily exclaimed, "I don't know. What if Uncle Vernon catches me? He'll be angry and he'll punish me for it." Tears flowed down his cheeks as he remembered all those times in the basement. This was a dream, he'd wake up soon to the coldness and death-like environment.
"That snake won't dare lay even a single finger on you unless he wants to get it chopped off." The ominous tone stated before changing to a more gentle tenor, "I'll protect you." Hadrian placed his pale, smooth palm against his brother's cheek, pleading for him to make the right decision.
After several minutes of fighting with himself, Harry quietly nodded his consent, "Alright then."
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