Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father
Chapter 8: I Am...?
Draco had followed behind Harry closely, watching in horror as his friend began sweating blood: bleeding out of his eyes, mouth and nose on top of that.... What really caught his gaze, though, was the glow that was surrounding Harry -- it was almost ghastly looking, draining the man of all colour -- as if a shadow had enveloped him.
As Harry collapsed, Draco no longer stood around idly and watched, dazed; instinct took over, causing him to rush over quickly to the man, calling out to him frantically, "Oh God, Harry!!"
He wasn't really sure about what to do, but it seemed the only thing Draco could do at the moment was take care of Harry physically and hope the wizard would recover soon.
The blonde gathered damp towels and mopped up the majority of the blood on Harry's face, being as careful and gentle as he could. Once that was accomplished, he set about carrying Harry to his bed and changing his clothes.
It had been three days. Three days of sheer torture for Draco and Albus. Harry hadn't woken from a coma-like state, but the two weren't willing to go and seek help; after all, who knows what they would think of the circumstances. And Draco certainly wasn't going to risk being tortured (again) if Harry woke up in a particularly nasty mood after he'd called someone else in to take care of him.
Draco had easily told everyone else that Harry had come down with a bad case of Dragon Pox -- a lie, but it was a plausible excuse for people to not come and visit the wizard.
He and Albus had already looked up everything they could that might be remotely related to Harry's current state, but neither of them could come up with anything. Nor could Scorpius, for that matter. All of this was very frustrating and aggravating -- more than anything else Draco had to deal with from Harry in the past.
"Damnit, would you just wake up and stop giving us all this grief?" Draco grumbled, seething, slamming another useless book on the nightstand, making Al jump from shock.
"Merlin, don't give me a heart attack -- how would you explain that one off?" Albus said, snidely, scowling at the blonde, setting the book he'd finished looking through on the other side of the same night stand.
"It's not like I killed your father, you ungrateful brat," Draco hissed, silvery eyes narrowing at the boy.
"I'm so not--"
"Would you please shut up!" came a third voice, uncharacteristically stern.
"Dad?" Albus gasped, mouth agape.
"Huhn?" Harry replied, appearing to be befuddled for a second or two, then recovered easily. "Yeah, I'm fine now," he assured his son, grinning slightly.
"Do you remember what happened?" Draco asked, curiosity getting the best of him.
A perplexed look spread across the Slytherin Heir's face, followed by heavy concentration, his eyebrows knotting together, "no, other than the fact I feel better than I ever have before in my entire life."
"Interesting," Draco whispered, watching the other man carefully.
"Do you remember who you are?" Al interjected, most likely playing at a joke.
As always, Harry played along: "Of course, I'm Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin," he said, then hesitated. "No, I'm Harry James Potter," he corrected, "...I think...."
There was a heavy silence in the room, weighing down on all three occupants. It was only until Al cleared his throat, that Draco managed to gather enough courage to speak. "Isn't that what Salazar Slytherin calls you?"
"You mean my father?" Harry asked again, baffled by his own automatic response to that particular subject. "What the bloody hell am I saying?!"
Draco cringed, thinking of an explanation, but not very willing to explain. He met Harry's eyes momentarily, shocked when he saw the eyes flash an unexpected darker colour -- nearly black -- and felt a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Malfoy had felt this sensation too many times before, recalling memories of Voldemort's temporary reign of terror from his youth.
"Draco," Harry commanded, his lips parting in a wicked flash of teeth, eyes rapidly darkening to a deep emerald. "I have suspicions that you, my dear fautor, are withholding a crucial piece of information from me -- and I do not appreciate this deception of yours."
"My Lord," Draco breathed, his face draining of colour, shocking Albus even more than what his father had just said. "I must apologize for keeping information from you," he managed, beginning to sweat -- this wasn't exactly what he had been planning. Harry had been so... cooperative before -- nothing like this.
Harry shook himself, coming to the blonde, putting his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Draco, I'm sorry," he put out, sighing. "I don't know what I'm saying anymore -- it's like there's someone else inside me that's overriding my thoughts and saying whatever they want."
"I believe you split your soul, in attempting to summon your own soul," Draco told his master, beginning to feel he was being jerked around a bit too much by Harry. "But I couldn't be sure, until I found out from your son that was what you were trying to do. It seems that since you are the owner of Hadrian Slytherin's soul, it could not be summoned, since it was still living."
After thinking about it for a second, Harry nodded, "It makes sense." He turned to Albus after another moment to pause, "I... no, Hadrian, was the Dark Lord after... Salazar Slytherin; he did kill Gryffindor," he spat the name, eyes gleaming.
"He did?" Albus confirmed, grinning from ear to ear. "Sweet."
Draco didn't know what to say to that, in all honesty, but he did know that he should tell Harry about the cover story they invented. "I've told Headmaster Fudge that you've contracted Draco Pox -- Albus and I have both had it before, but Scorpius has not, so he isn't going to be able to come into your rooms until you 'recover'. Normally, a bout of Dragon Pox runs its course after a week -- you still have about four days or more left," he explained to the man before him, meeting his eyes hesitantly. "I suggest that you--"
"Do not tell me what to do, Malfoy," Harry retorted, standing up straight with some difficulty. "I'd appreciate it if you made some potions to help me with the pain, however, if you're willing," the green-eyed wizard continued, more or less like himself again.
"Yes, my Lord, I will -- what kinds?" Draco wasn't about to take any chances with how unsteady the transitions between personas was happening with Harry to risk anything. Being hit with the Cruciatus Curse again with the Deathstick wasn't on his list of things to do over and over, like Bella, his aunt, had.
"Muscle relaxes, I think," he answered, humming deeply -- Hadrian's voice, Draco noticed. "And some Dreamless Sleep potions for tonight and the next, at least," Harry added, eyes half-closed, looking as if to be in a daze.
"I'll get right on it," Draco replied, bowing slightly. "Anything else, my Lord?"
"How about taking Al and Scorpius out and get them something they want?" he said, smiling non-committally.
Just as Draco was about to leave behind Albus, Harry stopped him, closing the door with his want, gently.
"Wait," he whispered, leaning heavily against the post of his black and green bed, breathing heavily, eyes closed fully now. "You needn't call me 'Lord', Draco -- not yet, at least. I will not harm you on purpose, I promise; well, not me, at least. I don't know how I... well, Hadrian, really, works with his followers or anything, yet," Harry paused, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his plain night robes.
Draco relaxed, grinning back at his changed friend, "I'm the one who should apologize; I tried to use you. I know you trusted me and I betrayed that trust -- it was wrong of me to --"
"Enough," he cut in, his voice barely louder than a breath. "I understand, Ginny was right, but there was no one else with your knowledge that I could even begin to trust with such a situation as mine. Not that I had that much choice to begin with, since Al is the one mostly at fault for bringing us together," Harry added with a weak laugh and a single cough.
The blonde let out a deep breath, staring at nothing in particular before turning to Harry again. "Thank you for the second chance," he returned in an equally soft whisper. "You should rest until I get back with the potions, Harry."
"Yeah, I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" the ebony-haired man surmised, a sardonic grin plastered on his lips, amusement evident in his darker green eyes.
"I will return swiftly," Draco promised, sweeping out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Harry (or was it Hadrian, now?) fell back into the soft sheets of his bed, contemplating all that had just happened.
On one hand, he now had abilities and spell knowledge like never before -- a huge benefit for him -- that Hadrian had leared and acquired throughout his lifetime. Granted, nearly all of it was Dark Arts and other similarly Ministry-banned Arts, but they would be more of an asset than a hindrance. Harry didn't know precisely what he was going to do with all of this new material to work with, but he knew (somewhere deep within him) that nothing would go to waste in his foreseeable future.
And then again, on the other hand, these memories of Hadrian's life were so intertwined with those of his own. Harry would continue to have problems with keeping the two distinct sets apart when addressing another person. He'd have to really think about what he was saying before he ever said a thing, especially when confronted with his co-workers, Ministry personnel and his students.
'What a hassle,' is all Harry could manage to think about the situation. Not only did he have to contend with the memories, but also how to keep the other personality (Hadrian's, of course) from surfacing in certain circumstances -- to not draw any unwanted attention to what had happened to him and what he might be up to in the future.
Hadrian's memories began with some rather hazy recollections of his mother (Rowena Ravenclaw), his half-sister (Helena Ravenclaw), Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff. Apparently, Hadrian had overheard how his father (Salazar Slytherin) had raped and kidnapped his mother -- who was found a few months later near Hogsmeade, confused and dazed. Salazar had become the Dark Lord after Gregory Iudicium -- the Dark Lord who had been defeated by Gryffindor and was the prized student of Salazar's (before he became a Dark Lord). Finding all of this out, Hadrian gathered together some of his gear one night and set off to revenge his mother on the supposedly "evil" man known as Salazar Slytherin.
Upon eventually finding the Dark Lord (Hadrian had been about thirteen or fourteen at the time), he'd challenged his father to a duel, stating who he was and his purpose....
"My name is Hadrian Slytherin," the boy told him, his green eyes glittering, his defiant look reminding Salazar greatly of Rowena.
"So, you're the bastard, then, hm? My heir, that is," Salazar clarified, a smirk of triumph spreading across his face. "How do I know? Rowena is the only one I'd ever have possibly made an heir with, you see..." he whispered dangerously.
"You," Hadrian growled, his hand on the hilt of his sword, baring his teeth at his father.
"Ever so foolish -- evident of Godric's influence, I presume," the Slytherin interjected, his blood-coloured eyes practically glowing as his illegitimate son backed away slightly, in sheer terror of the Dark Lord before him.
"Godric--" Hadrian began.
"Gryffindor was a fool," Salazar finished in a hiss. "He believed that I was slowly become more distant from him until he presumed that I had snapped and finally betrayed his cause and needed to be disposed of --"
"But you raped my mother!" the boy spat back, the anger coming easily, boiling in his veins. He'd always been temperamental (apparently much like his father, if he'd understood Helga correctly) and this interaction with his father was only adding fuel to the fire.
"I wouldn't call it that at all -- she loved me at the time, and she'd loved me long before then -- we had even been engaged at one point. I didn't use any force in getting her to engage in those activities," Salazar explained very frankly.
"Lies!" Hadrian screamed, gripping the hilt tighter.
"What would I gain in lying to my son on the circumstances in which he was conceived?" the elder inquired, an asking demeanour cover his face.
"...Nothing that I can think of," the boy replied, loosening his hold on the sword fractionally.
"You're very handsome, I must say," Salazar commented, assessing the youth a bit closer, arms folded across his chest loosely. "I would have believed that you would rather know more about who you are and who your family is before you attempt to kill of the people willing to tell you the truth about all of it. Or throwing your life away, for that matter. I can tell that you aren't so foolish to rush into things without thinking about the consequences first -- I bet that it took you a week to decide to come after me."
Hesitantly, Hadrian relented, letting the sword drop from his hand, which fell to the ground with a dull clang. "You're right; I would like to learn more about myself... like, being able to talk to snakes? Why is it considered so..."
"Dark? Evil?" Salazar suggested, watching as his son nodded his head somewhat eagerly. "Well, I shall teach you, then -- follow me."
After about ten years of Salazar's tutelage, Hadrian had become very knowledgeable about a number of things: from simple charms to deadly curses, healing potions to Dark rituals, his ancestry to his inherited abilities. It was only after twenty-five years or so following Hadrian's flight from Hogwarts that Godric Gryffindor had found his enemy, Salazar Slytherin, and killed him, brutally. Having witnessed Gryffindor's deep, Hadrian confronted the man he once loved as a father....
"You," he hissed, drawing out his long white wand as a precaution, his heart pounding in his ears, eyes covered with a reddish film -- the blinding red of rage. "You murdered my father. You had no right to do such an act! What did he do to deserve death so cruel that you gave him?" Hadrian demanded of Godric, who had been taken off-guard by the younger wizard.
"Hadrian, I'm here to save you; this man has indoctrinated you into believing in his horrible fantasies and convince you to follow his insane ideas," the redhead declared, his voice confident.
"You're wrong," Hadrian spat, his deep voice low as he picked up the sword his father had dropped, scowling at Gryffindor, who also drew his sword once more.
"Hadrian, please, don't do this -- your mother is so worried about you..." Godric managed to get out before the Slytherin assaulted him.
"Is she, now?" he purred, laughing humourlessly, his temper driving him to attack harder, faster, becoming more numb to the pain of the cuts from Gryffindor's blade. "Don't worry, I'll bring your body and that precious sword of yours back to my mother and Hufflepuff. Merlin knows she's worried about you, hm, Gryffindor?"
"Please, Hadrian," Godric begged, trying to stop the younger and more agile wizard from doing something he would likely regret later. His breathing was heavy and laboured, the pain from the multiple wounds on his face, torso, and arms preventing him from reacting as quickly as he needed to in order to prevent the last, fatal blow.
The Son of Slytherin smiled a horribly wicked smile, his dark eyes glimmering in pleasure, blood splattering and covering his face and robes, staining them as he swung the sword one last time against the man....
"Harry!"
With a start, Harry sat up, perspiration covering his face, the act of inspiration becoming a feat in and of itself.
"What?" he gasped, eyes narrowing at the offending company who had woken him from his sleep.
"You were screaming," was Al's reply, worried as he looked upon his father. "Draco -- I mean, Professor Malfoy finished the potions," he explained for the blonde, who was busy rearranging Harry in his bed.
"I need to change your sheets. I recommend that you bathe yourself, here," Draco suggested, handing over a dull green potion to Harry nonchalantly. "Drink that so you're even capable of moving," the potions master added with a small shrug and a grin.
"Thank you," he replied, voice soft once more, downing the horrible tasting thing quickly before his taste buds might react and reject it.
Once the potion took effect, Harry clambered out of his bed and strolled to the lavatory, taking a nice, long, relaxing bath.
"I suppose I'll have to live with the fact that I've become Hadrian Slytherin, in a sense," he whispered to the steam-filled room, peering down at his hands, sighing longingly. "Why can't life be simple anymore?"
He knew that from the moment he had pledged that he would follow the Slytherin Code there would be no turning back. But, he wasn't just about to regret that decision -- doing that would only cause him to go through all of this nonsense over again in a new era.
This chapter is dedicated to: Moogle (Boogum) for some input on the content (even though you were too tired to do "much good", it was awesome advice!); Grae (KouenTaisa) for words that I couldn't think of at all, that was help that I couldn't find anywhere else; to the reviewers; and to the bands: ASP for inspiration on Hadrian's parts, Forever Slave for the mood in the confrontation between Draco and Harry, and to H.I.M. for Draco's... stuff (technical term).
Most of this was from a seperate piece that I was writing on Hadrian (I was thinking of posting it as a companion piece, but I've already included everything I've written of it in here...) that was used in the flashbacks. I'm basing my view of the Founders off an RPG that I did with other fan fiction writers, although I think I explained things well enough. Did I?
Input is greatly appreciated and very wanted at this point. What do you think? Drop your suggestions or comments in a review and it will be carefully dissected and analysed to see if anything will fit in the story. Go ahead and take guesses at the allusions I've been making and I'll answer whatever questions you have.
Oh, and please check out the poll on my profile -- dealing with pairings for Hadrian/Harry. If you would like to, reviewing with your choice is also fine.