I've decided to Rewrite this old Fanfic that never really got written haha, it won't go as fast as Ink & Prophecy will but I'll do it when I'm bored which will be a lot this month.
The chosen veiled in darkest night,
Brings false hope with fading light.
Secrets and power masked from sight,
Hatred and pain shall mark his flight.
The guide who seeks to shape the fate,
Shall fail and meet a shattered state.
But anger tamed by one so rare,
Shall leave no foe alive to spare.
Albus Dumbledore, as he reviewed the new prophecy, felt a twinge of surprise when Professor Trelawny entered the room. He had not anticipated another prophecy, yet he greeted it with a welcoming demeanor.
However, his attention was captured by the final line of the prophecy. Concerned by its implications, Albus resolved that if he ever encountered the figure foretold, he would ensure their removal, all in the name of the greater good, of course.
With this new resolve, he turned his focus to other pressing matters that demanded his attention.
Hadrian Potter blinked as pain surged through him while he sat up. An egg had slipped from his grasp while he was cooking, prompting Uncle Vernon to strike him on the head with a hot frying pan in a fit of rage.
While the injury itself was troubling, Hadrian was more distressed about the food that had splattered across the floor.
Still, floor food, however grim, was better than none at all.
As Christmas approached, it seemed to hold little significance for Hadrian, who found the holiday merely another opportunity for menial tasks.
Once, he had received a shiny gold hanger as a gift, a rare item he treasured for its reflective quality.
Over the years, he had honed his skills in theft, although he used them sparingly.
His cupboard, perpetually cold due to a drafty vent, offered no respite from the snowy weather outside. At least he had been spared from weeding—a chore he had long detested since his duties began.
Hadrian had somewhat chosen his name. When he first started school, he learned his name was Harry Potter.
The commonality of his name irked him deeply. The Dursleys abhorred anything they deemed "freakish," but Hadrian was drawn to the peculiar and unconventional.
Thus, he rejected the name 'Harry' and adopted 'Hadrian' instead.
Two years ago, Hadrian discovered his so-called "freak powers."
Hadrian Potter's newfound powers were nothing short of extraordinary. By the age of five, he had already begun experimenting with the abilities that set him apart from the ordinary.
His control over the elements was one of his most practical skills. He could summon a gust of wind with a mere thought, extinguish a flame or ignite one with the snap of his fingers, and manipulate the flow of water as easily as he would flick a pebble.
These abilities came in handy, particularly when the Dursleys refused to provide him with the comforts most children enjoyed.
His mind-reading skills, though somewhat unreliable, granted him glimpses into the thoughts of those around him.
This was particularly useful when it came to avoiding the wrath of his relatives. He could anticipate their anger before it fully materialized, allowing him to sidestep potential beatings or chores.
The Dursleys, in their ignorance, attributed his uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time to sheer luck.
Teleportation became his favored method of escape. Whenever he found himself in a tight spot—whether it was the threat of another beating or the need to pilfer food from the kitchen—he could disappear and reappear in another location.
This also served him well in his forays into the world of theft. His ability to phase through walls allowed him to bypass locked doors and other barriers, making it easy for him to explore and, on occasion, "borrow" items he found intriguing.
Flight, though not frequently used, was a skill that gave him a sense of freedom. He would soar above the rooftops, observing the world from a vantage point that few could match.
It was during these flights that he dreamed of a life away from the Dursleys, a life where he could revel in his abilities without hiding them.
His thefts were an extension of his powers and a means of survival. He had developed a particular affinity for rare and valuable objects, preferring items that were both unique and useful.
His favorite targets included Jewelry, old books, and anything that shimmered with a hint of mystery.
He stashed them in a hidden chamber beneath his cupboard. This hoard became his sanctuary, a place where he could study his findings and plan for his future.
Each stolen item had its own story, and Hadrian took great pleasure in learning about them.
He had amassed a small but impressive collection, which he viewed not just as valuables, but as pieces of a larger puzzle—one that he hoped would eventually help him understand his place in the world and perhaps, eventually, escape the life of drudgery imposed upon him by the Dursleys.
Hadrian glanced at the clock on the wall, the red digits reading 6:47. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift into the sanctuary of his mental forest.
This forest was a refuge he had crafted through countless hours of deep reflection—a place where reality and imagination intertwined.
The towering redwoods loomed above him, their ancient branches whispering secrets of forgotten times. At the heart of this forest stood a ladder leading to a series of treehouses, each filled with books and memories that had granted him his perfect memory.
He took a moment to absorb the tranquility of this place, letting the soft rustling of the leaves and the distant calls of wildlife calm him. The forest was teeming with life—wolves patrolled the underbrush, birds flitted between branches, and various cats prowled silently through the shadows.
Among them was a pack of black wolves, their eyes gleaming with a predatory intelligence. They had become his companions in this mental realm, a reflection of his own solitary nature.
Hadrian had always admired the wolves, identifying with their pack mentality even though he had no actual pack of his own in the physical world.
He allowed himself to wander through the forest for a few moments, feeling a sense of solace and connection in this place.
The wolves padded alongside him, their presence a reminder that, despite his isolation, he was not entirely alone.
The books in the treehouses held his memories. He reached out to touch the ladder, feeling the rough wood beneath his fingers—a tangible link to the memories and wisdom stored above.
Reluctantly, Hadrian pulled himself back to reality, the mental forest dissolving as he refocused on his physical form.
The cupboard door creaked open, and Uncle Vernon's harsh voice cut through the morning air like a jagged knife, "BOY!"
Hadrian opened his eyes, the warmth of the forest replaced by the cold reality of his cupboard.
He rose with a groan, stretching out his stiff limbs as he prepared to face the day.
The Dursleys' relentless demands and scorn were an unavoidable part of his existence, but they did little to dampen his resolve.
He shuffled to the small kitchen, his movements mechanical as he began preparing breakfast.
The greasy frying pan from the previous night still lay on the counter, a grim reminder of the previous day's troubles.
He set to work with practiced efficiency, determined to make the most of the meager ingredients available.
The process was a far cry from the magic of his mental forest, but it was a necessary part of his survival.
As he cooked, Hadrian's mind wandered back to his hidden chamber beneath the cupboard—a secret refuge filled with his treasured finds.
He was constantly adding to it, driven by a sense of purpose and a desire to escape the oppressive grasp of the Dursleys.
The thought of that hidden sanctuary, brimming with artifacts and knowledge, provided a small measure of comfort amidst the drudgery of his daily chores.
Despite the oppressive gloom of his surroundings, Hadrian's spirit remained unbroken. His powers, his forest, and his secret hoard were symbols of his resilience and ingenuity.
Each day, he toiled under the Dursleys' thumb, but within him burned the quiet, unyielding flame of ambition—a promise to himself that one day, he would rise above this life of misery.
Hadrian's lip curled into a sneer as he surveyed the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.
The soapy water was lukewarm, the scum of leftover grease clinging stubbornly to the porcelain. It was his least favorite task, but he knew it was merely a small hurdle in his otherwise meticulous daily routine.
"Almost done," he muttered under his breath, scrubbing away with an air of practiced indifference.
His thoughts were already wandering to the moment he could finally escape the confines of the kitchen and immerse himself in the sanctuary of the library.
The prospect of spending time among the books was a welcome relief, a brief escape from the drudgery of his chores and the oppressive presence of the Dursleys.
After what felt like an eternity, he finished washing the last dish. He wiped his hands on a rag, splashes of soapy water dotting his shirt, and made his way to the small, grimy bathroom to clean himself up.
The dirty water in the sink and the grimy kitchen tiles were a far cry from the pristine environment of his mental forest, but he had learned to find solace in the mundane, the routine.
When he glanced at the clock on the bathroom wall, he saw it was 9:25. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, though he quickly replaced it with a neutral expression.
He didn't want to give Aunt Petunia any reason to question his intentions. He moved quietly through the house, his steps light and deliberate, until he reached the living room where Aunt Petunia was engrossed in her daily round of house chores.
"Aunt Petunia," Hadrian said, his voice carefully measured, "I've finished my chores. I'm going to the library."
Aunt Petunia barely acknowledged him, her attention fixed on a stack of laundry. That was fine with Hadrian—her indifference was as good as permission.
A year ago, he had secured permission to visit the library, and it had been a lifeline ever since.
The library was a refuge, a place where he could explore the vast expanse of knowledge that had become his solace.
While he didn't visit every day, the times he did were essential for his ongoing quest for understanding and escape.
As he walked out of the house, the crisp winter air greeted him with a refreshing bite.
He made his way to the local library, a modest building that belied the treasures it held within its walls.
The journey was short but gave him a moment to mentally prepare for the hours he would spend surrounded by books.
Entering the library, he was greeted by the familiar scent of old paper and the quiet hum of muffled conversations.
He nodded briefly to the librarian, a kind but unobtrusive woman who had long since become accustomed to his frequent visits.
Hadrian made his way to the back of the library, where the section on physics awaited him.
He had already worked his way through a few other sections, each one a stepping stone toward his ultimate goal: to read every book in the library.
Physics was the current focus, and Hadrian approached it with the same fervor he applied to all his pursuits.
The books were his allies in understanding the world.
He settled into a corner table, pulling out his notes and opening the first book.
The library was a world unto itself, a place where the complexities of physics, the mysteries of the odd, and the secrets of history intertwined.
It was here that he felt a sense of purpose, a far cry from the mundane chores and harsh treatment of his home life.
As Hadrian delved into the pages, the library became his haven. He could lose himself in the texts, exploring concepts and theories that stretched the limits of his understanding.
Each book was a new adventure, a chance to escape the confines of his daily life and delve into the mysteries that captivated his mind.
Time seemed to slip away as he immersed himself in his studies. The library was a place of endless possibilities, a stark contrast to the bleakness of his home.
For Hadrian, it was more than just a refuge—it was a place where he could dream, plan, and envision a future that transcended the confines of his current existence.
The hours passed unnoticed until the librarian gently reminded him that the library would be closing soon.
With a reluctant sigh, Hadrian gathered his things and prepared to leave.
He knew that each visit to the library was a step toward his greater goal, a small but significant piece of the puzzle that would one day help him escape the life he had been trapped in for so long.
As he walked back home, the evening sky painted with shades of twilight, Hadrian felt a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Hadrian glanced at the clock as he packed up his books, the soft red digits glowing against the encroaching darkness.
He knew he needed to head home, but tonight was special—it was rumored to be one of the darkest nights ever seen.
The thought of being locked in his cupboard while such a phenomenon occurred was unbearable. The Dursleys would never understand the significance, and the prospect of missing out on this rare event gnawed at him.
With a decisive nod to himself, Hadrian decided to venture into the forest instead.
The Dursleys might grumble about his absence, but their discontent was a small price to pay for the chance to experience the night in all its dark glory.