Disclaimer: Forever and ever not the owner of Harry Potter.
Dastewie2012: Cupcake ? Don't know, said a random word to match the review hahaha.
Guest/Ep: Thanks !
Hank1967: Thank you for the review ! I'm glad you enjoyed the fight. That's what I like to write the most to be honest. About Hadrian and Alexander... well, you'll have some answers in this chapter, so I won't say more ! Take care, and have a great day !
Malamber: Hey ! I really like Harry/Tonks pairing too, and if I ever write another fanfiction, I might use it. However, in this story, I wanted to create a whole new character (for the challenge). So yeah, I still hope you'll like her hahaha. Anyway, take care !
Chiku11: You'll have indeed some revelations in this chapter (that's the name of it for a reason hahaha). I'm glad you seemed to like the chapter. Thanks for reviewing, take care !
CaskettFan5: Hey ! Thanks for the review. Apparently, the fight was well appreciated, so I'm really glad. About your theories... well this chapter and the next one will answer them. Thanks for not spoiling people hahaha ! I'm curious to know if you saw everything coming, or if there were still something that surprised you. Anyway, take care, and have a great day !
06/26/1995, 08H57, London, England:
Astoria Greengrass was stunned. Disgusted. Horrified. Those were the only words she could use to describe the abominable acts she had been forced to witness.
For months, she had struggled in vain against this imposed sleep. Like a prisoner sealed behind indestructible bars, she could only watch the horrors of the outside world through the eyes of the one who had plunged her into this state: Voldemort himself.
She didn't know the exact cause of this connection between them and had mixed feelings about its existence. On the one hand, the idea of possibly spending so much time without seeing, hearing, or feeling anything threatened to drive her mad. On the other, she had been forced to witness every murder, every torture, and every crime committed by the Dark Lord since his return, in excruciating detail. For a thirteen-year-old girl, who had fallen into this coma at eleven, it was bound to leave scars.
Astoria had witnessed the ambush on Hadrian, as well as its meticulous planning. Never had she wanted so desperately to wake up as on that day when she was forced to watch Hadrian Potter's death.
After that tragic event, she had lost all hope. She convinced herself that she would never wake up and that this cursed bond would last indefinitely. However, everything changed one fateful evening.
As she watched in dismay Harry Potter facing Voldemort, her heart slowly shattered as she realized the Gryffindor stood no chance.
But then, the situation took an unexpected turn. An external attack forced Voldemort to abandon his target, allowing Harry to escape with the Cup.
That's when she saw a scene she had thought impossible. A group of five people, led by… Hadrian Potter himself. The man hadn't even bothered to hide his face.
Dressed in a long black coat that billowed in the wind, his hands calmly in his pockets, he stared at his opponent with a confident smile.
For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. Then, she noticed certain details that brought her back to reality. First, Hadrian bore several scars on his face, one particularly visible on his cheek, where he had been wounded.
As he walked, he limped slightly, making it easy for the young girl to deduce that he was wearing a wooden leg (his right leg having been amputated at the knee during the ambush). He was alive, yes, but he had paid a rather high price.
His now iconic blindfold covered his eyes as he advanced, determined, toward the Dark Lord. In a flash, he drew his wand and unleashed a storm of black fire that devastated everything in its path, forcing Voldemort and his surviving followers into a hasty retreat, shocked to realise that Hadrian Potter was still alive.
At that very moment, as Voldemort retreated to one of his hideouts, Astoria felt the connection between them break. Perhaps the Dark Lord had been forced to use magic too powerful to withdraw safely? The very nature of this bond remained a mystery to Astoria, and understanding its rupture was beyond her.
But suddenly, as what had both obsessed and terrified her vanished forever, she felt her soul freed from the limbo where it had been captive. She finally saw the way out of the dreadful prison she had been trapped in for two long years.
She found herself once again in darkness, the same darkness that frightened her, and then... she opened her eyes. At last, she was awake.
She blinked several times, the ceiling light blinding her like a multitude of suns.
As her eyes adjusted, she let her gaze wander around the room. The white walls, the large windows, and the hurried footsteps in the hallway made her realise she was in a hospital room, at St. Mungo's.
On her left, she saw her mother, sitting on a chair and asleep. She had no idea of the date or time, but knowing her mother had stayed by her side, if only for part of the time she had spent in that hellish coma, warmed her heart.
She was back among the living, and though much of the information she had gathered was now useless - being plans for attacks already carried out or projects never realised - she knew she had to talk to Daphne and Harry as soon as possible.
Her instincts were pulling her in that direction. The last time, in Ginny's company, she had refused to listen to that same instinct and had paid the price. This time, she wouldn't make the same mistake.
"Astoria?" her mother murmured, waking abruptly, quickly approaching the bed and taking her hand. "Mom... I'm awake," she managed to say, as her mother collapsed in tears on the hospital bed.
06/26/1995, 21H30, Hogwarts, Scotland:
Three exhausting days had passed for Harry since that night filled with overwhelming events. In just one evening, he had faced the murderer of his parents, who also happened to be a Dark Lord of formidable power. At the same time, he learned the truth about the tragic disappearance of his uncle, only to return and discover that his beloved's younger sister had awakened from her long slumber. A series of trials that had plunged him into a deep state of sorrow.
Despite his injuries, his magic, combined with numerous healing potions, had allowed him to recover at an accelerated pace. Though still convalescing, he could move around with little difficulty, as long as he respected certain limits.
During his brief stay in the infirmary, he recounted the evening's events to Albus Dumbledore. Despite his lingering issues with the old man, he felt a sense of gratitude for his intervention against the Minister and his Undersecretary.
That pair inspired a deep-seated hatred in him, especially Dolores Umbridge. Not only had this woman publicly voiced despicable views against non-pureblood wizards without facing any consequences, but she had the audacity to look him straight in the eyes and call him a liar. She had crossed a line, and by far.
If he ever crossed paths with her again, unlike Draco Malfoy, he would give her only one option: death, and a very painful one.
For a young boy, such a thought was deeply disturbing. This was one of Hadrian Potter's mistakes. As soon as he had taken Harry under his wing, he began to raise him in an atmosphere of vengeance, constantly emphasising the importance of strength in the wizarding world.
That didn't mean he didn't love Harry. On the contrary, anyone observing their interactions could easily see the deep affection this man held for the Gryffindor, whom he regarded as his own son. However, having known only war and hatred throughout his life, he had shaped Harry in his own image.
This ideology would undoubtedly serve Harry well in times of war. But what would happen when peace returned?
Harry, however, was far from grasping these nuances. From his perspective, everything was going perfectly. He knew how to fight, had the strength to protect those he loved, and had even managed to stand against Voldemort for several minutes without faltering. And none of this would have been possible without his uncle's intervention.
After sharing his memories with Dumbledore, he set himself the task of sorting through the information he had accumulated to gain a clearer understanding.
First, he needed to determine whether Dolohov was a double agent or an imposter. The man boldly claimed to have killed his uncle, but if what Harry had seen before being transported by the Portkey wasn't a dream, then Dolohov was lying.
Then there was the matter of Voldemort's return to a physical body, using the blood of Harry's parents. Harry made a conscious effort not to dwell on this detail, as it only fueled his rage toward the dark wizard.
Parallel to these concerns, there was also Snape's forced allegiance. Like it or not, the Potions Master was now a fully committed Death Eater. All Harry could hope for was that the older man would truly act and not rely on the Dark Lord's "mercy."
Lastly, there was his wand. They couldn't kill each other as long as they used their own wands. Thus, Harry needed to find a solution to this problem, and fast. He had a feeling that the next time he would face the Dark Lord, he wouldn't have the luxury of retreat.
Determining that he would have time to search for solutions after his meeting with the headmaster, he shook his head, clearing away the cluttered thoughts, and knocked on the door where he was expected.
"Come in, Harry!" Dumbledore called from inside. The young Gryffindor opened the door and stepped into the headmaster's office.
"Take a seat, we have much to discuss, my boy," Dumbledore indicated, the usual twinkle behind his half-moon glasses noticeably absent. "First of all, how are you feeling?" the older man asked. Harry, who had remained silent until now, was forced to break the silence. "I'm fine, thank you, Professor. I have no lingering effects. But I must admit, I could have done without some of those… questionable tasting potions," he said.
The headmaster let out a soft chuckle at his student's remark before nodding, satisfied. If the boy had the strength to joke, then he must be in good health.
A brief silence followed as they looked at each other. Harry was curious about why Dumbledore had called him, while the older man seemed to be assessing him.
Finally, the headmaster spoke again. "I assume you've heard about the awakening of young Astoria Greengrass," the old man mentioned.
"Yes," Harry replied, unable to hide his relief. "Daphne's already back at Greengrass Manor to spend time with her. With me in the infirmary and her sister finally awake, she didn't know where to turn. I almost had to force her to go back home."
The headmaster nodded. "I was worried that after spending so long under Hadrian's tutelage, you might lose sight of certain important aspects of life. Clearly, I was wrong. And for once, I'm very glad," the headmaster acknowledged.
Harry vaguely understood what the headmaster meant but chose not to comment, recalling his darker thoughts moments earlier, as well as what he had done to Malfoy and his cronies.
The Gryffindor spoke again, his voice once more breaking the silence of the room: "From what I've heard, she wanted to talk to me about something important." Facing the headmaster's questioning look, he continued, leaning back slightly in his chair: "I'm referring to Astoria Greengrass. It seems she's eager to talk to me. I just hope she doesn't hold anything against me for my relationship with her sister."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Love, in all its forms, should be a source of joy, not discord. In that sense, I wish you all, for everyone's sake, that things unfold harmoniously." He then leaned forward, signalling his intention to address the main topic.
In a voice slightly softened by age, Dumbledore explained, "Harry, I've called you here for several reasons. First of all, I've taken note of the situation with Professor Snape. After a discussion with him, and for the good of the school, I've asked him to leave his post. He is currently… travelling."
Harry understood the unspoken meaning behind the headmaster's words. He knew the old man didn't have the strength to eliminate Snape himself. However, sending him on a mission—whether to accomplish an impossible task or one long enough to keep the Potions Master away from the conflict—was well within Dumbledore's abilities. Though this decision frustrated him, Harry refrained from protesting. The headmaster had finally taken action to address the issue. It wouldn't do to discourage him now that he was on the right track.
Dumbledore continued, his voice tinged with gravity: "Despite the vow that bound him, I managed, through various hints, to obtain the information I was looking for. Viktor Krum was cursed through the necklace he was wearing that night. It had been given to him by Barty Crouch Jr. during his time at Hogwarts, disguised as Alastor."
The headmaster rose, his gaze fixed on Harry. "As for the Cup, it was enchanted by Severus. Fortunately, from what he hinted, Voldemort's order was to create a Portkey to transport you to him. However, Snape added the ability for the Cup to reverse the journey if it was touched a second time. And from what I've observed, that feature saved your life."
Once again, Harry found himself torn by conflicting feelings toward the former head of Slytherin. Part of him hated Snape for nearly killing him with that Portkey. But at the same time, if he had survived the battle, it was largely thanks to the Cup's return function.
Clenching his fists, he chose to remain silent. For now, his opinion wasn't needed. If he wanted to return to the warmth of his bed as soon as possible, he needed to stay quiet.
The headmaster addressed Harry again, his voice filled with admiration: "I sincerely want to congratulate you, Harry. I've never witnessed such a magical feat from a student your age. Even among adults, what you accomplished that night is an unparalleled achievement. I am truly proud of you, my boy."
Harry felt his rational mind waver in the face of this compliment. Although the headmaster wasn't his closest confidant, hearing praise and pride from the wizard considered the most powerful of the modern age was a recognition like no other.
With humility, Harry responded, "Thank you, headmaster. I've worked hard to reach this level."
Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgment, then, after one last scrutinising look at Harry, slowly drew his wand.
In a solemn voice, he declared, "I'd like to offer you a few gifts. But before that, I need a favour from you, Harry. Can you disarm me, please?"
Harry, puzzled, tilted his head to the side. He repeated the headmaster's request, asking for confirmation, before complying.
The old man's wand flew from his hands, hovering delicately before landing on his lap. Casting one last intrigued glance at the headmaster, who simply smiled in response, Harry grasped the wand.
As soon as he held it, a sensation of power surged through him. A wave of pure energy seemed to course through his body. However, there was a noticeable difference from the day he had received his wand at Ollivanders. This one radiated a chilling aura. It was as if a Dementor had been condensed into a piece of wood. As if… the very essence of death had been concentrated in this wand.
Closing his eyes, he focused. He could feel the magic vibrating within it, as though it were alive, which was particularly strange for a wand with such a cold aura.
When he opened his eyes, he noticed that the wand seemed to glow with a soft light. He gripped it more firmly in his hand, and a flood of memories washed over him. Images of its previous owners flashed before him, from the man named Antioch Peverell, the first wizard who had apparently possessed the wand, to Albus Dumbledore, who now stood before him, smiling.
It felt as though the wand was telling him its story, imparting its power and wisdom. He felt stronger, more confident. But at the same time, there was an odd sense of incompleteness. It was strange. He was certain the wand had no defects, otherwise the headmaster wouldn't have been able to use it. And yet...
Dumbledore spoke to Harry, his voice carrying a solemn weight: "As you can understand, this is no ordinary wand. I myself acquired it by defeating Gellert Grindelwald. Since then, I've preferred to keep it close to me, to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. But after the events of last night, I'm convinced I can entrust it to you without any regret." There was a palpable sense of relief in his words.
From his desk, he pulled out another wand, which Harry assumed was the one he had used in the past.
The old man tucked the wand into a sheath hidden under his sleeve, while Harry took out his own. "Dobby!" Harry called. The house-elf appeared instantly, bowing respectfully to both Harry and Dumbledore before lowering his head, awaiting orders.
"Could you please take my wand and store it in my room at Potter Manor?" Harry asked the elf, who eagerly nodded. Dobby grabbed Harry's first wand and disappeared with a snap. Harry then turned to the headmaster.
"I suppose it's meant to help me in the fight against Voldemort, Professor. But I don't understand… What exactly is this wand's nature?"
Dumbledore sat back in his chair, the familiar twinkle behind his glasses returning. From his desk, he pulled out a small book with the title The Tales of Beedle the Bard on the cover, as well as a gold ring adorned with a strange little black stone.
"I recommend you read this book when you have the time. I believe you'll find the answers to your questions there," the old man explained before handing him the ring.
"To conclude this gift-giving, I'd like to offer you this. In my hands, this object has been nothing but a tool of torment, and I no longer wish to keep it," he said.
Harry took the ring and, without thinking, slipped it onto his finger. Immediately, a strange magic coursed through him. His cloak, discreetly tucked under his robes, his new wand, and the ring now on his finger resonated with each other, as though they were all one. The coldness he had felt in the wand seemed to seep deep into his being, until suddenly...
*BOOM*
A wave of raw magic, of immense power, erupted, with Harry at its centre. The windows imploded, and the office was suddenly turned upside down. Only Dumbledore, watching Harry with a mix of shock and joy, remained unmoved.
When Harry came back to himself, he immediately noticed the difference in his magic. An unpleasant and mysterious aura emanated from him. He did his best to contain it, eventually succeeding after nearly a minute of intense concentration. All the while, the headmaster waited patiently, watching him struggle against this unknown force.
Exhausted, Harry nodded. He drew his wand and cast the Repairing Charm without uttering a word.
What happened next took him by surprise. The desk before him hadn't slowly returned to its original state, as it should have. No, the entire room was restored to the exact state it had been in before his loss of control.
"What incredible power!" Harry exclaimed, gazing at the weapon in his hands. For that's what it was—a weapon. If a simple Repairing Charm could produce such a powerful effect, then in battle... He didn't even want to imagine the possibilities.
"I think you'll understand what happened with your core and your magic once you've read the book of tales I gave you. In the meantime, I believe our discussion is coming to an end," the headmaster declared, before adding: "Oh, and thank you for fixing my office, Harry."
The young hero of the wizarding world, still stunned by what he had just experienced, nodded distractedly.
He felt something different within him. It wasn't a feeling, nor an emotion. It was as if he had gained an understanding of a profound concept.
And not just any concept: that of death.
"You've already explained the wand, but not the ring. How did you come by this object?" Harry asked. He knew he could have demanded more precise explanations. But deep down, he was sure the old man wouldn't tell him anything and would simply repeat to read the book of tales. So, he would do his own research.
"Oh, that? I received it by owl not long ago," the headmaster admitted. He then gave Harry a quick wink. "If you don't mind, by the way, please send my regards to Hecate. She and Fawkes seem to get along splendidly," he added. His words were followed by a trill from the phoenix, seemingly confirming his master's statement.
Harry understood then that the gift had come from his uncle. Even in death, he was making sure Harry had the weapons he needed to protect those he cared about.
'Thank you, Uncle Hadrian. We'll meet again soon, I'm sure of it!'
"Now, off to bed with you. Otherwise, I might get into trouble with the nurse at our wonderful school," Dumbledore said, escorting Harry to the door.
"Good night, Harry."
"Good night, Professor… and thank you. I don't understand everything yet, but I know that what you've given me holds extraordinary power. I'll do my best to use it wisely, I promise," Harry said with conviction.
The headmaster nodded, as if he had already expected that, and the two parted ways. Dumbledore had an order to reform, and Harry had some reading to do.
"Next time, Tom, it will be the last," Harry growled, his eyes shifting slightly, turning into a sickly green shade, resembling the colour of the Killing Curse.
07/02/1995, 11H02, Potter Manor, England:
In the grand drawing room of Potter Manor, a solemn atmosphere hung in the air. Sirius Black stepped into the room, carrying the Pensieve that would allow them to view the memories Harry had retrieved. Gathered together, their faces were marked by palpable gravity, united by both the hope and the anxiety of unveiling the mysteries of the past few months.
It was a rare gathering at the manor since Hadrian Potter's departure. On one side, Daphne, Astoria, and Ophelia Greengrass harboured a burning hope that the vials contained clues about Alexander's fate. On the other, Sirius, Fortuna, and Harry held their breath, praying for news of Hadrian—whether good or bad.
Since her supposed encounter with Hadrian and his team, Fortuna had relentlessly pursued any information regarding their whereabouts. She had eagerly studied Harry's memory of the Third Task, repeatedly praising his extraordinary feats. Sirius, in contrast, had spoken privately with the young boy, telling him that James, had he been there, would have been immensely proud of him. Harry's skill in Transfiguration during the battle far exceeded that of an ordinary student.
Remus Lupin, who had been on a mission abroad for the past few months, had also sent a letter upon hearing of the recent events. He was still tracking Siena, the witch who had appeared on Hadrian's list. However, according to his reports, this small investigation had led to a much larger one, and his return wasn't expected anytime soon.
For Harry, the past few days had been relatively calm compared to the storm that had preceded his meeting with Dumbledore. He had finished reading the book of tales and conducted thorough research on the trio of artefacts in his possession.
One conclusion was clear: these magical objects were linked to Death. The exact nature of that connection still eluded him. Were they tied to the legend of the tale, or were they artefacts created through dark rituals? He didn't know, but ever since their magic had bonded with his, Harry felt a transformation within himself.
He was beginning to master a branch of magic that he hadn't even known existed before.
"Is everyone ready?" Ophelia asked softly, as she delicately poured the contents of the vials into the Pensieve, the blue liquid mingling with the memory viewer. A unanimous nod followed, and each placed a finger on the strange surface, preparing to be transported beyond the walls of the manor, into the secrets the past held.
??/??/????, ??H??, ????, ?????:
They all found themselves plunged into the eerie atmosphere of a ruined house. Time seemed frozen in this ghostly room, where dust covered every piece of furniture and object like a shroud.
A massive oak table, once set for lavish banquets, dominated the centre of the room. Its chairs, overturned and broken, lay scattered around it like forgotten skeletons. Cobwebs glistened in the gloom, connecting broken crystal chandeliers to the yellowed portraits adorning the walls.
Tattered remnants of wallpaper hung here and there, revealing peeling paint and cracked plaster beneath. A gaping fireplace, once a source of warmth and light, now stood as a dark hole in the wall.
Daphne, filled with unease, straightened up and instinctively positioned herself in front of her sister, momentarily forgetting that they were inside a memory. A second later, she felt Harry's cold magic reassuring her from behind, reminding her that she was safe… Since when has Harry's magic become so cold?
Deciding to save that conversation with her boyfriend for later, she helped her mother to her feet and turned her gaze toward the figure that didn't belong to their group.
It was a man, seated on the only chair that remained intact. They approached him slowly until Ophelia, the first to see his face, gasped in shock. She rushed toward him and tried to grasp his arm, but her hand passed right through him.
"I suppose everyone should be here now and able to hear me clearly," the man said. Everyone present then realised who he was, and Daphne couldn't hold back the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Harry, still by her side, wrapped his arms around her.
"It's going to be okay, Daphne. Let's hear him out," he reassured her. Quickly wiping her tears, she kissed Harry for strength and turned back to her father, who was staring into the void.
Slowly, he stood. He wore a long black coat and was dressed like a soldier. Dragonhide boots, reinforced clothing… He looked ready to march into war with such attire.
He took a step forward, the wood creaking under his weight, as his rough voice echoed through the room. "If all has gone well, then you should all be here, safe and sound. Whether on the Potter side or the Greengrass side. We took a risky gamble, but if I'm able to share this memory, it means it succeeded."
Alexander then lifted his head, his vacant gaze landing on Harry, though he couldn't truly see him. "Before you view the memories that follow, know that I am sorry. Ophelia, Daphne… Astoria too, if you're awake. I never wanted to hurt you. But I did what I thought was necessary to ensure your safety, and that of the wizarding world as a whole. If you can find it in yourselves to forgive me, then thank you in advance."
Only Ophelia's sobs broke the heavy silence that followed Alexander's final words, while the ghostly scene around them began to crumble.
The memory unfolded before their eyes, revealing the truth of that fateful night.
Fortuna and Sirius watched the scene in disbelief. What was happening should have been impossible. The protective wards should have alerted them. The house-elves should have intervened. Hadrian himself, with his vigilant eyes, should have recognized Antonin Dolohov before he even stepped onto the grounds. It was inconceivable!
Astoria, for her part, was seeing the events of that tragic night for the first time. Upon waking, she had learned of her father's death and had been devastated. When she found out that Daphne held the keys to this mystery, she had begged to be present during the viewing of the memory.
Her mother had initially refused, but after a long conversation with Daphne and Fortuna, she had reluctantly agreed. She didn't like the idea of her daughter reliving the murder of her father, but she wanted to give her one last chance to see him.
As she analysed the memory, troubling details caught her attention. Unlike the rest of the group, who were focused on Alexander, she noticed Hadrian's gaze. Harry's uncle had watched her father closely throughout the evening, even giving him an enigmatic nod at one point.
She was convinced a conspiracy was at play. But what exactly?
Ophelia, on the other hand, had an intuition. She had discovered a half-burned letter in her husband's study and had spent the last few months hoping its contents were true. Later, when Alexander had left the party to meet privately with Dolohov, her strange premonition had only grown stronger. Like her youngest daughter, she was sure that they were missing a crucial element. And she was determined to uncover it.
For Harry and Daphne, who had been investigating the matter, the memory only confirmed their suspicions. They watched with sadness as Alexander lost the duel to one of the most feared Death Eaters of that time, until…
That evening, 23H45:
Hadrian pointed his wand at Alexander, and with a fluid motion, he pulled him across the room before gently pressing him against the wall, safe and sound. The time traveller cast three consecutive healing spells on his friend, ensuring that his life was no longer in danger, before turning his attention to Antonin Dolohov.
The Dark wizard was frozen in time, his wand still aimed at the wall where Alexander had been moments earlier. Hadrian took a step toward him, but suddenly, Dolohov broke the spell and turned to face him.
He unleashed a powerful Dark magic curse that Hadrian didn't recognize, then conjured a shield to protect himself. But the title of "Invincible Soldier" given to Hadrian wasn't for nothing.
With effortless ease, Hadrian deflected the offensive curse towards a wall, which began to melt under its force, and with a violent explosive spell, he shattered Dolohov's shield. The Dark wizard was violently thrown backward, crashing into the debris of a broken cabinet, unconscious. Hadrian approached and placed the tip of his wand against Dolohov's forehead.
"If I were you, I wouldn't resist. Legilimens!" He began extracting as much information as possible about Antonin Dolohov—his methods, his past actions. It would all be useful. Though Hadrian couldn't suppress a grimace of disgust at the Death Eater's deeds—something that wasn't a good sign for someone who had witnessed so many horrors during the war—he managed to gather what he needed.
He withdrew from the Dark wizard's mind, noting that he had indeed turned him into a babbling puppet. Such was the result of a mental assault brutal enough to kill anyone without mental protections. But after what he had seen, Hadrian didn't feel the slightest regret.
He pulled a vial from his pocket and poured its contents down Voldemort's loyal soldier's throat. Dolohov's body began to shift and distort as Hadrian heard Alexander's tired laughter echo behind him. Seeing one's double thanks to Polyjuice Potion wasn't a common sight in the wizarding world.
"That's supposed to be me? Bloody hell! How did I manage to have such beautiful daughters? I don't get it… Must've been all thanks to Ophelia's genetics," joked the Greengrass patriarch as he slowly got to his feet, limping toward his friend.
"Did you see his face?" the time traveller asked, motioning to Antonin Dolohov, whose clothes he was now transforming into Alexander's. "Even Voldemort didn't care about him. After all, he is the one that sent him on such a suicide mission."
Alexander nodded in agreement as Hadrian, finishing the transformation of Dolohov into Alexander, raised his wand once again. He aimed at his neck and… killed him. Before them lay the lifeless body of Alexander Greengrass, dead.
Daphne's father gave a single nod, then looked away, uncomfortable at the sight of his own corpse. "I'll patch you up and transfer all the information I've extracted from his mind. As for the Dark Mark, I've managed to create a weakened version of it. Since I'm not a Parselmouth, I couldn't replicate it perfectly. However, with this set of runes, you should be able to go unnoticed," Hadrian explained, as he carefully drew several tiny runes on his friend's forearm.
"Once you're in, you'll need to find a marked Death Eater and draw this rune on his arm," the soldier continued, sending the necessary information into Alexander's mind.
"That will connect his Mark to mine, allowing me to know when Voldemort calls us, right?" Alexander asked, wanting to confirm the accuracy of the information. Hadrian, finishing the rune's inscription, nodded.
He then fixed his gaze on Alexander, removing the blindfold that concealed his eyes. In a grave tone that Alexander had never heard before, Hadrian asked, "There's no turning back now. From this moment on, if we fail, it's the end for us. Are you ready?"
Alexander didn't need to think about it and nodded. He knew that if he allowed himself to hesitate, his mind would find excuses to retreat, and he couldn't afford such weakness. Not only did he owe Hadrian an immense debt, but the lives of his family and the entire wizarding world were at stake. He couldn't flee from his duty at this critical moment.
Hadrian stared at him intently for a few more moments before sliding his blindfold back up. "Very well. In that case, join me in the other room. We need to tend to your wounds and complete your transformation into Dolohov. I also need to transfer the information I've gathered from his mind without breaking yours. We have a lot of work to do!" he declared as he left the room, followed by Alexander, who limped after him, his face set with unwavering determination.
??/??/????, ??H??, ????, ?????:
The group, still shaken by the images they had just witnessed, remained silent as they reappeared in the ruined dining room.
"When Hadrian learned of Voldemort's return, we found ourselves trapped. We needed information from the inside, and fast. Attacks were beginning to take place in small Muggle towns, and the Ministry was doing its best to ignore the situation. So, it was agreed that we needed a trusted spy. Someone within the Dark Lord's inner circle who could provide us with all the necessary information," Alexander explained, like he was reading the thoughts of those who had just watched the memories.
"Furthermore, they were all bound by very strict oaths. This way, Voldemort wouldn't suspect a traitor among his top lieutenants. So, with Hadrian, we devised a plan to successfully lure— as you saw—a high-ranking Death Eater. And I took his place."
Finally finished with his explanation, he sat back down. Harry stepped forward, momentarily forgetting that they were still in a memory. "That's why Hecate, my uncle's owl, was never in his office. You were using her to communicate!" he realised.
However, one last question troubled him. "But at the cemetery, you told me that Antonin Dolohov had killed my uncle… What really happened?"
Seeing Harry's impatience, Daphne decided to intervene. She walked over to him and cast a tingling charm on his back. The boy jumped and turned around.
"Potter, it's just a memory. Calm down!" she exclaimed, her own anger at what she had just witnessed surfacing as well.
She then took Harry's hand in hers and squeezed it. But before he could respond, Alexander spoke again.
"Now that you know what happened to me, I think it's time we talked about Hadrian. You're aware of our relationship, our alliance, and the strong friendship that grew from it," he said, as Fortuna stepped forward.
Cold as her mindset might be, she wasn't particularly concerned about Alexander's fate. She didn't know the man personally and therefore couldn't share in the others' grief. But Hadrian was an entirely different story.
She had seen the devastation at Novosibirsk and had made a fairly accurate estimation of the injuries sustained by the wizard she had fallen in love with. Therefore, learning what had really happened that day was of paramount importance to her.
"The Dark Lord had suspected for a while that a spy was leaking his plans. At that time, he believed the traitor to be Severus Snape. Despite his role as a spy, he forced Snape into a binding vow of loyalty and obedience," continued the infiltrator.
"He learned from Bellatrix Lestrange that an American wizard named Hadrian Potter had arrived in Britain and made quite an impression. When he realised the threat this individual posed, he began elaborating a plan to have him eliminated... without informing his followers."
Alexander extended his right hand in front of him, staring at it as though he could still see the wand that had been meant to end Hadrian's life.
"He joined forces with Alexei, a powerful Russian dark wizard who Hadrian was tracking at the time. Together, they orchestrated a surprise attack, gathering the men and women they trusted most. However, Voldemort, likely thinking he could carry out the plan on his own, disposed of Alexei before the attack. That same morning, he gathered us all and sent us to Novosibirsk with a single order: eliminate Hadrian Potter."
Fortuna listened to Alexander's recounting, her fists clenched. She had known Hadrian had come close to death. But learning that an entire plot had been devised solely to trap him in an ambush was an entirely different matter.
"I could tell you what happened," Alexander continued, "but I think it would be easier for you to see it for yourselves. That man's skills with a wand… They are things I cannot adequately describe with words."
With a snap of his fingers, the scene began to change.
10/27/1994, 20H11, Novosibirsk, Russia:
Daphne, still clinging to Harry, felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. She glanced down and saw Astoria looking up at her with a hint of concern.
"Sis', I really need to talk to you and Harry after this. It's very important. I'm sure of it. I've seen this before—I recognize this city," the young Slytherin said with quiet certainty.
Daphne extended her other hand to her sister and, just like with Harry, squeezed it gently, offering her comfort.
Suddenly, Fortuna grabbed Sirius just as he was about to step into an alley and exclaimed, "Look over there!"
Indeed, a dark figure stood before them, moving through the shadowy labyrinth of the Russian city. It was clear to everyone that this was a wizard, and not just any wizard. "That's Uncle Hadrian!" Harry cried, his eyes wide with joy. It had been nearly a year since he had last seen the man who had taken him in.
In the shadowy alleys of the city, Hadrian scrutinised the streets plunged into the darkness of the night. His richly adorned wand was his sole source of light in this place enveloped in mystery.
Suddenly, Alexander's voice echoed in the void around them. "Once you've finished watching this, do me a favour—don't be too harsh on him. Hadrian is a man who will make any sacrifice to protect those he loves. For now, just watch, and I say this without shame, the most powerful wizard of our generation."
And so began Hadrian's final battle before his disappearance, as the small group watched, frozen in awe and disbelief.