RIPPLES AND BOUNDARIES
"The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend." ~Robertson Davies
Hadrian let out a relieved sigh as he stepped out into the cool air, an obligatory scarf on his neck, he didn't want aunt Minnie giving him a lashing; he was already treading water when it came to his godmother. His boots made a crunching noise as he leisurely strolled across the gravel paths, winding down the hill towards the lake. He left the beaten path and slipped into a copse of willow. He found a log, the wood long smoothed by the many posteriors that had used it over the years. Out here, by the lake, he could breathe easier – away from curious eyes, away from guilty eyes.
He had started to avoid Padma again; well, if anyone asked him, he wasn't avoiding anyone. He was just very dedicated to his punishment. He raised his right hand and spun his hand around by the wrist. He hissed at the twinge of pain that lanced up his arm. His arms certainly bore the evidence of his dedication. Professor Babbling had said he wasn't to do any more projects in the workshop till he had finished the wards.
Wards, what an interesting subject. Hadrian rummaged through his bag before pulling out what was quickly becoming his constant companion; Set the Stage: A Study of Wards and Bounded Fields. The book was large and boasted a set of knowledge from beginner to advanced. It was proving to be incredibly helpful for his punishment not to mention just adding onto his use of runes. He really needed to do something nice for Perenelle – he had been having breakfast two days after the staff room when Hedwig had soared in, drawing attention as usual. She had been carrying a parcel and tearing the package had revealed the worn book and a message from Perenelle, short and simple – You'll find this useful.
That had been an understatement that had been; he knew quite a bit on wards and their cousins bounded fields – bounded fields certainly had a large role when he was making his Stasis stones. But the book had given him a whole new perspective on the concepts. His mind was spinning with ideas. He placed the book back; he had come here to relax, he only had an hour before professor Babbling was expecting him after all.
He leaned back, flicking his wrist to draw his wand. The dark gleaming wood hummed in his hand. He smiled, feeling the wand greet him. He could feel his magic vibrating and warming up. He swished and flicked his wand.
"Leviosa," he incanted quietly. Pebbles rose up smoothly into the air and came to a stop at his eye level. He hummed, his eyes flicking to the gleaming waters of the Black Lake. He flicked his wand and a pebble blurred forward, striking the waters flat and skipping five times before sinking. He grinned and flicked another. He made it a game, seeing how far he could direct the stones with his magic. He threw two at the same time, letting them curve and twist around each other as they skipped along the water's surface.
"Wow, that looks cool." a voice said with forced casualness.
Hadrian stiffened, and glanced over his shoulder. Padma was standing under the veil of willow leaves, the long threads throwing dappled shadows across her skin. Her eyes, honey and gold were bright and she had her hands clasped in front of her. She peered at him from behind her long lashes.
"Hey." She said slowly, watching him closely.
"Hey." He swallowed and glanced away. A cool breeze wound around them, bringing the scent of water and pine. He sighed and patted the spot next to him. She dipped her head and came round to sit beside him – the space between them felt large. Hadrian said nothing, but picked another flat stone and with a flick of his wand sent it skipping across the water. She watched him, from the corner of her eye – watched as he sat trying to act casual, but his spine was too rigid, his arms jerking in their motion. She watched as the stones wobbled, for a bare second before he asserted control.
"I'm sorry." She blurted out.
He dropped his hand, the floating stone plonking down onto the ground. He sighed and turned to look at her. He gave her a wan smile.
"Look Padma, it's fine..." he began but she shook her head. He absently noticed that her hair wasn't in its usual braid.
"Please don't brush it aside, not this time." she said looking down at her hands.
Hadrian let his head loll, staring up into the branches, "Would you rather I was angry?" he said tiredly. He rubbed his wrists, drawing her eye. She bit her lip as she watched him grimace slightly.
"You should be – you are. You're supposed to be angry." She looked up at him.
"Can't you tell?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, his smile lacking warmth.
"I...no." she clasped the necklace at the hollow of her neck. The metal felt cold to her touch. "I adjusted it, locked it down. I didn't want this conversation with that."
Hadrian shifted, leaning forward slightly. His eyes flicked to her necklace, the understated rings and bands of gold and silver thread glinting in the muted light.
Padma's fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. "I shouldn't have asked you that." She looked at him then, her eyes wide and open.
"She's your sister." Hadrian looked away from her, slouching slightly. Padma felt something clench in her stomach at his gesture.
"And I know my sister." she asserted. "I know her and I shouldn't have asked."
"I should have said no." he said quietly. "I didn't though." He turned to her, his green eyes were shadowed, their depths swirling with emotion. She fought the urge to look away. Padma felt her power tug at its chains, drawn to him, but she clamped down on the cage.
"I didn't want you to think that..." he began then stopped, words failing him.
"I know." She bit her lip. "I think that you shouldn't worry so much." Carefully, almost with exaggerated care, she placed her hand over his. Slowly, she delicately ghosted her finger along his wrists.
He turned to her quickly, eyes wide, a question on his lips. Padma shook her head, a small smile to reassure him. Her powers swirled, bashing at the mental barrier of her will, but she held strong.
"I think...sometimes it's okay not to get my way." She said slowly, her tone thoughtful. "I don't want you to feel that way, constantly. It's not fair."
Hadrian looked at her intently, his eyes flitting across her face. Then he smiled, a small upturn of the lips, his eyes sparking up.
"Thanks." He squeezed her hand before threading his fingers with hers.
He turned back to the lake and with a simple exertion of his magic had three stones floating before them. A mental command had them streaking across the dark waters, bouncing all the way.
"You're getting good at that." Padma remarked.
"Want to give it a shot?" He challenged, his wand drawing up another three stones.
"No." She carefully leaned against him, exhaling softly as she pushed back her powers.
"You okay?" He asked her, his eyes watching her closely.
"I am, don't worry." She closed her eyes. "I think I'll just watch you skipping stones, if that's okay?"
"Yea, we can do that." He turned back around. He shifted slightly adjusting to her weight against him. He jut his wand forward and the stones went forward, skipping across the water.
"Could you make them do that twisting thing?" she asked quietly.
Hadrian chuckled and with a focused swish of his wand, the next two stones twisted around each other.
"Happy?"
"Yes." she smiled at him, feeling at ease. Her magic was calm, surrounded by his own like a warm confident blanket. The water sloshed gently as it lapped at the shore and the breeze pulled at her hair and she continued to watch him skip stones under the veil of willow.
*
Lunch had passed in its usual clamor and the four were slowly making their way to the defense class. Hermione was practically vibrating in her shoes as she talked animatedly.
"So I was reading, those books Professor Lockhart suggested." Hermione was saying, as they slipped through the throng of students in the halls.
"Wait is that due today?" Neville asked his voice going high.
"Relax Nev, that's for next week's lesson I think?" Hadrian chuckled at Neville's distress.
"Hermione is just being an overachiever again." Padma said, smiling at Hermione.
The bushy haired girl flushed, huffing in exasperation. "Are you going to pretend you haven't read them?" Hermione challenged.
"Meh, I didn't say that." Padma shrugged, pushing away a loose strand of hair from her face. "But I'm pretty sure I haven't read them cover to cover like you did."
"Honestly those books aren't all that, they just cover the basics." Hadrian said before jumping aside as an older student bulled past them, nearly crashing into him.
"Rude." he groused, glaring at the stocky boy who was cutting through the hall. Hadrian turned back to his friends and noticed Hermione looking at him in interest.
"What?" Hadrian asked.
"What do you mean, I thought they were fairly detailed." her eyes shone in interest as she drew closer to him. She frowned, clearly thinking. "Do you even have time to read, what with your punishment?" Hermione asked slowly.
"Well," Hadrian began, noticing that Padma was looking anywhere but him. "It's cut down on my study time and I'm not allowed to make more MailBooks until I finish."
"Oh." Padma murmured, her grip on her books tightening.
"Plus I think you're enjoying the punishment, you've been lugging around that great big book on wards." Neville commented.
"I guess you are right about that" Hadrian grinned sheepishly.
"At least there's an upside to it." Padma smiled the tension in her shoulder leaving.
"You're so lucky..." Hermione glared at him.
"You can read the book after I am done with it." Hadrian offered.
That brightened Hermione's mood and she hummed in pleasure. The other three chuckled at Hermione's obsession with research. The four reached the corridor for the defense class; a few other second years were loitering waiting for the class to start.
A figure peeled away from a group of and stepped into Hadrian's path.
"Potter," a smooth voice drawled.
Hadrian looked at Draco, posture smooth and hair slicked back cleanly— he was flanked by Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott. Draco looked relaxed and easy smile on his face, as though this was a happy coincidence. Hadrian doubted that was the case. He shifted his eyes to the other two. Daphne tried for cool detachment but wasn't quite as good at it as she thought. Nott, however, raised his nose, looking down nostrils as his gaze flicking over Hermione and Neville like they were something inconvenient but expected. Hadrian raised a challenging brow at the boy and his expression quickly settled into something with less nostrils.
Hadrian sighed inwardly. This was bound to be something.
"Draco." He nodded, his voice neutral.
Draco's smirk widened. "I heard a rumor."
Hadrian tilted his head and shrugged, "Did you?" he asked eyebrow raised. "I heard one about a hammering humdinger."
"Ugh, hei bhagwan!" Padma groaned as she hid her face in her hands. Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed. Neville tried and failed not to chuckle.
"What are you talking about?" Draco asked his brows knitting together in confusion. He glanced at the three who seemed used to this, if slightly annoyed.
"It was supposed to be a joke." Hadrian folded his hands, pouting.
"It wasn't very good." Nott said snidely.
"It wasn't meant to be." Hadrian rolled his eyes dismissively before he turned to Draco.
"You were saying?" Hadrian asked.
Draco straightened his stance and clasped his hands behind his back. "I've heard something interesting. Something about enchanted notebooks. Ones that let people write to each other from different classrooms."
Hadrian's expression smoothed over. "That does sound interesting."
Draco frowned, he clearly had not been expecting Hadrian to act as if he didn't know anything.
"Are you saying you don't know anything about them. These MailBooks?" Draco prodded, his eyes sharp.
Neville made a surprised sound and Draco smiled. Hermione jabbed Neville in the side and he looked apologetically at Hadrian.
"Okay so maybe I know something." Hadrian sighed. "That doesn't explain how you know about them."
Daphne flicked a strand of hair behind her shoulder. "Oh, you know how news travels."
"You were sat next to Parvati, during Herbology." Hermione cut in, rolling her eyes.
Daphne flushed and brushed her hair aside, composing herself. "Yes, that too," she admitted.
"Real smooth Greengrass." Padma smirked. The other girl tried glaring but it had little effect.
Draco ignored the exchange, eyes locked on Hadrian. "The point is, we know they exist, and we were wondering if you had more. And if so, whether you'd be willing to part with them."
Hadrian pursed his lips his eyes dashing a glance at Padma, who was studying the trio with a calm, assessing gaze. She saw his eyes and gave a minute dip of her head—nothing overt, but enough. They were being sincere, or at least Draco and Daphne were. He couldn't tell what Nott wanted..
Hadrian's lips twitched. "And what makes you think I had anything to do with them?"
Draco scoffed. "Potter, please. How many second years are sharing a Runes class with fifth years? Of course you made them."
Padma crossed her arms. "Well if he did make them, he wouldn't just be handing them out."
"Especially not now," Hermione added. "After what happened in Herbology."
Daphne's lips twitched. "We get it, you don't want more trouble, what with you warding every class."
Hadrian frowned, almost pouting and turned to Padma "People talk a lot at this school."
"People don't need to talk, we have eyes Potter." Nott cut in, his tone impatient.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Right. Well, we would be discreet. So if you were to make more, I'd be interested. These things could be very useful."
Nott scoffed. "And besides, if you had them, it's not like you'd sell them to just anyone." His gaze flicked over Hadrian's friends, lips curling. "We came to talk to Potter. Not his little hangers-on."
Hadrian stilled. He wasn't the only one. Hermione gasped a breath escaping her. Neville shifted, taking a step closer. Padma, however, was already smiling, her teeth gleamed sharply—dry, amused in a way that sent something cold curling through the air.
"Oh, you know, Theodore." she said lightly, the boys name rolling on her tongue. "That would mean something if it weren't coming from Draco's lackey."
Nott bristled. His hand twitched reaching inside his robe. Hadrian's eyes caught the movement and his magic bristled, the air turning cold. The noise in the corridor dropped, as the cold pressed in on them. Eyes turned to look at the group, shuffling uneasily.
Draco quickly stepped in front of Nott. His foot digging into the other boys toes. Nott hissed and turned to look at Draco, but the blond slytherin raised a hand, and shot him a sharp glare. "Shut up, Theo." Draco said shuffling closer to the boy.
Draco said something, too low for Hadrian to hear. Nott looked to protest but he must have seen something in Draco's eyes because he grit his teeth and relented. Shooting one last glare at Padma, he left.
Daphne shivered, feeling the chill in the air. For a moment she marveled as she saw her breath mist. She looked at Hadrian whose hand was held in a vice grip by Patil."Honestly, Theo." Daphne muttered under her breath.
Hadrian exhaled slowly, letting the tension bleed from his shoulders. He glanced at Padma again, noting the faint flickering of her eyes. Draco and Daphne still want something. Nott's just sour.
"I'm sorry about him, I didn't mean for that to happen." Draco looked at Hadrian.
Hadrian shook his head, "Not your fault."
Draco nodded, thankful. "So? You selling?" He prodded.
Padma, lips twitching slightly, glanced at Daphne. "If they were for sale—hypothetically, of course—I imagine they wouldn't come cheap."
Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Define 'cheap'."
Padma smiled, all sweet venom. "Considering the risk, the effort, and the fact that Nott was being an arse? Let's just say… prohibitively expensive."
Daphne exhaled, suppressing a laugh. "Sounds fair." She smirked
Hadrian ignored how the two girls were bonding and studied Draco for a long moment. The door to the classroom opened and people started streaming in.
Hadrian glanced at the open door before finally nodding. "I'll think about it."
"Good. I look forward to it." Draco smirked, then turned, gesturing for Daphne. "Come on, before Nott curses a someone or something."
"He acts like such a cliché sometimes." Daphne said before turning around and waving at Padma and Hermione.
The four watched the two Slytherins slip into the class, Nott rejoining them. Hadrian let out a slow breath.
"Well," Neville murmured, "that was something."
"Definitely," Hadrian echoed. He adjusted his bag. "Come on, let's head in before Lockhart comes looking."
Padma nudged Hermione lightly as they walked. "He's hoping Lockhart doesn't call him up for demonstrations again."
Hadrian snorted. "Naturally."
*
"Immobulus!" a shimmering half dome expanded outward washing over the rampaging pixies, freezing them in their spots.
"Good, good." Professor Lockhart praised absently, a tired sigh escaping him. He waved his wand summoning the frozen pests and directing them to an expanded cage.
Today was a rare day in which the second years all shared a class; this was of course at times necessary especially for demonstrative classes like Defense. The class was full and their seats had been raised like in an amphitheater, forming a rising semicircle towards the front. The front as usual had a large space for demonstration – where the professor was currently corralling the mischievous herd of pixies into a cage.
"You may take your seat Miss Davis. Ten points to Slytherin." Lockhart flashed a quick well practiced smile at the young green clad girl. Tracy smiled in self satisfaction and bounced back to her seat next to a blonde haired girl.
Hadrian frowned; the man's smile was too wide today, he thought. The girls in the class didn't seem to mind though; many of them smiled back at him, taken in by his charm. The professor sort of reminded Hadrian of Quirrel—and such a thought brought an uneasy twist in his stomach. Yet the comparison persisted in his mind—Lockhart's eyes kept jumping around the place, his movements jerking at times. Hadrian was sure he wasn't the only one who noticed that the man looked tired; he shifted and looked at Padma, his desk mate. She had a slight frown on her face, her eyes were dark as she looked at the professor. That confirmed his suspicions, Padma only paid that much attention when weird stuff was going on with someone.
Neville and Hermione were sat right in the desk in front of theirs and he could see Hermione taking neat notes. The four were sat comfortably in the middle, enough to see and hear without being easy targets in front or with the troublemakers at the back.
Hadrian glanced at the back of the class and saw Terry sharing a desk with Seamus. That was just a disaster waiting to happen he thought. He glanced down at his own notebook, only half full of notes. He had stopped paying attention a while ago. Immobulus, he incanted mentally – he knew the spell; could cast it just fine, and understood it better than most he imagined. It had been a key component when he was making his rune traps. He frowned, maybe he should come up with a better name for them.
He saw Padma inking her quill, and hummed in thought; who would be easier to convince to share their notes, Hermione or Padma. Neville wasn't an option since his penmanship was worse than Hadrian's own.
"Stop daydreaming." Padma nudged his side.
"Only if you let me take a look at your notes later." He whispered back.
"Not happening Potter. Now pay attention." She bit back, a smile tugging at her lips as she turned back to look at the front.
Lockhart took a moment to look around at the class and dredged up a well of enthusiasm as he offered a smile.
"Now we seem to have finished a bit early so today, I can let you all go out early or maybe you have questions…." He stopped speaking as a hand immediately went up. He resisted the urge to grimace – the class had no such reservation and a collective grumble rose up among the students.
"Yes Miss Granger." He said feeling his cheeks ache from all the damn smiling he was forcing.
"I had a question on the reading assignment you gave us sir." Hermione said ignoring the mild glares of everyone around her.
"What specifically? I gave a list of creatures to go through." Lockhart said, walking around his desk and picking up an chalkboard eraser.
"Vampires sir." Hermione spoke.
Lockhart jerked and fumbled the eraser – it went clattering to the floor, loud in the silence. He cursed, muttering under his breath before he stooped and picked it up.
"Ah yes." He straightened up and flourished his arms, like nothing had happened.
He struck a pose, his voice dipping, "The creatures of the night – deadly, mysterious and surprisingly charismatic. Many a maiden has found themselves ensnared by their unique charm."
"I doubt one is going to try, Granger would probably nag it to death." A voice muttered among the class. A round of snickers travelled along the seats.
Hadrian frowned and looked around, hoping to find out who had said it, but among the sea of faces it proved pointless. Hermione meanwhile didn't seem to have heard anything, her expression never changing.
"Your question miss Granger?" Lockhart's smile tightened, his posture stiff.
"Well the books I referenced spoke that they have the ability to enthrall and control people but also said that wizards are largely immune but it never elaborated why." Hermione said in a rush.
Lockhart paused, seemingly replaying what Hermione had said. He brought his hand to his jaw, tapping his knuckles against his cheek for a moment.
"Well the answer to that is a bit complicated and I was hoping to save such an in-depth discussion for the actual lesson on said creatures." Lockhart mused aloud. A few students muttered in agreement and Hermione felt a frown pull at her face.
"Oh, but surely you could provide a little summary sir." Lavender breathed out, her pout well practiced. "In your book, you met some vampires right?" The blond Gryffindor continued, eyes gleaming with interest.
"Ah, you've read my book!" His smile faltered, turning into a grimace for a moment, his eyes darkening and growing distant.
The moment passed and he shook his head, and cleared his throat; his posture slacking.
"Alright!" he clapped his hands. The sharp sound silencing the class
"Vampires come in three types; Trueborn, Nightchild and Forsaken. I trust you know what those terms are miss Granger." Lockhart questioned the bushy haired witch.
Hermione nodded, sending her hair swishing all over – Neville spluttered as some got in his mouth.
"Trueborn are natural born, descending from the lines of the first vampires. Nightchildren are humans that get bitten and turned and Forsaken are witches and wizards who got turned." She recited.
"Yes and the last one are pretty rare…" Lockhart pointed out.
"Why?" this came from Terry Boot, the boy leaning forward on his desk. His stance was matched by many in the class, the subject having become interesting.
"That actually ties into Miss Granger's question." Lockhart nodded to himself his fingers drumming a quick rhythm on his desk. "Hypnosis is a form of magic and it requires one to overcome the other person's magic and most wizards have more magic than vampires do." Lockhart summarized quickly.
"Well sir, what about…?" Hermione began but was cut off by Lockhart who raised a hand, his smile gone.
"Save the rest of the questions for the actual lesson miss Granger." Lockhart's shoulders slumped as he watched the young girl let her raised hand fall. He was about to turn around when he saw another hand.
"Yes Mr. Potter." He said sharply and pointed at the dark haired boy.
"You said there were three types, do we not include Dhampirs, half-vampires in the list." Hadrian asked his eyebrows scrunched together.
"Those are so rare, they are more myth than anything." Lockhart scoffed. "Trust me Potter, if you ever meet a vampire, it won't be a Dhampir." Lockhart turned around, clearly done with the conversation.
Hadrian twitched before he schooled his features. He felt Padma shift beside him and could see her peering at him from the corner of his eye. He shook his head and felt her relax. Fortunately, for Lockhart, the bell rang ending the period.
*
The clang of desks and shuffle of feet filled the corridor as students spilled out of the Defense classroom, their chatter a mix of complaints, gossip, and exaggerated impressions of Lockhart's dramatics. Hadrian and his friends stepped into the hall, Hermione still bristling from the lesson.
"Honestly, he could have at least tried to give a proper answer," she huffed. "Just brushing me off like that—"
Padma patted her shoulder. "Hermione, I'm sure he just didn't want to admit he didn't know. He looked like he was fighting for his life up there."
Neville chuckled. "I thought he was going to choke when you brought up vampires."
Hadrian hummed noncommittally. Lockhart had been twitchy, but it wasn't just nerves. There had been something… off. He filed the thought away for later and noticed Draco looking at him from across the corridor. The blond waved and Hadrian sighed before waving back; Draco sure is persistent, he thought privately.
A slim hand touched his shoulder. He turned and found Padma's golden eyes looking at him, concerned.
"You zoned out for a moment." She said, but Hadrian heard her unasked question, Are you okay?
He nodded, offering her a smile, "Just thinking about stuff."
"You mean what Draco said?" Hermione cut in, her eyes turning to Hadrian. "You're considering it?"
"Well I did say that I would think about it." Hadrian shrugged. Hermione bit her lip, clearly uneasy.
"You don't like the idea?" He pressed her.
"I don't really trust them." Hermione deflected.
"You sure it's not the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry coming through?" Padma chuckled, waving her hand dismissively.
Hermione pursed her lips, a sent a look at Padma before she turned to Hadrian. "Last time you made a hasty decision it got you called to the staffroom."
"Hermione, have some tact." Neville said, looking between the two girls uneasily.
Hermione stuck out her chin, not backing down. Padma grit her teeth before she took a breath and let it out slowly, "That's fair." She said slowly.
Hadrian folded his arms, his eyes flicking between the two girls. Hermione did have a point of course. He shared a look with Neville and grimaced.
"Mione, I'm just thinking about it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, there's something I didn't tell you guys. Dumbledore said that after my punishment he would be willing to hear me out about distributing more."
"Really?" Neville looked skeptical.
"Yes." Hadrian said simply.
"That makes sense actually." Hermione nodded to herself, "Why else would you be warding every class?" She asked rhetorically.
"Yea…" Hadrian began but stopped as he saw professor Babbling turn into the corridor. He grimaced slightly, making the others turn and notice the approaching professor.
"I'll meet you guys later." Hadrian said simply. The three nodded.
"Oh don't look so glum." Babbling said as she stepped up beside the four.
"Hello professor." The children chorused.
"Argh! You should start a troop." She said a smile curving her lips.
"Come on, we have a ward to set up." She gestured at the defense classroom and stepped into the room.
"Makes it sound like she actually does anything, the slave driver." Hadrian muttered as he followed her into the classroom.
Neville, Hermione and Padma glanced at each other, trying to decide what to do. Padma turned to Hermione, her eyes gleaming and mouth set. Neville grimaced and leaned away from them. Hermione straightened and worked her jaw.
"Say Neville, you mind if you go ahead, Hermione and I need to talk?" Padma said softly, but Neville got the impression she was not asking. He gulped and looked at Hermione and saw his fellow Gryffindor grimace.
"I promise we are not going to fight and tear each others hair out, geez." Padma rolled her eyes at their unease.
"Fine." Neville said, pulling the strap of his bag tighter across his shoulder. "Just remember we are all friends, okay?" He gave the two a significant look and left.
The two girls stayed silent for some time, neither saying anything. It dawned on Hermione that Padma was a few inches taller than her; that coupled with her dusky skin and golden eyes, meant Padma could look intimidating if she wanted.
"Well?" Hermione finally relented.
"You were right..." Padma began but Hermione snorted.
"I know I was." Hermione cut back, her voice taking on a smug lilt.
Padma ground her teeth and glared at the other girl, her golden eyes flashing. Hermione flinched and felt a bead of sweat bead onto her brow as she felt something snap at her senses. What was that, she wondered. Padma stopped glaring and Hermione felt the pressure ease, still there but leashed.
"Look, you were right last time and you are this time as well." Padma continued, speaking slowly. "I wanted you to know that I know that."
"I - okay?" Hermione frowned.
"I know you may think that your opinion doesn't matter. It does." Padma said softly and reached out a hand and gently placed it onto Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. She felt strange, a lightness had enveloped her, starting from the heavy hand on her shoulder, and as she looked at Padma she just knew the girl was being true.
"You'll have to forgive some of us who don't always follow sound advice." Padma offered a smile and Hermione hesitantly offered one back.
"I am sorry." Padma finished, drawing back her hand.
Hermione felt a breath escape her and sighed as she deflated, something intangible leaving her as the other girl drew back. She shook her head, trying to clear it and form a coherent thought.
"I was just trying to be a good friend." Hermione finally said, blinking quickly, why was the world turning blurry?
"You are, don't doubt it." Padma reassured.
"Thanks." Hermione smiled then, small and warm. "We should go, before Neville thinks we've gone and killed each other."
Padma snorted, "The boy worries too much." Padma spun around and followed after the other girl.
"Right." Hermione agreed and then looked at Padma from the corner of her eye. "Plus I would obviously win." She said quickly.
Padma turned to her, eyes wide. Hermione raised her hands, shaking her head; "Well what I mean..."
"Haa, you wish!" Padma grinned, bumping against Hermione's shoulder. "I know secret ancient Indian magic. I would wipe the floor with you." Padma nodded to herself.
Hermione gawkwed at the other girl before she laughed, "You don't know any ancient magic."
"I so do." Padma sang, grinning impishly.
"I dare you to use it on Nott next time we see him." Hermione challenged.
"Hermione!" Padma said raised her hands to her cheeks laughing. "He's not worth that much effort."
"Really? I bet you're just being lazy." Hermione asserted.
"I am not lazy," Padma huffed before she stopped a thoughtful look on her face.
"What?" Hermione stopped and looked at the other girl had she gone too far with her joke? Padma took pride in her schoolwork and worked hard.
"You know - if you wanted, I could curse him to spit slugs." Padma smirked, her eyes gleaming.
"There's a spell for that?" Hermione asked askance, torn between disgust and interest.
"Mione, there's a ton of stupid spells out there. Mandy found this book in the library." Padma explained.
The two girls continued down the corridor, joking and discussing spells, the air between them far lighter than before.
*
Hadrian took a deep slow breath, the smell of chalk and oil swirled around him. The ropes creaked as he shifted on the suspended bench. He adjusted his grip on the chisel, angling it to the sit just above the chalk outline on the stone. He raised his hammer and paused, eyes taking in the rune script he had written.
"Everything alright?" Babbling's voice floated up to him.
He glanced down, his mentor was sat comfortably on the desk, a book held loosely in her hand. He felt a crease form on his brow – she was supposed to be helping him, not just watching him. Well, she called it supervising but Hadrian knew she was just lazing about, killing time. The ropes creaked again – at least she had set up the pulley system for him, it let him move around the defence class easier. From this high up, he could definitely see how the class seemed to flare out from the front desk.
"Just double checking so I don't mess up the carving." Hadrian answered. He brought his hammer down, chipping into the stone. His strokes were deliberate and slow – speed, as Babbling had told him, would come with time.
"Well, I'm glad you're being careful." Babbling said airily. "I don't want to fix your crap again – you're supposed to be good at this."
"I said I was sorry, jeez." Hadrian groaned. She kept bringing up, the mess they had made in the charms room. Professor Flitwick had thought it was funny anyway.
"I think I should say something about appropriate language around students." A dry voice cut in. The class's professor sidled up to Babbling, holding a large mug full of something.
"You're one to talk, Gilderoy." Babbling retorted quirking an eyebrow. "Tell me what's in your mug?" She threw back at him.
"Tea." Lockhart responded with a straight face. He took a sip and sighed in contentment.
"Sure doesn't smell like it." Babbling shook her head. "Honestly it's barely four in the afternoon, Roy."
Lockhart scowled, shooting her a mild glare, "I've told you not to call me that."
"Afraid it'll ruin your image?" Babbling challenged, waving her book about.
"Some of us have standards, you know." Lockhart brushed an imaginary lint form his robes. He turned a critical eye to Babblings clothes – she was dressed in stained overalls, a bandana wrapped around her head, keeping her hair at bay.
"These are my work clothes." she defended, folding her hands across her chest.
"Potter seems to be the only one working." Lockhart said, a smirk playing on his lips.
Hadrian tuned out their childish bickering – it almost reminded him of Hermione and Ron; the Gryffindor boy had a talent for ticking off people. It had come as a surprise to Hadrian, but apparently Professor Babbling and Lockhart were contemporaries; their time at Hogwarts had overlapped. Hadrian thought that they made for strange friends – Lockhart at least seemed to be a bit more relaxed than earlier during class.
Hadrian focused back on his task, warding the classroom – he quirked his lips, an amused hum leaving his throat; calling it warding was an oversimplification. The book Perenelle had sent him had offered a summary his mind had latched onto;
A ward is a conditional and selectively permeable magical barrier.
A bounded field is an area of governance and alteration of natural laws.
Two simple statements, yet they were the gateway to an important and yet complex magical field. Most people often conflated the two things and rightly so, because they often appeared together – Hadrian had been one of those people. But as he had come to grips with the task Dumbledore had set him, the distinction had started to become clear.
He looked across the class, he still had two-thirds of it to cover, even if the initial design had already been rendered in magic conductive chalk. Hadrian had originally planned to localise the ward to the door – setting the matrix above the door, so that every time a book crossed the threshold it would be detected and forced to stop functioning. Babbling had given him the go ahead to test it.
Simple enough right? Wrong. It had been tricky and he had to test out a few matrices. The first issue he had was that his ward had trouble determining direction. It would disable the book, whether it was entering or leaving. It may not have looked like a big issue but he needed the suppression to be removed as the book crossed the threshold the second time. This had led him down a rabbit hole of magical signatures that still made his head hurt.
His fifth iteration had proven itself better – it had worked, to a point. The moment the book went far enough from the threshold, it reactivated. That meant that two books in the same room were still able to connect to each other; the connection was weaker, but still there. The issue had confused the hell out of him, he couldn't figure out why.
Solving the issue had required that he look at things from a different perspective, a simple change of angle if you will. He had been whiling away the time at the Rune workshop; Babbling had been busy doing paperwork.
"How exactly do your books connect with each other Hadrian?" Babbling had asked him, that late morning when he was slumped over his desk,
"You know how, the matrices are linked..." he grumbled, annoyed. She knew how his books worked, better than everyone else. He knew she had spent an inordinate amount of time looking at his matrix; sometimes he wondered if she knew it better than he did. He snorted to himself, she probably did.
She shook her head, sighing as she placed down the sheets she was marking. She raised her arms, stretching her sore back and letting out a contented groan.
"Calm down for a moment, I'm not talking about the matrices themselves." She began. "How does the signal from one book propagate to the other? How exactly does your ward stop the transmission?"
Hadrian sat up, resting his cheek on his hand. He pondered.
"I've put markers to detect the transference signature," he bit his lip. "The main sequence at least, it just counts the other property as a unique signature and stores it temporarily." He drummed his fingers across the desk. Babbling nodded and gestured for him to continue.
"If the signal tries to get past the boundary it's suppressed, absorbed, dissipated." he finished. "You know this already."
"I do. So do you." Babbling nodded. Hadrian grunted, annoyed. Babbling let out a loud exhale and gestured for him to come up to her desk.
She gave an elegant wave of her wand and a very large shallow clay bowl popped into existence on her desk, rattling as it settled.
"Aguamenti!" she made a circular motion above the bowl. The air misted and turned grey, vapor condensing in a swirl before it funneled down into the bowl. Hadrian wanted to say something but a quick hand from her silenced him. She conjured a small model brick and set it into the water and set another model, this time a miniature book, across from the wall.
"Now, say this is your ward." She gestured to the wall, tapping it, sending small ripples through the bowl. Curiously the waves from the wall, were straight, they weren't expanding outwards as was normal.
"So that's my book." He pointed to the book model.
"Yep, now watch." She tapped the miniature book with her wand and it too started to bob, its ripples also curiously straight. "What are you seeing?"
Hadrian wanted to say Nothing, but stopped himself; that would not help. Obviously, he was supposed to see something of merit here. So, he looked. Babbling was content to leave him be as he watched the tiny waves meet; the ripples from the small book stopped and were taken over by the wall's ripples. The ripples must represent the signal of the book and the limits of the ward.
"The wall is suppressing the book's signal." Hadrian said pointing to the ripples.
"Good, how about now." she moved the book further back.
Hadrian saw it immediately; the wall's waves were not strong enough to suppress the book's signal further back. This explained the issue, it was a power issue, he needs to increase the range. His realisation must have shown on his face because Babbling smiled, quite pleased.
"Now, how about this?" she tapped the book again and this time the ripples changed, they were no longer confined to a straight line, but rather something natural, expanding outward from the book.
Hadrian watch as the signal met the ward limits and got suppressed but watched as the expanding ripple continued, curving around the ward limits.
"Oh." Hadrian blinked.
"So, what do you think is more likely?" Babbling hummed as she tucked her wand back in its holster.
"Linear signal propagation or a multidirectional signal?"
Hadrian cursed; he would have to start over again. Dammit.
It had taken a few more iterations until Hadrian had developed a working concept. It turns out Hadrian had missed something about his MailBooks; the books were always trying to connect and so periodically sent out a wave, a signal, looking for other books. Once connected and in close proximity, the connection could become linear, but the books didn't require it to be, they could use that initial wave to find another path. Babbling had laughed and said it was consequence of all the redundancies he himself had added.
What he came up with was beyond a ward, but rather a bounded field was the consequence of his efforts.
Hadrian hummed as he pulled himself out of his memory. He tugged the rope and moved his platform to the right; ready to start on a fresh section. He had to envelope the entire room and basically alter its property, setting up something like a rule; no transference signal allowed. This way, the books, as long as they were in the room, they could not talk to each other or any outside the room.
"I must say Mr. Potter, you're quite good at this." Lockhart's voice drew him out of his thoughts. Some colour had returned to the man's face.
"Thank you, sir." Hadrian said reflexively.
"Those MailBooks, was it? You plan on making more? Maybe sell?" Lockhart asked, his tone light, but there was a curious glint in his eye.
Hadrian grimaced; he was really starting to hate that question. "I haven't thought about it." He said in way of an answer. "I'm still working on them, fixing some things. Professor Babbling has been a massive help."
"See Roy, Potter is quite humble. Unlike some people." Babbling elbowed her fellow professor before she shot Hadrian a warm smile.
"I'm humble when I need to." Lockhart swatted her hand away.
"You mean when you're signing your books?" Babbling chuckled.
"Among other things." Lockhart said before taking a long draught from his mug. Babbling eyed him and his mug and then bit her lip. She wanted to say something about it, Hadrian could tell.
"I can't believe you went on an expedition, let alone wrote a book." Babbling said instead, her tone light.
Lockhart grunted, leaning heavily against the desk, "Well I wasn't going to waste away at the Ministry."
"You used to work at the Ministry?" Hadrian blurted out. He snapped his mouth closed when Lockhart's gaze snapped to him. The man's blue eyes were red rimmed.
Lockhart worked his jaw, in obvious debate, before he let out a puff of air.
"Yes." he said slowly. "I was an Obliviator."
"Oh." Hadrian said, squinting in thought; he had heard the term before, but he wasn't all that sure what they did. Babbling noticed his confusion and chipped in.
"When magic gets exposed to muggles, we call for Obliviators. They suppress the knowledge and memories of any magical incidents." She grinned and wiggled her fingers, "They do spooky cover-ups."
"That sounds cool." Hadrian said, his mind casting to his years in primary school. Did aunt Petunia call Obliviators when Hadrian had his incident at school that one time.
"Well, the hours were terrible." Lockhart grouched.
"Is that why you left?" Hadrian asked, feeling bold. He caught Babbling's eye and noticed that she was frowning at him.
"Well among other things, yes." Lockhart ran a hand through his hair, sending it falling messily over his head. Hadrian thought a few of his female classmates may have gushed if they had been present.
"We, we were supposed to be story tellers." Lockhart said suddenly, unprompted. "You take someone's memory and you replace it with something else. Something that fits. A good story." The man trailed off, his gaze distant.
Hadrian said nothing, and Babbling was looking at Lockhart with a curious expression.
"After a while, I wanted a story of my own and so I left. In search of my own story." Lockhart tipped the mug into his mouth and took in a large gulp. "No that it lasted." he sneered, looking down at the amber liquid in his mug.
"What happened?" this surprisingly came from Babbling. The witch placing a gentle handle on his elbow.
Lockhart grimaced, and shrugged off her hand, "You've read my book. Adventures aren't all they're cracked up to be. People end up dead."
"Dammit Roy, there's a student here." Babbling protested, waving her arms.
"Oh, come on." Lockhart waved her away. "Mr. Potter has had his fair share of adventures, maybe met a few Dhampirs." Lockhart turned to look at Hadrian, his eyes were dark, his lips twisted in a facsimile of a smile. Hadrian felt his chest constrict and gripped the hammer in his hand tightly.
"I heard you killed a troll last year, kudos." Lockhart raised his mug and saluted the suspended boy. Hadrian swallowed the lump down his dry throat, unsure how to respond. He could still remember the smell of ozone and charred meat.
"Though I hope I don't end up like your last defense professor." Lockhart mused.
Hadrian jerked, tipping across the bench. He pin wheeled his arms, his legs clamping down before he managed to get his balance.
"Careful Potter." Lockhart grunted; his eyes going wide.
"What do you mean?" Hadrian demanded.
"What? I don't want you to fall..." Lockhart said, confused.
"No about Quirrell?" Hadrian shook his head.
"Hadrian..." Babbling began but Lockhart waved her away.
"I'm surprised you don't know." He took a sip of his drink, some alcohol, Hadrian mused, pretty sure now.
"Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised students don't know." Lockhart muttered to himself. "Quirrell was possessed and the spirit burned him out, killing him."
"Oh." Hadrian sighed, his shoulders relaxing. Lockhart didn't know what actually happened, just the cover story.
"Yea, gruesome stuff." Lockhart grunted and looked at his mug sourly, it was empty.
"Word of advice Mr. Potter." Lockhart's eyes turned sharp. "Stick to runes, and your fancy wards. Adventures – trolls and Dhampirs will be the least of your problems if you try to be a hero. Take your parents for example..."
"Gilderoy!!" Babbling shouted, her magic lashing out at him, shoving him back.
Lockhart stumbled back, the mug falling from his hands and shattering on the floor.
"Shit!" the man glared at Babbling, ready to say something but her furious expression stopped him.
"Dammit!" He pulled out his wand and Babbling quickly pulled out her own, its tip glowing threateningly. Lockhart slowly waved his wand over the scattered mug and vanished the pieces of pottery.
"Look, I didn't mean to..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry." He grunted out and quickly left the room, slamming the door into his private chambers.
Babbling took a deep breath and turned to Hadrian, noticing that her charge had gone incredibly still and quiet.
"Hey, you okay? She asked him.
Hadrian heard her, but didn't know what to say. What could he say after that? He felt cold, his fingers were numb, the hammer and rope in them the only real things he could feel. Why was his chest so tight?
"Let me get you down." Babbling said, waving her hand and directing the pulley to lower.
Hadrian stumbled as his feet touched the ground, his legs wobbling. A quick hand on his shoulder from Babbling steadied him. She didn't let go when he found his balance.
"Hey don't take his words seriously, okay?" she looked down at him, her brown eyes glimmering. "He doesn't know anything about you." she shot a glare at the closed-door Lockhart had exited from.
"I'm okay." Hadrian said, his voice cracking.
Babbling shook her head, "You're shaking." she pointed out.
He really was, Hadrian noticed, his hands were quacking, now that they had nothing to hold. He clenched his fists and grit his teeth. He felt cold, yet the back of his eyes felt hot.
"I have some hot chocolate in my office, let's go have a drink." Babbling gently directed him towards the door.
Hadrian opened his mouth to protest, surely, they had more work to do, and all the tools were scattered. Babbling waved her wand, making a vague motion towards the room. Her magic rushed out and the tools, ropes and all packed themselves in a large duffle bag. The bag then started to follow them, floating a few paces behind them.
Hadrian closed his mouth and allowed himself to be led out. The door to the defense classroom closed behind him and yet bitterness clung to him like a bad smell. Lockhart was a jerk he decided and shook his head. Hot chocolate did sound nice.
*
Gilderoy cursed as he heard his boot squelch and he slipped in the muck outside the pub. He raised his boot and grimaced as he saw something foul on the sole of his boot. He had been stepping into shit lately and this was just another instance in a long line. He shook his boot trying to throw the detritus off. He stopped and groaned before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wand.
"You're a wizard boyo." He muttered to himself and waved his focus, vanishing the muck.
"You're losing your touch Gilderoy." He whispered under his breath. He fixed his coat and turned to the pub's door – it's light calling.
"It's a job, you pay your dues and you're done with it." He plastered on a confident face and pushed open the doors, strutting in confidently.
A lively haze of tobacco smoke, the clink of glass and drinks, chatter and heat greeted him, chasing away the chill of the evening. The pub was full, tables close together, patrons brushing shoulders and talking loudly. He pursed his lips, perhaps he should find another place, he wondered.
"Mr. Lockhart." A lilting voice called drawing his attention. Madam Rosmerta's flushed smile greeted him. She floated across the floor, gliding between tables and swatting aside grasping hands.
"I see you're having a good night." Lockhart said raising his voice over the cacophony.
Rosmerta brought her hands together across her chest, leaning forward. Lockhart found his eyes drawn to her chest and he swallowed nervously.
"With you here I reckon it just got better." She bat her eyelashes at him, smiling coyly.
"Let me find you a seat." She said, snagging his arm and pulling him forward. Lockhart caught a whiff of her scent; a mix of sweat, honey and cinnamon.
Rosmerta must have read his mood because he found himself tucked into a shaded corner, a glass of strongly smelling spirit in front of him and a bowl of peanuts. He ignored the peanuts and went straight for the liquor. It burned his throat and set his eyes watering, settling with a heavy warmth in his stomach. It was exactly what he needed.
"Woah!" Rosmerta stopped at his table, her dress swishing, her smile dimming. "Better slow down, the night is still young."
Lockhart grunted and tried not to grimace. He gave her a sharp nod and took a smaller sip of his drink. She nodded to herself before she plonked a plate of stew in front of him.
"I reckon you haven't had supper." She smiled, "It's my own recipe." She winked at him and left, her dress swishing with her hips.
Lockhart looked at her retreating back, bemused. He huffed and looked down at the stew, it did look appetising. His stomach rumbled and he realised he hadn't had a meal all day. It was worth a few bites, best not to get her upset at him.
When Rosmerta came to top off his drink, she found his bowl empty and smirked at him. He scowled, shooing her away with a grumble. He settled into his seat, and took sips of his drink, enjoying the warmth. His limbs felt light and his head felt full of cotton.
His eyes took in the floor, night had truly settled and the patrons were deep in their drinks. He noticed a murmur creep up among the patrons.
"C'mon, give us a song, Eilidh." A voice called and seemed to start a cascade, chairs scuffing back, squealing as people moved back, making space.
A young woman stumbled upright, pushed forward by someone. She glared into the crowd before smiling sheepishly. Lockhart started, spluttering and coughing as his drink went the wrong way. He beat his chest, clearing his throat. He stared at the young woman, his lips parted.
"My throat is a bit sore today, I'm not sure I'll manage." She tried to sit back down.
A collective groan went up amongst the men. "Just the one, just the one." They called.
She looked at them, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed. She smiled, her lips curving, her face looking elfin.
"Fine if you insist." She said coyly. The crowd cheered and quickly settled, going quiet.
She opened her mouth and the first note rose, soft and unhurried, the lilting melody curling through the smoky air, like a mist through a moor. The candles flickered, sending the shadows dancing across the room. The crowd hushed as the tune pulled at something hollow in their chests.
"Oh, Rowan tree, O whisper low,
Of love long lost in winter's snow,
The stars still weep where he once lay,
Yet home he comes no more this way."
Lockhart felt something catch in his throat and tried to swallow it down, yet it resisted, welling up in him, settling behind his eyes.
"You know you're staring." A voice whispered in his ear.
Lockhart jerked back, startled. Rosmerta laughed softly, she placed two shot glasses before taking the seat across him. Her hair, often in a bun, was loose, falling across her shoulders in soft curls.
"What?" His voice cracked and he coughed, trying to clear his throat.
"Eilidh." Rosmerta said in way of explanation. "She's a pretty thing and her voice ain't shabby." She was looking at him, her eyes knowing.
"Yea." Lockhart looked away from her, and found himself looking back at the girl – her red hair swayed as she rocked back and forth, catching the light, strands trailing like embers.
"Her hair…" he finally said, wrenching his gaze away from her. Her hair looked so similar to…he stopped, not letting himself complete the thought. She was a different person, different face, different age. They are all different. Get a grip Lockhart, he screamed at himself.
"You have a thing for redheads?" Rosmerta pouted. "I'm jealous."
Lockhart shook his head, the grip on his glass tightening. Maybe a thing was the right word for it, he mused privately. He closed his eyes, a memory coming to him, of another red haired woman, laughing and spinning her wand playfully. He opened his eyes and found Rosmerta watching him closely, her eyes full of things he did not want her to voice.
He ducked his head and snorted; redheads, they were plaguing him. He had been watching a redhead closely these past few weeks hadn't he? Planning, waiting for the opportune moment. Did that make him a stalker? Did it even matter anymore? It was done. Right?
He looked down at the drink, some blue concoction. He tipped the glass downing it in one go. He welcomed the light-headedness.
"Redheads are pretty and all, but I can hardly think straight when you're sitting right in front of me." He boldly let his eyes trail down her form and stopped at her cleavage, her peaks rising with every breath she took.
She laughed, and Lockhart welcomed the distraction as he marveled at what that did to her chest.
"You must be a charmer, or maybe you can't see cause of the drink." She said leaning forward. She raised a hand and ever so gently brushed it across his cheek.
"You have been coming here lately, drinking my bar dry." She said quietly, her unspoken question loud between them.
Lockhart paused and for a moment he considered it – coming clean, leaving himself bare and exposed. Ridiculous, a voice, his own, growled at him. Yes it was ridiculous.
He reached up and grabbed her hand, it was small and calloused, evidence of long days. He looked at her, and brought her hand to his mouth and suckled on her finger. Her breath hitched and she shifted trying to tug her arm away, yet he held fast. He growled, a different fire burning in his belly. She gasped, snapping her eyes from him to the table as she felt his knee push against hers and with quiet insistence push them apart. She flicked her gaze around the room, but everyone was busy with the performance. Her breath hitched as his knee pushed into her bare thigh. Indecision played across her face before she bit her bottom lip, her eyes darkening. His knee pushed deeper and she let out a soft mewl.
"Five minutes, backroom." She spoke in a rush and stood. She looked back at him, a playful smile on her face. She walked away, her hips hypnotic. Lockhart watched her, eyes glued to her behind.
A cheer went up from the rest of the patrons and Lockhart remembered where he was. The girl, Eilidh, had finished singing. Lockhart picked up his last shot glass and downed it. The alcohol fueling his heat and desire. He stared one last time at the redhead. In his mind's eye he saw her form twist, a vision of his past imposing itself over her – her hair got shorter, her eyes turned grey and she smirked, waving playfully at him. Then the vision twisted, becoming something recent. Her form shrinking, her hair turning more fiery, freckles splashing across a young face and brown eyes shining back at him. He blinked rapidly, dispelling the vision and he was once again staring at Eilidh. Something bitter rose up into his mouth and his lips twisted in distaste.
"Damn redheads." He picked up his jacket and followed after Rosmerta. If he was going to drown, he would rather drown in flesh and feminine wiles.
He found her waiting, a few buttons of her dress undone, her blue bra peaking out. Her eyes locked onto him the moment he entered. He opened his mouth, to say something – but her lips found his and her hands were tearing at his clothes. Pulling and suckling. She ground against him, her core hot against his hips. His hand latched onto her soft chest and she moaned, mewling in his arms. He let the raw need take him – his head grew heady and heavy.
He let himself drown.
*
AN: Here is the latest chapter.
This is probably the most emotional chapter I've written, damn was it a doozy. I would honestly like to hear your thoughts on the chapter especially my take on Lockhart, I think after this I can't go back to making him a goof like in canon, not that I wanted to.
Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Please Read, Enjoy and Review.