The station was alive with sound. The steam of the scarlet train hissed into the air, blending with the excited chatter of children and the hurried farewells of parents. Trunks thudded against the pavement, owls hooted irritably in their cages, and the scent of burning coal filled the platform.

Hadrian Potter stood amidst it all, his presence an unsettling contrast to the warmth of the scene. Dressed in a dark, high-collared coat that set him apart from the bright-eyed first years and bustling families, he moved with a composed grace, his sharp emerald gaze sweeping across the crowd. He did not fidget like the other children, nor did he look back as if expecting someone to see him off. He had no family here. Selene had already left.

The Hogwarts Express loomed before him, its polished exterior reflecting the figures milling about. This was the beginning. The stage where he would make his first move. For the past year, he had prepared for this—studied the history of this castle, learned the power plays of its factions, and envisioned how he would maneuver through them.

But none of that changed the fact that, for now, he was stepping into the unknown.

A commotion to his right pulled his attention. A boy with flaming red hair—clearly a Weasley—was struggling to push his battered trunk onto the train, his mother fussing over him as his brothers teased him. Further down, a bushy-haired girl was enthusiastically explaining spell theory to disinterested parents. Draco Malfoy, flanked by his usual entourage, was surveying the crowd with the arrogance only a pureblood heir could wield. Hadrian noted them all, memorizing faces and mannerisms. Every encounter from this point onward was a potential opportunity—or a potential obstacle.

Then, he moved.

Without hesitation, he stepped onto the train. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, he felt it. The shift in atmosphere. The beginning of the game.

Hadrian Potter had arrived. And Hogwarts had no idea what was coming.

The steady chug of the Hogwarts Express filled the platform with a rhythmic hum, steam curling around the scarlet engine like a living thing. Hadrian stepped onto the train, his movements controlled and measured as he scanned the corridor for an empty compartment. The chatter of students, both nervous and excited, reached his ears, but he paid little attention. This was merely the first step into a world that would soon belong to him.

As he moved past compartment after compartment, he finally found one that wasn't completely filled with noisy students. Inside, a single girl sat near the window, her expression unreadable as she idly flipped through the pages of a book. She had an air of quiet composure about her, a stark contrast to the excitable first-years rushing around outside.

Hadrian immediately recognized her—the girl from Ollivander's. The one with the cool, assessing gaze and the icy demeanor that masked something deeper.

He slid the door open without hesitation. The girl glanced up, her blue-green eyes flickering with recognition before she returned her attention to her book, as if uninterested.

"Mind if I sit?" Hadrian asked smoothly.

She barely spared him a glance before gesturing with a delicate hand. "Go ahead."

Hadrian took the seat across from her, his movements deliberate. He observed her for a moment as the train lurched forward, signaling the start of their journey. The silence between them was not uncomfortable—if anything, it was a mutual understanding between two individuals who did not waste words on idle chatter.

After a moment, she spoke without looking up. "You were at Ollivander's."

Hadrian inclined his head slightly. "And you were too."

She finally closed her book, studying him more directly. "Daphne Greengrass." Her introduction was simple, but the way she held herself spoke volumes. She was from a proper, well-bred family. A pureblood, without question. And one who had been taught how to navigate social circles with careful precision.

Hadrian allowed a small, polite smile to form. "Hadrian."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if expecting him to give a surname. When he didn't, she merely hummed, an unreadable expression crossing her features.

"You don't talk much," Hadrian noted.

Daphne arched a brow. "Neither do you."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Hadrian's lips. "Fair enough."

The train continued along its course, the rhythmic sound of wheels against the tracks filling the silence between them. Hadrian found himself mildly intrigued by her. She was different from the loud, boastful children filling the train. There was something sharp about her, something calculating.

Just as he was considering testing the waters further, the door to their compartment suddenly slid open with a sharp snap.

"There you are!" A drawling voice announced.

Hadrian turned his head, already knowing who it was before even seeing the pale blonde boy standing in the doorway. Draco Malfoy stepped inside with all the arrogance of someone who believed the world owed him something. Behind him, two larger boys flanked him like well-trained dogs—Crabbe and Goyle, if he remembered correctly from his readings on the prominent pureblood families.

Draco's grey eyes flicked between Hadrian and Daphne before settling on the latter. "Greengrass," he greeted, offering a smirk. "Didn't expect to find you sitting with a stranger."

Daphne's expression didn't change. "I could say the same to you."

Draco scoffed but turned his attention to Hadrian. His gaze raked over him, searching for something, though Hadrian could tell he had no idea who he was. The lack of recognition was both amusing and useful.

"And you are?" Draco asked, tilting his head.

Hadrian leaned back slightly, studying him before answering. "Hadrian."

Draco's brows furrowed slightly. "Just Hadrian?"

Hadrian smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "For now."

Draco scrutinized him for a second longer before shrugging. "Well, anyway—Greengrass, I was going to invite you to sit with us, but I suppose you'd rather sit here with… him."

Daphne sighed, as if already tired of the conversation. "I'm quite comfortable where I am, Draco."

Draco seemed mildly irritated by her dismissal but masked it quickly. He cast one last glance at Hadrian before smirking. "Suit yourself. Just be careful who you associate with."

Hadrian tilted his head, his smirk mirroring Draco's. "Sound advice."

Draco's sneer twitched slightly, but he said nothing more before turning on his heel and striding away, his lackeys trailing behind him.

Once the compartment door shut again, Hadrian turned his gaze back to Daphne. "Friends of yours?"

Daphne exhaled softly, looking out the window. "We've known each other since childhood. That's about the extent of it."

Hadrian hummed in understanding. He could already tell she was someone worth watching. Not an ally yet, nor an enemy—just someone walking the same treacherous path as he was.

For now, that was enough.

The quiet hum of the train filled the compartment as Hadrian sat back against the seat, idly rolling his wand between his fingers. Across from him, Daphne remained silent, her gaze focused out the window, watching the landscape blur past. Neither of them seemed to feel the need to fill the silence with meaningless words. It was… comfortable.

Hadrian's fingers traced the smooth elder wood, feeling the pulse of magic within. His wand was unlike any other—it was his, in a way that felt more profound than he could fully articulate. He could feel the power humming beneath his fingertips, waiting, as if eager to be called upon.

As he turned the wand between his hands, a memory surfaced, pulling him back to a month ago…

— flashback

The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and burning magic. The training hall beneath Nurmengard Castle was illuminated only by the cold blue glow of his flames, flickering against the ancient stone walls.

Selene stood a few feet away, her silver eyes sharp as she observed him. "Again," she ordered.

Hadrian tightened his grip on his wand, adjusting his stance. He had been at this for hours, pushing the limits of his control, testing the depths of his magic, relentlessly casting every battle spell he knew. His wand felt like an extension of his own will, but mastering it required more than instinct—it demanded precision.

He took a steady breath, focusing. With a flick of his wrist, he sent forth a stream of blue fire, watching as it coiled through the air like a living serpent, responding to his intent. It was more refined now, more controlled than when he first discovered it.

Selene circled him, her expression unreadable. "Better," she admitted, though her voice held no praise. "But your flames are still too raw. They burn with power, but they lack purpose."

Hadrian clenched his jaw. "They are my purpose."

Selene's lips curled into something resembling amusement. "A bold claim, young prince. But purpose is not about destruction alone." She flicked her wand, and in an instant, shadowy constructs rose from the stone, humanoid figures shifting and twisting like wraiths. "Destroy them," she commanded.

Hadrian didn't hesitate. With a mere thought, his fire surged forward, engulfing the figures in its unholy blue light. The wraiths shrieked as they dissolved into nothing, devoured by his flames. The room returned to silence, the fire retreating at his command.

Selene studied the charred ground before looking at him with something akin to satisfaction. "Good. But you must understand, Hadrian—your wand is not the source of your power. It is merely a conduit. Do not rely on it."

Hadrian turned the wand between his fingers, feeling the way it pulsed in response to his touch. "Then why did Grindelwald create it?" he asked.

Selene's gaze darkened slightly. "He sought to forge a wand that could rival the Elder Wand. One of his own making, rather than one tied to fate." She stepped closer, her voice lowering. "But when he claimed the Elder Wand, he no longer had a need for this one."

Hadrian looked down at the wand in his hand, feeling its weight. "So it was discarded."

"No," Selene corrected. "It was waiting for the right hands."

--flashback end

Hadrian exhaled slowly, gripping the wand tighter. He didn't believe in destiny—not in the way others did. But this wand… it had found him for a reason.

The sharp whistle of the train brought him back to the present.

Hadrian blinked, refocusing on the compartment. His wand still rested in his hands, its presence as familiar as his own heartbeat. Across from him, Daphne seemed unaware of his momentary lapse, still gazing out the window in thought.

He smirked slightly to himself, rolling the wand once more before slipping it back into his sleeve. His power was growing, his control sharpening.

And soon, the world would see it.

For a while, the silence between them remained undisturbed, save for the steady rhythm of the train gliding along the tracks. Hadrian didn't mind it. He had spent years accustomed to solitude, and Daphne seemed to prefer quiet observation over mindless chatter.

Then, softly, she spoke.

"You're different."

Hadrian glanced up, his green eyes meeting her cool blue ones. "Am I?"

Daphne tilted her head slightly, considering her words. "Yes. You're not like the others."

A faint smirk played at Hadrian's lips. "And what are the others like?"

She didn't return his smirk, but her lips did press together, as if debating whether to continue. "Predictable," she finally answered. "Most of them cling to their families' names, their legacies, and act as if it makes them superior." She studied him carefully. "You don't seem like someone who cares about things like that."

Hadrian leaned back slightly, resting his elbow against the window frame. "Legacies matter. But only if you intend to shape them yourself."

Daphne's expression shifted slightly, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "That's an interesting way to put it."

Hadrian hummed in response, watching her for a moment. There was intelligence behind her gaze, a sharpness that others might overlook. She was not just another pureblood heiress playing her part. No, she was something more—whether she realized it or not.

Before he could respond, the compartment door suddenly slid open with a loud thud.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear—"

A bushy-haired girl stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her expression one of exasperated impatience. Her brown eyes swept over the both of them, lingering on Hadrian for a moment longer than necessary before she continued.

"You were talking about legacies," she said, as if that was somehow an offense. "I just think it's ridiculous how much importance people place on things like that. Honestly, your family name doesn't determine your worth."

Daphne raised an unimpressed eyebrow but said nothing. Hadrian, on the other hand, studied the girl with mild curiosity. She was confident—no, certain—in her beliefs. He could recognize that kind of certainty anywhere. It was the kind that came from reading too much and experiencing too little.

"And you are?" Hadrian asked smoothly, his tone unreadable.

The girl straightened, as if expecting to be asked. "Hermione Granger," she announced. "And you?"

Hadrian's smirk returned, but this time, it held something sharper. "Hadrian."

She frowned slightly at the lack of a last name, but before she could comment on it, her attention snapped to Daphne. "And you?"

Daphne regarded her with cool disinterest. "Daphne Greengrass."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "You're a pureblood, aren't you?"

Daphne gave her a look that very clearly said obviously.

Hermione, seemingly unfazed, crossed her arms. "Well, it doesn't matter where you come from. What matters is how much effort you put into your education. Have either of you read Hogwarts: A History? It's absolutely fascinating. There are so many enchantments on the castle—"

Hadrian exchanged a glance with Daphne, who looked as though she was already regretting engaging in this conversation.

"Fascinating," Hadrian said, tone perfectly neutral.

Hermione, oblivious to any sarcasm, beamed. "I know, right? Honestly, it's surprising how little people know about Hogwarts. Did you know that the ceiling of the Great Hall is enchanted to mirror the sky outside?"

Daphne let out a barely audible sigh, and Hadrian smirked again, amused.

Hermione, either oblivious or simply undeterred, continued, her words coming faster now. "And honestly, the whole concept of House Elves is appalling. Did you know that most of them don't even get paid? They're practically slaves, and no one seems to care!"

Daphne's sigh was less subtle this time, her expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed. "Granger, is there a reason you came in here?"

Hermione blinked, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. "Oh! Yes, actually. I was looking for Neville Longbottom—he's lost his toad, and I told him I'd help. Have either of you seen it?"

Hadrian shook his head lazily. "No toads here."

Daphne didn't bother answering.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, if you do see one, you should let me know. Poor Neville's beside himself with worry."

She hesitated, glancing at Hadrian again, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You never gave me your last name."

Hadrian tilted his head slightly, considering her. "Didn't I?"

Hermione frowned. "No, you didn't."

A silence settled between them, tense but charged with something unspoken. Daphne was watching the exchange with mild interest, as if wondering how long it would take before Hermione figured it out.

After a beat, Hadrian leaned forward just slightly. "Does it matter?"

Hermione huffed. "Well, no, but—"

"Exactly. You shouldn't demand things of others," Hadrian says softly, his gaze steady and unyielding. "If I wished to give my last name, I would have done so."

Hermione glares at him, her cheeks flushed with indignation. "No need to be rude!" she huffs, her voice sharp and full of irritation. With a final glare, she slams the door behind her, leaving Hadrian and Daphne in the quiet of the compartment.

Hadrian watches her go with a mild smirk before muttering under his breath, "What a pleasant girl." The words carry a subtle edge, laced with both amusement and mild disdain. His eyes flicker to Daphne, whose lips twitch with a soft laugh at his comment.

He raises an eyebrow, his voice low as he comments, "She's not going to survive the next seven years if she doesn't shed that Muggle mindset of hers."

Daphne simply shrugs, a casual gesture that speaks volumes. Her disinterest is palpable. She doesn't look up from her book as she responds, her tone indifferent, "Not my problem." The words hang in the air as she loses herself in her reading once again, her posture relaxed, perfectly at ease with the quiet.

Hadrian lets out a soft chuckle, the brief moment of tension already forgotten, his mind shifting back to the more important matters at hand.

The shrill whistle of the train pierced the cabin, signaling their arrival. Outside the window, the dark silhouette of the castle loomed atop the jagged cliffs, its many spires casting long shadows against the night sky. Lanterns flickered along the platform, illuminating the faces of excited first-years pressing against the glass, eager for their first glimpse of Hogwarts.

Daphne closed her book with a soft thump and tucked it away, standing with the same effortless grace she'd displayed in Ollivander's shop. Hadrian took his time, stretching slightly before pulling his trunk down. Unlike the others, he wasn't brimming with excitement—no nervous chatter, no wide-eyed wonder. He simply took it all in, assessing the scene with a cold, calculating gaze.

The corridor of the train was already bustling with movement, students filing out in clusters. Hadrian and Daphne stepped onto the platform, the crisp night air brushing against their skin. The scent of damp earth and lake water carried on the wind, mixing with the hushed voices of the first-years.

Then, a deep voice rumbled over the crowd.

"Firs' years, over here! First years, come along now!"

A towering figure stood near the edge of the platform, a lantern in hand. Rubeus Hagrid. His massive frame dwarfed even the tallest of students, his tangled beard barely concealing the warmth in his expression.

Hadrian didn't move immediately. He observed. The way the other students reacted—some intimidated, others in awe. Daphne, standing beside him, barely spared Hagrid a glance before stepping forward, joining the throng of first-years gathering around the half-giant. Hadrian followed at a measured pace, slipping into the crowd with silent ease.

Hagrid gave them all a broad grin. "Right then, follow me! Mind yer step—it's a bit dark out."

The students murmured among themselves as they followed him down a narrow path, the lanterns casting eerie shadows along the rocky trail. The scent of water grew stronger, and soon, the trees parted to reveal the vast, glassy surface of the Black Lake.

Hadrian's gaze lifted, taking in the first true sight of Hogwarts.

It stood like a fortress, the warm glow of its countless windows spilling golden light against the darkened sky. The sight was undeniably breathtaking—ancient, powerful, timeless. A castle built to withstand centuries, to harbor magic beyond comprehension.

A flicker of something stirred deep within him.

Not excitement. Not awe.

Purpose.

He had arrived.

The black lake stretched vast and silent before them, the water reflecting the golden glow of the castle above. Small boats rocked gently along the shoreline, waiting for their passengers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, gesturing for the first-years to step in.

Hadrian moved with quiet confidence, stepping into a boat without hesitation. Daphne followed, gracefully lowering herself onto the wooden seat across from him. The remaining spots were quickly taken by two other first-years—a nervous-looking boy with dark hair and a slightly pudgy face, and a girl with long brown braids who refused to meet anyone's eyes.

The boats glided forward as if guided by an unseen force, cutting soundlessly through the dark water. The only sounds were the hushed whispers of students and the occasional ripple of the lake.

Daphne sat with an air of practiced ease, hands folded in her lap. The other two fidgeted uncomfortably, stealing glances at Hadrian, who remained perfectly still, watching the towering castle draw closer.

The nervous boy cleared his throat. "It's huge," he murmured, mostly to himself.

Hadrian hummed in vague agreement, his gaze never leaving the castle.

The braided girl finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think the rumors are true? About the ghosts?"

Daphne gave her a measured look. "Hogwarts is over a thousand years old. Of course there are ghosts."

The girl shivered and fell silent again.

Hadrian finally turned his gaze from the castle, glancing toward the lake's surface. The water was unnaturally dark, its depths unknowable. He could feel something moving beneath, something ancient—watching.

A ripple passed across the surface near their boat.

Daphne noticed it too. Her expression barely shifted, but Hadrian caught the slight tension in her shoulders. He smirked. "Afraid of the dark, Greengrass?"

Daphne arched an eyebrow. "Only a fool isn't wary of what they can't see."

A fair answer.

The boats drifted beneath a stone archway, leading them to a small dock tucked beneath the castle. The journey had been short, but for Hadrian, it felt like the last few moments of silence before stepping onto a stage.

The real game was about to begin.

The great doors of the Great Hall swung open, revealing a vast chamber bathed in the warm glow of floating candles. The enchanted ceiling above mimicked the night sky, a deep velvety black dotted with countless stars. The four long tables were packed with students, all dressed in their respective house colors, their gazes sharp with curiosity as they turned toward the newcomers.

Hadrian stepped forward, blending seamlessly into the crowd of first-years as Professor McGonagall led them down the aisle between the tables. Her posture was rigid, her sharp gaze scanning the students as if assessing their worth before they even had the chance to sit.

Hadrian's expression remained impassive, but his mind was working—analyzing.

Most of the first-years around him were trembling with nerves, their eyes darting across the Hall, overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all. Hadrian, however, was focused on something else entirely.

He observed the students at each table, noting the differences.

Gryffindor—eager faces, loud whispers, too much emotion, too much energy.

Hufflepuff—softer eyes, kinder smiles, easy to manipulate but too content to be useful.

Ravenclaw—sharp gazes, curious whispers, the thinkers, the seekers. Useful, if properly guided.

Slytherin—calculating expressions, silent assessments, potential allies or enemies, depending on how he played them

Hadrian's gaze moved to the staff table. Now, the real players.

Minerva McGonagall, rigid and strict, but her eyes softened when she looked at the students. Traditionalist. Favors discipline, but not a threat.

Severus Snape, pale and shadowed, eyes cold and cutting, yet oddly restrained. An enigma. Possibly useful.

Quirinus Quirrell, weak posture, darting glances, reeking of fear. Unimportant. Or hiding something.

Other professors—some stern, some indifferent. None stood out.

And then, at the center of them all—

Albus Dumbledore.

Their eyes met.

For the first time, Hadrian Potter looked into the eyes of the man who had shaped his fate without ever touching him.

Dumbledore's blue gaze twinkled, lined with the weight of a century's knowledge. His face was kind, unreadable—but Hadrian knew better. He had studied men like this in the pages of history, in the lessons Selene drilled into him. The kindest masks always hid the most dangerous minds.

He did not look away.

Hadrian held Dumbledore's gaze and let the silence stretch, a quiet defiance crackling in the air between them. He could feel the weight of the old man's scrutiny, the curiosity, the calculations running beneath that grandfatherly exterior.

He let a small, almost imperceptible smirk curl his lips.

A simple message.

You won't fool me.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled once more, and just like that, the old wizard looked away, as if nothing had happened.

Albus Dumbledore sat at the center of the staff table, observing the new generation of students as they filed into the Great Hall. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, his face the picture of calm wisdom. To the untrained eye, he was simply an old man watching over his school with gentle amusement.

But behind his half-moon spectacles, his mind was already at work. Watching. Calculating. Weighing possibilities.

And then—he saw him.

Hadrian Potter.

The boy was not what he had expected.

Dumbledore had imagined a child shaped by the neglect of the Muggle world—one unsure of himself, wide-eyed and overwhelmed by the grandeur of the castle. Someone moldable. Someone manageable.

But this boy…

Hadrian moved with certainty, as if he belonged. His presence did not waver under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes. He observed without fear, without uncertainty.

Then Hadrian's gaze rose—and their eyes met.

For a fleeting moment, Dumbledore felt something he had not expected.

Not confusion. Not surprise.

Recognition.

Not of the boy himself, but of the power behind those green eyes. It was not the look of an orphan seeking guidance, nor the awe of a child entering a new world.

It was the gaze of someone who already understood.

Dumbledore had spent over a century studying people, reading between the lines of what they said and what they did not. And in that moment, he saw something chillingly familiar—a mind untouched by innocence. A boy who was already playing the game.

This was not a child to be gently guided into the light.

This was a player stepping onto the board.

And then—that smirk.

Faint, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.

A message.

You won't fool me.

Dumbledore's lips curled ever so slightly in response, though his eyes betrayed nothing.

Very well, then.

The game had begun.

Hadrian stood among the first-years as they waited before the Sorting Hat, the towering enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall mirroring the cloudy night sky. The golden light from floating candles cast flickering shadows across the assembled students, and the low murmur of the older years filled the vast space.

He could feel the weight of a hundred stares pressing down on him.

Whispers traveled like fire among the tables.

"Is that really Harry Potter?"

"He doesn't even have the scar—oh wait, there it is!"

"I heard he was raised by Muggles—do you think he even knows any magic?"

Hadrian ignored them all. Let them wonder. Let them speculate. Their assumptions meant nothing to him.

Beside him, Daphne Greengrass stood with her usual poised demeanor, her expression unreadable. She was silent, but Hadrian noted the way she had unconsciously drifted closer to him, just as he had to her.

They didn't know each other—not truly. But in a hall full of strangers, even the briefest familiarity was an anchor.

Hadrian leaned slightly toward her, his voice quiet and smooth. "They stare as if I were some myth."

Daphne didn't glance at him, but he caught the faintest quirk of her lips. "You might as well be. The Boy-Who-Lived finally returning to the wizarding world? You're practically a legend to them."

He let out a soft exhale through his nose. "Legends are exaggerated."

"Perhaps." Daphne flicked a glance toward him. "But sometimes, reality is stranger than the legend."

Hadrian smirked at that, but before he could respond, a name was called.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hadrian watched as the bushy-haired girl from the train practically marched to the stool, sitting with rigid determination. The hat barely touched her head before it cried:

"Gryffindor!"

Hadrian exhaled softly, unsurprised. Of course.

Daphne hummed lightly beside him. "Predictable."

"Extremely."

More names were called, students sorted, and cheers rang out across the hall. Hadrian remained still, watching each new face join their house, but his mind was already elsewhere—calculating, preparing.

The Sorting Hat continued calling names, each student stepping forward with varying degrees of confidence—or in some cases, absolute terror.

"Bones, Susan!"

The red-haired girl hesitated before stepping up, the hat slipping over her head. It took only a moment before it called:

"Hufflepuff!"

Hadrian's eyes flicked to the table of cheering students, filing the name away.

"Boot, Terry!"—"Ravenclaw!"

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"—"Slytherin!"

Beside him, Daphne let out a soft breath, tilting her head slightly in his direction. "Where do you think you'll end up?"

Hadrian smirked faintly. "What do you think?"

Daphne studied him, sharp eyes scanning his face. "Not Gryffindor."

"Obviously."

She hummed, considering. "Not Hufflepuff either."

Hadrian's lips twitched in amusement. "What, you don't see me as hardworking and loyal?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Please."

He chuckled.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"—"Hufflepuff!"

She glanced toward the Sorting Hat as it continued its work before murmuring, "Ravenclaw or Slytherin."

Hadrian hummed thoughtfully, watching as another student nervously approached the stool.

"Goyle, Gregory!"—"Slytherin!"

He turned his gaze back to Daphne. "And you?"

She didn't hesitate. "Slytherin."

"Confident," Hadrian observed.

Daphne gave him a cool look. "I know where I belong."

He tilted his head slightly. "And if it puts you elsewhere?"

For the first time, she faltered—not visibly, not to anyone who wasn't paying attention, but Hadrian saw the subtle flicker of uncertainty in her eyes before she schooled her features.

"It won't."

Hadrian nodded once. He could respect conviction, even if he had his own thoughts on the matter.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

The round-faced boy shuffled forward, practically tripping over his own feet. The Sorting Hat took its time with him, lingering longer than most, before finally declaring:

"Gryffindor!"

Loud cheers erupted from the red-and-gold table, but Hadrian wasn't paying attention to them.

He could feel a particular set of eyes on him.

Dumbledore.

The old man was watching, that grandfatherly twinkle masking something far more calculating.

Hadrian met his gaze without hesitation, his expression impassive.

Dumbledore had no idea what he had become.

He had no idea what was coming.

"Potter, Harry!"

The Great Hall fell silent.

Every whisper, every hushed conversation, every murmur of speculation ceased in an instant.

Hadrian felt the weight of hundreds of eyes snapping to him. It was not his name, not truly—but to them, it was. The Boy-Who-Lived. The lost hero, returned at last.

Daphne barely moved beside him, but he could sense her sharp gaze flicker toward him.

Hadrian exhaled softly through his nose, suppressing his irritation as he stepped forward. He kept his movements deliberate—graceful, measured. The very air around him shifted, as though the castle itself acknowledged his presence.

He ascended the steps, approaching the worn stool where the Sorting Hat waited.

As he settled onto the seat, the ancient hat was placed over his head, slipping down past his sharp, calculating eyes.

"Ahhh… interesting. Very interesting."

Hadrian remained silent, his mind carefully guarded.

"You…" the hat murmured, voice slithering through his thoughts like ink in water. "I have not seen a mind like yours in many years… such depth… such control."

Hadrian smirked internally. Flattery will get you nowhere.

"Oh, but it is no flattery, young one. You are… different. Far different than what they expect. I see cunning, ambition… a mind sharpened like a blade. You would do well in Slytherin."

Hadrian did not react. Would I?

"Oh, yes. You could thrive. You have the charisma, the patience, the vision. You would build something greater than even you imagine—"

Greater than Grindelwald?

The hat paused.

"Ah. Now there is a name I have not pondered in quite some time. So you know, then? You understand what you could become?"

Hadrian did not answer.

"But no… no, Slytherin is not quite right for you."

That caught his attention.

"Slytherin is full of those who seek power. You do not seek it—you already have it."

Hadrian's fingers twitched against his robe.

"You do not need Slytherin to teach you ambition, nor Gryffindor to teach you bravery. You do not need Hufflepuff to learn loyalty, nor to waste your time in a house that would never understand you."

Then where?

"Ravenclaw."

Hadrian stilled.

"Yes… knowledge. You desire to understand. You see the world not as it is, but as it could be. You seek to unravel the mysteries others are too blind to perceive. You are a seeker of truth, a mind unchained. You will not simply walk the path of great men—you will forge your own."

Hadrian let the words settle.

He had considered Slytherin before. It would have been useful, an easy place to build influence, to gather like-minded individuals. But… the hat was right. He did not need Slytherin.

He needed freedom.

And Ravenclaw would give him that.

"Yes…" the hat mused. "Yes, it must be…"

"RAVENCLAW!"

A beat of stunned silence.

Then—cheering.

Hadrian lifted the hat from his head and rose to his feet, expression unreadable as he made his way toward the Ravenclaw table.

The whispers had already begun.

"Ravenclaw? But he's the Boy-Who-Lived—shouldn't he be in Gryffindor?"

"That can't be right… Potter's a hero, not a bookworm!"

"I heard he was raised by someone powerful… maybe that's why—"

Hadrian ignored them.

He slid into an open seat, only briefly noting the curious glances from his new housemates.

Across the hall, Dumbledore's expression remained perfectly composed—but Hadrian saw the flicker of something beneath it.

The old man had expected Gryffindor. Maybe Slytherin.

But he had not expected this.

Hadrian smirked to himself.

Good. Already his first move was a success.

Hadrian settled into his seat at the Ravenclaw table, his face a mask of calm indifference. Around him, his new housemates still murmured about his placement. The whispers were predictable—curiosity, speculation, disbelief. None of it mattered.

What did interest him, however, was the next name called.

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

Hadrian's gaze flickered to the front just as Daphne stepped forward. She moved gracefully, composed, with the effortless poise of someone who had been raised in the old ways.

The Great Hall remained expectant, but Hadrian noted how some of the Slytherin students straightened slightly—already assuming she would be joining them.

Daphne sat down, and the Sorting Hat was placed over her head.

Seconds passed.

A minute.

Another.

Hadrian watched carefully. The longer the Sorting took, the more complex the decision.

Finally, the hat gave its call—

"RAVENCLAW!"

Silence.

A moment of stunned disbelief rippled across the Hall.

Even the Ravenclaw table hesitated before clapping. The Slytherin students looked outright confused, while some of the Gryffindors whispered among themselves.

Hadrian, however, was not surprised.

Daphne removed the hat with measured movements, her expression unreadable. But as she stepped toward the Ravenclaw table, her gaze briefly flickered to him.

Hadrian smirked slightly.

She took the open seat beside him without hesitation.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Then—

"They're staring," she murmured, barely moving her lips.

"They're confused," Hadrian corrected, voice equally quiet. "They expected you to follow expectation."

Daphne exhaled softly. "I don't care what they expected."

"Good," Hadrian said, smirking slightly. "You'll fit in just fine."

Daphne glanced at him, as if trying to decipher whether he was being genuine or simply amused. Eventually, she gave a soft smile and focused on the rest of the Sorting, while Hadrian did the same.

The night was only beginning.

The moment the Sorting Hat slipped over her head, the world around Daphne Greengrass dimmed into an eerie quiet. The murmuring Great Hall faded, replaced by a voice that spoke directly into her mind.

"Ah… now here's an interesting one."

Daphne remained still, her expression schooled into its usual impassive calm. She had expected this—her family had always told her the Hat could see everything in a person's mind, their deepest thoughts, their unspoken desires. It was unsettling, but she refused to let it shake her.

"Cautious, calculating… yet sharp as a blade. You are not easily swayed by emotion, no, you prefer to observe before acting. A mind that searches for patterns, for the flow of power, for opportunity."

Daphne's fingers tightened on the stool. "Slytherin, then."

The Hat chuckled. "Oh, you would do well in Slytherin, that much is certain. You understand the importance of alliances, of choosing the right moment to move. And yet… you hesitate. Not because you lack the ambition, no, but because you question the cost of it."

Daphne frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You are not like the others who crave Slytherin for power or legacy. You do not need validation from your peers, nor do you care for empty titles. No, your ambition is quieter… colder. You want control, yes, but not over others—over yourself, over your fate."

Daphne exhaled softly. It was true. She did not hunger for power the way some pureblood heirs did. She simply refused to be anyone's pawn.

"Then put me in Slytherin," she said again. "It's the logical choice."

"Logical? Perhaps. But is it the right choice for you?" The Hat hummed. "You do not like to be caged, Daphne Greengrass. And Slytherin… well, Slytherin would be a cage of expectations, of assumptions. You would play the game well, but would you ever be free of it?"

That gave her pause. She had spent her childhood preparing for Slytherin, but… was it truly what she wanted? She thought of her father's expectations, her mother's careful lessons on etiquette and alliances. It had all been meant to shape her into someone who thrived in the house of serpents.

But what if she didn't want to play by their rules?

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the dark-haired boy at the Ravenclaw table—the one the world called Harry Potter, though she now knew his real name was Hadrian. The boy who had watched the sorting like a predator evaluating the herd, who had seen through Hermione's arrogance in an instant, who had smirked when she laughed.

She didn't know what to make of him yet. But he intrigued her.

And for some reason, she knew he would not be sitting at the Slytherin table.

"You would thrive in Ravenclaw," the Hat mused, as if plucking the thought straight from her mind. "You have a keen mind, a thirst for understanding. Knowledge is a different kind of power, one that lasts far longer than fleeting alliances. And perhaps…"

The Hat's voice lowered, almost conspiratorial.

"…perhaps you do not want to be surrounded by those who assume they already know who you are."

Daphne's lips parted slightly.

Slytherin would be easier. Expected.

But Ravenclaw… Ravenclaw would be hers. A place where she was not just another pureblood heiress to be weighed and measured. A place where no one would assume they already understood her.

And, perhaps, a place where she could truly understand herself.

Her decision was made.

"RAVENCLAW!"

The Hat shouted the word to the Great Hall, and as Daphne slipped off the stool and made her way to the Ravenclaw table, she allowed herself the smallest of smirks at the stunned expressions from the Slytherin table.

Yes. This would be interesting.