Just to get it out of the way in case you didn't read the post edit message of the last chapter, this is my rework of chapter one. I absolutely hated my original and this way I have a better set up and pacing. Hope you enjoy

The floor was cold and hard beneath him. Hadrian awoke with a shiver, the faintest remnants of a dream fading from his mind like smoke. His eyes blinked open, squinting against the dull, gray light seeping through the small crack beneath the cupboard door. It wasn't much. But it was all he had.

The cupboard was cramped, the walls pressing in on him from all sides. He lay on a thin, ragged blanket, barely enough to cover his small body. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them for warmth. The air inside smelled stale—like dust, mold, and something faintly sour. The familiar scent of old wood and neglect.

It had been this way for as long as he could remember. The cupboard had always been his home, tucked away behind the stairs in the house on Privet Drive, hidden from the world outside. No one ever came down here unless it was to yell at him, or worse, to remind him of his place.

Hadrian pushed himself up slowly, groaning softly as his stiff limbs protested the movement. His back ached, and his head felt heavy. He hadn't slept well. Not again. Not for a long time. The nightmares, the whispering voices in the dark, were becoming harder to ignore. But there was no time for such things now. Not here.

He stood, and crept toward the tiny crack beneath the cupboard door. He could hear the faint sounds of the Dursleys upstairs—Uncle Vernon's loud, booming voice, Aunt Petunia's high-pitched, nagging tone, and Dudley's shrill laughter. The noise made his stomach twist, the familiar dread pooling low in his gut. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed he was awake.

Sure enough, moments later, he heard Aunt Petunia's voice call down the stairs. "Get up, Hadrian. It's time to get to work."

Hadrian froze. He knew the routine by heart, had known it for years. No matter how much he hurt, no matter how tired he was, it didn't matter. There was always something to be done. The Dursleys didn't believe in rest for him—only work.

With a soft sigh, he pulled open the cupboard door and stepped out into the dim hallway. He winced as his fe met the cold wooden floor, but he said nothing. He never did.

Aunt Petunia stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "I want you to clean the yard. Don't come inside until it's finished. And don't think about eating anything until you're done. Understand?"

Hadrian nodded, his throat dry. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

She didn't respond, just turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him standing there, feeling small and insignificant. A familiar wave of bitterness rose in his chest, but he pushed it down. There was no point in anger. Not anymore. It never got him anywhere.

Hadrian made his way to the back door, stepping outside into the bright morning sunlight. The yard was overgrown, weeds creeping through cracks in the concrete, and the grass needed cutting. He had no real tools—just a broken rake and a shovel that had seen better days. But it didn't matter. He had to do it. He always did.

His hands shook slightly as he grasped the rake, his fingers sore from years of abuse. He had been doing chores like this since he could remember—scrubbing the floors, cleaning the windows, washing the dishes, and sweeping the yard. He was always the one to do the work, while Dudley sat inside, playing games or watching television.

The sun beat down on him, harsh and unrelenting, but Hadrian barely noticed. He had learned long ago how to tune out the discomforts of the world around him. His mind often wandered during these long, tedious tasks, his thoughts slipping away into places that didn't belong here. Places where he was more than just the boy locked away in a cupboard. Where he wasn't invisible.

But those thoughts were fleeting, quickly swallowed up by the harsh reality of his life.

He was only halfway through the yard when Uncle Vernon's booming voice shattered his thoughts. "What are you doing out here, boy? You're not done yet?"

Hadrian didn't look up. He knew better than to respond, to try to explain himself. That would only make it worse. Instead, he kept raking, his hands moving mechanically as the sun burned his skin.

Uncle Vernon's footsteps grew closer, and Hadrian could hear the sound of his heavy breathing. He didn't need to look up to know what was coming.

The next moment, he felt a sharp tug on his shoulder, pulling him roughly to his feet. His breath hitched as pain shot through his ribs—an old injury, one that had never quite healed. Uncle Vernon's massive hand gripped him by the arm, squeezing so tightly that Hadrian thought his bones might crack.

"I told you to finish your work, didn't I? Now get inside before I make you regret it."

Hadrian winced, but said nothing. He allowed himself to be pulled toward the door, the rough grip tightening with every step.

Inside, the house was cooler, but just as oppressive. The walls seemed to close in around him as he was forced into the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia stood, arms crossed, her lips set in a tight line.

"Don't you ever slack off again, do you hear me?" she hissed, her eyes narrowed into thin slits. "You're lucky we don't throw you out on the street."

Hadrian nodded again, though his throat felt tight. He wasn't sure if it was the pain from his ribs or the crushing weight of their words.

Uncle Vernon shoved him toward the small cupboard under the stairs. "Go back to your room. And stay out of our way."

The cupboard door slammed shut behind him, and for a moment, Hadrian allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He sank to the floor, his back pressed against the cold wood, his breath shaky. His body ached, but that wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was the feeling of being completely alone—of having no one to turn to, no one who cared.

But deep down, there was something else, something more. A strange, unfamiliar sensation that hummed in the back of his mind, just beyond his reach. It wasn't like the fear or the pain. It was… something else.

The classroom was loud with chatter, the air thick with the sound of young voices discussing their weekend plans, their favorite television shows, and the endless stream of nonsense that came with being children. But Hadrian sat in the back corner, his gaze focused on the page in front of him, barely registering the noise. His hand moved with fluid precision, filling the margins of his notebook with neat, detailed notes, thoughts more organized than most adults.

He was an oddity, even here.

The teacher, Mrs. Jones, droned on about math, her voice carrying in the way of someone who thought they were keeping control of the room, but Hadrian barely noticed. He had learned long ago to tune out anything that didn't interest him—any subject that didn't offer a challenge. He'd solved the problems before Mrs. Jones even finished explaining them. His mind raced ahead, processing information at a speed that startled even him sometimes.

Around him, the other students muttered to each other, casting curious glances in his direction. It was no secret that Hadrian stood apart from the rest. His intelligence was obvious, even if most didn't quite understand it. He absorbed facts the way others breathed, with ease, effortlessly. And while many were intimidated by his seemingly natural charisma—how his every movement and word seemed to command attention, how people felt drawn to him without knowing why—others were outright jealous.

At the front of the room, Dudley Dursley sat in his usual seat, slouched and uninterested, staring at a page in his book but not reading a single word. His friends, Piers and Malcolm, sat beside him, and they giggled and snickered over something Hadrian had no desire to investigate. He knew exactly what they were up to: mocking, whispering behind his back, or perhaps making fun of his intelligence. But Hadrian never gave them the satisfaction of responding.

He wasn't going to let them know how much it bothered him.

"Hadrian," Mrs. Jones' voice broke through his thoughts, a little sharper now, as though she had called his name several times. He glanced up, his expression unreadable. "Would you care to share the answer with the class?"

The room went silent. It wasn't uncommon for Hadrian to be called on during lessons—after all, it was hard to ignore someone who had already figured out the problem while you were still explaining it. But it wasn't the question that made the class pause. It was the way he looked at Mrs. Jones, as if she were just another person—another part of the world that didn't quite match his own understanding.

With a small, almost imperceptible smile, Hadrian stood, his chair scraping the floor. He moved to the front of the room, his posture poised and relaxed. Every pair of eyes was on him now, the entire class watching with a mix of awe and apprehension. He had that effect on people—always had.

He could feel the nervous tension building in the room. They were waiting for him to speak, to solve the problem with ease, to show them all just how much smarter he was than they were. But Hadrian didn't care. In fact, it bored him. There was nothing new about solving equations. He was already well ahead of what they were teaching.

He glanced at the chalkboard, where a complicated set of equations had been written up for the class to solve.

"It's quite simple, really," Hadrian said in a calm, almost casual tone. His voice was smooth, steady, a touch of something deeper and more commanding beneath it. The room hung on his every word. "You factor the polynomials, and then apply the quadratic formula. The answer comes out to—" He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the class, before finishing, "X equals four."

He turned, walking back to his desk as Mrs. Jones stood there, her mouth slightly agape, caught between frustration and admiration. It wasn't the first time Hadrian had made her look silly, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

As he settled back into his seat, the whispers began again. "Did you see that?" one of the girls muttered. "He's like… a genius or something."

Another voice cut through the murmurs. "I bet he's just showing off. Thinks he's better than us."

Hadrian didn't flinch. He wasn't showing off—he just couldn't help it. It was the way his mind worked. He wasn't trying to prove anything to them; they just happened to be in the way.

He glanced over at Dudley, who was glaring at him from across the room, a look of pure hatred in his eyes. It was the same every day. Dudley didn't like him—never had. Hadrian knew why. It was because Dudley could feel, deep down, that he was nothing compared to him. It wasn't even about intelligence—Hadrian had an aura about him that made people uncomfortable, a presence that felt too old, too strange for a ten-year-old. Charisma, the teachers called it. The kids just called it "creepy."

And yet, there was something else there, too. Something darker. Not everyone saw it, but Hadrian could feel it creeping under the surface—the way people looked at him sometimes, the hushed voices, the fear that lingered when they thought he wasn't paying attention.

Hadrian glanced at the clock. The bell would ring soon, and his respite from the day's ordeal would be over. Another few hours of trying to pretend like everything was normal, trying to fit into a world that seemed so small and insignificant compared to what he knew he could be. But he wasn't going to make waves—not yet. Not here. The time wasn't right.

For now, he would play the part of the dutiful student, the perfect child, the one who could answer every question with ease and charm his way through the world.

But as the bell rang and the class erupted in chaos, Hadrian knew one thing for sure.

It wouldn't be long before the world would have to take notice of him.

The next day *

Hadrian woke to the familiar cold of the small cupboard, his body stiff from the uncomfortable position he had slept in, his face pressed against the musty floorboards. His eyes fluttered open, the dull morning light creeping through the cracks in the door. The air was thick with dust and the lingering smell of old wood and mildew. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew it didn't matter.

His stomach growled in protest, and he pulled himself to his feet slowly, rubbing the ache in his side. His ribs still throbbed from yesterday's beating—when his uncle had shoved him to the floor for no reason at all. Hadrian didn't cry anymore. He couldn't afford to. The pain was just another part of his life, like breathing.

He moved mechanically toward the tiny, grimy window and glanced out, his eyes catching on the distant sky. Another day, another round of abuse. Nothing new. He sighed quietly, dreading the start of the day, knowing what was to come.

The sound of footsteps thundered from the hallway outside the cupboard, and then the door was thrown open with a sharp, angry jerk.

"Get up, freak!" Dudley's voice echoed through the small space. His fat fingers gripped the doorframe, and his pig-like eyes gleamed with malice. "Time to clean up the mess you made last night!"

Hadrian's stomach dropped, but he remained silent, not daring to respond. He had learned long ago that silence was the best way to avoid their wrath. If he said anything, it would only make things worse.

"You heard me!" Dudley growled, stepping closer, looming over him. Without warning, Dudley shoved Hadrian hard, sending him stumbling backwards into the cupboard's cold walls. His body slammed against the wood, and pain shot up his spine, but he bit his lip, refusing to make a sound.

"Dad!" Dudley called out, a sick grin forming on his face. "Hadrian's being a little freak again!"

Within seconds, Vernon Dursley's thunderous voice boomed from the hallway. "What's going on in there?!"

Hadrian didn't dare move, just waiting for the punishment to come, his heart pounding. He felt small. Invisible. His uncle's heavy footsteps drew closer, and the door swung wide open.

"Get out here!" Vernon barked. His beady eyes gleamed with contempt as he stepped into the room, his large frame blocking the light. "You're always in the way. What are you doing now, boy?"

Hadrian remained silent, his mind whirling with thoughts that were far too complicated for someone his age. What was the point of anything? Why did he always have to endure this? The physical abuse, the insults, the isolation—when would it end?

Dudley shoved him again, knocking him off balance. Hadrian felt his chest tighten, his breath caught in his throat. A wave of helplessness washed over him, and before he could even register it, a surge of raw emotion—something darker, something burning—flared up from within.

His hand shot out instinctively, the motion almost entirely out of his control. But before he even realized what he was doing, there was an intense snap that echoed in the small space. For an instant, everything around him seemed to freeze.

Then, a rush of heat, unlike anything Hadrian had ever experienced, coursed through his body. It wasn't a fire, but it felt like fire—wild and untamed. It exploded from his hand, a shockwave of energy that pushed Dudley back with startling force. The larger boy was thrown against the far wall, his body slamming into it with a sickening thud, and he crumpled to the floor, groaning in shock and pain.

Hadrian stood there, frozen, staring at his open palm, his heart pounding as though it would burst. The air around him hummed with a strange, almost electric buzz, like the aftermath of a thunderstorm.

What had just happened?

Dudley lay on the floor, staring up at him in wide-eyed terror, unable to move. Vernon stood in the doorway, mouth agape, speechless. His usual rage had evaporated into disbelief.

Hadrian stood in the middle of the room, his heart still pounding in his chest, his hand stretched out toward Dudley, his cousin writhing on the floor in agony. The power surged through him again—hot, raw, and uncontrollable—and he could feel it crackling in the air, like a live wire, thrumming under his skin.

Vernon was frozen in place, his eyes wide with fear. The wall of anger he'd always used to dominate Hadrian was gone now, replaced by something far more primal: fear. The man's large frame seemed to shrink as he glanced from Dudley to Hadrian, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"You—what did you—?" Vernon's voice cracked, and he took a step back, his body trembling.

Hadrian didn't answer. There was no need. He didn't care to explain, didn't care to soothe their fears. They weren't important enough to warrant his attention.

The room was heavy with the scent of sweat and panic. Dudley lay curled on the floor, groaning, clutching his side as if the impact of the invisible force that had hit him would somehow go away if he held on tighter. Hadrian's gaze flicked down to his cousin with cold disinterest. Dudley wasn't worth his focus. He was pathetic.

Hadrian's lips curled slightly, but it wasn't a smile. It was a shift in his expression, a subtle indication of the power he now sensed pulsing within him. His heart slowed, the adrenaline fading, but his eyes remained cold, calculating. There was no guilt in him. No remorse. Dudley had always been a tool for his uncle's cruelty. Now he was just a casualty of Hadrian's rising awareness.

"Get up, Dudley," Hadrian said, his voice low and sharp, with no emotion behind it. He wasn't concerned if Dudley stayed on the floor or not.

Dudley scrambled to his feet, his face pale, eyes wide with terror. He was scared. Not just of the pain, but of what Hadrian had done to him.

Vernon stumbled backward, his hand moving toward the door, but he couldn't take his eyes off Hadrian. The panic in his face was palpable. "W-what are you?" Vernon whispered, the words barely audible. His voice shook with a fear Hadrian had never seen from the man.

Hadrian took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing. He could feel the power still thrumming through him, and he didn't know why. He didn't know how it had happened. But it was his now, and he wasn't going to give it up. Not for anyone.

He wasn't the weak, insignificant child they'd always treated him as. He was something else entirely, something more. His gaze flickered to Dudley again, and the slightest twitch of his fingers sent the smallest surge of energy into the air. Dudley staggered back, his knees buckling as if he'd been pushed by an invisible hand. The kid fell again, and Hadrian felt a flicker of dark satisfaction ripple through him.

"Don't," Vernon pleaded, his voice strained as he backed away. "Please, don't hurt him. Don't hurt anyone. What do you want?"

Hadrian's eyes never left Vernon. "Want?" he repeated, the word almost tasting foreign on his tongue. "I don't want anything from you. You're nothing." His gaze dropped to the floor, dismissing them both in an instant. "You are not worth my time."

Dudley groaned in the background, but Hadrian didn't even acknowledge him anymore. His thoughts were elsewhere, shifting from Dudley's pain to the strange, overwhelming sensation that was still filling him. What had happened? What was this? The air still felt thick, like the calm before a storm, and Hadrian had no idea why he had this power. But it felt… right.

Vernon was still watching him, his face a mixture of fear and anger. He was trying to regain some sense of control, but it was too late. Hadrian could see it in his eyes—the realization that he was no longer in charge.

"I won't let you control me anymore," Hadrian said, his voice quiet but unwavering, filled with a darkness that Vernon could not comprehend.

"Please," Vernon whimpered, trying to stand taller, but his voice cracked as he reached for the door. "You're… you're just a freak!"

Hadrian didn't even flinch at the word. It didn't have the same sting it once did. To him, Vernon's words were as meaningless as the man himself.

Hadrian's eyes flicked to Dudley, who was still lying there, trembling. For a split second, Hadrian felt an odd, brief surge of something—something like pity—but it was gone as soon as it came.

"Get out," Hadrian said flatly, without emotion. The air around him crackled again, and Vernon was knocked back toward the door. He fumbled with the handle, his hands shaking as he scrambled to leave the room.

Hadrian's gaze lingered on the door as it slammed shut behind Vernon. The power was still there, still waiting for him to understand it, to use it fully. And somewhere deep inside, Hadrian knew that it was only the beginning.

He turned slowly, his eyes scanning the room, his lips twitching in the faintest of smiles. I'm not like them. I'm not like anyone here.

A month had passed since Hadrian's first demonstration of his power. Since then, the atmosphere in the Dursley household had shifted. The fear was palpable in every corner of the house. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley—all of them were walking on eggshells, terrified of what Hadrian might do next.

Hadrian was no longer the quiet, unnoticed child they had once manipulated. He was the master of the house now, and he knew it. He had grown in ways that terrified them—his every glance, every word carrying an unseen weight that they couldn't escape. He had discovered the limits of his power, and in his quiet solitude, he'd learned to wield it with a precision that left the Dursleys trembling in his wake.

Vernon tried to maintain his grip on the family, but the fear of his nephew had him on edge. He shouted at Hadrian from time to time, his voice cracking under the weight of his own terror, but Hadrian didn't flinch. He didn't need to speak. A glare, a look, was all it took to remind them who was in charge now.

Hadrian didn't need to use his magic often, but when he did, it was like a shadow falling over the room. Small things at first—a chair tipped over by an unseen force, a door slamming shut, objects shifting imperceptibly when Vernon wasn't looking. Little acts of power that reminded the Dursleys that he could destroy them at any moment. And they believed it.

But as much as they feared him, they were still the Dursleys—stubborn, ignorant, and proud. And that pride, especially in Vernon, had begun to fester. It had become a quiet, simmering resentment, one that he could barely contain. His frustration built with each passing day, the way Hadrian walked through the house with a confidence that made his skin crawl. The man had always thought of himself as the one in control, the one who could dominate the weak. But now… now there was something beyond his reach.

One night, after Hadrian had returned from a long day at school, Vernon snapped. He had spent the entire evening stewing, the weight of his humiliation too much to bear. He couldn't stand the way Hadrian looked at him anymore—like a mere insect, ready to be crushed underfoot.

"You think you're better than me, don't you?" Vernon had bellowed, his voice shaking with fury. "Well, I've had enough!"

His hand shook as he reached for the drawer where he kept his belt. The leather crackled in his hand, but this time, Hadrian didn't flinch. Instead, his eyes darkened with something far more dangerous than Vernon had ever seen.

The room grew colder, the air thick with something foreign and raw. The shadows seemed to lengthen, twisting in unnatural ways as Hadrian stood perfectly still. His gaze was fixed on Vernon, unwavering, as though time itself had slowed.

Vernon's grip on the belt tightened. "I won't be ruled by a freak like you!" he shouted, taking a step toward Hadrian. "You'll learn your place!"

But before Vernon could strike, the air around Hadrian rippled, and a deep, resonant crack echoed through the room. Blue flames erupted from Hadrian's body, swirling in a terrifying storm, casting the room in an eerie glow.

The flames weren't like any fire Vernon had ever seen. They weren't hot, they didn't burn the same way—no, these were flames that came from somewhere far darker, somewhere deeper. They licked at the walls, consuming everything in their path, but leaving no marks, no scars—just the suffocating sensation of being in the presence of something ancient and powerful.

Vernon screamed as the flames engulfed the room. He tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey him. The flames danced and twisted around him, but they never touched him. They were all directed at the house itself—at the walls, the furniture, the very foundations of the Dursley home.

The entire house groaned under the force of the magic, the flames ripping through the structure. Wood splintered, glass shattered, and the house began to collapse. The fire, wild and untamable, roared as it consumed the place that had once held Hadrian captive. Yet, Hadrian stood in the center of it, untouched, his expression impassive, as though the destruction was no more than a fleeting thought.

When the flames finally died down, the house was little more than a smoldering ruin. The ash still hung in the air, thick and heavy. Hadrian stepped through the remains of the once-proud house, his feet unscathed by the destruction, the blue flames still flickering at his fingertips. He gazed down at the charred remnants of what had been his prison.

The Dursleys—Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley—were nowhere to be found. They had been reduced to nothing more than shadows of what they once were, their screams drowned out in the roar of the flames.

Hadrian stood there, his breath slow and steady, his body still as the world around him smoldered. A strange calm washed over him. This was just the beginning. The flames had proven something to him—not only was he different, he was more than he had ever imagined.

He exhaled, his voice low and cold as he stared at the ruins, a cruel smile curling at the corners of his lips.

"Burned to nothing… how fitting."

In the silence of the ruin, Hadrian smiled faintly, his cold eyes glinting with something far darker than before.