Pocketful of mumbles
Hadrian Prince was an enigma. He was top of his year, captain of the Chess club, and avid studier to boot. He was well-liked, cunning, ambitious, all the things Slytherin valued. Yet he had come to Hogwarts, unknown and alone. He had built his way up, secrets becoming his currency as he advanced. People envied him, but he had countless friends ready to back him up at the snap of a finger.
He had grown up in the charming town of Lille, France, and though it was large enough for him to get lost in, he had always felt trapped. Perhaps that's why his Grandmother sent him to Hogwarts in lieu of Beauxbatons. He had known from a young age that he was different from the other kids, that he possessed magic that was able to turn people's eyes away conveniently, or cloak him in shadows. His Grandmother had always told him to keep it a secret, that if someone found out about him he could be in danger. Harry always listened to his Grandmother. He kept his abilities discreet, and his Grandmother taught him a few spells, letting him use her wand at times. Upon receiving his Hogwarts letter, he had immediately travelled to Cosme Acajor, one of the only remaining wandmakers in France, to craft his wand. Eleven inches, a confusing blend of African Mermaid Hair and Horned Serpent horn core, Pine and Walnut wood, with a unyielding flexibility. Harry loved it, the elegant marbling of the two woods, the simple handle, the small runes twisting up the wand. The unwavering proof that he was part of something larger, something important.
***
Harry sat under the soft hum of a silencing charm, books spread around him as he nibbled on the end of his quill. A charmed radio played soft tunes as he worked in the library. He sung quietly to himself.
" In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade..."
His quill scratched against the parchment as he frowned at his book.
" He carries the remainders of every glove that laid him down..."
That paragraph didn't even make any sense.
" Or cut him till he cried out, in his anger and his shame..."
Harry rubbed his eyes, shoving his glasses up onto the top of his head.
" ' I am leaving, I am leaving...' "
He waved his hand, conjuring small balls of light to float around him, dimming the lamp.
" Yet the fighter still remains..."
"Hadrian?" A deep voice startled Harry out of his thoughts, and he blushed at the idea of someone hearing him sing. He turned around and smiled.
"Thomas. Bonjour. "
Tom rolled his eyes, as he often did when Harry used his full name. He slid into the seat across from Harry, leaning back casually.
"You missed dinner."
Harry blinked, before shrugging. "I didn't think I had been here for that long... C'est la vie, non ?" He smirked teasingly at Tom, knowing the older boy hated when he spoke French, due to his limited knowledge of the language.
"Hadrian."
"Thomas."
Tom huffed, shaking his head. "You're incorrigible," he paused, surveying the books spread around Harry and the lights floating about. "What are you even studying?"
"I'm researching the effect the grim has on people's psyches."
Tom stared at him. "The grim."
Harry nodded. " Oui . Of course, I'm not saying the grim is real, I know it's not, and that it was based on folklore, but I still wonder about the idea that people have about the grim, the omen of death. If people believe that it's an omen, that they'll die within twenty-four hours, do they take unnecessary risks? How do you say... effet pygmalion ? Like, it's destined to happen? Um..."
Harry watched as Tom's brows scrunched up, before a realization dawned on him. "A self-fulfilling prophecy, you mean?"
"Yes."
The chair creaked as Tom leaned back and fixed Harry with his unnatural burgundy eyes. "That's rather interesting. I'd be glad to hear what your findings are, once you finish."
Harry grinned. "Of course."
"What's the book on family trees for, then?"
"Genealogy tree. Flitwick thought it'd be good to learn the charms for it." Personally, Harry was just glad he would be learning more about his family. He had his gran, and he knew some things about his grandfather, who wasn't in the picture. He knew little about his mum, small facts about her, nothing distinguishable. He knew she was dead, though. His gran had told him as much when he had tried to run away to find her. It was his father he wished to find out about the most. His gran never spoke of him, and forbid Harry from asking questions. She had come close to mentioning him only once. He knew how gran had gotten him, knew about his mother's last wish she had pleaded his gran for. But his parents remained elusive figures, spirits that danced outside of his reach, teasing and taunting all at once.
Tom's smooth, drawling tone shook Harry from his thoughts. "An admirable pursuit. Very well. If you would be amiable," Tom sighed, as if what he would say next was of great effort, "we could visit the kitchens so you eat something."
Harry smiled, eyes softening as a warm feeling filled his stomach. He spoke softly, "That'd be lovely. I'm starving." He hadn't noticed it when he was deep in his studies, but his stomach was aching now at the thought of food.
Tom nodded stiffly. "Let's be off then. Grab your books."
With a flick of his wand, his books shrunk and flew into his messenger bag. He stood, dizziness overtaking him as he swayed. He felt Tom grab his elbow, steadying him. Tom looked down on him in slight concern, masked by his expression of displeasement. Harry winced.
Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Turn off that radio."
Harry had forgotten about it. The dulcet tones of Eddy Vedder, singing Better Man , had been playing softly in the background. He leaned over, shaking Tom's grip on his elbow as he turned the knob, shutting it off. He packed that in his bag as well.
"Honestly, Hadrian, I don't understand why you listen to that junk." Tom said as he began walking, trusting Harry to keep up.
Harry rolled his eyes. This was an ongoing topic of discussion. "Well, Thomas, I happen to like it. There's a few songs that I think you would actually like."
Tom raised a brow at that. "I seriously doubt that. Perhaps I shall listen to them. To disprove that statement, of course," he said, sniffing delicately.
Harry smirked. "Of course."
He, annoyingly, only reached to Tom's chin, his height staying woefully below average despite multiple people assuring him he would grow. Still, he trailed alongside Tom as they wound their way through the halls, following the familiar path to the kitchen. They were silent for most of the walk, lost in their own thoughts until the vibrant still life painting appeared in view. Harry reached out and tickled the pear, wrinkling his nose when it turned into a door knob.
“I’ve always hated that,” he said, going to open the door. It swung open of its own accord, and Tom and Harry stumbled in. They were immediately accosted by house elves willing to feed them, and Harry left Tom to deal with them as he went to sit down. The kitchens themselves had a couple tables, simple yet comfortable. Soon, Tom returned, arms laiden with food. He placed the dishes onto the table, setting a fork and knife in front of Harry. Harry smiled softly up at Tom.
"Cheers."
Tom nodded exasperatedly, cutting into the pumpkin pasty he had procured somewhere. Harry went for the treacle tart. They sat in comfortable silence, as they often did. Harry had met Tom on the train. He was shy, and knew no one as a result of having only lived in France his whole life. The only compartment open was occupied by a boy with dark, wavy hair, and bizzare wine-colored eyes. He looked bony, like he had shot up in height and grown an insatiable hunger. Through it all, he still held a confident air. His aristocratic features had twisted into a scowl when Harry sat down, but that wasn't a deterrent for Harry. Tom hadn't looked approachable, but Harry had still felt as if he would be comfortable with him. Although his grandmother had tried her hardest to teach Harry English alongside French, the soft, flowing accent still clung to his words. Over the years it had faded, it still lingered, specifically when he was angry or stressed, but it was much less pronounced. Harry suspected that his accent had lended an intriguing factor to him, and that helped Tom open up to him. Even now, years later, they were still as close as they had ever been.
Harry peaked over at Tom, surprised to see him already staring at him. He smiled.
"Are you going to enter into the tournament?" He wasn't very interested in eternal glory or such nonsense, but he knew Tom would be.
Tom frowned, softly, almost as if he wasn't aware he was doing it. "I'm not sure. I know I could survive, but I don't know how it would affect all my other plans."
"Ah, of course," Harry nodded, "although I'm sure you'd find a way to make it all work."
"Most likely, yes."
Harry rolled his eyes, taking another bite of treacle tart. "I heard-from gran, she says hi- that all the magical schools will be attending."
Tom's brows raised. "Really? That's rather interesting, I wonder how they'll modify the cup then, given that it's a tri wizard tournament."
"Right, I didn't even think about that," Harry said, pointing his fork at Tom. "But this'll be your chance to make more connections."
"Yes, I'm looking forward to it. And I'll get to meet your French friends."
Harry smiled. "You'll love them."
Tom hummed noncommittally, setting down his fork. "We should be heading back, it's almost curfew."
"Ugh, fine." Harry stood, waiting for Tom as they walked back to the dorm. The tiredness was hitting Harry, it was almost a quarter past nine and Harry had been studying nonstop. He trudged along, falling slightly behind. Tom paused, giving him a once-over, before continuing at a slower pace. Harry smiled gratefully, hissing the password at the door as they walked into the common room.
Harry leaned closer to Tom, speaking softly. " Thomas, your birthday is coming up, ouais ?"
Tom nodded, glancing at Harry as they ascended the stairs of the dorms. "It is. In a month, mind you."
"Do you have anything you want to do?"
"I'd planned on going to Gringotts for an inheritance test. But now that I think about it, you haven't had one yet either? You shall accompany me."
Harry shook his head fondly at Tom. "Alright."
They pushed the door open to their dorms, noticing their other dormmates were asleep. Harry quickly took of his shirt and threw on some pajama bottoms, not even bothering with brushing his teeth as he used a charm. He muttered a quiet 'goodnight' to Tom before flopping down on his bed and promptly falling asleep.