Death's Chosen
31 October 1981 – 3 May 1998
On Halloween 1981, Fate’s interference in young Hadrian’s life came to a head.
Twice more, Hadrian’s life was touched by death. 15 months old and already an orphan. One father lost before he was born, the other within his earshot, and his mother before his very eyes.
Then death touched him personally and Death had never felt so angry.
This child was meant to be his Chosen, was meant to carry on the Peverell legacy, was meant to have the power to reunite the Hallows and his life was about to be ended by a madman intent on escaping him.
Then the impossible happened. Or really, not the impossible … just the greatly, greatly improbable.
Lily Potter loved her son so deeply, so purely, so wholistically that she stood between him and death and didn’t so much as flinch. Lady Magic, Mother Magic, recognized the power of a mother’s love.
The green light left the yew wand and ricochetted off the boys’ head.
Death was, to be quite honest, astounded.
He watched as Riddle was torn from his body, not truly dead but nowhere near fully alive.
Death hated that this boy would grow up with the notoriety that came from such an event, he hated that he would be growing up without his loving parents, but he knew that all three of his parents had made provisions for their son in their wills.
Then Albus Dumbledore got involved, again. Death was getting rather sick of the old man.
Death watched for 10 long years as young Hadrian was shoved into a cupboard, treated like a servant, and harmed by those who were meant to care for him. He watched as the boy’s guardians tried to beat the magic out of him. It was a minor miracle the boy hadn’t become an obscurial.
Then the letter arrived, and Death knew things were looking up.
It was certainly a roundabout situation, and Death was rather peeved that Hadrian hadn’t gotten to meet with any of his account managers when at Gringotts, but eventually Hadrian was at Kings Cross Station.
He looked much smaller than the other First Years, he was in no way the boy that people were expecting. Death wasn’t sure what the next 7 years would bring, but he was sure it would be an adventure.
He made his first friend, he became a Gryffindor, he held himself back in classes because that was what he was used to. He hid his power and his intellect, he re-directed focus, he never asked for help.
Then Christmas came and Death’s cloak found its rightful owner.
Then Death watched as a little boy fell victim to the Mirror of Erised. He watched and his heart broke.
Months passed and the boy found moments of joy, he found himself thinking, for the first time in his young life, that he had some worth.
Then he ran a gauntlet and faced his first and greatest enemy. His mother’s protection saved him once again, but Death came so, so close to having to claim his Chosen for his own far earlier than he should’ve had to.
The year ended and no one would listen to the young boy’s protests about returning home. Everyone, except for three young red heads and a girl with curly brown hair, thought he was exaggerating. No one could picture their hero living in fear and squalor.
Summer came and the boy returned home. Well, to a house that he was forced to call home.
Things started looking up when those three young red heads showed up in the middle of the night with a flying car, though. Merlin, the boy loved magic.
His second year was “adventure” after “adventure.” Or so many would call it; the boy just thought it was a horror show. Students were being petrified, and no adult was doing a thing about it. Everyone was perfectly happy to leave the fate of the world on the shoulders of a 12-year-old boy. He took care of it, of course he did, but he really wished someone would step in, just once. And Death came far too close to having to claim him once again.
This was becoming a bit of a pattern.
Third year was just insane. Nearly kissed by a dementor … twice … a long lost godfather/uncle on the loose, another uncle finally returned, and a man who should’ve been an uncle but betrayed the family living in his dorm as a rat. It would have been entertaining if it hadn’t been so traumatizing. The year ended with less of a threat to the boy’s life, relative to the other threats to the boy’s life.
Fourth year was when it just got ridiculous.
Entered into a death tournament against his will, forced to watch his first love die before his eyes, and then forced to not just watch but partake in the resurrection of the man who’d, either directly or indirectly, killed all three of his parents as well as his first love.
Then, after all that, he was stuck back in Surrey with no point of contact in the outside world. Then he was almost kissed by a dementor for a third time. The whole expulsion/Wizengamot trial situation was just the icing on top of the cake.
Fifth year was torture, literally. Then his uncle died.
Then sixth year he got yanked into Dumbledore’s schemes, at least this time he knew that’s what was happening. The cave and Dumbledore’s death on the Astronomy Tower were just two more things on a list of awful shit Hadrian Potter was forced to witness.
And then he was named Undesirable Number One. Really, if wizarding Britain could just decide whether they loved or despised him, it’d really cut down on time. Spending months in a tent searching high and low for horcruxes and a way to destroy them was slightly soul shattering, but no more than anything else he’d experienced.
And then the day came; the day they had to return to Hogwarts. The day young Hadrian learned he’d been raised for slaughter.