Chapter 3
The day had dawned with a peculiar stillness, the air heavy with the scent of dust and old books. Hadrian Black, with a name that bore the weight of a legacy he barely knew, stood in the grand foyer of the Malfoy Manor, his eyes lingering on the ornate tapestries that adorned the walls. His aunt, Narcissa, had insisted on the finest robes for his first trip to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The garments were a stark reminder of the world he was about to enter, one filled with whispers of his heritage and the shadow of his father, Regulus Black.
Hadrian felt the gentle tug of fabric as Draco Malfoy, his cousin and closest companion, adjusted his own robes, a hint of excitement playing on his sharp features. Lucius Malfoy, tall and commanding, offered a nod of approval, his gaze lingering on the emerald necklace that rested against Hadrian's throat - a family heirloom rumored to hold a fragment of the Resurrection Stone. The necklace was a gift from his aunt, a silent testament to the trust they had placed in him.
As they boarded the opulent carriage that would take them to Platform 9¾, Narcissa's eyes searched Hadrian's, her voice low and urgent. "Remember, my dear, you are a Black, Carry yourself with pride and never forget who you truly are." The words hung in the air like a spell, unspoken but potent, as they made their way through the bustling crowd of witches and wizards.
The train's whistle pierced the cacophony of the platform, a signal for the imminent departure. With a final embrace, the Malfoy family stepped aside, allowing Hadrian to board the Hogwarts Express. The scent of chocolate frogs and parchment mingled with the steam.
Finding an empty compartment, he slid the door open to reveal the plush seats and polished wood that gleamed in the soft light. He sat opposite Draco, their legs stretching out in a rare moment of shared quiet. The blond head bent over a book titled "Pure Blood: The Foundation of our Society" as Hadrian listened to the rhythmic clack of the train's wheels beneath them. The conversation that ensued was filled with Draco's tales of Hogwarts, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and a hint of superiority that was as much a part of him as the Malfoy name.
Midway through their discussion, Draco excused himself to find his usual entourage, leaving Hadrian in a rare moment of solitude. His eyes fell on the emerald necklace, its stone glinting like a promise of secrets untold.
.
As the train lurched into motion, the compartment door slid open to reveal a figure that was both unfamiliar and oddly comforting. Harry Potter, his glasses askew and hair disheveled, stepped in with a shy smile that seemed to warm the very air around him. "Hi," he said, his eyes flickering over Hadrian. "I'm Harry Potter."
Hadrian felt a strange tug in his chest, a name that was both a whispered legend and a stark reminder of the world that lay beyond the walls of the Manor. He offered a curt nod in return. "Hadrian Black," he said, his voice cool and measured.
The introduction was barely complete when the compartment was invaded by a burst of red hair and a torrent of words. "You!" Ron Weasley bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at Hadrian. "You're one of them! A Black! Your family supported You-Know-Who!"
The atmosphere changed, the air crackling with tension, Draco suddenly appeared behind him. "Ronald Weasley," he sneered, "how nice to see you've brought your charming manners with you to Hogwarts."
Hadrian's eyes met Harry's, and he saw a flicker of curiosity in the green depths that seemed to challenge the hostility in the air. "My father did," he said evenly, "but I am not defined by his choices."
Ron's face flushed an even deeper shade of red, his fists clenching. "You're a Dark Wizard, then," he spat. "A pure-blood elitist who thinks you're better than everyone else!"
Draco smirked, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "You should be grateful, Weasley," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "At least we don't share a compartment with your smelly, commoner friends."
The tension grew, thick and palpable, as the three stared each other down. The train's whistle grew louder, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the unspoken words hanging in the air. Harry, however, remained calm, his gaze moving from Draco's sneer to Hadrian's unyielding expression.
Suddenly, the compartment door swung open again, and a young girl with a sharp face and a pointed hat pushed her way in, her eyes flashing. "What's all this, then?" she demanded, her wand at the ready. "Is someone causing trouble?"
Hermione Granger's arrival brought a moment of respite, her no-nonsense attitude cutting through the hostility like a knife. The four of them took in her stern demeanor, and the tension in the compartment began to ease ever so slightly.
"We were just discussing family history," Hadrian said, his voice deceptively calm. "It seems Mr. Weasley has some...misconceptions about the Black family."
Ron shot a glare at Draco before turning his attention back to Hadrian. "I know all about your kind," he said, his voice quivering with anger. "You think you can just waltz in here and pretend to be one of us?"
"Ron," Harry began, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, "let's just calm down."
But the damage was done, the first sparks of a rivalry that would come to define their years at Hogwarts had been lit, and Hadrian felt a cold resolve settle in his chest. He knew that he would have to tread carefully in this new world, balancing the expectations of his heritage with the desire to carve his own path. As the train pulled away from the platform, he wondered if he would ever truly belong in either the shadow of his father or the light of friendship.
The journey to Hogwarts was a blur of passing countryside and the occasional glimpse of a majestic castle in the distance. When they finally arrived, the grandeur of the school took Hadrian's breath away. Hagrid, the half-giant gamekeeper, herded them onto boats that would ferry them across the lake to the castle. As he stepped onto the boat with Draco and his cohorts Crabbe and Goyle, he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding, as if the water below held secrets that were better left unspoken.
The crossing was swift and silent, the only sound the slap of the boat's prow against the lake's surface. When they reached the shore, the grandeur of Hogwarts loomed over them, a bastion of magic that seemed to hum with ancient power. The castle's towers stretched towards the sky, shrouded in mist and mystery. Hadrian felt a strange sense of belonging, as if the very stones called to something deep within him.
Hadrian Black's eyes widened as the waves of the lake gently caressed the shore. The moon above reflected in the water's surface, creating a path of silvery light that stretched out to the horizon. He took a deep breath, the scent of the nearby forest mingling with the crisp night air, as he stepped onto the stony beach. The whispers of the leaves danced around him, hinting at secrets hidden within the ancient Hogwarts grounds.
Professor McGonagall, a stern yet kind figure, approached the group of first years. Her sharp eyes surveyed the students as she spoke with authority, explaining the grandeur of the castle and the four houses that lay within. The Sorting Hat rested on a stool, seemingly basking in the anticipation of the night's events. The doors to the Great Hall loomed ahead, massive and intimidating, yet beckoning them with the warm glow of candlelight that spilled through the crack at the top.
As they approached the entrance, the chatter of ghosts grew louder. They floated through the air, their translucent forms casting eerie shadows on the walls. The students couldn't help but stare, a mix of fear and fascination etched on their faces. Professor McGonagall excused herself for a moment, leaving the group to stand in awe of the spectral assembly
.
From the corner of his eye, Hadrian noticed a ghost unlike the others. The Grey Lady, shrouded in a cloak that matched the twilight, watched him intently. Her gaze pierced through the veil of his curiosity and into his soul. He felt a shiver run down his spine, not from fear but from an inexplicable connection. Her eyes seemed to hold a story, a tale of sorrow and loss that resonated with his own.
Hadrian Black, with his sharp cheekbones and piercing grey eyes, strode into the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His stride was purposeful, hinting at a quiet confidence that belied his young age. The cacophony of voices, laughter, and clinking of silverware that typically filled the grand space grew muted as heads turned to follow his entrance. Yet, the boy remained unfazed, his gaze steady and unflinching.
Professor McGonagall, her stern expression a mask of controlled excitement, beckoned him forward. The Hat Sorted, a magical artifact perched atop a stool, awaited his touch. As she led him through the sea of students, Hadrian took in the grandeur of the hall with a detached curiosity. The floating candles cast flickering shadows across the ancient stone walls, and the house banners fluttered in a gentle, unseen breeze. The Sorting Hat was an oddity in this world of magic—old, battered, and speaking in riddles—but he knew better than to underestimate its power.
When the Hat finally touched his head, the hall grew eerily silent. The whispers and murmurs that had filled the air ceased abruptly, leaving only the crackling of the fireplace and the distant echo of the Hat's melodic song. Albus Dumbledore, the revered headmaster, watched from his high-backed chair with a gaze that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of the moment. His eyes darted between Hadrian and Harry Potter, a peculiar gleam shimmering in their depths.
The Hat's song grew louder in Hadrian's ears, and he found himself leaning closer, as if it were whispering a secret just for him. The lyrics spoke of ancient houses and forgotten heroes, of choices made and destinies foretold. The weight of the Hat, heavy with the wisdom of ages, seemed to press down on his very soul. It was then, amidst the expectant hush, that the Hat announced his fate: "Slytherin!" The hall erupted in a mix of applause and gasps, and he felt the eyes of the students and professors upon him like a physical force.
Yet, as he took his seat at the Slytherin table, Hadrian couldn't help but feel a sense of disconnect from the raucous welcome. His mind was a whirlwind of questions about his heritage, his family's legacy, and the strange pull he felt towards the light, despite the Darkness that surrounded him. Raised by his aunt Narcissa Malfoy and her husband Lucius, he had grown accustomed to the coldness of pure-blood culture, but something within him whispered of a different path. A path where his unique gift of wandless magic and his charismatic nature could be used not just to manipulate and control, but to help and protect.