Chapter 5
The first rays of dawn had barely pierced the velvet curtains of his dormitory when Hadrian awoke, the weight of his dreams clinging to him like a second skin. He lay still for a moment, the whispers of his ancestors echoing through his mind. Two hours before class was scheduled to begin, he decided that it was time to face the day. He sat up, the cold stone floor a stark reminder of the stark reality of his new home.
With meticulous care, he donned the robes of Slytherin House, feeling the fabric slide over his shoulders like a second skin. Each stitch was a declaration of his lineage, a silent promise to uphold the Black family legacy. His wand, nestled in its holster, felt like an extension of his arm, a symbol of the power that was both a gift and a curse. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of dust and ancient magic that permeated the castle's very stones.
The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet, the shadows stretching out before him like fingers of the past, beckoning him to explore. His footsteps echoed through the hollow halls, a solitary figure in the pre-dawn light. The paintings that adorned the walls whispered to him, their eyes following his progress as if they too were curious about the new heir of the Black family.
He reached the Great Hall, the vast chamber still shrouded in darkness. The ghosts of former students flitted by, their spectral forms as much a part of the school's fabric as the very stones themselves. He paused at the entrance, taking in the grandeur of the room with a sense of both awe and detachment. The house tables were empty, the candles unlit, and the Sorting Hat rested peacefully on its pedestal, as if it knew the gravity of the decisions it had made the night before.
The silence was shattered by the distant sound of the school's clock chiming the hour. Hadrian knew it was time to move, to embrace the destiny that had been laid before him. He took a step into the hall. As the first light of day streamed through the windows, he felt the warmth of the rising sun on his face, a gentle reminder that every new day brought with it the chance for redemption.
With a determined stride, he made his way to the Slytherin table, his wand at the ready. The whispers of his ancestors grew louder, a cacophony of voices urging him to greatness. Yet, as he took his seat, he knew that the true measure of his worth would not be found in the shadow of their deeds, but in the light of his own. The first day of his Hogwarts career was about to begin, and with it, the journey that would shape the man he would become.
The air grew thick with the scent of breakfast as the kitchen staff bustled around, setting out steaming dishes of eggs and sausages, toast and jam, and pitchers of pumpkin juice. The house elves flitted about, their eyes averted, as if they too were wary of the new pupil who bore the tainted name of Black. Yet, Hadrian held his head high, his gaze unwavering. He was not his father's son, nor was he entirely the creation of the Malfoys. He was Hadrian Black, and he was ready to forge his own path.
As the hall began to fill with students, the whispers grew louder. Eyes fell upon him, some filled with curiosity, others with contempt. He met each gaze with the cold indifference that he had been taught, yet inside, a spark of something else flickered to life. A desire to prove himself, not as a pure-blood, not as a Slytherin, but as an individual capable of choosing his own destiny.
The Sorting Hat had placed him in the house of the cunning and the ambitious, but it had also acknowledged his potential for greatness. He knew that the path ahead would not be easy, that he would have to navigate the treacherous waters of politics and power that swirled around him. Yet, as the sun rose higher in the sky, casting its golden light across the tableau of students, Hadrian felt a stirring of excitement. The world was his to conquer, and he was ready to begin.
Breakfast began, and Hadrian piled his plate high with sausages, eggs, and toast, a smear of jam on the side. The clink of silverware and the murmur of conversation grew around him as he seat at the Slytherin table. His roommates, older and more seasoned in the ways of Hogwarts, regarded him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. They had heard whispers of his wandless magic and they knew of the famous Black Family.
He greeted them with a curt nod, his aunt's lessons in etiquette etched into his very being. The conversations grew in volume as they dug into their meals, the older students sharing stories of late-night escapades and whispered secrets of the school. Hadrian listened intently, his sharp mind cataloging every detail, every nuance of power and alliance.
„Draco, do you know what classes we have today?" Hadrian's question was a deliberate attempt to engage his cousin in the mundane, to redirect the conversation from the shadow of their families' history. Draco, ever the aristocrat, took a delicate bite of toast before replying, his voice laden with nonchalance. "Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, then Charms with Professor Flitwick, and Potions with the Professor Snape.
As they discussed the lesson schedule, Hadrian couldn't help but notice Harry Potter and Ron Weasley making their way into the Great Hall. Ron shot a glare in their direction that could have curdled milk. Harry, however, offered a tentative smile that seemed to hold a silent apology for his friend's behavior. Hadrian returned the smile, the tension of the previous night's encounter momentarily forgotten in the warmth of the gesture.
"Why do you even bother with him?" Draco sneered, his eyes following Harry's every move. "He's a mudblood, a stain on the pure-blood line
age."
Hadrian's gaze never left Harry's, his thoughts racing. He knew the history, the animosity that existed between their families. But as he studied Harry's open smile and the easy camaraderie he shared with his friends, something within him rebelled against the prejudices that had been instilled in him since birth. He saw in Harry not a blood traitor, but a kindred spirit, a fellow outcast in a world that demanded conformity.
Turning to Draco, he replied, "I see him as a powerful ally, and perhaps even a future friend. Imagine what he could achieve with just being 'The-Boy-Who-Lived,' and yet he remains humble." His voice was cool, but the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.
The Slytherin table grew silent as the other students digested his words. They had never thinks about this that way. Draco's sneer grew more pronounced, but something in Hadrian's tone made him hesitate. It was as if the very air in the room had shifted, the unspoken rules of their world momentarily suspended.