Beyond the veil of memory

Last time~~

"Thank you, Professor," I said, turning to him. "This is wonderful."

Professor Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "You're welcome, Hadrian. I'm glad you like it. Now, I'll leave you to get settled. Dinner will be served in the Great Hall at 7 o'clock. I'll meet you there and introduce you to the rest of the staff."

With that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. I was alone in my new room, surrounded by the quiet of the castle. I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of excitement and nervousness. What would the future hold for me here at Hogwarts?

Present~~

As the hours passed, I wandered around my new room, exploring the little details. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of magical creatures and landscapes. The bed was soft, with plush blankets that made me feel instantly at ease, and the desk was neatly organized, with a few parchment sheets, a quill, and an ink bottle ready for use.

I sat at the desk, my thoughts racing as I tried to process everything that had happened in the past few days. My mind kept returning to the visions, to the figure who had called me Hadrian, and to Grindelwald's name echoing in my mind. Who was I really? Why couldn’t I remember anything? The emptiness inside me made it hard to focus, but I pushed the thoughts away, determined to make the best of this opportunity.

A soft knock on the door startled me, and I turned to find a small, round house-elf standing there. It wore a simple cloth and had large, bat-like ears that perked up when it saw me.

"Excuse me, sir," the house-elf said with a bow. "Is there anything I can get for you? A snack, perhaps, or something to drink?"

I smiled at the elf's enthusiasm. "Actually, a glass of water would be lovely," I replied.

"At once, sir!" the elf squeaked, disappearing with a pop. I sat back in the chair, wondering about the magical world I had entered. This was just the beginning, but I was eager to learn everything I could.

A few minutes later, the elf returned with a glass of water, placing it gently on the desk. "Thank you," I said. The elf nodded and then turned to leave.

As the evening drew closer, I found myself more eager to meet the rest of the staff and, hopefully, some students in the Great Hall. Dinner felt like it would be a milestone, the first real step into this strange new life.

I stood and stretched, looking out the window at the castle grounds. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the landscape. The Hogwarts castle was even more beautiful than I had imagined, its towers stretching high into the sky.

"Maybe this place will help me remember," I thought quietly to myself.

With that thought, I prepared for the evening, knowing that dinner in the Great Hall would soon mark the beginning of my journey at Hogwarts—where, hopefully, I would discover who I truly was.

The hour before dinner felt different. It was strange walking through the vast, empty halls of Hogwarts. The usual hum of students' chatter, the rush of footsteps echoing through the corridors, and the warm buzz of activity were all absent. The school was quiet, as it was the time between terms, when the students had gone home and the castle seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the new year to begin.

The only signs of life were a few of the staff members who stayed behind during the summer break—professors who lived nearby or preferred to remain at Hogwarts for research, studies, or personal reasons. It was almost eerie in its stillness, and I found myself wondering what the castle would feel like when the school was truly in full swing.

Professor Dumbledore led me through the hallways, occasionally pausing to point out a painting or a tapestry with an interesting history. "This one," he said, gesturing toward a large painting of a ship on a stormy sea, "was created by a former student who was rather fond of adventures. The ship changes directions every time you look at it. Quite a curious piece of art."

I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of awe as we walked. Hogwarts was even more impressive when it was quiet, when I could truly take in its grandeur without the distractions of a bustling school. We passed several classrooms, but the doors were closed, and the hallways were empty, the occasional flickering candle the only sign of life.

Finally, we reached the Great Hall. It was just as impressive in its emptiness. The enchanted ceiling, which would usually mirror the sky outside, was dark, reflecting the deep blues and purples of twilight. The long tables were devoid of students, and the staff table sat empty, save for a few professors scattered about.

Professor Dumbledore gave me a reassuring smile. "You’ll have plenty of time to get accustomed to the castle before the students return, Hadrian. For now, I’d like you to meet some of the professors who are staying here over the summer."

We walked over to the staff table, where a few familiar faces greeted us. The first was Professor Slughorn, the Potions Master, a stout man with a jovial face and a penchant for collecting notable students. His rotund figure was seated at one of the tables, reading a large book on potion ingredients. When he noticed us, he looked up with a smile, his round cheeks dimpling as he rose to greet me.

"Ah, Hadrian!" Professor Slughorn boomed in a jovial voice, "So glad to see you, lad! Don’t let Dumbledore here scare you off. I’m sure you’ll fit right in here." He laughed heartily, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and approval. "The best way to learn magic, I always say, is to start with Potions. And I’ve got a recipe book here that could set you on the path to greatness."

I smiled nervously, unsure of how to respond, but his warm nature quickly put me at ease. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Slughorn."

After a moment, we continued on our way, and I was introduced to another professor—a tall, thin man with ghostly, white hair and a distant look in his eyes. This was Professor Binns, the ghostly History of Magic instructor. He floated beside us, his feet not quite touching the ground, and greeted me with a nod.

"History, young man, is not merely a collection of events," Professor Binns began, his voice soft and monotone. "It is the unfolding of patterns, the study of past mistakes, and the understanding of future possibilities." He spoke with such an air of detachment that I struggled to stay focused on his words, but I nodded politely, feeling an odd mixture of respect and bewilderment.

"Professor Binns is... a unique instructor," Professor Dumbledore whispered with a twinkle in his eye. "You’ll have plenty of time to listen to his lectures when the school year begins, I’m sure."

We moved on from the ghostly professor to the next figure at the table—a middle-aged woman with a calm demeanor and a sharp gaze. She introduced herself as Professor Merrythought, the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. She was a quiet, thoughtful person, with an air of authority that didn’t need to be loud to be effective.

"I see that you are already getting a feel for the castle, Hadrian," Professor Merrythought said, offering me a small smile. "I hope that you’ll find the practice rooms useful. Defense Against the Dark Arts requires not only knowledge but also skill in practical application. Don’t be afraid to ask questions when you feel ready."

I nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for her understanding tone. The idea of learning magic, of defending myself and others against dark forces, felt more important now than ever. There was so much to absorb, so much to understand.

We continued to chat with the professors for a while, learning more about their lives, their specialties, and their thoughts on the upcoming school year. It was clear that, though the castle was empty of students, the staff remained deeply invested in their work. The conversations were warm, welcoming, and full of quiet wisdom, and I found myself growing more comfortable in their presence.

When dinner finally arrived, it was far more subdued than a typical school feast, but still impressive in its own way. The staff ate and chatted amongst themselves, and I was grateful for their company. It was clear that they were all dedicated to their craft and to the students who would soon fill the castle.

As the meal progressed, I felt a sense of belonging—an unexpected calmness that made the emptiness of the school feel less lonely. Hogwarts was a place of learning, of discovery, and even though the students weren’t there, the magic of the castle itself was enough to make me feel like I had found a home.

After dinner, Professor Dumbledore led me back to my guest room. "Rest well, Hadrian," he said with a smile. "Tomorrow, we’ll begin your lessons. The journey ahead may be long, but we will help you every step of the way."

I nodded, feeling a sense of determination settle within me. Hogwarts had welcomed me, and though the road ahead was uncertain, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. The quiet halls, the wise professors, and the magical castle itself were all part of the journey that awaited me.

As the weeks passed and the new term at Hogwarts began to approach, I found myself deeply immersed in the magical world around me. Although the halls of the school were quiet without the presence of students, the professors had been kind enough to offer their tutelage during the summer, helping me grow in both knowledge and skill.

Professor Dumbledore had arranged for me to receive one-on-one lessons in various subjects to prepare me for the upcoming term, and each professor I worked with seemed to take a special interest in me. Their care and attention felt like a blanket of safety, especially considering how much of my past remained a mystery. The bond between us began to grow, not just as teacher and student, but as something more profound—something that felt almost familial.

Professor Slughorn, the jovial Potions Master, was the first to take me under his wing. I remember one particular lesson, where he patiently guided me through the delicate process of brewing a rare potion. He had a way of making everything feel important, from the smallest ingredient to the most intricate technique.

"You're a natural, Hadrian," he said one evening, his voice booming with pride. "There's no doubt you'll be one of the finest potion-makers Hogwarts has seen in a long while."

His words filled me with warmth, not because of his praise, but because of the genuine affection he had for me. It wasn’t just the promise of greatness he saw in me, but the potential for a future that was not defined by my lost past. It was clear he cared for me as more than just a talented student.

Professor Merrythought, too, had taken an interest in my development, especially in the area of Defense Against the Dark Arts. She’d often find small ways to teach me, not just in the formal settings of the classroom, but in the quiet moments, when she would walk with me in the castle’s hallways and offer me quiet advice.

"You’ve got a strong magical core, Hadrian," she said one afternoon, her tone both reassuring and serious. "But strength isn’t just about power. It’s about control, focus. And you’ve got that in spades."

Her belief in me made me feel less like a lost child and more like someone capable of facing the dangers that lay ahead. As the weeks passed, I found myself growing fond of her calm, no-nonsense demeanor. She wasn’t just teaching me magic—she was teaching me how to protect myself, how to be strong.

Professor Binns, despite his ghostly nature and tendency to speak in a monotonous, sleep-inducing manner, had an unexpected soft spot for me. I often found him standing by the window of the staff room, staring out at the grounds as if contemplating a distant past.

"History is a powerful thing, Hadrian," he said one day, after a particularly long lecture. "The past shapes the present. And those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. But I think you, my boy, have the wisdom to understand that."

He had a distant look in his eyes as he spoke, but there was something in his voice—a warmth that betrayed his normally emotionless demeanor. He wasn’t just imparting facts to me; he was acknowledging the weight I carried, the significance of my very existence, even if I didn’t fully understand it yet.

Then there was Professor Dumbledore, who had always been a figure of strength and discipline. He took it upon himself to teach me Transfiguration, and though his methods were strict, I could tell he cared for me. I remembered one lesson where I’d struggled to transform a small object, but when I finally succeeded, his sternness softened.

"Well done, Hadrian," he said quietly, giving a beaming smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You’ve made significant progress."

It was moments like that that made me realize how deeply these professors felt for me, how much they cared for my well-being—not just my magical abilities, but my emotional growth, too. They were more than teachers; they were protectors, mentors, and surrogate family members, each offering me a piece of what I needed to feel whole again.

There was an unspoken understanding between us. I was the lost child with no memory, the boy who didn’t know where he came from, or what his future held. But in their eyes, I wasn’t just that. I was a student to be nurtured, a person to be protected, and someone they believed in. There was a profound sense of duty among them—not just to teach me magic, but to keep me safe, to guide me through the uncertainties of my past and the dangers that loomed on the horizon.

We often talked, not just about spells and potions, but about life, about the world beyond Hogwarts. During these quiet moments, I began to see the professors not just as teachers, but as people who understood the weight of the world—people who had their own battles, their own scars. And yet, despite it all, they still made the choice to care for me.

One evening, as I was finishing a lesson with Professor Slughorn, I lingered in the dimly lit corridor, my thoughts drifting. Professor Slughorn noticed and approached with a knowing look in his eye.

"You’ve got a powerful core, Hadrian," he said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. "But there’s more to you than just magic. Don’t ever forget that."

His words echoed in my mind for days afterward. It wasn’t just my magical abilities that made me special, but the person I was becoming—shaped by the love, care, and guidance of these professors who had taken me under their wings. They had seen beyond the uncertainty, the fear, and the confusion in my eyes. They had seen the potential in me and were willing to stand by me, ready to help me face whatever dangers might arise.

As the days turned into weeks, and the summer drew to a close, I couldn’t help but feel a growing bond with these professors. They weren’t just my teachers—they were my protectors, my mentors, and perhaps even my family. And I knew, deep down, that no matter what my past held, I was ready to face the future with them by my side. Together, we would face whatever darkness lay ahead, and I wouldn’t have to do it alone.

As the new term began, the Great Hall of Hogwarts filled with the excited chatter of students eager to begin another year. The long tables, once empty during the summer, were now filled with eager faces, chattering about the upcoming year and the prospects of new classes and adventures. At the Slytherin table, a distinct presence commanded attention.

Tom Riddle sat at the head of the table, his posture poised and commanding as always. His piercing eyes scanned the pages of a book, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. The long tables were brimming with familiar faces, but one group at the Slytherin table stood apart from the rest. Tom Riddle sat at the head of the table, a book open before him, his piercing gaze fixed on the pages. His sharp features remained impassive, but his mind was fully engaged in the hushed conversation unfolding around him.

Riddle’s knights, a loyal and formidable group of Slytherin students, sat around him in a quiet but purposeful circle. Among them were the likes of Abraxas Malfoy, the heir of the Noble House of Malfoy, a tall and imposing figure with an air of authority; Orion Black, the heir of Noble House of Black, calculating eyes betraying little emotion; and his cousin Alphard Black, whose family had long been influential in wizarding society. Dorea Black, a strikingly composed young woman, sat across from them, her sharp wit evident in her thoughtful silence. Walburga Black, ever the forceful presence, leaned in close to the group.

While Cassius Mulciber, the heir of Noble House of Mulciber, Corvus Lestrange, Theodorus Nott, the Noble House of Lestrange, Rosier Avery, the heir of Noble house of Avery and others listened closely to the discussion at hand.

The atmosphere was thick with the low murmurs of their conversation, centered around one topic.

"I heard there’s a transfer student coming in this year," Abraxas Malfoy began, his voice carrying the undertone of someone accustomed to being heard. "Dumbledore's apparently been keeping it under wraps, but there's a lot of talk about it. The rumors say the kid’s been at Saint Mungo’s for some time, recovering from something... no one really knows what happened."

Tom Riddle’s eyes flickered up, a faint interest stirring behind his calm demeanor. He closed the book with a soft snap, leaning forward slightly as he addressed the group.

"Is that so?" His voice was smooth, almost lazy, but with an edge of curiosity. "A new transfer student. And Dumbledore’s keeping things quiet?" His lips twitched in an almost imperceptible smile. "Intriguing. What else do you know?"

Orion Black, always observant, spoke next. "The rumors claim the boy’s powerful—more powerful than most sixth-years. But his memory’s gone. Completely erased, apparently." He paused before continuing, casting a glance at the rest of the group. "And here’s the interesting part. I heard he was the one you reported injured last term, Riddle—the one you told the professors about on the final day of classes."

Riddle’s gaze narrowed slightly, the mention of the injured student clearly striking a chord with him. His mind flashed back to the incident—the memory of the unknown boy, bloodied and broken, though far too powerful for his own good. It had been an unusual occurrence, one that even he hadn’t fully understood at the time. The boy’s magic had been unmistakably potent, even if it had come from a source that seemed... out of place.

"Yes," Riddle said slowly, his voice cool and calculating. "I remember. A rather peculiar case. How interesting that he’s enrolling here now."

Walburga Black, her expression typically sharp, added her thoughts. "They say he doesn’t even remember who he is—no family, no history. A blank slate." Her lips curled into a sneer. "The question is, why would Dumbledore want to bring him here? I thought the Headmaster was selective about who he accepted into this school."

Dorea Black, ever thoughtful, raised an eyebrow. "Maybe there’s more to this boy than anyone realizes. If he’s really as powerful as the rumors suggest, Dumbledore might see him as... an asset."

Riddle’s smile widened just a fraction. "An asset? Perhaps." He paused, his eyes narrowing with an almost predatory glint. "Or perhaps Dumbledore is simply trying to create an ally. A puppet to control. Either way, I’m curious to see what this boy is capable of."

The rest of the group listened intently, their loyalty to Riddle clear in their respectful silence. Alphard Black, the quietest of the knights, spoke up, his voice low but firm. "Should we keep an eye on him, Tom? If he’s as powerful as they say, it could be useful to know where he stands before anyone else tries to get close to him."

Riddle’s gaze flicked over to Alphard, the hint of approval barely noticeable in his eyes. "Of course," he replied, his tone deliberate. "We’ll keep an eye on him, but don’t reveal too much too soon. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to him—or to ourselves. Let’s see how Dumbledore plays this first. But mark my words, his arrival here will not go unnoticed."

As Riddle spoke, his knights nodded in silent agreement, their minds already beginning to turn over the possibilities. They were loyal to him, after all—each one of them drawn to his strength and vision, and eager to follow wherever he might lead.

Tom Riddle stood, his posture still perfectly composed. "Let’s see what this boy is made of. And if he’s as powerful as they say, I’ll make sure we can use that power to our advantage."

The knights fell into line behind him, their faces a mixture of determination and caution. They knew better than to cross Tom Riddle—he had plans, always. And as they left the Great Hall, their conversation faded into hushed tones, but Riddle’s mind was already moving ahead. The new transfer student was a mystery, but in Riddle’s world, mysteries were simply opportunities waiting to be unlocked. And he would be the one to control the game.

Tom Riddle sat in thoughtful silence as the weight of the conversation pressed upon him. His mind drifted, recalling the incident from the previous term—the boy lying broken on the ground, bloodied and battered. There had been something odd about it all: how the boy had appeared on the school grounds, injured beyond recognition, yet wielding a raw, undeniable power. How he had survived that encounter at all was baffling—blood pouring from him, yet something, someone inside him had refused to yield.

How had the boy even managed to apparate onto Hogwarts grounds in such a state? A first-year? No. Definitely older than that. The boy had looked... familiar, yet so distant, as though every memory of himself had been stripped away. The sight of him—a stranger, helpless and unrecognizable—spoke volumes to Tom. The boy’s strength, even in his broken state, had stood out like a beacon. Someone as powerful as that couldn’t possibly remain unnoticed.

It had been his duty as a prefect to report the incident to the professors, but if he hadn’t, someone else would have. It was inevitable. Still, Tom had chosen to be the one to handle it, to make sure the right ears heard the story first. There was no need to call unnecessary attention to himself by bringing in others prematurely.

Tom steepled his fingers and leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowing slightly. He thought about the boy—the vacant expression, the lingering pain in his shattered magic, and the sheer potential wrapped up in him. Someone like that couldn’t simply disappear. He’d felt it immediately. That raw, untapped power could not be ignored.

His thoughts lingered on Dumbledore’s decision to accept the boy as a transfer student. Why had the Headmaster allowed it? Was it simply sympathy for the memory-less orphan, or was there something more? There was something... odd, Tom thought, something off about how quickly this boy was being ushered into Hogwarts without any real background or identity. Something Dumbledore was desperate to hide or manipulate.

Tom’s lips curled into a faint, calculating smile. No one had asked why a child with no past would be allowed to enroll at Hogwarts, especially not in the middle of the year. But Tom, ever the observer, had pieced it together. The boy had appeared at just the right moment. And now, here he was—this enigma of magic, thrust into Hogwarts under Dumbledore’s watchful gaze.

If the rumors were true, and the boy had the power others whispered about, he would be dangerous. A weapon, perhaps, or worse—a competitor. But Tom was not one to allow competition without first understanding its value and, ultimately, its use.

The boy’s arrival would disrupt nothing if Tom could control how it was perceived. Tom had seen many like him before—raw, untamed magic often needed guidance, needed direction. And if he could guide it himself? That was even better.

Tom’s thoughts drifted further into contemplation. The boy was no threat yet. In fact, he had the potential to be far more useful than anyone imagined. Dumbledore might think he had a way to tame the boy or even shape him into some pawn of kindness or reform. But Tom knew better. Power like that couldn’t be shackled so easily.

No, the boy would need someone to teach him, to harness his abilities. Someone like Tom himself—one who knew how to bend power to his will, one who could guide this lost and confused boy toward a purpose greater than himself. If the boy possessed the strength they whispered, he would follow only the strongest, the one who could show him his true purpose.

A transfer student of such power would be too dangerous to leave unobserved. But Tom had no intention of merely watching from the sidelines. He would ensure this boy belonged to him—and through him, control the coming chaos.

Tom glanced down at the book still resting lightly on the table. His thoughts sharpened, the possibilities unfurling like an intricate web laid before him. The boy would soon learn his place. It was only a matter of time before they would see who truly held power at Hogwarts.

And Tom Riddle would make sure the boy learned exactly how to use it.

As Tom continued to brood over the boy’s arrival, his thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the Great Hall doors. A hush fell over the room, and Tom’s gaze shifted toward the entrance. Professor Dumbledore entered with his customary twinkle in his eyes, his long silver beard flowing behind him, carrying a calm and gentle aura despite the weight of the moment.

"Students, staff, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore's voice rang out across the hall, rich and warm, immediately capturing everyone’s attention. The murmurs of conversation died down as he raised his hands in greeting. His eyes swept across the room, landing briefly on Tom and his group of loyal followers at the Slytherin table.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "as we begin the new term, we have a special occasion this year—one that comes far too rarely—an addition to our student body in the form of a transfer student. I trust you will all make him feel welcome, and that this new chapter will be one of discovery and growth." His eyes flickered knowingly over the assembled students, many of whom had heard rumors, but none of whom could yet grasp the full significance of this addition.

Tom's attention sharpened, the mention of the transfer student igniting a spark of curiosity and calculation within him. He glanced at his knights—Abraxas, Orion, Alphard, and the others—his gaze fleeting but telling. There was a mutual understanding among them, an unspoken connection forged through shared loyalty and ambition. The boy, whose name had yet to be spoken, was already making ripples in the water.

Dumbledore turned toward the sorting hat, which sat on its traditional stool at the front of the hall. "Let us begin, then," he said, with a small smile. "The sorting ceremony is a momentous occasion for every new student. It is a time to reflect on who you are, what you can become, and where your path might lead." His words carried a subtle weight—an almost mysterious sense of purpose.

The Sorting Hat’s voice boomed across the hall, its age-old tones crackling with authority. "Let the sorting begin!"

As Dumbledore motioned toward the first name on the list, Tom felt his pulse quicken, the moment arriving at last. He leaned back slightly, watching as the first years were called forward one by one, and each in turn was sorted into their respective houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and his own Slytherin, and then the inevitable moment when the Sorting Hat would fall on the new student—the one who had been injured, whose name had yet to be revealed. Tom's mind buzzed with questions, speculation about how this mysterious transfer student would fit into the school’s intricate web of power dynamics.

The moment stretched longer in Tom’s mind, but he did not allow himself to show any sign of impatience. He knew the boy would be sorted soon enough. And when that time came, Tom would be ready to watch carefully, to study this new piece on the board.

The Great Hall fell into a hushed silence as the doors opened once more. All eyes turned toward the entrance, where a lone figure stood. The transfer student had arrived.

Tom's gaze immediately locked onto the boy. He stood tall and composed, his posture exuding a quiet confidence, the aura around him undeniable and magnetic. His messy black hair framed a sharp, striking face—handsome, in an almost ethereal way, with a charisma that seemed to draw the attention of everyone around him. Yet, it was his eyes that held Tom's focus.

Those eyes—they gleamed like a pair of emeralds, brilliant and intense, glowing with a startling, almost unnatural light. The green seemed too vivid, too piercing, a shade of green that reminded Tom of the unforgivable curse, the Aveda Kedavra. It was a strange, unsettling sensation, one that sent a shiver crawling up his spine despite the calm expression he tried to maintain.

His heart skipped for a brief moment. Tom had seen many things in his life, but nothing had quite impacted him like the gaze of this boy. It was as if the boy’s very presence emanated raw power, a silent promise that he was not one to be trifled with. He was no ordinary student; Tom could feel it in the air around him. The boy’s aura was not just magical—there was something dangerous, even predatory, about him.

Professor Dumbledore’s voice rang out, pulling everyone’s attention back to the ceremony.

"Hadrian Evans," Dumbledore announced, his voice carrying across the hall, causing the students to murmur amongst themselves. "Please, come forward."

Tom watched intently as Hadrian stepped forward, his movements effortless and poised, his eyes never leaving the front of the hall. As Hadrian reached the stool, Dumbledore’s gaze briefly met his—an expression of warmth, yet something more, something unreadable. Dumbledore had clearly known of Hadrian long before this day, but Tom couldn't help but wonder just what the headmaster saw in this boy.

The Sorting Hat, which had remained quiet throughout the ceremony, was placed on Hadrian's head. There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause as the Hat seemed to consider, its worn-out seams rustling. Tom could feel the tension in the room—the energy building. It was as though the whole school had collectively held its breath, awaiting the Sorting Hat's judgment.

"Ah, interesting," the Sorting Hat's voice echoed inside the hall. "A mind full of potential... A mix of strength, courage, and ambition. The power in your veins is undeniable... But where to place you? A truly curious case indeed."

Hadrian's expression remained calm, as if he were fully aware of the scrutiny surrounding him.

"Ah, yes... Better be, Slytherin!" The Sorting Hat finally declared, its voice strong and certain, causing an uproar from the Slytherin table. Tom’s sharp smile flashed for just a moment, though it was not one of joy, but one of calculation. He had known, in some way, that this boy would be placed here. It was where his power belonged, where his potential for greatness would be nurtured.

Hadrian stood, removed the Sorting Hat, and for the briefest moment, his gaze swept over the students—his eyes locking with Tom's. There was a flicker of something in them—something Tom couldn't quite place. Was it recognition? Was it challenge? Whatever it was, it only deepened the mystery of this boy.

Tom's knights around him murmured their approval as Hadrian made his way to the Slytherin table. Abraxas, Orion, Alphard, and the rest observed him closely, some with interest, others with curiosity, but all were keenly aware of the powerful presence Hadrian brought with him. It would be a game changer, this new addition. Tom felt the shift in the air as the boy took his seat, a quiet sense of anticipation beginning to settle over the table.

Hadrian Evans was now part of their world. And Tom Riddle—like the others—was ready to see just what this new player in the game was capable of.

As Hadrian took his seat at the Slytherin table, the air seemed to grow even heavier. Whispers rippled through the hall, particularly from the other tables, where students were sizing up the new transfer. But it was from Tom’s own group of knights where the real stir began.

Abraxas Malfoy, with his sharp features and colder demeanor, narrowed his eyes as he glanced toward Hadrian. His voice was low, barely more than a hiss, but the words were clear enough to reach the ears of those closest to him.

"A Mudblood," Abraxas sneered, though his words were careful not to carry too far. "How did someone like him end up here? A disgrace to Slytherin."

Orion Black, sitting just next to him, scowled but kept his voice even. "He doesn’t remember anything, does he? Hard to believe someone like him could forget... if he’s truly as powerful as they say."

Cassius Mulciber, who had been listening intently, glanced over at the boy. "Mudblood or not, that power he carries is undeniable. It’s not often you see someone with such a... presence."

Corvus Lestrange leaned forward, his voice tinged with both curiosity and caution. "But do you think he remembers his name, then? Maybe it’s just a coincidence he doesn’t remember anything else. Who knows what he’s capable of?" He looked up, eyes meeting Tom’s. "Maybe we should test him."

There was a brief pause as a murmur passed through the table. The knights were torn between their instincts to deride the boy for his blood status and the unsettling recognition that Hadrian might be more than he appeared.

Walburga Black, always quick to speak her mind, added, "No one truly forgets everything, especially not someone like him. There’s something... off about it. He’s a mystery, and that’s something we can’t afford to ignore."

Avery, who had been silent up until now, leaned toward Tom. "He doesn’t look like any Mudblood I’ve seen before. There’s something different. Did you notice his eyes, Tom?"

Tom remained silent, his attention never wavering from Hadrian as he casually picked at his food. His mind was far from the whispers around him. His thoughts were focused, trying to piece together the fragments of his encounter with the boy. He had been the one to report Hadrian last term—the bloodied figure on the grounds, the boy who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. A powerful presence, even then, and it was clear now that the rumors of his strength had not been exaggerated.

"Quiet," Tom finally spoke, his voice low, but firm enough to cut through the chatter. The table stilled immediately. "Whatever his blood status, it’s not something we’ll waste time discussing. If he’s here, he’s here for a reason. And whether he remembers his name or not, we’ll see soon enough what he’s truly capable of."

Abraxas frowned but did not protest. There was an air of finality in Tom’s tone—something that even the likes of him would not dare challenge.

Tom's gaze shifted back to Hadrian, who was still sitting with that same unreadable expression. As he watched him, Tom couldn't shake the feeling that this boy, this "Mudblood," was far from ordinary. There was power in him, undeniable power, and Tom had always been able to sense such things. What game was Hadrian playing? What did he truly want?

For now, Tom would wait and watch. It was far too early to make any judgments. But one thing was clear: Hadrian Evans was not to be underestimated.

As the Slytherin table settled into an uneasy quiet, the tension momentarily dissipated when Professor Slughorn, with his characteristic joviality, made his way toward them. The portly, always-smiling Potions Master seemed to glide effortlessly through the room, his eyes gleaming as he approached Tom and his group. His gaze shifted briefly to Hadrian, who was still seated at the far end of the table, before focusing on Tom and his knights.

"Ah, Tom, my boy," Slughorn boomed in his deep, slightly wheezing voice, his hands outstretched as if to welcome the new term. "It’s good to see you all again, and so bright and eager for another year! I trust you’ve all been keeping your skills sharp over the summer? But of course, you have." His eyes twinkled as he greeted each of Tom’s companions individually.

Tom gave a polite nod, his face neutral. "Professor," he said with a quiet but respectful tone. "It’s good to see you as well."

Slughorn beamed, and for a moment, the conversation turned to trivial matters—the success of various summer activities and the promises of the new school year. But then, a few of the knights couldn’t help but turn their attention back to Hadrian, sitting quietly but still radiating that unsettling aura of power.

Cassius Mulciber, ever the one to voice his curiosity, leaned forward slightly, his voice a bit too eager for comfort. "Professor Slughorn," he began, his gaze flickering between Slughorn and the newcomer, "we were wondering about the new transfer student. The one sitting at the far end." He nodded toward Hadrian, making sure Slughorn knew exactly whom he meant. "Any idea what he's like? Is he as talented as the rumors suggest?"

Slughorn, who had been savoring the conversation, paused for a moment, his eyes flickering toward Hadrian, who still sat with that distant, calm demeanor. There was a glint of thoughtfulness in Slughorn's gaze, something rare and not often seen in his normally jovial expression.

"Ah," Slughorn said, his voice lowering to a more private tone, as though considering how much to reveal. "Hadrian Evans, yes. Quite a peculiar case, really." He let out a small sigh, shaking his head. "He arrived here in... interesting circumstances last term. He was reported to the professors covered in blood, no memory of how he came to be in such a state, and no recollection of much at all. Poor lad. But what’s most curious... is the boy’s potential. He’s got a magical core that’s... exceptional. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen in years."

There was a brief, almost imperceptible shift in the air at Slughorn's words. Tom’s knights were intrigued. Even Abraxas leaned in slightly, his earlier disdain for the boy momentarily forgotten.

"Exceptional, you say?" Corvus Lestrange asked, raising an eyebrow. "So, this boy’s not just a Mudblood, then. Not if he’s that powerful."

Slughorn chuckled softly, but there was no real humor in it. "Magic, my dear Lestrange, is not always about the bloodline," he said, his voice carrying a hint of unspoken weight. "Some wizards are born with gifts far beyond their station. You can’t judge a book by its cover. This boy... He’s been through something traumatic, but he’s no fool. He’s already learned a great deal during his time here, and I expect he’ll be a force to reckon with when the year begins."

Tom’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something crossing his face, though he quickly masked it. "But what do you know about his memory loss, Professor?" he asked coolly. "Is it permanent?"

Slughorn hesitated, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table as he thought. "Well... that’s still a mystery. It could be psychological, some sort of trauma, or perhaps something magical at play. There are many theories, but as of now, the boy’s memories seem to be entirely gone. He’s still adjusting." Slughorn’s eyes softened slightly. "It’s a tragic situation, really. He’s so young, and yet he’s already been through so much."

Walburga Black, always with her sharp tongue, couldn’t resist. "How convenient," she muttered, "a boy with no memory, no family, no past. Easy for someone to slip in and cause trouble."

"Enough, Walburga," Tom said, his tone firm, causing her to fall silent. He turned back to Slughorn. "What sort of trouble are you expecting him to cause? Is there any reason to believe he might be a danger?"

Slughorn paused again, and this time, his expression grew more serious. "I don’t know, Tom. That’s the thing. There’s something about him. I’ve seen a lot of students come through these doors, and most of them are either predictable or... not terribly interesting. But Hadrian Evans? He’s unpredictable, and that’s what makes him dangerous. People like that can either be allies... or threats."

The table fell into silence as Tom processed this new information. His mind was working quickly, analyzing, weighing, and considering the possibilities. Hadrian Evans was no ordinary transfer student—Tom could feel it. There was something deeper, something far more complex than anyone realized. And now, with the boy seated among them, Tom would have to keep a close eye on him.

The rest of the knights were equally quiet, each of them turning over Slughorn's words in their own minds. They were used to dealing with danger, but the unknown was a different matter entirely. Still, the allure of someone so powerful—and so mysterious—was hard to resist.

Tom glanced at Hadrian once more. "We’ll see," he murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else. "We’ll see what kind of wizard you really are."

Professor Slughorn leaned closer to Tom and his knights, his jovial demeanor softening into something more solemn. His voice dropped to a low murmur, ensuring their conversation wouldn’t carry beyond the Slytherin table.

“Listen closely, all of you,” he began, his eyes scanning the group of sharp, intelligent faces before him. “Hadrian Evans... He’s not just another student. He’s a good boy, truly. Even without his memories, he has a kindness about him, a sort of quiet strength that’s hard to find. And you’d do well to ensure he isn’t left alone. The boy’s a mystery, yes, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to be isolated. Quite the opposite.”

Slughorn sighed, his fingers nervously fiddling with the buttons of his robes. “Dumbledore himself has asked for... care when dealing with Hadrian. He believes there may be some kind of danger connected to the boy. A shadow, if you will, looming over him. Something powerful, and perhaps... something dark.”

The knights exchanged uneasy glances, their curiosity piqued. Abraxas Malfoy was the first to speak, his tone measured but skeptical. “And this danger—what exactly does it entail, Professor? Are you saying the boy is cursed? Or is it something more tangible?”

Slughorn hesitated, his expression betraying a flicker of discomfort. “That, I cannot say for certain. What I can tell you is that Dumbledore and I believe Hadrian’s arrival here wasn’t an accident. He may not remember who he is or where he came from, but there are signs that suggest he is connected to something... bigger.”

Walburga Black, ever the cynic, folded her arms and scoffed lightly. “Bigger? What, Grindelwald? You think he’s one of his pawns?”

At the mention of Grindelwald’s name, Slughorn visibly tensed, his jovial mask slipping for just a moment. “Walburga,” he said sharply, his voice low and grave, “that name is not to be tossed around lightly, even within these walls.”

It was Cassius Mulciber who leaned in next, his voice quieter but filled with curiosity. “So, is it connected to Grindelwald or not? If there’s a danger looming over him, as you say, it sounds like the kind of danger that wizard would bring.”

Slughorn hesitated, his gaze flickering briefly to Hadrian at the far end of the table. The boy was seated quietly, his striking green eyes scanning the hall with a calm detachment. Slughorn sighed again, this time with the weight of a man carrying more secrets than he cared to share.

“I cannot say for sure,” he admitted reluctantly. “There are... implications, but nothing definitive. And it isn’t my place to speculate. Hadrian’s past, his potential ties to danger, even his very identity—all of that is his story to tell, not mine. Dumbledore and I have done what we can to ensure his safety, but beyond that...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

It was Theodorus Nott who broke the silence this time, his sharp, calculating eyes narrowing. “But what about his name, Professor? ‘Evans’ isn’t a pureblood surname. Are we to assume he’s a Mudblood after all?”

Slughorn straightened, his gaze sharpening as he looked directly at Nott. “Let me make one thing very clear,” he said firmly. “We don’t know his blood status. He doesn’t know his blood status. When Hadrian arrived, he had no memory of who he was, and the name ‘Evans’ was one he and Dumbledore agreed upon. A choice, nothing more.”

He softened slightly, though his tone remained serious. “Blood status, while important to some of you, should not define your treatment of him. He’s a talented wizard with a powerful magical core, and that alone is worth your respect. If you’re wise, you’ll make an effort to befriend him, not alienate him. The boy is already dealing with enough as it is.”

Rosier, who had been quietly observing the exchange, spoke up, his voice smooth and almost mocking. “So, we’re to babysit the mysterious Hadrian Evans, then? Sounds like an exciting new term.”

Slughorn gave a wry smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You might find it’s more challenging than you think, Rosier. There’s more to that boy than meets the eye, and if you’re not careful, he might surprise you.”

With that, Slughorn stood, smoothing his robes as he prepared to leave. “Take care of him, all of you. Dumbledore and I have our reasons for asking this, and you’ll understand in time. Now, enjoy your meal and get ready for the term ahead.”

As the professor walked away, the knights exchanged a range of expressions—curiosity, skepticism, and, in some cases, thinly veiled disdain. But Tom remained silent, his gaze lingering on Hadrian as the boy quietly observed the hall, seemingly unaware of the conversation about him.

Tom’s thoughts swirled with questions and possibilities. Who was this boy? What secrets did he hold? And what kind of danger could he possibly bring to Hogwarts? One thing was certain—Hadrian Evans would not go unnoticed this term. And Tom, always the strategist, would make sure to keep him within arm’s reach.

As Professor Slughorn finished his conversation with Tom and his knights, he turned and made his way toward Hadrian, who sat quietly at the far end of the Slytherin table. His presence was magnetic, drawing glances and whispers from the other students, but Hadrian seemed unfazed, his vivid green eyes focused on his surroundings with quiet intensity.

As Professor Slughorn approached Hadrian, his jovial air seemed to brighten the already candlelit hall. The whispers around the Slytherin table quieted as the students craned their necks to watch the interaction. Slughorn beamed as he reached Hadrian, his round face glowing with enthusiasm.

“Ah, Mr. Evans!” Slughorn exclaimed warmly, his voice cutting through the ambient chatter. “Welcome to Slytherin! How are you finding your first evening in our illustrious house?”

Hadrian looked up, meeting the professor’s eyes. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or caution. “Thank you, Professor. It’s... a lot to take in, but I’m managing,” he replied, his voice calm but polite.

Slughorn beamed, clearly pleased. “That’s the spirit Mr. Evans! Now, I must say, it’s not every day we get a transfer student at Hogwarts, let alone one as promising as you. The Sorting Hat knows what it’s doing, and you’ll find Slytherin is a fine house to call home.”

Hadrian’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, but he quickly shook his head. “Professor,” he began, his voice steady but insistent, “could you please stop calling me ‘Mr. Evans’? It doesn’t feel right. I don’t even know if it’s my real name. Just... call me Hadrian, as you usually do.”

Slughorn blinked, momentarily taken aback, but his expression quickly softened into one of understanding. “Ah, of course, of course, Hadrian. My apologies, dear boy. Force of habit, you know. But you’re quite right—it’s important you feel comfortable. Hadrian it is, then!”

He gestured broadly to the table around them, addressing the other students as much as Hadrian. “You’ll find your housemates to be... an ambitious and resourceful lot. And I’ve no doubt they’ll do their best to make you feel welcome.”

The professor straightened and turned to address the table more broadly, his voice taking on a slightly conspiratorial tone. “Now, listen here, all of you. Hadrian is a fine young man, and I expect you to treat him as such. While he may not remember his past, that does not define his future. And as for any silly debates about bloodlines or surnames,” Slughorn added with a meaningful glance, “we don’t know, and it’s none of your business unless Hadrian chooses to share.”

A few polite murmurs and nods followed, though the undercurrent of curiosity and judgment was still palpable.

Hadrian inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, Professor. I’ll do my best to live up to expectations.”

Slughorn chuckled warmly. “I have no doubt you will, my boy, no doubt at all. And should you need anything—be it advice, assistance, or even just a good chat—my office door is always open. You’ll find I have something of a knack for spotting talent, and I daresay you’ve got plenty of it.”

Slughorn leaned in slightly, his tone softening as if to share a secret. “Remember, you’re not alone here, Hadrian. You’ve got friends to make, allies to find, and, dare I say, a bright future ahead of you. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

With a friendly pat on Hadrian’s shoulder, Slughorn straightened and turned back to address the rest of the table. “Now then, let’s all make sure Hadrian feels right at home, hmm? A new term, a new beginning—it’s what Hogwarts does best!”

He lingered only a moment longer, his keen eyes sweeping over the table before finally retreating to the staff dais.

As the students resumed their conversations, Hadrian’s gaze followed Slughorn briefly before returning to the table. The tension lingered in the air, especially among Tom’s knights, who exchanged meaningful looks.

Abraxas Malfoy leaned closer to Tom, his voice low. “Well, it seems our new housemate is favored by Slughorn. Not surprising, really. The man always did have a soft spot for... potential.”

Orion Black smirked faintly. “Potential or mystery? Slughorn didn’t say much about him, did he? Only that he’s... unusual.”

Tom said nothing, his expression inscrutable as he watched Hadrian out of the corner of his eye. The boy carried himself with an air of quiet confidence, yet there was a vulnerability in the way he remained slightly detached, observing rather than engaging.

Cassius Mulciber, never one to mince words, muttered, “We’ll see about him soon enough. Slughorn might be charmed, but that doesn’t mean we have to be.”

Tom’s gaze sharpened, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “We’ll reserve judgment until we know more. Slughorn’s advice may be worth heeding this time.”

The knights fell silent, recognizing the finality in Tom’s tone. For now, they would watch and wait, their curiosity tempered by caution. And at the heart of it all, Hadrian Evans sat quietly, unaware—or perhaps keenly aware—of the storm of intrigue swirling around him.

As Headmaster Dippet rose to address the Great Hall, the murmuring of the students fell silent. His warm, authoritative voice echoed through the hall, emphasizing unity, the importance of hard work, and the values of Hogwarts. The speech concluded with a reminder of the new term's promise and potential before he raised his goblet in a toast.

“Now, let the feast continue, and may this year bring growth, knowledge, and camaraderie,” Dippet finished, smiling benevolently before retaking his seat.

The students clapped politely, but at the Slytherin table, Tom Riddle’s eyes weren’t on the headmaster. Instead, they were fixed on Hadrian Evans, who sat at the edge of the table, quietly observing his surroundings. There was a calm intensity about him, and Tom couldn’t help but find the new transfer student fascinating—and potentially dangerous.

The Knights, seated around Tom, exchanged glances, their silent agreement clear. This was the moment to establish themselves. With an unspoken cue, Tom and his group rose from their seats. Abraxas Malfoy adjusted his robes, his trademark smirk firmly in place. Orion Black and Alphard Black flanked Tom with cool confidence, while Cassius Mulciber and Rosier Avery exchanged knowing looks. Dorea and Walburga Black followed with a regal air, their dark eyes calculating.

As the group approached Hadrian, the buzz of conversation around the table quieted, and all eyes turned to the interaction. Hadrian, noticing the movement, looked up, his piercing green eyes meeting Tom’s.

“Hadrian Evans,” Tom began smoothly, his voice calm yet commanding, “welcome to Slytherin. I thought it would be appropriate for us to formally introduce ourselves.”

Tom gestured to the group around him. “I’m Tom Riddle, a sixth-year prefect. These are some of my closest friends.” He motioned to each in turn.

“Abraxas Malfoy, the heir of Noble House of Malfoy. Nice to meet you Hadrian." Abraxas speak with his usual smirk on his face. 

"Orion Black, the heir of Noble House of Black. It’s pleasure to meet you. These are my cousins, Alphard Black, Dorea Black, and my fiancee as well as cousin Walburga Black." Each of them nodded or gave small, polite smiles, though their expressions ranged from curiosity to subtle wariness.

"Cassius Mulciber, the heir of Noble House of Mulciber. Pleasure to meet you Hadrian."

"Rosier Avery, the heir of Noble House of Avery."

"Corvus Lestrange, the heir of Noble House of Lestrange and this is Theodorus Nott, the heir of Noble House of Nott. Nice to meet you Evans.”

Hadrian inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Thank you,” he said evenly, his voice calm and deliberate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

Abraxas stepped forward, his tone light but edged with intrigue. “We’ve heard quite a bit about you already, Hadrian. A transfer student at Hogwarts is almost unheard of. Quite the mystery, aren’t you?”

Hadrian’s lips quirked into the faintest smile, though his eyes remained guarded. “I suppose I am, though I don’t mean to be. I’m still trying to figure things out myself.”

Orion Black spoke next, his voice smooth and inquisitive. “We’ve also heard about your... unique circumstances. It’s not every day someone appears in the middle of Hogwarts grounds under mysterious conditions.”

Hadrian’s gaze flicked to Orion, his expression unchanging. “I imagine it’s not,” he replied simply.

Tom studied Hadrian carefully, noting the way he handled their probing questions with calm precision. There was strength there, both in his demeanor and the aura he carried.

Finally, Tom spoke again, his tone carefully measured. “Professor Slughorn suggested we look out for you, Hadrian, and that’s what we’ll do. Hogwarts can be an overwhelming place, but it’s also a place where one can find... friends.”

Hadrian regarded him for a moment before nodding. “I appreciate that, Tom. Truly.”

As the introductions concluded, Tom didn’t return to his original seat, nor did his Knights. Instead, he gestured for the group to settle around Hadrian, their movements deliberate as they surrounded the new transfer student. The remaining Slytherins along the table cast curious glances at the scene but wisely kept their distance, sensing the importance of the interaction.

Tom chose the seat directly to Hadrian’s left, a calculated move to assert both authority and camaraderie. Abraxas Malfoy took the other side, flashing his signature smirk. Orion Black and Alphard Black flanked Tom, while the rest of the Knights positioned themselves strategically nearby, creating an air of casual yet deliberate closeness.

The feast resumed, with plates refilling themselves with decadent dishes and goblets brimming with pumpkin juice. Tom took a measured sip from his goblet, his sharp gaze fixed on Hadrian.

“So, Hadrian,” Tom began, his tone smooth and conversational, “since you’ve joined us, it seems only fair to get to know you better. Where were you before coming to Hogwarts?”

Hadrian placed his goblet down, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. “I wish I could give you a satisfying answer, Tom,” he replied evenly, “but I don’t remember. My memory is... fragmented. Everything before arriving here is a blur.”

Dorea Black, seated nearby, tilted her head thoughtfully. “You don’t remember anything at all? Not even your family?”

Hadrian’s emerald eyes flicked to her briefly. “Nothing concrete. Sometimes I get glimpses—flashes of faces or places—but they’re fleeting, like trying to hold water in your hands.”

“That sounds dreadful,” Walburga Black said, her voice tinged with feigned sympathy, though her sharp eyes betrayed her curiosity. “Do you know why your memory is gone?”

Hadrian shook his head. “Not entirely. Professor Dumbledore believes it might have been caused by some traumatic event, but there’s no way to know for sure.”

Abraxas leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “And your name—Evans. You don’t even know if it’s truly yours?”

Hadrian offered a faint smile. “It’s not confirmed. Dumbledore suggested it, and Professor Slughorn agreed it would suffice for now. Until I uncover the truth, it’s the only name I have.”

Cassius Mulciber scoffed lightly, though he masked it with a sip from his goblet. “A strange situation indeed. You’re quite the enigma, Hadrian.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed Hadrian’s composed responses. “Enigma or not, you’ve found yourself in Slytherin,” he said smoothly. “That speaks volumes. The Sorting Hat saw something in you—something that resonates with our house values.”

Hadrian turned to Tom, meeting his gaze evenly. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it simply thought I’d fit in best here. I wouldn’t know.”

Theodorus Nott, quiet until now, leaned in slightly. “Professor Slughorn mentioned that danger might be looming over you. Do you believe that? And do you think it has anything to do with... Grindelwald?”

The table seemed to collectively hold its breath at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name. Hadrian’s expression remained neutral, though a flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps—crossed his features. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “I’ve had... visions. Dreams that feel more like memories, but they’re fragmented too. If there’s danger, I haven’t seen it clearly.”

Tom watched him closely, noting the subtle tension in Hadrian’s voice. It wasn’t fear, but something akin to wariness. “You seem remarkably calm for someone with such uncertainty surrounding them,” Tom observed.

Hadrian’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “What else can I do? Panic won’t change anything. I’ll face whatever comes, as I have no choice but to.”

The Knights exchanged glances, some intrigued, others still skeptical. Tom, however, leaned back in his chair, a contemplative expression on his face. There was strength in Hadrian—strength tempered by mystery.

“Well,” Abraxas said, raising his goblet with a sly grin, “whatever your past or your name, welcome to Slytherin, Hadrian. I have a feeling you’ll fit right in.”

The rest of the Knights raised their goblets in agreement, and for the first time, Hadrian allowed himself a genuine, albeit small, smile.

As the feast continued, Tom silently resolved to keep a close eye on Hadrian. There was far more to the boy than met the eye, and Tom Riddle intended to uncover every piece of the puzzle.

Tom leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled as his sharp eyes bore into Hadrian’s. The conversations around the table grew quieter as the rest of the Knights subtly turned their attention back to the newcomer. “Visions, you said,” Tom began, his voice smooth and inviting but with an undertone of calculation. “What are they about? You can tell us, Hadrian. We’re all Slytherins here. We treat our kind well.”

Hadrian’s emerald gaze flicked over the group, gauging their reactions. Most of the Knights watched him with thinly veiled curiosity; others, like Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy, had expressions that danced between intrigue and skepticism. But it was Tom who commanded his attention, his intensity cutting through the air like a blade.

Hadrian leaned back in his seat, his expression carefully neutral. “They’re fragmented, like flashes of a dream you can’t quite piece together,” he admitted, his voice steady. “Sometimes it’s places—vast, empty fields, crumbling ruins, darkened corridors lit by flickering torches. Other times, it’s people. A man with dark hair and a piercing gaze, a woman with a kind smile. I can never make sense of it.”

Tom’s fingers drummed lightly on the table as he processed Hadrian’s words. “And these people? Do they seem familiar to you? Like they might be connected to your past?”

“Maybe,” Hadrian said after a moment, his tone guarded. “I think they might be, but I don’t know how. It’s like... like they’re just out of reach, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get closer.”

Theodorus Nott leaned in slightly, his brows furrowed. “Do you ever see anything... threatening? Something that might explain why Dumbledore and Slughorn are so concerned about you?”

Hadrian hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “There are moments in the visions where I feel... hunted. Like something—or someone—is watching me. But I never see who or what it is. It’s just a feeling, but it’s strong enough to wake me up in a cold sweat.”

The table fell into a brief silence, the weight of Hadrian’s words settling over the group.

Tom’s gaze never left Hadrian’s face, his mind working quickly to analyze every word, every nuance in the boy’s tone and expression. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer but no less commanding. “You’re not alone here, Hadrian. Whatever danger you think might be following you, remember this: we’re Slytherins. We look after our own.”

Hadrian’s eyes met Tom’s, and for a moment, the two held each other’s gaze. There was a flicker of something unspoken—acknowledgment, perhaps, or the beginning of understanding.

“You’re very kind, Tom,” Hadrian said finally, his tone laced with both sincerity and caution. “I appreciate that.”

Abraxas smirked, raising his goblet again. “See? You’ll fit in here just fine, Hadrian. Besides, if there’s danger looming, I can’t think of a better group to handle it.”

The others murmured their agreement, some more enthusiastically than others.

As the feast continued, the atmosphere around the Slytherin table shifted. While questions about Hadrian’s past and his mysterious visions lingered unspoken, there was a growing sense of camaraderie—or at least, the beginnings of it. Tom, ever the strategist, noted every word, every reaction, filing it away for future use. Hadrian Evans was an enigma, but Tom Riddle thrived on puzzles, and he had every intention of solving this one.

Cassius Mulciber, sitting a little closer than the others, tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing with curiosity. “You mentioned a dark-haired man in your visions,” he said, his voice smooth but probing. “Did you see his face? Or... do you know who he is?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Hadrian didn’t respond. His jaw tightened, and his shoulders stiffened visibly. The atmosphere around the table shifted as the boy shuddered, drawing in a shaky breath before speaking.

“I don’t like to talk about him,” Hadrian said, his voice quieter but laced with unease. His emerald eyes darted to Cassius, then to Tom, before dropping to his plate. “I don’t know who he is. I can’t see his face properly in the visions—he’s always shrouded in darkness and shadows. But... I don’t feel safe around him.”

The confession made the group pause. Walburga Black raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with her cousin, Alphard, while Theodorus Nott frowned slightly. Tom, however, remained still, his expression inscrutable as he studied Hadrian’s reaction.

“There’s... something about him,” Hadrian continued hesitantly, his voice faltering. “It’s like he has some kind of hold over me in the visions. I feel... trapped, like I can’t get away from him. But the strangest part is...” He hesitated, as though weighing whether or not to share the next part.

“What?” Abraxas prompted, leaning forward.

Hadrian exhaled shakily. “He feels... affectionate. But it’s not a comforting kind of affection. It’s dark. Like it’s meant to pull me in, not protect me. It’s hard to explain, but it’s... suffocating.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant chatter of other tables in the Great Hall.

“And Professor Dumbledore?” Tom finally asked, his voice calm but with a sharp edge. “What does he think about this man?”

Hadrian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He thinks this man is some kind of danger to me,” he admitted, his tone strained. “He hasn’t said it outright, but I can tell. He’s worried. Maybe he thinks this man is connected to why I was... like that, when you found me.”

Tom’s expression didn’t change, but his mind was racing. A mysterious, dark-haired figure tied to Hadrian’s visions, someone who invoked fear yet held an odd, darkly affectionate presence. It was a puzzle, and Tom Riddle did not like puzzles left unsolved.

“Interesting,” he said finally, his tone unreadable. “This man... he might hold answers to your past, or perhaps to the danger Dumbledore fears. Either way, you’re not alone in this, Hadrian. We’ll help you uncover the truth.”

Hadrian’s eyes flicked up to meet Tom’s, and there was a flicker of both gratitude and hesitation. He wasn’t sure if he could trust them yet, but there was something in Tom’s tone—a promise of understanding, perhaps—that made him nod, however tentatively.

“Thank you,” Hadrian murmured, his voice subdued.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that, but the Knights couldn’t help but glance at Hadrian occasionally, their minds clearly still turning over what he’d revealed. Tom, meanwhile, remained silent, his gaze occasionally drifting to the boy at his side. Hadrian Evans was a mystery wrapped in shadows, and Tom was determined to bring every secret into the light.

Tom Riddle stood from his seat, his movements graceful yet commanding, drawing the attention of his Knights and Hadrian alike. His gaze swept over the group before landing on Hadrian.

“Well,” Tom said smoothly, “it’s time to show our little snakes their den. Hadrian, you’re welcome to follow me. I’ll show you where your dormitory is—it’s near ours, naturally.”

Hadrian glanced at Tom, his hesitation evident, but before he could respond, Orion Black leaned forward with a smirk.

“Or you could stay with us,” Orion said casually, his tone light yet inviting. “Tom has his prefect duties to handle, and we can fill you in on all you need to know about being in Slytherin.”

“True,” Abraxas Malfoy chimed in with a sly grin. “He loves to lord over us with his rules. Stick with us, and we’ll give you the real tour.”

A ripple of chuckles passed through the group, and Walburga Black gave an exaggerated shrug. “Besides, you’ll be seeing plenty of him anyway. Why not get to know the rest of us while you can?”

Hadrian hesitated, his eyes flicking between Tom and the others. The Knights were all watching him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Tom’s lips curved into a faint smile, though his dark eyes betrayed a flicker of annoyance. “The choice is yours, Hadrian,” he said coolly. “Though I’ll remind you, I am a prefect, and my time is not infinite.”

Orion scoffed lightly. “Don’t let him scare you. Come on, Hadrian. We’re not as intimidating as we look.”

After a brief moment of thought, Hadrian nodded. “I’ll stay with them,” he said, his voice steady but polite.

Tom raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his smile fading slightly. “Very well,” he said with a slight nod. “I’ll leave you in their capable hands. Do try to keep him out of trouble,” he added to the group, his tone dry.

As Tom turned and walked off to oversee the first-years, Orion clapped Hadrian on the shoulder. “Good choice,” he said with a grin. “Now, let’s teach you the rules of being a Slytherin.”

They began to walk toward the dungeons, the chatter of the Knights filling the air.

“Rule number one,” Abraxas said, his tone mock-serious. “We stick together. No matter what. Slytherins protect their own, and loyalty is everything.”

“Rule number two,” Walburga added with a smirk. “Never show weakness to the other houses. They’ll pounce on it like vultures.”

“Rule three,” Orion continued, his grin widening. “Ambition isn’t just encouraged—it’s expected. If you want something, go after it. Don’t hold back.”

As they walked, Hadrian listened intently, absorbing their words. The group’s camaraderie was evident, and though their humor was sharp-edged, there was a sense of solidarity among them that he couldn’t help but respect.

“Of course,” Abraxas said, his tone softening slightly, “we don’t expect you to know all this right away. You’re new here, and we’ll look out for you.”

Hadrian glanced at him, surprised by the genuine note in his voice. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

As they approached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Orion leaned in and whispered, “And rule number four—don’t forget the password. You’ll look like a fool if you’re stuck out here.”

Hadrian couldn’t help but smile, feeling a small sense of relief. For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, he felt like he might actually belong somewhere.

As they approached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Hadrian’s eyes widened in awe. The stone walls, dimly lit by the soft glow of enchanted torches, gave the room an almost mysterious, subterranean feel. The air was cool, carrying with it a faint scent of damp stone and earth. A large fireplace crackled at one end of the room, its flames dancing and casting flickering shadows across the leather armchairs and dark wooden tables that filled the space. It was a room full of history, power, and quiet elegance.

Hadrian couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement as he stepped into the heart of Slytherin’s domain. The common room was unlike anything he’d seen before, filled with an understated grandeur that spoke of old, untold secrets. His gaze wandered across the stone carvings and elaborate tapestries that adorned the walls, each one depicting scenes from ancient Slytherin lore.

“This is incredible,” Hadrian whispered, his voice full of wonder.

Cassius Mulciber, who had been walking beside him, gave a small chuckle. “It’s impressive, isn’t it? We Slytherins take pride in our heritage.”

Hadrian nodded, still absorbing the space around him. His eyes scanned the dark green and silver accents, the crest of the house gleaming proudly in various corners of the room. It was a room that seemed to hum with the presence of generations of Slytherins who had come before him.

“Glad you like it,” Orion said with a grin. “But wait until you see the dormitories.”

The group walked deeper into the common room, where they found Tom waiting near the fire. He was leaning casually against one of the columns, his eyes scanning a book but still aware of their arrival. His expression softened ever so slightly when he noticed Hadrian taking in the surroundings.

“Well, it seems you’re impressed,” Tom remarked with a raised eyebrow, pushing himself off the column.

Hadrian turned to Tom, a little embarrassed by the awe in his voice but unable to hide his excitement. “It’s… it’s amazing. I didn’t expect anything like this.”

Tom gave a small, almost approving smile. “Slytherin house has always prided itself on its legacy,” he said smoothly, his gaze flicking between Hadrian and the rest of the group. “It’s a place where ambition is nurtured and power is respected. I’m glad to see you appreciate it.”

The others nodded, agreeing with Tom’s words. “We’re not exactly known for being subtle,” Walburga added, “but the legacy of Slytherin is ours to carry forward.”

“Indeed,” said Abraxas with a smirk. “You’re in good company now.”

Hadrian smiled, a small sense of belonging filling the void that had been growing in him since his arrival. He hadn’t known what to expect, but the people around him, though serious and sometimes intimidating, had started to make him feel like he wasn’t alone.

“Right,” Tom said, his tone shifting. “Let’s get you settled, then. You’ll be in one of the upper dorms sharing the room with me, Abraxas, Orion and Corvus. If you need anything, just ask us. On the right is girls dormitory on left boy's.”

The others began to move, but Tom paused for a moment and gave Hadrian a final glance, his expression more serious now. “You’re one of us now, Hadrian. Don’t forget that. You’ll find that Slytherins look out for each other. We may not always agree, but in the end, we’re all in this together.”

Hadrian met Tom’s gaze and nodded, a sense of warmth bubbling up in him. “I won’t forget. Thanks.”

Tom’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though his eyes remained focused. “Good. Now, let’s get you to your room. I’ll make sure you get settled in.”

As they made their way towards the dormitory stairs, Hadrian couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of purpose growing within him. The flickering shadows of the common room seemed to mirror the mystery of his own past—a past he was still uncovering, still trying to understand. But for the first time, he didn’t feel completely lost.

There was something about the Slytherin house, the people around him, and even Tom’s steady presence that made him feel like he might just have a place here after all.

After Hadrian was settled into his new room, the others gathered around, ensuring that everything was in order for him. Tom gave a final check on Hadrian’s comfort, making sure the bed was to his liking, and gave him a few words of reassurance. Hadrian was still adjusting to the feeling of being in a place that was so grand yet so unfamiliar with so many people. Tom, Abraxas, Orion, and Corvus stood by, exchanging glances as they noticed the boy slowly sinking into his bed, clearly exhausted from the events of the day.

"Get some rest, Hadrian," Tom said quietly, his voice smooth and almost comforting. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

Hadrian nodded, his eyes already growing heavy as the weight of the day seemed to catch up with him. The others made their way out of the room, though Tom lingered for a moment, his eyes lingering on Hadrian for a brief second longer than necessary. There was something about the boy, something that called to him, but Tom wasn’t about to delve too deeply into his thoughts just yet. As he closed the curtains of Hadrian’s bed

Once the room was quiet and Hadrian had fallen into a deep slumber, Tom turned to Abraxas.

"Did you inform everyone about the first meeting of the Knights of Walpurgis?" Tom asked, his tone authoritative, yet not without a hint of anticipation. He had been waiting for this moment for a while. Tonight marked the beginning of something significant, and the first meeting in the Chamber of Secrets would be a milestone for the group.

Abraxas, who had been watching Tom carefully, nodded. "Yes, they know. Everyone is ready."

"Good," Tom replied with a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. "It’s time."

The group left the dormitory, making their way toward the hidden entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It was a place only a select few knew about, a secret sanctuary for their growing ambitions. The walls of the chamber had long been untouched by the majority of the school’s population, save for a few professors who were aware of its existence, but those who knew about it were bound by loyalty. This was the place where their plans would start to take root.

The chamber was dimly lit by flickering torches, their shadows dancing on the cold stone walls as Tom led the group into the center of the room. The echo of their footsteps bounced off the ancient pillars, giving the chamber an eerie yet empowering feeling.

As they entered, Tom took his place at the head of the room, his usual confident posture settling into a commanding stance. The others, Abraxas, Orion, Corvus, and the rest of the knights, took their places around the chamber, forming a semi-circle in front of him. There was an air of reverence as they all stood, waiting for Tom to speak.

Tom’s sharp, calculating gaze swept across the room, making sure everyone was present. "Tonight, we begin," he began, his voice low and steady, commanding attention. "The Knights of Walpurgis will become the force that shapes the future of our world. We have strength in numbers, and with that strength comes power."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in, before continuing.

"We will protect our kind," he said, eyes narrowing slightly, "but we will also take what is ours. There will be no more hiding, no more second-guessing. We will rise."

The knights nodded, each one of them understanding the weight of Tom’s words. There was no hesitation in their eyes. They were in this for the long haul.

Corvus Lestrange, his expression tense as always, stepped forward. "What do you want from us tonight, my lord?" he asked, his voice firm but respectful. The other knights stood in silence, waiting for Tom’s instructions.

Tom’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Tonight, we solidify our bond," he said. "We will strengthen our ranks and reaffirm our purpose. You are all my trusted followers, and together, we will lead the future. The Dark Lord will rise again."

His voice echoed through the chamber, and for a moment, it seemed as though the very stones of the room itself reverberated with the power behind his words.

Abraxas stepped forward as well. "What about our... newest member?" he asked cautiously, glancing at the others. His eyes flickered to Hadrian’s name, which had been mentioned earlier. "Hadrian. Will he join us?"

Tom’s eyes flashed, a contemplative expression crossing his features. "Hadrian... he’s different," Tom mused, his voice softer, but no less determined. "He hasn’t fully embraced what we’re about, but he will. I’ll make sure of it. For now, we let him find his way."

The knights nodded, acknowledging Tom’s decision. Their loyalty to him was unwavering, and they trusted that he would lead them wisely.

"As long as we stand together," Tom said, his gaze shifting from one knight to the next, "nothing will stand in our way. Now, let’s discuss our next steps. The missions I gave to you all in the summer."

The meeting continued late into the night, each knight offering their insights and plans for the future. As Tom sat at the head, commanding the attention of all in the room, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. This was just the beginning, and he could already see the path ahead of them—one that would be paved with power, ambition, and blood.

The Knights of Walpurgis had taken their first step, and nothing could stop them now.