Almost
Hadrian collapsed into his small apartment, unable to stop the tears from falling. It hurt. It hurt so bad. For a minute it had all been in his hands. Lucius and Narcissa were offering him what he always wanted: a family. He couldn’t let it happen though.
Dumbledore was too dangerous. If the man placed him with the Dursleys, there’s no telling what he would do to keep him under his thumb. The blocks on his magic and skills had been proof enough of that.
Besides, he was too broken.
There are scars that run bone-deep, hurts that linger in his very soul. Vernon has hurt him deeply, leaving him with habits and fears that have yet to be surpassed. He can’t let them find out. He doesn’t want them to think that he’s a freak.
Heaving, he forces himself onto his feet. There is too much that he has to do, and not enough time before he has to leave for Hogwarts. He had been lucky that Hagrid had come so soon. The early arrival had given him a couple of weeks to adjust, something that relieved him to no end.
Hadrian was already so behind, something he absolutely hated. The wizarding world was completely different from the muggle world, and it left him with so much more to learn.
What was the culture like?
What was the correct way of worship most wixen practiced?
What was considered correct etiquette?
There was so much he needed to know, so much he needed to learn. His chest ached and his stomach hurt with the knowledge of it. It was what would be expected of him. After all, he was the savior of the wizarding world.
It was his fate, no matter how much he hated it. And oh how he hated it.
There is no one to coddle him, to teach him with a gentle hand. He has no family to guide him and take care of him. Hadrian is the only one taking care of himself. He is the only one to hug himself, to buy groceries, to buy clothes. There is no one to step up, no one he can trust enough to do so- no matter how much he longs to.
He would rather die than risk being hurt again.
It’s a bitter sentiment, one that he’s grown to live with. Hadrian hurts and hurts, and there is nothing he can do about it. There is no one to tell, and even if there were, he would lie. That’s what his life is built on: a frame of half truths and lies designed to protect him.
There is no one to confess the truth to: Hadrian is tired, a bone weary tired that can’t be solved by getting a goodnights sleep. He is so fucking tired, and it is becoming increasingly harder to breath.
He is a hollow corpse with one foot in the grave, gathering himself time and time again despite the inevitability of his demise. It’s a bitter truth, one that he’s never had the privilege of ignoring. Living with the Dursleys has taught him that, and while he’s fled that hell hole, the pain hasn’t stopped. Everything aches, and his very being is at war with himself.
Hadrian is dying, even as he lives and breathes. There is no denying it, not when from our very first birth, we begin to die. It’s something Hadrian knows well, as its an undeniable truth he’s lived and breathed for the last ten years. His aunt and uncle had quite clearly made their opinion on his continuous existence.
Over time, he’s accepted it and taken it as a truth. Logically, he knows that it’s not true. He is not a blight on the world, a mistake that never should have been born, that should have died long ago. It’s all a lie. It’s nothing more than blasphemy spewed by a jealous sister and revolting man.
Still, it feels real, and that makes all the difference.
It’s left him in a cycle of hope, doubt, disappointment, resignment, and pain. There is no escaping it. Hadrian has learned that the hard way.
For the longest time, Hadrian has felt like one leg was in the grave. He dances the fence between life and death, dancing the world away even as he laughs. It’s not a happy laugh, though. No. It’s bitter and sorrowful; everything felt that could never be shown.
He dances in time to the autumn wind. Hadrian listens to the trees and listens carefully to their beckoning. They whisper over and over again, begging him to join them. “Die with me,” the aspens whisper, leaves fluttering in the wind.
There is a part of him that wants to listen.
Sometimes he fancies them to be his parents, whispering to him from beyond the grave. Aspens, he read once, are a symbol of communication between worlds. They can bridge the distance between the living and the dead. When all he wants is his parents, it becomes all the more appealing.
Still, it’s impossible. No doubt they want him to live, no matter how much part of him wants to sleep forever, so he’ll stay. Hadrian will remain alive for them, no matter how much his heart breaks as each moment in solitude passes.
He can’t blame anyone for that, though, not when it’s his fault. Hadrian has pushed everyone away. Even with the safety of their magic, Narcissa and Lucius had been driven out. Severus had never been given a chance because he’s a fucking coward.
There is something bitter yet satisfying about destroying yourself before anyone else can.
There’s nothing he can do, not anymore. So he pulls himself together. He has no other option, not when he has to be an adult. There is far too much to be done, far more than what a child is meant to handle. No child should have to buy their clothes, buy their school supplies, or buy their groceries. He knows this and longs for it, but nothing can be done. Not when Hadrian has become old and young.
Adulthood has come early for him. (Will death come early for him as well?) He’s cast away the cloak of childhood, mourning it even as he revels in the freedom. He no longer needs to play slave or pet to his despicable relatives, but it comes with a cost.
It has taken the rest of his innocence, whatever little he had left, and left him with a bitter knowledge no child should process.
Regardless, there’s nothing he can do. Hadrian has come to accept this; Part of him hates it, but it’s a price he pays willingly. All he can do is rise to the occasion and pretend to be something he’s not, starting with clothes shopping.
While the thought of going outside of his flat makes his stomach churn, he knows it’s a necessity. The hand-me-down rags he had worn for so long weren’t appropriate for the life he would pretend to live. It’s what he would need to do to live under the radar. He didn’t want anyone to know the truth, to realize how he was dying inside. Hadrian wouldn’t let anyone help him, not when they would only hurt him in the end. Anyone who said otherwise was lying.
So with a murmured goodbye to the flat, he left.
It was more complicated than he thought it would be; His flat was safe, a place no one could intrude in. He couldn’t stay there forever, though; Hadrian knew that. So he forced himself away and weaved his way through the wizarding world.
There was no one to stop him or question his lack of guardianship. All it took was a desire to remain unseen, and it happened. Life with the Dursleys had taught him how to do wandless magic before he knew it.
Hadrian snuck along the street and alleyways. While the innate desire to remain unseen manifested as a ‘notice me not’ spell, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Asda hadn’t been his first choice of store, but it worked. The store was giant, busy, and too strange for anyone to notice a child his age shopping. They had self-checkout, which was awesome. That way, no one would ask unwanted questions as he checked out.
That was precisely what he needed. Other stores didn’t provide the anonymity he required. Instead, they brought attention to him that he didn’t want.
Hadrian shook his head. He couldn’t get lost in his thoughts, not now. There was too much to do.
What did a child even need?
Talk about an ‘oh fuck’ moment. He hadn’t spent much time outside the house, so he lacked the experience to know what needed to be bought. He had been relatively lucky. His apartment had a self-updating catalog he could use to purchase home goods and groceries.
He needed pants and shirts. Nice shirts could be bought from the robe place in Knockturn Alley. That store seemed rather fancy… T-shirts and jeans would be purchased here for that very reason.
First, though, he needed to try them on. It would suck to buy a whole bunch of clothes for them to be too big. Hadrian didn’t want to look like he was wearing a tent, even if it was made from nice clothes. So with a tired sigh, he snuck into a dressing room.
Fortunately, the smallest size he had grabbed fit him. He had hoped one of the larger sizes would fit him, which would have made him feel much better about his small stature. It was pointless to ruminate, so he threw a bunch of shirts and jeans in the cart. He made sure to throw in a bunch of sweatpants too. Upon discovering them, he fell in love. They were so comfortable and perfect to wear as pajamas.
Hoodies, he decided with delight, were also a wonderful creation. There were colored ones, ones with cool patterns, some with cartoon characters, and so many more. At least ten, of varying colors and sizes, were thrown into the cart; oversized hoodies were awesome, okay?
Socks were thrown in the cart, along with underwear and some undershirts. It felt a little embarrassing to buy those, but he didn’t have a choice. They were necessities, of course. Hadrian also got to pick out shoes for the first time! Petunia had always gotten him ill-fitting ones from different charity boxes. Splurging slightly, he bought three pairs: A plain black pair, one with PJ Masks on it, and a navy blue pair of sneakers. Sure, hardly anyone in the wizarding world would see his shoes, but it was deeply satisfying to have shoes that were all his. They even fit him!
Skipping lightly, he pushed the cart toward the self-checkout line. It was time to return home.
Returning home was a relief.
Dropping the bags to the floor, Hadrian collapsed into his bed. He desperately needed a nap.
The day had been so long and draining, far too much for him. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he cried out for a parent who wasn’t there.
He shouldn’t have to go shopping by himself. He shouldn’t have to make arrangements for a flat. He shouldn’t have to buy his clothes. He shouldn’t have to.
It wasn’t fair, but it was the reality he had been given. There was no mom or dad to come home to because some fucking magical terrorist had killed them. They were dead because they decided to fight in a pointless war, arguing about something as simple as the color of magic. Magic is magic and should never be generalized to dark and light magic.
They had chosen Dumbledore. His parents were dead because they followed the words of a bumbling older man. They could have stayed out of it. Why didn’t they?
Blinking back tears, he reached for his potions textbook. He had to be good at potions, had to. It’s what Severus taught, the subject he held the post passion for. Hadrian wants to be good at it too.
He doesn’t want his uncle to see James Potter when he looks at him. James Potter was a bully, a Dudley to Severus. He doesn’t want to be like that; he doesn’t want to be the one thing his uncle hates. He doesn’t think he could bear such hatred from another family member.
So he reads and reads.
He soaks up the knowledge like a sponge, desperate to learn everything possible about the wizarding world. Knowledge is power, and that’s what he needs to remain unnoticed.
All Hadrian wants to do is to be himself. ‘The Boy Who Lived’ is not a title he wants. It’s a heavy burden, one that will only bring him pain. He knows this and mourns for the happiness that will forever remain out of reach.
He is broken, a relic of times better left in the past. A church of broken glass has become his home, from which there is no escape. Hadrian is like all things holy, forever haunted by the past.