The Fate of All Heroes
He is lying in his cupboard, the only place that feels safe. It’s too tiny for Vernon to come in and hurt him.
He is torn out of the cupboard only to be thrown in a coffin. Why would he not be when he is destined for death? It’s a mercy that feels so good, so much better than Uncle Vernon.
Still, it does not keep him away from the walrus-like man. His appetite is too large to be denied, an addiction even.
Vernon falls on him, pinning him against the floor of the coffin. He can’t move.
Why can’t he move?
Why can’t he move?
Oh God, someone save him.
Please.
Please.
Please, it hurts.
Help me.
Harry raises his hands to scratch at the man, but he disappears. The lid of the coffin closes and he screams.
He screams
and screams
and screams
and screams.
His hands are bloody, nails sticking to the roof of the coffin.
Hadrian screams himself awake.
His hands are just as bloody awake as they were asleep. They’re tainted red by the scratches on porcelain skin. He doesn’t mean to; it’s just that sometimes he feels so dirty. There’s nothing to do, though, not when the past cuts deep and refuses to be healed.
Over and over again, these wounds keep opening. There is no healing when a dull blade continuously presses against his skin. It requires strength, a slippery slope wherein it is so easy to press just a little bit harder. The greater the force, the greater the pain and that’s something Vernon likes. He likes how it crushes his skin and grates across his muscles. The pain tears through him with every harsh gesture, and Hadrian hates it.
He hates how much the man likes blunt instruments and likes to harm him. Vernon does whatever he can to make life more painful, and he will never stop hating him for that. How can he not when the man was the devil incarnate?
There’s nothing he can do to change the past, but there’s plenty he can do to change the future. Hadrian will not allow that man to take his future away from him. There is a life to be lived and adventures to be had.
The world is ready to be taken, to be explored in its entirety.
Once more, his thirst for adventure rises. There is no one to stop him from rising, from breaking himself away from the chains of trauma pulling him down. It wasn’t over yet, that he knew, but he couldn’t keep it from ruining his life.
So he pulled himself together, cleaning himself up.
The blood was washed away until pale skin flushed with pink was all that remained. Tears were wiped away, and gasping breaths were pushed away. There was nothing more to do, not when failure meant stagnation. Such a fate was akin to death, a sentence wherein time did nothing.
Time, Hadrian’s come to realize, doesn’t always heal.
Sometimes it is harsh, clashing against the knife that is grief and misery. It dulls the blade, and in some ways, that is so much worse. Dull knives, you see, are so much more painful. They cause pain that lingers. Using one is devastating to body and mind, for healing from something so deliberate and angry is so much harder.
Still, he would push it away.
It was time to explore, to look at the world the Dursleys sought to keep him from. He rushed out of the flat, barely pausing to put shoes on. The wind, like an old friend, blew through his hair. It was familiar in a way that he liked, that was comfortable.
Is this how it felt when Persephone descended into the Underworld?
Like Hadrian, she was hungry, desperate to reach beyond a life of isolation and pain. It’s a cruel fate worse than death, more so when harmed by someone who is supposed to love you. Parents and family alike are supposed to be understanding and kind. They should allow room to grow and become something more.
The Dursleys weren’t like that, not to him. Maybe they were for Dudley, but there was no point in trying to remember. What good was it to linger on the words and harm passed onto him? It is a stagnant pain that can only be left behind.
Persephone, Hadrian has found, is similar in some ways and different in others. Where his relatives had been violent in their actions and words, Persephone had been stifled and isolated from the outside world. They both sought to leave at any cost, accepting the hand reaching out for them. As she had taken the hand of Hades, so had Hadrian accepted the opportunities the wizarding world offered.
She had chosen to leave, regardless of her mother’s claims and denials. The chariot from below had risen along with the God of the Underworld. His visage was shrouded in shadows flickering in the mid-day sun. The God had knelt before her, offering flowers speaking of eternity.
Flowers of the earth all die in the end.
She had run to his chariot with a soft smile and joyous laugh. She had entered his kingdom with wide eyes, never frightened of the world below. There was nothing that scared her, nothing that sent her screaming to the surface.
Not even her mother, with all her wailing and victim complex, could force her to return. For the first time in her fucking life, she was free. No longer was she locked in a little pocket of earth, destined to remain a little girl to the rest of the Gods. There was no one to stop her, to let her grow into something more.
While she was born as Kore, it was not meant to be her name forever.
It was meant to be Persephone, to be a God of something more. A simple life was never what she was destined for. Even if it was all her mother ever wanted, she was meant for more.
She could see it in the way that the darkness accepted her. Hades, tall and intimidating as he was, had fallen to his knees for her. He loved her, and she loved him. He loved her and would never keep her trapped. Persephone loved him all the more for that.
She had spent far too long being trapped.
All he did was offer a promise of eternity. He did not demand it of her or claim to know best for her. Unlike Persephone’s mother, he gave her a choice; for that, she would stay. It was the greatest sign of loyalty and would always be repaid in full.
It was a fulfillment of all her childhood dreams. Her beloved was a God of great strength. He was courteous and loved her, vowing against infidelity. Hades promised her a world beyond the fickle life above, giving her a crown of flowers that would never die. As he knelt before her, he promised to accept her darkness.
So with blood on her tongue and shadows beneath her eyes, she took his hand. No one could stop her once the decision had been made. Not even the word of the other gods could keep her from the happiness she had come to crave. The underworld, despite the darkness within it, was where she was meant to be.
Hadrian has come to realize that the wizarding world offers him a similar premise.
It has given him a crown of thorns, a promise that threatens to drown him for all that it does to save him. He is a being, romanticized by others, and he does not doubt that he will become a scapegoat one day.
Like the Gods, they use his name and existence to explain what they don’t understand. The wixen do not understand what truly caused the downfall of the wizarding world. They don’t understand how a baby was able to survive the killing curse. They don’t understand why not even a great wizard like Dumbledore could not defeat the dark lord. All they do is take the common denominator, Hadrian, and create a fantasy.
They proclaim him to be the chosen one. He is claimed to be the savior of the wizarding world, the one whose parents died and were forgotten. They adore him and profess their love and gratitude.
Still, Hadrian knows it won’t last forever.
One day, the Dark Lord will come back. He will return, and the wizarding world will go to hell. There will be chaos, and there is no stopping it. So they will blame him, and use his existence to explain the terrible things occurring in the wizarding world.
In the end, they will crucify him. He will be a dark story whispered in the dark, a cautionary tale to children who dare dream of something more. His ending will be death and terror, a lonely return to what he should have been: dead.
He only admits it in the dark of night: His existence is an aberration. It is an anomaly. He should be dead like his parents, buried six feet deep. Hadrian can’t help but think it, and even desire it sometimes.
Why should he fight it when death seems too eager to take him?
He can feel it in the way death embraces him with open arms. It is an enshroudment as he starved in the cupboard under the stairs. Hadrian can feel it as the cast iron skillet hits his head. He sees it as bleach and ammonia are shoved in the bathroom with him. He breathes it in as a pillow in his face attempts to suffocate him.
There is no escaping it. It lingers, even as something pulls him away from death’s grasp just in time. In some ways, he hates it and how it only prolongs his suffering. Why can’t he find peace? Why must he be forced to live when he is alone?
There is no life to return to, no loved ones left on the earth. Others would argue, his parents perhaps, but he can’t risk it. He can’t bear to be hurt once more, not when he is so tired of being burned over and over again. If death badly wants him, why can’t he join his family?
After all, he will die in the end.
It isn’t what the wizarding world has told him, but he can read between the lines. They want a hero, one to save them, but it won’t be enough. Eventually, there will come an evil they can’t ignore, one that results in betrayal. They will crucify him for something out of his control.
Such is the fate of all heroes: they die.