Curiosity Killed the Cat
Curiosity killed the cat.
It’s a phrase Hadrian knows all too well.
His life has been a game of Russian roulette, where each gamble comes about through a mixture of curiosity and stupidity. He’s never been able to deny himself, though, not when everything within him is screaming to continue.
Besides, satisfaction always brings the cat back, right?
The sentiment has lived with him and lingered in his bones for as long as he’s been alive. He is filled with curiosity, and nothing can take that away. It is ingrained into his very being, a blessing and curse enrolled in one breath.
The Dursleys had tried to beat it out of him. They had used every means possible to force him further into isolation. They wanted nothing more than to break him, to ruin him before he could become anything more. It never worked, though.
Hadrian is too used to pain and isolation to let such a thing hinder him. There is nothing that can keep him in hiding. Fear does not startle him, not when he is filled with a sense of thirst for knowledge and adventure.
He wants to know, wants to learn about the outside world. So much knowledge had been obscured during his childhood. Nothing will keep him from learning, not even if the knowledge is classified as taboo.
It’s why Knockturn Alley was so interesting.
It’s also the reason he ended up in Borgin and Burkes.
Most adults would have a conniption fit if they knew he had strayed into such a dangerous corner of Knockturn alley. He didn’t care though, there was nothing that scared him.
There were no monsters under his bed or wandering the ally that was worse than Vernon. Monsters, he’s come to realize, don’t truly exist. There are no terrible creatures hiding beneath beds or in the shadows waiting to pounce. Instead, there are humans, ones that do terrible things.
They pretend to be good people, masquerading as innocents in the light of day. The sins and evils that stain their hands are covered with gloves and bleached to their previous state. Those are the true monsters, the ones who had during the day and come out when no one is looking. They are predators of a sort, always searching for their next act.
His uncle Vernon was one such man. He does nothing but harm, especially at night. The memory of it is painful, a bitter reminder of the potential men have for evil. There is no safety, he finds, not when people are so cruel.
It’s a rather pessimistic view, he can admit this, but he can’t shake the feeling. After going through hell in that fucking house, Hadrian can’t forget how it felt to have hands bruising his skin or hits breaking bones that always healed wrong. Life in the before had been a nightmare, a neverending rendition of a horror movie in which he was always the victim.
The only saving grace had been finding his mother’s trunk and journal in the attic. It had brought a feeling of hope for the first time in his life. In all honesty, he had been resigned to a life of misery. His plan had been to steal as much money as possible before running away. Life in the streets would have been hell, but it would have been better than enduring Vernon’s fat greasy hands on his skin.
Learning of the wizarding world had changed all that. His mother had painted a world full of wonder where all things were possible, and to a boy who had nothing, it seemed like a dream come true. The knowledge and promises within her journal had satisfied enough of his hunger to wait for his Hogwarts letter.
That satisfaction had long since faded in the face of a new world.
Now, there is more to learn.
Knockturn Alley proves this.
With a hum, he wanders the dim shelves. There are magical artifacts there, ones that feel dark. A small part of him likes it.
After all, he is a child of the night, living in the darkness that provided more safety than anything else. It’s better there, in the dark. The night, as always, provided anonymity that couldn’t be found anywhere else. The dark was where monsters hid but it was also the place where the oppressed lived.
Is it any surprise then that the dark feels comforting?
They fill him with a sense of satisfaction and thirst for revenge. Being free from the Dursleys means that he can be angry. No one can force him to repress those feelings, not anymore. He can act out, cause them harm, and repay their own treatment upon him.
There is a visous, hurting, bitter part of him that wants to buy the cursed necklace. As each second passes, he can almost imagine the way it would kill the Dursleys. It’s a terrible thought, he knows, but he can’t thinking it. It’s not his fault. It really isn’t, not when they hurt him time and time again in ways no child should ever have to.
He wouldn’t be able to do it, though. There is something that aches within him, a tender sigh of grief that he can scarcely acknowledge, a sense of resignation knowing that his innocence can never be regained. Sure, there are many ways in which he is still innocent, but the things that Vernon has done? The things Petunia and Dudley haven’t done? It has hurt him in ways he will never be able to express, just as a woman cannot entirely explain how it aches when men wear the parts of them they stole around their neck like a trophy.*
“Hadrian.”
There was heartbreak and pain audible in the cry. It was one that was estranged to him, but he turned around all the same. A large part of him had thought one of Dumbledore’s cronies had managed to track him down. He had been willing to prepare himself for death, as that was far more preferravle to being sent back to the Dursleys. Hadrian would rather kill himself than endure another harsh touch at the hands of those who were supposed to love him.
Narcissa, in a whirl of colors, flew to him. She had been so worried, so frantic to find the child that shared her blood. He was family, even if they had just met.
“Narcissa?” Hadrian whispered, clutching her dress as she embraced him. He couldn’t help it, no matter how much he hated himself for giving into the childish desire to be concoled and loved.
It was strange how much you could miss someone and not even realize it.
“I was so worried.” She cradled him against her, voice breaking with the tender admission. “I was so scared.
“Why?” He asked, chest aching with something he scarcely dared identify. “You hardly know me.”
“You’re family.” Lucius was a silent presence behind his wife, a shield against the rest of the world.
“I’m so tired.” Hadrian glanced between them with wide luminet eyes that took in every and nothing all at once. “You feel safe, and I’m so scared.”
“Why are you scared, darling?” She lift the slender child to her hip, hating how small and light he was. No child should ever be so thin, so boney.
“What if I get hurt again?” He breathed, eyes shiny. “It’s all I’m used to, all that I’ll ever live.”
“It won’t be, if you give us a chance.” Lucius said, pressing a gentle hand to the child’s back. “We’ll care for you, keep you from that meddling fool, spoil you beyond all belief, and more. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Promise?” He whispered, burying his head into her neck.
“Yes,” she swore, holding him close, cradling him in a way she had cradled her own child. “A thousand times over, I promise.”
“Okay,” Hadrian shuttered, growing lax. “I believe you.”