Diagon alley
As they stepped out of the cool shadows of Gringotts Bank and back into the bustling sunlight of Diagon Alley, Severus glanced down at Hadrian, his expression still stern but now tinged with a strange mix of resolve and something akin to pride. “Our first stop,” Severus said, his tone brisk, “is Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. You’ll need your required school robes, as well as an additional set of robes suitable for formal occasions. You are a Lord now, and you must be properly dressed.”
Hadrian nodded, gripping the heavy pouch of coins tightly in his hand as they walked down the cobblestone street. The alley seemed to come alive around him, with shop signs creaking in the breeze and witches and wizards bustling to and fro, their robes swirling with every step. He couldn’t help but stare at the displays in the windows—brooms that hovered and glittered in the sunlight, cauldrons stacked high with labels for every imaginable use, enchanted books that fluttered their pages like wings. A few children his own age darted past, laughing.
“Keep your head up,” Severus said sharply, drawing Hadrian’s attention back to him. “You’re a Lord now, and it’s important that you present yourself with dignity. There are expectations that come with the titles you bear, and you will need to learn how to carry yourself accordingly.”
Hadrian felt a surge of nervousness at the mention of his titles, his heart beating faster. How... how am I supposed to act? he thought, a wave of uncertainty crashing over him. He had spent his entire life trying to be invisible, slipping into the background, hiding his very existence from the people who wanted nothing to do with him. Now, he was expected to stand tall, to be someone important. The weight of that expectation felt like a heavy cloak settling over his shoulders, almost too much to bear. What if I can’t do it? The fear gnawed at him, a fear that he would never be enough, that he would fall short of everything people expected him to be.
Severus seemed to sense his hesitation and gave a faint, approving nod. “First,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind, “you must walk with confidence. Keep your shoulders back and your posture straight. Never look down at your feet—always keep your chin level and your gaze steady. Appear as though you belong, because you do. A Lord does not skulk in the shadows.”
Hadrian swallowed, straightening his posture and forcing himself to stand a little taller. He tried to mimic the way Severus moved—each step purposeful and deliberate. “What else?” he asked, feeling both excitement and apprehension as he tried to absorb Severus’s instructions.
“You must be mindful of your tone,” Severus continued as they passed a shop selling potions ingredients, the air thick with the scent of herbs and dried plants. “Speak clearly and do not mumble. Your words should carry authority, but they should never be rude. A true Lord commands respect without resorting to arrogance.”
Hadrian nodded again, feeling the weight of these expectations settle over him like a heavy mantle. Every step felt like he was walking a tightrope, one misstep away from tumbling back into the familiar shadows of insecurity. But then he remembered the will in Gringotts, the clear desires of his parents, and the life they had wanted for him. He had a choice now, a chance to make something of himself, and he couldn’t let fear dictate his path.
As they continued down the alley, passing curious glances and whispered conversations, Hadrian forced himself to keep his head high. “What if people challenge me?” he asked, his voice low. “What if they don’t think I belong?”
Severus’s eyes darkened with a fierce intensity, and he slowed his pace to look down at Hadrian, his expression hardening. “You do not need to prove yourself to anyone,” he said with calm, unwavering certainty. “Your name, your lineage, and your legacy speak for themselves. Remember, you carry the weight of five ancient houses— But listen to me, Hadrian, and listen well,” Severus added, his tone lowering to a serious, almost dangerous whisper. “You are never to mention the full extent of your inheritance. The only names you should speak of openly are Potter and Black. The rest must remain hidden, for now.”
Hadrian looked up at Severus, a flicker of confusion in his green eyes. “Why?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, sensing the gravity in Severus’s tone.
“Because knowledge is power,” Severus said, his voice sharp and clear, “and there are those in the world who would use that knowledge against you, given the chance. The full truth of your inheritance must remain our secret, shared only between us. You are not yet safe—not in the way you need to be. The world is far more dangerous than you know, and there are those who would take advantage of you if they knew what you carried.”
Hadrian’s heart skipped a beat as he absorbed the warning. The weight of his secret—of the legacy he had inherited—settled heavier on his shoulders, and he nodded, understanding the danger, even if he didn’t fully grasp the reasons behind it. “I won’t tell anyone,” he promised, his voice steady. “Only Potter and Black. I’ll keep the rest to myself.”
“Good,” Severus said, a hint of approval in his eyes. “You’ll be in Hogwarts soon enough, and secrecy will be one of your greatest allies. Trust me when I say that revealing too much will only place you in greater danger.” He straightened and continued walking, his posture firm and confident. “For now, focus on what you must learn and how you present yourself. The rest will come in time, and when it does, you will be prepared.”
Hadrian nodded, feeling the gravity of Severus’s words settle in his chest. He didn’t fully understand the complexities of the magical world, but he knew that Severus’s advice was not given lightly. It was a warning—one he would heed. With renewed determination, he quickened his pace, falling into step beside Severus. Whatever lay ahead, he would be ready for it, and he would guard his secrets like the treasures they were.
Hadrian felt a flicker of resolve take root inside him, a small flame that pushed back against the overwhelming fear. He was tired of feeling insignificant, tired of hiding. He straightened his shoulders and walked a little taller, knowing that he couldn’t afford to back down. He had a family name to honor, a legacy to uphold, and he would not be found wanting.
They approached the elegant storefront with a polished sign that read Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. The windows were filled with mannequins wearing an array of stunning robes—some simple and elegant, others adorned with intricate embroidery and rich fabrics that glimmered in the sunlight.
“This is where we begin,” Severus said, stopping in front of the shop’s entrance. He looked down at Hadrian with a firm but encouraging expression. “You will be fitted for your school robes, and I will ensure that you have an additional set of formal robes worthy of your station. From now on, you will dress like the Lord you are.”
Hadrian’s heart pounded as he stared at the shop’s entrance.He wasn’t just buying clothes—he was stepping into a future he had never thought possible. With a determined nod, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, resolved that whatever lay ahead, he would face it head-on. This was his life now, and he was going to live it.
the chime of the bell above the door announcing their arrival. The shop was warm and well-lit, filled with the rich scent of new fabric and the occasional flicker of magical light. Severus stiffened slightly as they crossed the threshold, something Hadrian noticed, though he said nothing. They moved deeper into the shop, where a young, platinum-haired boy was already standing on a stool, being measured by Madame Malkin.
Draco Malfoy turned as he saw them, his pale eyes widening briefly before he straightened his shoulders and offered a small, polite smile. "Professor Snape," he said, inclining his head in a graceful, aristocratic bow. "It's good to see you."
"Draco," Severus greeted with a slight nod, his tone formal but not unkind. "I see you're getting your school robes sorted. How are your parents, Lucius and Narcissa?"
Draco’s expression brightened at the mention of his parents. "They’re in the back," he said, gesturing towards a curtained-off section of the shop. "Mother is selecting fabrics, and Father is handling the details with Madame Malkin's assistant."
Severus gave a brief, approving nod before gesturing to Hadrian. "Draco, allow me to introduce you to Hadrian. He’ll be starting at Hogwarts this year as well. Hadrian, this is Draco Malfoy."
Hadrian gave a small, polite nod, feeling Draco’s keen gaze appraise him. “A pleasure,” he said.
“Likewise,” Draco replied with a practiced smile, though his curiosity was evident. Madame Malkin, barely pausing in her work, gestured for Hadrian to step up onto the next stool to be fitted.
"Hadrian, you will stay here with Draco and have your robes fitted by Madame Malkin," Severus instructed, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "I will go and speak with Lucius and Narcissa, as well as settle the details of what we need."
"Of course, Professor," Hadrian replied obediently, watching as Severus swept toward the back of the shop with his usual fluid grace, disappearing behind the curtain. He could feel Draco’s curious eyes on him as Madame Malkin began bustling around with a measuring tape, ready to work.
"So," Draco began, his tone casual yet probing, "are you excited about starting at Hogwarts?" His aristocratic air was still intact, but there was a hint of genuine interest behind his words as he watched Hadrian step up onto the fitting stool.
Hadrian smiled slightly, relaxing a bit as Madame Malkin began measuring his shoulders. “I am,” he said, feeling the weight of Draco’s assessing gaze. “I’m looking forward to seeing what Hogwarts has to offer.”
Hadrian stood on the fitting stool beside Draco, feeling a bit awkward as Madame Malkin's measuring tape floated and whirred around him, taking precise measurements of his arms, shoulders, and waist. Draco was already mid-fitting, his robes half-pinned and in progress, and he seemed completely at ease with the whole process. As Madame Malkin’s hands worked deftly, Draco turned to Hadrian with an almost conspiratorial smile.
“So, Hadrian,” Draco began, his voice curious yet confident, “what house do you think you’ll be sorted into?”
Hadrian blinked, confused. “What do you mean... sorted?”
Draco’s eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing his face. “You don’t know about the Hogwarts houses?” he asked, his tone almost incredulous. “They’re the most important thing at Hogwarts! You get sorted into one of four houses on your first night. It’s like your family while you’re at school.”
“Oh,” Hadrian said, feeling a little out of his depth. “No, I didn’t know that. What are the houses?”
Draco looked pleased to enlighten him. “There’s Gryffindor, where the brave go; Hufflepuff, which takes the loyal and hardworking; Ravenclaw, for the clever and those who value knowledge; and Slytherin,” he said with a slight smirk, “which is for the ambitious, cunning, and resourceful. That’s the house I’m certain I’ll be in—it’s the best, really.”
Hadrian nodded slowly, trying to absorb the new information as Madame Malkin adjusted his sleeve length. “I don’t really know where I’d end up,” he admitted honestly.
Draco waved a hand dismissively. “You’d probably make a decent Slytherin,” he said, eyeing Hadrian with a slightly speculative look. “Or maybe Ravenclaw, if you like books. Just don’t end up in Hufflepuff—my father says they’re a bunch of duffers.”
Hadrian couldn’t help but smile at Draco’s confident tone, though he felt a little uneasy not knowing where he truly belonged.
“Anyway,” Draco continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “did you know Harry Potter will be starting Hogwarts this year too?”
Hadrian’s heart skipped a beat, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. “Really?” he asked, forcing a note of curiosity into his voice. “What’s so special about Harry Potter?”
Draco looked shocked for a moment, then his expression turned to one of eager importance. “You’ve never heard of Harry Potter?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “He’s the boy who lived! The only person to ever survive a killing curse—cast by You-Know-Who himself. Everyone thought Harry Potter had died that night, but he survived, and You-Know-Who was destroyed.”
“Oh,” Hadrian said, playing along as he let Draco continue, feeling an odd weight settle in his chest.
“My father says he’s famous, like a legend. Everyone in our world knows who he is,” Draco went on, clearly enjoying the chance to show off his knowledge. “No one really knows what happened to him after his parents died, but they say he’s coming to Hogwarts this year. I bet he’ll be in Gryffindor—they’re always the ones with all the stories of bravery and heroics.”
Hadrian swallowed, feeling a knot of tension form in his stomach as Madame Malkin finished pinning his robes and stepped back to inspect her work. “Sounds... interesting,” he said carefully, unsure of what else to say without revealing the truth.
“It will be,” Draco agreed, straightening proudly. “Maybe I’ll meet him and we’ll be friends—imagine that, me and the famous Harry Potter.”
Hadrian offered a small smile, his thoughts racing even as Madame Malkin began bustling around to finalize the adjustments. He knew he couldn’t tell Draco who he really was, at least not yet. There was too much he didn’t understand about himself.
Madame Malkin finished with a flourish. “There, all done,” she said brightly, stepping back. “You’re both ready for Hogwarts now.”
Hadrian stepped down from the stool, feeling the weight of Draco’s expectant gaze. He gave a small nod, knowing that whatever awaited him at Hogwarts, it was only just beginning.
Severus returned from the back of the shop, his expression as unreadable as ever. He carried a small parchment slip in his hand—the finalized order. “The robes will be delivered to your address before term begins,” he informed Hadrian with a nod, tucking the slip into his pocket.
Hadrian froze for a split second, catching the words your address. He knew he would be staying with Snape, but Snape’s phrasing left that detail unspoken. It dawned on him that Severus didn’t want anyone to know Hadrian would be living with him, and Hadrian found himself silently agreeing. This was something he wasn’t ready to share, not even with Draco. School robes being sent to “his address” was a small misdirection—one that kept his circumstances hidden. He pushed the thought aside, determined not to reveal anything with his expression.
“Thank you, Professor,” Hadrian replied politely, his face calm as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He turned to Draco, who had stepped off the stool and was adjusting his robes with a casual air.
Draco’s face lit up with a friendly smile. “It was good meeting you, Hadrian,” he said, offering a hand in a gesture that felt both formal and genuine. “You should come to visit sometime—my parents would be happy to host, I’m sure. Professor Snape can arrange it.”
Hadrian shook Draco’s hand, a bit surprised by the invitation but managing to return the smile. “I’d like that,” he said.
Severus gave Draco a polite nod. “We’ll discuss it another time, Draco,” he said, his tone neutral but not dismissive. “Give my regards to your parents.”
“I will,” Draco said, stepping back. “Goodbye, Hadrian. I’ll see you at Hogwarts, then.”
“Goodbye, Draco,” Hadrian said, feeling a mixture of curiosity and relief as he followed Severus toward the shop’s door. With a final wave from Draco, they exited Madame Malkin’s and stepped out onto Diagon Alley.
As they emerged into the bustling street, Hadrian’s nose was immediately assaulted by the delicious, warm scents of food wafting from nearby shops—roast meats, freshly baked bread, and the unmistakable sweetness of pastries. His stomach gave an involuntary growl, and he suddenly realized just how hungry he was. He cast a quick, self-conscious glance at Severus, but the man’s eyes were already on him, sharper and more observant than ever.
“Hadrian,” Severus said quietly, his gaze narrowing slightly, “when was the last time you ate a proper meal?”
Hadrian hesitated, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I… I don’t remember,” he admitted, looking down at the cobblestones.
Severus’s expression darkened, but his voice was calm. “You’re malnourished,” he stated flatly, his tone leaving no room for denial. He seemed to make a quick decision, and his hand settled gently but firmly on Hadrian’s shoulder. “We’re getting something to eat. Now.”
Without waiting for a response, Severus steered him down the street with purposeful strides, leading him toward “The Leaky Cauldron.” The smells grew even stronger as they neared the entrance, and Hadrian’s stomach twisted in anticipation.
Inside, the inn was warm and bustling, filled with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes. Severus guided him to a quiet corner table, gesturing for him to sit. Moments later, a plump witch in an apron approached, smiling brightly.
“What can I get you?” she asked, her eyes flicking briefly to Severus before settling on Hadrian.
“A hearty meal, something suitable for a child in need of nutrition,” Severus said coolly, his tone firm. “And a strong tea for myself.”
The waitress nodded sympathetically, taking their order without hesitation. Severus’s expression softened slightly as he looked at Hadrian, his gaze assessing. “You’re going to eat, Hadrian. And you’re going to eat well. No arguments.”
Hadrian, feeling both overwhelmed and grateful, simply nodded. “Yes, sir.”
As the waitress bustled off, Severus leaned back in his chair, his piercing gaze never leaving Hadrian’s face. There was a strange sense of protection in his demeanor—something that Hadrian hadn’t expected but found oddly comforting. For the first time in what felt like forever, he began to relax, knowing that at least for now, he was in safe hands.
They sat in comfortable silence until the food arrived—heaping plates of roast chicken, buttered potatoes, and warm rolls fresh from the oven. Hadrian’s eyes widened at the sight, and without further prompting, he dug in with a hunger that surprised even him. Severus watched him eat, his expression as guarded as ever, but with a faint glimmer of approval. Yet, his eyes didn’t miss the small, subtle movements Hadrian made: slipping some of the rolls into a napkin, carefully wrapping them up, and then stealthily tucking the bundle into his pocket. Severus said nothing, but his thoughts churned. The boy was clearly unused to having enough food, and his small, underfed frame spoke volumes about how often he must have gone hungry.
This cannot continue, Severus thought grimly. He would need to find a way to ensure Hadrian had proper meals, to build up his strength before the school year began. The boy was far too small for his age—several inches shorter and much thinner than most eleven-year-olds. There was work to be done, but now wasn’t the time for stern lectures or questions. What the boy needed was support, patience, and an unexpected bit of joy.
With that decision made, Severus caught the eye of the plump witch who had served them and gave her a small nod, gesturing her over. “I believe it’s someone’s birthday today,” he said, his voice carrying a rare warmth. “We would like a cake.”
Hadrian looked up in shock, his fork freezing mid-air. His eyes went wide, and he stared at Severus as if he’d grown a second head. “But—it’s not—how did you—?”
Severus’s lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile. “Happy Birthday, Hadrian,” he said simply, his tone sincere. The waitress beamed and bustled off, leaving Hadrian speechless.
For the first time in a long while, Hadrian felt an overwhelming mix of emotions—surprise, disbelief, and a warmth that he didn’t know how to name. He didn’t protest, just sat there, stunned, until the waitress returned with a small but beautiful chocolate cake topped with a single candle. Severus gestured for him to make a wish, and Hadrian, feeling slightly foolish but happier than he could remember, blew out the candle with a quiet breath.
They finished the meal leisurely, savoring the unexpected sweetness of the cake, and Severus settled the bill. As they rose to leave, Severus gave Hadrian a rare, approving nod. “We’ve more to do,” he said, his voice sliding back into its usual calm tone. “It’s time to get your wand.”
Hadrian’s astonishment hadn’t faded, but he nodded eagerly, still processing the fact that Severus had acknowledged his birthday—something he hadn’t expected anyone to notice, let alone celebrate. As they stepped back out into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, the prospect of getting a wand made his heart beat faster, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of hope about the future he had never dared to imagine.
Severus and Hadrian approached Ollivanders, the old wand shop with its peeling gold letters and narrow windows stacked with dusty boxes. The shop seemed almost alive with a quiet, humming magic that made the hair on the back of Hadrian’s neck stand up. Severus held the door open, and Hadrian stepped inside, feeling the weight of the atmosphere settle around him. The room was small and shadowy, lit only by the dim glow of the street outside. Shelves filled with narrow boxes stretched to the ceiling, and the air carried the scent of old wood and something ancient, something powerful.
“Ah, Severus Snape,” came a soft, almost whispery voice. A thin, elderly man with wide, pale eyes appeared from behind a towering stack of wand boxes. “It has been many years since you last visited my shop. And who is this young man with you?” Mr. Ollivander’s gaze settled on Hadrian, his expression shifting from polite curiosity to genuine surprise.
“This is Hadrian,” Severus said, his tone steady and measured. “He needs a wand.”
Ollivander’s eyes narrowed as he studied Hadrian, his expression shifting from polite curiosity to something deeper—something that made Hadrian feel as though the man was looking right through him. Hadrian’s hands twitched nervously, and he shifted his weight, feeling suddenly exposed under that piercing gaze.
“Hadrian…” Ollivander repeated slowly, as if tasting the name. A glimmer of recognition flashed in his pale eyes. “Ah, yes. Of course, of course.” His thin lips curved into a faint smile. “I remember now. I sold wands to your parents when they were just your age.”
Hadrian’s breath hitched, and he felt his pulse quicken. “You... you knew my parents?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of wonder and nervousness lacing his words.
“Oh yes,” Ollivander said, nodding slowly as if recalling distant memories. “Your mother, Lily—her wand was ten and a quarter inches, willow, swishy, ideal for charms. A truly remarkable witch, your mother.” His eyes grew distant, lost in the memory. “And your father, James—eleven inches, mahogany, pliable. A wand suited for a wizard with a gift for Transfiguration.”
Hadrian felt a strange tightness in his chest. The way Ollivander spoke about his parents, like they were old friends—like he knew them in a way Hadrian never would—made him feel both connected and achingly distant. He had so many questions, but Ollivander’s intense gaze made him hesitant to speak.
The wandmaker seemed to notice Hadrian’s discomfort and straightened abruptly, his face becoming businesslike. “Well, we mustn’t waste time. Let’s find you a wand, shall we?”
Hadrian nodded, a lump forming in his throat, and watched as Ollivander began pulling boxes from the shelves. He handed the first wand to Hadrian, a slim length of wood with an elegant curve. “Try this one—beechwood, dragon heartstring, nine inches.”
Hadrian took the wand, feeling an uncomfortable heat in his palm. He gave it a hesitant wave, but nothing happened—no sparks, no warmth, just a dull weight in his hand.
“No, no, that’s not right,” Ollivander muttered, snatching the wand back almost as soon as Hadrian had lowered it. “Let’s try another.”
The process went on, wand after wand, each one feeling wrong—too stiff, too heavy, or completely unresponsive. Hadrian’s nerves grew with each failed attempt, his frustration mounting, but Ollivander’s face showed no concern, only a growing curiosity.
Finally, Ollivander paused, his expression suddenly brightening with realization. “Wait here,” he said softly, disappearing into the back of the shop with an almost frantic energy. He returned moments later, holding a slender box with the utmost care. “I wonder…” he murmured as he opened the lid, revealing a simple, elegant wand of light-colored wood.
“Try this,” he said, handing the wand to Hadrian. “Holly, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core.”
As soon as Hadrian’s fingers curled around the handle, a rush of warmth spread through his arm. A gentle breeze seemed to stir the air around him, and a shower of golden sparks burst from the tip of the wand, filling the small shop with a warm glow. The connection was immediate, and Hadrian’s heart beat faster, sensing that this wand was his.
Ollivander’s face went still, his pale eyes wide and unblinking. “Curious,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Most curious.”
Hadrian, suddenly self-conscious, shifted slightly and ran a hand through his hair, making sure it covered the lightning strike scar on his forehead—the scar that began at his hairline and ended just below his brow on the right side.
“What’s curious?” Hadrian asked hesitantly, his voice breaking the silence.
Ollivander leaned forward, his gaze intense. “It is curious that you should be chosen by this particular wand,” he said slowly, his eyes flicking to the scar barely visible beneath Hadrian’s fringe. “The phoenix whose feather resides in your wand gave just one other feather... that feather resides in the wand that gave you that scar. It is a rare connection, indeed.”
Hadrian swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the wand. “Do you... do you know what happened when I got this scar?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “And who... who is ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’?”
Ollivander’s face softened with an almost pitying look, but before he could answer, Severus stepped forward, his expression stern. “We will discuss this later, Hadrian,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Your questions will be answered in due time.”
Hadrian nodded reluctantly, sensing that now wasn’t the time to press further. Ollivander’s intense gaze lingered for a moment longer before he took the wand back and carefully placed it in a box, handing it to Hadrian with a gentle smile.
“The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Hadrian,” he said softly. “Remember that. And take good care of it.”
Severus thanked Ollivander with a curt nod, and they stepped back out into the bright light of Diagon Alley. Hadrian clutched the wand box tightly to his chest, his mind spinning with questions he wasn’t sure he was ready to have answered.
“Come,” Severus said quietly, his hand resting briefly on Hadrian’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. “We have other preparations to make.”
They moved away from the shop, the weight of Ollivander’s words hanging heavily in the air, and Hadrian knew that whatever lay ahead, his world had just irrevocably changed.
Hadrian follows Severus down the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley toward a shop with a dark wooden sign that reads Eeylops Owl Emporium. The sound of faint hooting drifted out from the open doorway, and Hadrian felt a sense of excitement stir within him. Owls had always fascinated him; they were mysterious, swift, and undeniably magical. As they stepped inside, the shop was filled with the fluttering of wings, and dozens of owls, from tiny screech owls to large majestic ones, sat perched in every corner.
Severus paused just inside the entrance, his expression calm but his voice carrying the usual stern authority. “You will need a reliable owl, Hadrian,” he said, his dark eyes scanning the rows of perches. “Any respectable wizard—especially one in your position—should have a faithful companion to trust with important letters and messages.”
Hadrian nodded, feeling the weight of those words. He was a Lord now, and that meant having responsibilities he was still coming to terms with. An owl wasn’t just a pet; it was a partner, a symbol of trust and loyalty. He looked around the shop, his eyes lingering on a beautiful tawny owl, then a sleek black one with piercing yellow eyes, but none of them felt right. He wandered further into the store, taking in the various cages and perches, until he caught sight of something that made him stop in his tracks.
Perched on a high, ornate stand was a stunning all-white owl, her feathers gleaming like fresh snow under the lantern light. She had piercing amber eyes that locked onto Hadrian’s as if she were studying him with a depth and intelligence that was almost unnerving. She fluffed her feathers, giving a soft but commanding hoot, and Hadrian felt an immediate connection, a sense of recognition that made his heart skip a beat.
He stepped closer, enchanted, and the shopkeeper, a middle-aged witch with a kind smile, appeared at his side. “Ah, you've taken a liking to her, have you?” she said with a chuckle. “That’s a feisty one, that is. A beautiful snowy owl—quite rare. She’s got a spirit all her own. Not easily tamed, mind you, but loyal if you earn her trust.”
Hadrian smiled, feeling an inexplicable warmth spread through his chest. He reached out slowly, and the owl watched him, her eyes sharp and unblinking. “Do you... do you want to come live with me?” he asked quietly, almost unsure if he should be speaking to her like that. But the owl seemed to understand; she gave a low, approving hoot and extended her wings slightly, as if accepting his invitation.
Severus, who had been watching from a distance, stepped forward. “If this is the owl you want, then she is yours,” he said calmly. “Remember, Hadrian, This decision is entirely yours, as will be the care and responsibility of this owl.”
Hadrian’s smile widened, a mixture of excitement and a new sense of independence filling him. “I want her,” he said firmly, meeting Severus’s gaze with a determination that seemed to please the older wizard.
“Very well,” Severus said with a nod, and he gestured to the shopkeeper. “We’ll take her.”
The shopkeeper grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Good choice.” she said, clearly delighted as she fetched a beautifully carved cage for the snowy owl. Hadrian paid for the owl, feeling a strange sense of pride as he handed over the Galleons from his own pouch. For the first time, he was making decisions for himself, choosing things that were his and his alone. The owl hooted again, as if sensing the significance of the moment.
With the transaction complete, Hadrian gently transferred the owl into her new cage, and they left the Emporium together, the bell above the door jingling softly as it closed behind them. Hadrian walked beside Severus, his new owl resting calmly inside the cage, her bright eyes still fixed intently on him. It was as if she already knew they belonged to each other.
“She’ll need a name,” Severus said quietly as they walked back out into the bustling alley, the noise and excitement of the street wrapping around them. “Choosing a name is important—it’s the first act of trust between you and your owl.”
Hadrian nodded, glancing at the snowy owl who seemed to be waiting for him to speak. “I’ll think of the perfect one,” he promised, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. For the first time, he felt a strange sense of freedom, and with the bright, watchful eyes of his new owl on him, he knew that this was the beginning of something entirely new—a life he would build for himself.
Severus and Hadrian stood outside Eeylops Owl Emporium, the excitement of buying his new snowy owl still thrumming through Hadrian's veins. The owl rested quietly in its cage, watching Hadrian with an intensity that made him feel strangely grounded—like he was no longer alone in this strange, new world. He had his robes, he had his wand, and now he had an owl. It felt as though the pieces of his life were slowly coming together.
Severus turned to Hadrian, his expression stern but not unkind. “You have what you need for now,” he said. “Your robes, your wand, and your owl are the essentials. The rest of your school supplies can be ordered through the post; there's no need to linger here any longer. We have arrangements to make, and you should see your new home.”
Hadrian’s heart leapt at the words, a mix of emotions swirling inside him—relief, disbelief, and a thrill of something that felt a lot like freedom. His new home. He wouldn’t be going back to the Dursleys. He would never have to step foot in that house again, never have to squeeze into that tiny, dark cupboard beneath the stairs or endure their cold, disdainful eyes. It was over. He swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears prick at the back of his eyes, but he forced them down, not wanting to show weakness. He took a deep breath and nodded.
“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the jumble of emotions churning inside him. He looked up at Severus, who seemed to understand the weight of this moment. For the first time, Hadrian felt that the future was his to shape, not something dictated by others.
Severus gave a short nod, acknowledging the significance of what Hadrian was feeling without saying a word. “We will be Apparating,” he said, his tone calm and instructional. “You remember what to do. Hold onto my forearm—firmly, and do not let go, no matter what you feel.”
Hadrian nodded again, his nerves tightening as he remembered the dizzying, disorienting sensation of Apparition. He placed the cage with his snowy owl gently at his feet and reached out, grabbing Severus’s forearm with both hands. His fingers tightened around the fabric of Severus’s sleeve, his knuckles whitening with the strength of his grip. The anticipation made his heart pound, but there was an undercurrent of excitement, too—an eagerness to see his new home, wherever it was, and to leave the past far behind him.
Severus looked down at him, his eyes serious. “Take a deep breath and hold on tightly,” he instructed. Hadrian did as he was told, bracing himself for what was to come.
And then it happened—Severus turned sharply on the spot, and the world around them seemed to implode. Hadrian felt a sudden, gut-wrenching pull at his navel, as if he were being yanked through a tiny tube. The air around them compressed, squeezing him from all sides. It was disorienting, and he could feel his stomach lurch uncomfortably as they twisted and spun through the nothingness. He shut his eyes tightly, holding onto Severus with all his strength, the sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.
In a flash, it was over. They landed on solid ground with a soft pop, and Hadrian stumbled, his feet unsteady as he tried to catch his breath. He released Severus’s arm, blinking rapidly to clear the strange pressure from his eyes, and looked around, his heart still racing.
They stood in front of a large, imposing manor house, surrounded by lush, green gardens that stretched into the distance. The building was grand and old, with ivy curling up the stone walls, and the windows glittered in the sunlight. It was nothing like he had expected—elegant and dignified, but there was a warmth to it, a sense of belonging that had nothing to do with its grandeur.
“Welcome home, Hadrian,” Severus said quietly, his voice gentle for the first time. “This is where you’ll be living now. It’s your home, and no one will take it from you.”
Hadrian’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt a swell of emotion so powerful it nearly overwhelmed him. This wasn’t just a house—it was his home. His first real home. He reached down to pick up the cage holding his snowy owl, who watched him with those bright, unblinking eyes, and felt the sting of tears again. But this time, he didn’t fight them. He let them come, a single tear sliding down his cheek as he smiled.
“Thank you,” he whispered, barely able to find his voice as he looked up at Severus. Severus didn’t respond, only gave him a nod, his eyes reflecting a quiet understanding.