the man at breakfast
Hadrian startled awake, his heart pounding in his chest. His body jolted upright, but instinctively, he threw his arm out, stopping himself short before he could hit his head on the roof of the cupboard. Sitting back on his elbows, he rubbed his face, willing the lingering haze of sleep to fade. The unfamiliar softness of the bedding beneath him caught his attention, and he paused, his fingers brushing over the smooth, rich material.
It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before—warm, comforting, and luxurious in a way that didn’t seem real. The mattress was firm yet yielding, a far cry from the lumpy, cold excuse for a bed he’d known for years. His gaze drifted down to the intricately embroidered quilt draped over him, and his chest tightened with an odd mix of disbelief and tentative comfort.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he immediately began searching for his glasses, patting the bedside table until his fingers closed around the familiar frames. He slipped them on, and the room came into focus, as did the whirlwind of yesterday’s events.
I’m a wizard. My name is Hadrian. My parents loved me. My parents wanted me.
But the painful truth came next, unbidden: My parents were murdered.
The thoughts came in waves, each one crashing into him as he sat there, trying to catch his breath. He was no longer in the cupboard under the stairs, no longer in a place where his existence was ignored or barely tolerated. He was in Severus Snape’s home—a grand, mysterious place filled with magic. Magic. The very idea still felt surreal, like something out of a dream he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.
The thought of Hogwarts came next—a school for wizards, for people like him. But with it came an edge of caution, a sharp reminder of his past. Adults hadn’t been kind to him before. They’d lied, dismissed him, hurt him. Why should this be any different? His instincts told him to stay on guard, to watch and wait before trusting too easily. But he had questions—so many questions for Severus—and he would need answers if he was to make sense of this new reality.
Pulling himself out of bed, he stretched, still marveling at the softness of the sheets, the warmth of the room, the very notion of being in a bed that fit him. He padded to the adjoining bathroom, where the sight of the elegant space left him momentarily stunned. He shook off the thought, focusing instead on washing up. He brushed his teeth, rinsed his face, and stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection, pale and tired, looked back at him. His unruly black hair, a wild tangle of tight curls, resisted every attempt to smooth it down. With a sigh, he gave up, letting the curls do as they pleased.
Once he felt as presentable as he could manage, Hadrian returned to the wardrobe, still finding it hard to believe that it held clothes meant for him. He ran his fingers over the fine fabrics before selecting a dark green dress shirt and black trousers. They fit perfectly, a fact that nearly brought tears to his eyes. He slipped on the dragonhide boots he’d been given, their supple leather molding to his feet as if they’d been made just for him.
Dressed and ready, he walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. His breath caught for a moment, a wave of nerves washing over him. This was new, all of it. He was no longer confined, no longer invisible, but stepping into this new world brought with it the weight of uncertainty.
With a deep breath, Hadrian steadied himself. He pressed his hand firmly to the wood, exhaled slowly, and turned the handle. The door creaked open, and he stepped out, ready to face the day—and the questions that demanded answers.
Hadrian descended the stairs slowly, his hand brushing the smooth railing as he made his way to the dining room. As he stepped into the room, he paused, taking in the sight before him.
Severus stood by the tall, arched window; his silhouette framed by the morning light spilling through the heavy drapes. His posture was straight, hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze seemed fixed on something beyond the glass, lost in thought. As Hadrian entered, Severus turned to face him, his dark eyes sharp but unreadable.
“Good morning, Hadrian,” Severus greeted, his voice low and calm.
“Good morning, Severus, ” Hadrian replied, his tone polite but carrying a slight edge of urgency.
Severus nodded toward the table. “We will be receiving a guest shortly,” he said. “For now, we’ll eat breakfast. Once our guest arrives, we can discuss everything at length.”
Hadrian’s jaw tightened, his earlier restraint slipping. “No,” he said firmly, stepping closer to the table. “I want answers now. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, but I need to know the truth. I have a right to know.”
Severus’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps understanding, perhaps weariness. He sighed quietly, a sound that spoke of long-held burdens, and opened his mouth to reply when a soft pop interrupted them. Sable appeared in the corner of the room, bowing deeply.
“Breakfast is ready, sir,” the house-elf announced.
With another pop, the food appeared on the table, and Hadrian’s eyes widened at the sight. It was a full English breakfast—crispy bacon, fried eggs, sausages, black pudding, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, and toast, all arranged with meticulous care on beautiful plates. A platter of fresh fruit sat in the center, its vibrant colors a striking contrast to the rich, hearty spread.
Severus motioned for Hadrian to sit, his expression stern but his voice steady. “We will eat first. Once we’ve finished, I will start at the beginning and tell you what you need to know.”
Hadrian hesitated, frustration bubbling under the surface, but something in Severus’s eyes stopped him. There was a softness there, an almost imperceptible warmth, but also a heavy weight, as though what he was about to reveal carried a brutal truth.
Reluctantly, Hadrian sat down, glancing at the food before him. It was overwhelming in its abundance, a stark contrast to what he had grown used to. Severus took his own seat, his movements calm and deliberate as he began to serve himself.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts, and though the food was tempting, Hadrian found his appetite warring with his impatience. He looked across the table at Severus, who ate with the same meticulous care as he did everything else, his dark eyes focused yet distant.
As they began their meal, Hadrian couldn’t help but feel the weight of what was to come. He knew Severus wasn’t stalling—he was preparing, and that thought both reassured and unnerved him. Whatever answers he would receive after breakfast, they wouldn’t come easily.
Severus’s sharp eyes discreetly observed Hadrian’s movements. Once again, the boy was subtly slipping pieces of toast into a napkin on his lap, his actions careful and practiced, as though he didn’t want to be caught. Severus’s jaw tightened slightly, not in anger but in recognition of a habit born of scarcity and survival. As Hadrian deftly tucked the napkin into his trouser pocket, Severus made a mental note to address the matter later—not with reprimand, but with care.
As the meal drew to a close, A subtle ripple in the wards around the house drew Severus’s attention. Right on time. He set down his fork with a deliberate motion, glancing toward the door just as Sable appeared with a soft pop. The house-elf bowed low before announcing, “Sir, your guest has arrived.”
Hadrian tensed visibly, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table. His green eyes darted toward the doorway, and Severus caught the flicker of nervous anticipation in the boy’s expression. Severus gave him a measured look but said nothing, allowing the moment to unfold.
Seconds later, a tall man stepped into the doorway. He was lean and slightly hunched, as though the weight of his years bore heavily on him. Despite being in his mid-to-late thirties, the man’s prematurely graying hair and the tired lines etched into his face made him appear older. A deep scar slashed diagonally across his right cheek, and faint scratches marked his brow and jawline, hints of a life lived on the edge of danger and sacrifice.
His complexion was pale and sallow, a testament to years of stress and sleepless nights. He wore a long, weathered coat in a muted brown, the hem slightly frayed but scrupulously clean. Beneath it, he donned a dark gray three-piece suit, complete with a worn waistcoat that bore a subtle pinstripe pattern. His faded but crisply pressed white shirt and dark tie completed the look, lending him an air of modest sophistication. In his right hand, he leaned lightly on a polished wooden cane with a curved handle—simple and unadorned, yet elegant. The cane hinted at a lingering injury, the man’s right side favoring it slightly.
There was a quiet dignity in his demeanor, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His presence, though understated, filled the room with a calming air. As he stepped fully into the light, his sharp, misty eyes, which held both intelligence and weariness, fixed on Hadrian.
Hadrian’s breath caught as their eyes met. The man was looking at him with an expression so open and unguarded that it left Hadrian stunned. He had never been looked at like that before—not with disdain, impatience, or indifference, but with something else entirely. There was a warmth, a quiet compassion in the man’s gaze, and something else that unsettled Hadrian: familiarity. The man seemed to recognize him, as though he had been waiting for this moment, and Hadrian couldn’t fathom why.
The moment stretched, silent and heavy, as their gazes locked. Hadrian’s mind whirled, trying to place the familiarity, trying to understand why this man’s presence made his chest tighten with an emotion he couldn’t name.
It was Hadrian who broke the connection first, shifting his eyes away as his nerves got the better of him. The man remained silent, still standing in the doorway, his gaze soft yet unwavering. The room felt charged with unspoken words, and Severus, watching the exchange, leaned back slightly in his chair, his own expression inscrutable. The significance of the moment was not lost on him, though he kept his thoughts carefully guarded.
The man took a slow step forward, his coat fluttering softly around him, but he said nothing, waiting for someone else to speak first.
Severus cleared his throat, breaking the silence that hung heavily in the room. His sharp gaze turned to Hadrian, who looked back at him with a mix of curiosity and unease. “Hadrian,” Severus began, his voice calm and deliberate, “this is Remus John Lupin.”
He paused, his dark eyes flicking briefly to the man before continuing. “And Remus, this is Hadrian James Potter-Black.”
Hadrian’s eyes went wide at the name. This man? This was one of the people who was supposed to be his godfather. His father had chosen this man to watch over him, to care for him if anything ever happened. That meant Remus Lupin had known his parents—been close to them, even. The weight of that realization hit Hadrian like a wave, but with it came something darker.
Where was he? The thought burned as anger began to simmer in his chest. Where has this man been all these years? Why didn’t he come for me? Did he just abandon me when my parents died? Was I so easy to walk away from?
The emotions tangled inside him, frustration mixing with a sense of betrayal, but before Hadrian could voice any of it, Remus stepped forward. His misty eyes never wavered as he walked closer, his movements deliberate and unthreatening. When he stopped in front of Hadrian, he extended his hand, his expression soft and filled with something Hadrian couldn’t name.
Hadrian flinched—just slightly—but enough for Remus to notice. His hand hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing its course, the gentle offer unwavering. There was no trace of judgment in Remus’s face, but his eyes flicked briefly to Severus, something unspoken passing between them. Severus gave the barest of nods, his expression unreadable. The exchange was silent and swift, and neither man showed Hadrian that it had occurred.
Gathering himself, Hadrian hesitated for a moment before reaching out and shaking Remus’s hand. The handshake was firm but gentle, an unspoken effort on Remus’s part to communicate care and steadiness. “Hello,” Hadrian said, his voice quiet but steady. He met Remus’s gaze for a moment, trying to decipher the emotions he saw there.
“Hello, Hadrian,” Remus replied, his tone warm and calm as he released the boy’s hand. There was no pity in his voice, only a deep kindness that unsettled Hadrian more than anger might have.
Severus rose from his seat, his dark robes swishing slightly as he straightened. “Sable,” he called, his tone crisp.
With a soft pop, the house-elf appeared. “Yes, sir?”
“Prepare tea,” Severus instructed. “Serve it in the parlor.”
“As you wish, sir,” Sable replied with a bow before vanishing just as quickly as he had appeared.
Turning back to Hadrian, Severus spoke with his usual measured calm. “Go wash up after your meal, Hadrian. When you are done, meet us in the parlor.”
Hadrian glanced between Severus and Remus, his emotions still swirling but kept in check. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly.
Remus offered a small smile. “I’ll see you shortly, Hadrian,” he said. “We’ll have the chance to get better acquainted then.”
Hadrian nodded, not trusting himself to speak further. He turned and left the room, the weight of the encounter pressing heavily on his shoulders. As he climbed the stairs, he couldn’t stop the flood of questions in his mind. Why now? Why did he wait until now to appear? Whatever answers awaited him in the parlor, Hadrian resolved to face them head-on. For now, he needed to focus on steadying himself, preparing for the truths that were bound to come.
As Hadrian’s footsteps faded up the staircase, Severus turned sharply, leading Remus into the parlor. The room was darkly elegant, its leather chairs and gothic-style lamps casting warm pools of light that softened the tension between the two men. Once inside, Severus gestured for Remus to sit but did not take a seat himself. Instead, he turned to face the other man fully, his expression as guarded as ever.
Remus met Severus’s gaze, and for a moment, neither spoke. The weight of the past decade hung between them like an unspoken shadow. In Remus’s misty eyes, Severus could see the unasked questions, the same ones he had himself—questions about the boy’s care, his suffering, and the choices that had led them all to this moment.
Severus broke the silence first. “We have much to discuss,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “but we must begin with the boy. The past will not wait, and Hadrian’s understanding of it cannot either.”
Remus hesitated, his brow furrowing as he leaned on his cane. “How much are we to tell him?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “The truth of what happened, the choices his parents made, the dangers that loom ahead—how much can he bear, Severus?”
Severus’s gaze darkened, but there was a resolute determination in his tone. “We will tell him everything. Any question he asks will be answered. We will not lie by omission, nor will we sugarcoat the truth. The boy has lived too long in the shadow of lies and neglect. Trust is paramount, and his safety depends on it.”
Remus’s eyes widened slightly, his grip on his cane tightening as realization dawned. “You mean to enact the safeguard?” he asked, his voice hushed but heavy with understanding.
Severus nodded once, sharply. “Yes. It is the only way forward. The layers of protection we put into place for James and Lilys safety were not enough. We will not make the same mistakes with him. He must know the truth, and he must be able to trust us implicitly.”
Remus exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “If we tell him everything, it won’t be easy. He’s already guarded, Severus. You saw how he flinched earlier. He’ll have questions about why—why he was left in that house, why no one came for him?”
Severus’s jaw tightened. “I will not excuse what was done to him, but I will provide the truth. He will understand that while we failed to act swift enough, we are here now, and we will not fail again.”
Remus’s lips pressed into a thin line; his expression conflicted. “There’s more you need to know,” he said after a moment. “Sparrow knows. He’ll be arriving soon. We’ll need to prepare another room for him.”
Severus’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms, the weight of the information settling on him. “Sable will see to the preparations,” he said curtly. “But we cannot wait for him to arrive before we begin. Hadrian has too many questions already. If he begins to feel that this is an unsafe environment, even though he cannot leave without triggering the wards, we will lose his trust. And without that trust, nothing we do will matter.”
Remus considered this, his misty eyes thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right. The boy’s trust must come first. If we go into this with honesty, we might stand a chance of helping him.”
Severus allowed a brief moment of silence before speaking again, his tone softer but no less firm. “His safety, Remus, is the only thing that matters. If he is to face what lies ahead, he must not only feel safe but believe that he is not alone.”
The two men sat in quiet agreement, their shared determination. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, a backdrop to the heavy burden of the decisions they were making. Together, they prepared to face the difficult truths that would soon be laid bare before Hadrian—a boy who had endured far too much, far too soon, and who deserved to finally understand the truth of his place in the world.