Chapter 25- The Attack
The morning air was crisp, filled with the scent of damp earth and pine, the sky above just beginning to brighten with the early light of dawn. The Forbidden Forest loomed dark and foreboding, but Hadrian Potter found solace in its seclusion. This was his sanctuary—a place where he could push his body to its limits without prying eyes, without judgment.
Hadrian stood shirtless in a small clearing, his breath coming in controlled bursts as he finished another set of pull-ups on the low-hanging branch of a sturdy oak tree. His hands, calloused from years of rough living, gripped the bark with ease, his muscles flexing as he lifted himself up and down in a steady rhythm. Each repetition brought a slight tremor to his arms, but he relished the burn, the pain a welcome reminder of his strength.
He dropped to the ground in a fluid motion, landing softly on the balls of his feet. The earth beneath him was cold, but Hadrian hardly noticed as he moved into the next phase of his routine. He lowered himself into a push-up position, his body parallel to the ground, and began the grueling task of pushing his body up and down. His muscles strained with each movement, his biceps and triceps bulging with the effort. Sweat dripped from his brow, tracing a path down his bare chest and over the defined ridges of his abs.
The routine was relentless—push-ups, squats, and lunges, all performed with military precision. Hadrian's breath came in sharp bursts as he worked through each exercise, his focus entirely on the physical challenge before him. The strain on his body was immense, but he pushed through the discomfort, driven by an inner fire that refused to be quenched.
After what felt like an eternity, Hadrian paused, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He glanced at the nearby trees, their rough bark calling to him. Without hesitation, he moved toward one, his fists clenching as he began to practice his boxing technique. He threw punch after punch, his knuckles slamming into the tree trunk with a force that would have broken lesser men's hands.
The bark cracked under the assault, small splinters flying off with each hit.
Hadrian's punches were methodical, each one delivered with precision and power. His mind was focused, his thoughts narrowed to the sensation of his fists connecting with the wood. He moved with a fluid grace, his body a blur of motion as he ducked, weaved, and struck again. The tree bore the brunt of his frustration, the holes in its bark growing larger with each successive blow.
But he wasn't done yet. Hadrian's routine wasn't just about strength; it was about control, about mastering his body in ways few others could. He took a step back, eyeing the tree with determination before launching himself into a handstand. His arms trembled slightly as he balanced upside down, the world turned on its head. He held the position for several seconds, his muscles quivering with the effort, before lowering himself into a handstand push-up.
Up and down he went, his body a testament to the countless hours of training he had endured. His arms burned with exertion, but Hadrian pushed through the pain, his mind focused on the task at hand. When he finally lowered himself back to the ground, he could feel the exhaustion creeping in, his muscles heavy with fatigue.
But there was one last challenge. The human flag—a feat of strength and balance that few could master. Hadrian approached the tree again, his hand gripping a low branch as he prepared himself. He took a deep breath and then pulled himself up, his body parallel to the ground as he extended his legs out in a horizontal line. The strain on his core was immense, every muscle in his body screaming in protest as he held the position.
Just as he felt his grip faltering, a sudden sharp pain shot through his hand. Hadrian gasped, losing his balance as he dropped to the ground. He landed in a crouch, his hand clutched to his chest as he looked down to see blood oozing from a deep cut across his palm. A knife, small and wickedly sharp, had embedded itself in the tree where his hand had been just moments before.
His eyes snapped upward, searching the treeline for the source of the attack.
There, half-hidden in the shadows, stood a cloaked figure, its face obscured by the darkness of the hood. The figure's presence was menacing, its stance tense as it watched Hadrian with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
Hadrian's heart raced, adrenaline flooding his system as he assessed his options. The exhaustion from his workout was still heavy in his limbs, but he couldn't afford to let his guard down. With a burst of energy, he sprinted toward the trees, his feet pounding against the earth as he tried to put distance between himself and the attacker. But his fatigue was catching up to him; his muscles burned, his lungs struggled to draw in enough air.
He made a split-second decision and leaped at the nearest tree, his hands finding purchase on the rough bark as he began to climb. His arms and legs strained with the effort, but he managed to haul himself up, perching on a thick branch high above the ground. His breath came in ragged gasps as he glanced down, only to see the cloaked figure moving with eerie silence toward the base of the tree.
Hadrian's mind raced as he tried to think of a way out. The figure was climbing now, its movements slow and deliberate. There was no doubt—he was coming for him. His pulse quickened, his breath catching in his throat as the figure drew closer, its dark silhouette almost blending into the shadows of the tree.
"Who are you?" Hadrian shouted, his voice rough with both fear and defiance. But the figure did not respond, merely continued its ascent with an unnerving calmness.
Hadrian knew he couldn't wait for it to reach him. His muscles tensed, ready to fight, when the figure suddenly leaped, closing the distance between them in an instant. Hadrian had no choice but to engage. He lashed out with a kick, catching the figure in the side and causing it to falter slightly. But it recovered quickly, drawing a knife from within their cloak as they slashed at Hadrian.
Hadrian ducked under the blade, his body moving on instinct. He twisted away from the attack, grabbing the branch above him to lift himself into a quick handstand, narrowly avoiding a lethal strike to the head. The figure was relentless, its movements quick and precise, but Hadrian's training had prepared him for moments like this. He dropped back down, using the momentum to deliver a powerful kick that knocked the knife from the figure's hand.
For a brief moment, the fight seemed to shift in Hadrian's favor. He grabbed the fallen knife, spinning it in his hand as he faced the figure. But just as he prepared to strike, the figure lunged at him, its movements faster than he anticipated.
It tackled Hadrian, the force of the impact sending them both tumbling from the tree and crashing to the ground below.
The wind was knocked out of Hadrian as he hit the earth, but he didn't have time to recover. The figure was on him in an instant, its hands grasping for the knife as it slashed at Hadrian's bare chest. Pain exploded in his side as the blade found its mark, the sharp sting of the cut sending a shockwave through his system.
Hadrian gritted his teeth, refusing to give in. "I've endured worse," he hissed, his voice dark and defiant. Memories of the Dursleys' cruelty flashed through his mind, their taunts and beatings nothing compared to this. "This is nothing."
The figure hesitated, the grip on the knife faltering for just a moment. Hadrian seized the opportunity, twisting his body to throw it off balance. The figure stumbled, and Hadrian surged forward, using the last of his strength to knock the knife from their hand and deliver a sharp punch to their jaw.
The figure reeled back, and for a moment, Hadrian thought he had won. But the figure recovered quickly, his movements almost inhumanly fast as he drew a second knife from within their cloak. The fight resumed with renewed intensity, the two of them locked in a deadly dance of blades and fists. Hadrian's muscles screamed in protest, his body pushed to its limits as he dodged and struck, his mind focused entirely on survival.
Blood flowed freely from the wounds on Hadrian's chest and arms, staining the ground beneath them. The figure was relentless, its attacks precise and brutal, but Hadrian fought back with everything he had. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurring as the exhaustion threatened to overtake him. But he couldn't give up—not now, not when he was so close to victory.
Just as the figure raised the knife for a final strike, a sudden burst of light filled the clearing, blinding both combatants. Hadrian stumbled back, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of what was happening. The figure froze, its head snapping toward the source of the light.
"Enough!" a voice boomed, filled with authority and power. Hadrian blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness. There, standing at the edge of the clearing, was Albus Dumbledore, his wand raised and his expression stern.
The figure hesitated for only a moment before it turned and fled, moving with a speed that was almost unnatural. It disappeared into the shadows of the trees, leaving Hadrian alone.
Dumbledore's arrival alerted the other students, and a crowd began to gather. Tonks, Daphne, and Hadrian's friends, including Blaise, Theo, and Draco, arrived on the scene, their faces a mix of concern and shock.
Tonks and Daphne rushed forward, their eyes wide with horror and worry. They saw Hadrian, bloodied and bruised, standing with a fierce determination. Blaise, Theo, and Draco moved to help Hadrian, lifting him with careful hands as Madame Pomfrey arrived, her face a mask of disbelief.
Madame Pomfrey's gaze swept over Hadrian's injuries, and she gasped at the sight. "What on earth happened?" she demanded, her voice trembling with shock.
Hadrian, still standing despite his injuries, coughed blood, his face pale and strained. He looked at Daphne and Tonks, who had come closer, their expressions filled with anguish. Daphne and Tonks gently embraced him, their touch both soothing and painful as they inadvertently pressed against his wounds. Hadrian felt a flush of color rise to his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and the warmth of their concern.
The other students watched with a mixture of awe and envy. Hadrian's physique, though bloodied, was a testament to his rigorous training. His body was tense as he was carried out by Madam Pomfrey.
The crowd dispersed, and Hadrian became the talk of the school, the rumor mill had started. Pansy Parkinson was delightedly handing out theories after theories, but if one of them had went to the Astronomy Tower at night, they would have seen a dark figure there every night, crouched up like a spider. Waiting for the perfect opportunity, to lunge, to strike and to kill.