Chapter 32- The Tome of Shadows
The attic was a sanctuary, a place where no one ventured, not Sirius, not Tonks—no one but Hadrian. Dust motes floated in the dim light that filtered through a small, grimy window, casting the place in a perpetual twilight. It was quiet, far away from the bustle and laughter of Grimmauld Place, a haven of solitude that suited him well. He had always been alone; his childhood with the Dursleys had ensured that. He knew the cold comfort of solitude, had grown accustomed to the silence that only his thoughts could penetrate.
Seated on an old, worn-out trunk, Hadrian opened the journal he had kept hidden for so long, its pages filled with the secrets of a language few could understand. The leather-bound cover was cracked with age, the corners frayed, but the weight of its knowledge was palpable. With a deep breath, he opened it, the parchment crackling softly under his fingers.
The first page was blank, save for a single line that seemed to shimmer as he stared at it. He could read the words, though they weren't written in English, or any language he had ever studied at Hogwarts-
"If you can read this, you are a speaker of the Noble Tongue and know a language that others know not."
The realization hit him like a cold wave.
Parseltongue. The Noble Tongue. A language as ancient as magic itself, spoken by those who wielded a power that others feared and misunderstood. He could speak it, understand it, and now, he would learn its secrets.
He turned the page, and the true contents of the journal revealed themselves. The words seemed to writhe and twist on the page, as though alive, whispering to him in soft, sibilant tones. The next entry spoke of power—dark, unyielding power that came not from light or love, but from the shadows that lurked within every soul.
Magic that could bend minds, break hearts, and steal the very essence of life.
Hadrian's pulse quickened as he read further, the thrill of forbidden knowledge coursing through him. Here, in this forgotten journal, lay spells of such dark potency that they had been erased from history, hidden away by those who feared what they could do.
-The Spells of the Noble Tongue-
He began to read the first spell, the ink on the page glowing faintly as if infused with the darkness it described.
**Mors Umbrarum** - **Incantation:** Mors Umbrarum - **Wand Movement:** A downward slash followed by a thrust towards the target, mimicking the scythe of Death. - **Purpose:** Kills and repels Dementors by attacking their very essence, severing their connection to the mortal plane. - **Creator:** Arcturus Slytherin, an ancient and dark wizard who specialized in spells against dark creatures.
Now that would be a useful spell, though he had never tried a Patronus, he doubted he would be able to ever cast one, whenever he thought of the gang and his happy times, the memories of the Dursleys and Vernon's metal buckle came floating in his mind.
Hadrian could feel his heart beating faster as he read on. The next page detailed another spell, equally as dark and potent.
**Serpens Veneficium** - **Incantation:** Serpens Veneficium - **Wand Movement:** A twisting motion mimicking a snake's slither. - **Purpose:** Summons a poisonous serpent to attack the target. - **Creator:** Salazar Slytherin, founder of Slytherin House, known for his affinity with serpents. - **Usage:** Used primarily by dark wizards for assassination or protection against enemies.
He could almost hear the hissing of the serpents as he imagined the spell in action, a deadly strike that would leave his enemies helpless before him.
The next spell was even more terrifying, its implications chilling.
**Mortis Lamia** - **Incantation:** Mortis Lamia - **Wand Movement:** A piercing thrust followed by a drawing motion as if pulling something out. - **Purpose:** Drains the life force from the target and transfers it to the caster. - **Creator:** Morgana Le Fay, an ancient sorceress known for her dark and life-draining magics. - **Usage:** Used to rejuvenate the caster at the expense of the target's life force.
Hadrian's fingers trembled as he traced the words, the power within them almost tangible. This was magic far beyond anything taught at Hogwarts, beyond anything Dumbledore would ever approve of. But it was also a power that called to him, a power that could protect him, that could make him strong—stronger than anyone.
The book continued to reveal its secrets.
**Nox Serpenta** - **Incantation:** Nox Serpenta - **Wand Movement:** A downward spiral, ending in a sharp flick. - **Purpose:** Envelops the area in a dark, serpentine mist that obscures vision and confuses the senses. - **Creator:** Nyx Nighthawk, a dark sorceress who used it to escape from pursuers. - **Usage:** Ideal for creating a quick getaway or disorienting enemies in battle.
Hadrian knew he had to be careful. These spells were not just powerful—they were dangerous, capable of corrupting the very soul of the one who wielded them. But he couldn't stop. The allure of the power was too great, the promise of what he could become too tempting.
He turned another page, and there, scrawled in the margins, were notes written in a script he recognized as his own. The handwriting was shaky, as though written in haste or fear. It described a ritual—a dark, forbidden ritual that could bind the caster to the power of the Noble Tongue forever.
**Rite of the Serpent's Soul** - **Ingredients:** Serpent's fang, blood of the caster, moonlit water, basilisk eye. - **Procedure:** Performed under a full moon, with the ingredients placed in a circle and the caster standing in the center, chanting "Anima Serpens" while drawing a serpentine sigil in the air. - **Purpose:** Allows the caster to gain the wisdom and cunning of a serpent, enhancing their magical abilities and strategic thinking. - **Creator:** Salazar Slytherin, to grant himself unparalleled cunning and insight.
Hadrian could almost see the ritual in his mind's eye, the circle of power, the chanting, the rush of dark energy as the magic took hold. He could feel the pull of it, the temptation to use it, to become something more, something greater.
But he wasn't ready. Not yet. There was still so much to learn, so much to understand. He closed the journal with a shuddering breath, the weight of its secrets pressing down on him. He knew he couldn't share this with anyone, not Sirius, not Tonks.
They wouldn't understand. This was his burden to bear, his power to wield.
He was alone in this, just as he had always been.
The attic was silent once more as Hadrian sat there, the journal clutched in his hands. The darkness of the Noble Tongue was within him now, a part of him, and he knew that he could never go back to the way things were. The power was his, and he would use it—no matter the cost.
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The Past- A few days after the first meeting
The air in the dimly lit room was thick with tension. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows that danced along the stone walls. Dumbledore sat calmly, hands steepled in his lap, his gaze fixed on James Potter. His eyes, often described as twinkling, now held a calculating glint, like a chess master appraising his opponent's every move.
James, seated opposite him, leaned back, crossing his arms tightly. His jaw was set, and a muscle in his cheek twitched—a sign of the restraint he struggled to maintain. He hadn't wanted this meeting. After the conversation a few days ago, where he and Lily had agreed to abandon Hadrian, this felt like one step too far.
Dumbledore broke the silence with a soft, knowing smile. "Thank you for coming, James. I know this is... difficult."James's gaze remained unwavering, his eyes narrowed. "Get to the point, Albus. You wanted to talk. So talk."
The elder wizard's smile never faltered. "Always direct, aren't we?" His voice was gentle, almost amused. "Very well, James. I wanted to discuss the wand."A slight flicker in James's expression betrayed his discomfort before he schooled his face back into a neutral mask. He uncrossed his arms, letting his hands rest on the chair's armrests, his fingers tapping absently. "You mean my wand."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened, but his voice stayed soft. "Indeed, the Elder Wand. It's no ordinary wand, as you well know. It has power and, I fear, responsibility beyond any we may have imagined."
James's fingers stilled. "Responsibility? Don't speak to me about responsibility," he said, his voice lowering to a dangerous edge. "I've borne enough of that, Albus. More than enough." His voice faltered slightly, and he looked away, his jaw clenching before he turned back, his gaze even colder. "Hadrian..."
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, a soft sigh escaping him. "James," he murmured, "I know what it took for you and Lily to make that decision. And it wasn't easy for me to advise it. But as you've surely seen, Hadrian's path will be... fraught. We can only hope our choice allows him to grow into his destiny." His eyes darted briefly to the fire, then back to James, a faint sadness in his gaze that seemed almost genuine.
James scoffed, his lip curling slightly. "Destiny?" he echoed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You speak of him like some prophecy. He's my son, Albus. My flesh and blood. And you made it sound like he was expendable."
Dumbledore's gaze hardened, though the small smile remained. "Not expendable, James. *Necessary.* I believe, deeply, that Hadrian will have a role—one that perhaps none of us can yet understand."The two men sat in silence for a few moments, each observing the other. James's jaw was still tense, his fingers flexing and tightening around the armrest, the struggle evident in every small movement.
Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence. "James, I am not asking for the Elder Wand out of whim or greed. I ask because it is a weapon that is, by nature, coveted and sought after. You know this as well as I do."
James leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You don't think I can handle it?"
"On the contrary," Dumbledore replied smoothly, "I think you are precisely the man to wield it. But that is why I am concerned. Its power is... tempting. Alluring. You're strong, James, and the wand respects strength. But if it falls into the wrong hands..." He let his voice trail off, a shadow of fear passing over his features.
James studied him for a long moment, as though weighing every word. His gaze was intense, but there was a subtle shift—a hesitation in the way his lips parted, as if he wanted to retort but couldn't find the words. Instead, he clenched his fists and shook his head.
"I know what you're doing, Albus. Trying to make me doubt my own ability to keep it safe. I'm not so easily manipulated."
Dumbledore's expression remained serene, but there was a glint in his eye. "You know me too well, James. But I speak only truth. You have held it well, but there are greater threats than you and I in this world. Threats that will come for the wand."
"And you think giving it to you will change that?" James sneered, though a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. His eyes darted away, as if searching for an answer somewhere in the shadows. "The wand is powerful, yes, but it's only as powerful as its wielder. And right now, that's me."Dumbledore's gaze softened. "And what happens, James, when that power calls for blood? When it demands allegiance beyond your control? It is not just a weapon—it's a legacy, one tied to unimaginable costs. Would you burden your family, your children, with that?"
James's expression darkened, and his hands tightened on the armrests, knuckles white. But as he opened his mouth to retort, he hesitated. His fingers twitched, then stilled, his eyes narrowing as he looked into the fire. "And you believe you are above that burden?"
Dumbledore's voice was low, almost a whisper. "I am as fallible as any man, James. Perhaps more so. But I have carried it before. I know its weight, its... needs." His gaze grew distant, as though haunted by memories, before he turned back to James with a quiet intensity. "But I also know what must be done to control it."
James's jaw tightened, his resolve wavering as he shifted his gaze to the floor. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of the wand had suddenly doubled in his hands. "And what happens when you can't control it?" His voice was laced with a bitterness he couldn't hide. "What makes you think you're any different?"
Dumbledore smiled faintly, a sad, weary smile. "I don't think I am different, James. I only know that I have... accepted what it asks of me." He paused, his gaze sharpening as he leaned forward. "But you, James—your strength lies in your family, your heart. That is where you are strongest. The wand demands a kind of... distance, a willingness to sacrifice that I hope you never have to understand."
A long silence stretched between them. James's face twisted in a grimace, his fingers flexing involuntarily. He sneered, a defiance flickering in his eyes, but his hand drifted to the pocket of his cloak, where the Elder Wand lay hidden.
"You make it sound like a curse," he said, his voice tight. "A burden, even. But I've carried it this long. I can keep it safe."Dumbledore inclined his head. "Perhaps. But at what cost, James? At what cost to you—and to those you love?"
James's hand hovered over his pocket, his gaze locked with Dumbledore's, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. The fire crackled, casting long shadows over their faces, and for a moment, it seemed as though the two men were locked in a silent battle of wills.
Finally, with a sigh, James withdrew the wand from his pocket, holding it out reluctantly. His grip was tight, his hand trembling slightly as though it pained him to let it go.
"Take it, then," he muttered, his voice thick with a mixture of resentment and resignation. "But know this, Albus—I don't trust you. Not with this."
Dumbledore accepted the wand with a solemn nod, his gaze respectful as he wrapped his fingers around the ancient wood. "I understand, James. And I thank you. For your trust... even if it is begrudging."
James's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a trace of defiance. "Remember what I said, Albus. If anything happens—if I find out that you're using it for something..." He left the threat hanging, but the implication was clear.
Dumbledore's smile returned, faint but genuine. "I would expect nothing less, James. Your vigilance is... commendable."
As Dumbledore rose to leave, James watched him go, his expression unreadable. But as the door closed behind the elder wizard, a flicker of doubt crossed his face—a hesitation, a question that lingered in the dark, unspoken yet profoundly felt.