CHAPTER TWO
Chapter Two
Law 42 page 358
STRIKE THE SHEPHERD AND THE SHEEP WILL SCATTER.
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The alley was covered in a sheet of darkness as Hadrian observed the swift-moving vigilantes incapacitate the bronze-masked Death Eaters below. He wasn’t supposed to be there, he knew Moody would throw a fit if he was spotted but he also knew that there was no way he would have been able to let Marlene proceed with the mission without his eyes on her.
She was doing good, Hadrian could happily comment.
Fierce, as always, Marlene was the epitome of a warrior, every inch of her poised for an impending clash. With tensed muscles and eyes that blazed, she held her wand firmly pointed at the Death Eater wrapped in ropes beneath her. She wore her unyielding confidence like armour, it glimmered on her skin and echoed in her scowl.
Hadrian smirked as the back of her hand connected with the side of the restrained man's cheek, a clamorous smack reverberating through the Alley as she did.
Moody was right to bring her along.
Hadrian sighed; as much as he hated to admit it, Moody was an incredible leader.
He knew how to handle people, how to instil fear and offer inspiration. He was blunt, yes, and more often than not his tone of voice edged more toward hostile than forgiving but he knew battle like an old friend.
It allowed for success in heists, when there was one.
The Order was often a one-strike operation; they took months to plan missions and although they often succeeded, it was with only slithers of luck that they were able to sneak through the cracks and back underground after the fact.
Yes, Moody excelled at many a thing when it came to out-and-out battle, but one thing he did not understand was stealth. Mad-Eye was loud and boisterous, he liked to make a point, enjoyed looking at his enemy in the eye before he killed them.
He was a Lion, it was in his nature to roar, to establish dominance.
…but, Hadrian was a Snake, had been taught how to be one, and it was in his nature to bide his time, to slither in the shadows waiting for the right moment to strike.
Moody was wrong for presuming he’d be better off without Hadrian’s assistance.
There was a cold, almost clean, smell surrounding Diagon Alley, that had been brought in with the rain storm that had hit the day prior. Hadrian’s fingers were teetering on the edge of a painful numbness, whilst his nose had been nipped with ice that had turned its tip red.
From Hadrian’s place atop of Eeylop’s Owl Emporium, he surveyed the dainty shops below, spotting the many rain droplets tumbling from the overhangs, sparkling in their wake. The rain speckled windowpanes distorted Hadrian’s view within the shops, but he could still make out a soft light on the upper floor of Ollivander’s.
Panning his eyes back to the scene below, Hadrian noticed Marlene, Moody, Weasley and Prewett arguing in the quiet of the shadows.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to track the movements of Marlene’s features. Her eyes were tightened into slits and were locked on the Prewett twin with intent. Her jaw was clenched but Hadrian noticed the slight grinding of her teeth. Although far above, Hadrian could also see how tightly her quivering lips were pressed together, as if she was restraining herself from spitting a torrent of spells at the ginger male.
Hadrian shook his head.
Moody was also wrong for assuming Gideon Prewett could handle such a delicate mission so close to his brothers demise.
He huffed, before he refocused on Ollivander’s.
The wand shop stood quietly at the end of the cobblestone Alley, its walls bathed in the silvery glow of the moon. The rain from the days downpour had left the stones of the building slick, they glistened under the flickering gas lamps lining the streets. Streaked with raindrops, the darkened windows were baren - the light that was once illuminating the upstairs floor of the dinky shop was diminished, leaving the building looking bare and dim.
Hadrian reverted his gaze toward the clock tower at the other end of the Alley: 11:43.
They were running out of time.
Without a glance toward the arguing quartet below, Hadrian swung himself from the rooftop of the Emporium like a shadow, his dark cloak blending seamlessly with the ink pot sky.
The recent rain had left the rooftops treacherously slippy, but his movements were surefooted as he leaped from building to building with the grace of a cat. Each jump was calculated, each landing silent.
As he approached Ollivander's wand shop, he paused for a moment on the roof of an adjacent building, his sharp eyes scanning the area promptly. Satisfied that the four persons below were still where he’d left them, he made the final leap, landing softly on the sloping roof of the obsolete shop.
He crouched low, his breath visible in the cold night as he emitted clouds, dragon-like. Carefully, he made his way to the edge of the roof, where, below, a small window offered an entry point. With deft fingers, he pried it open just enough so that he could slip inside, the soft creak of the window lost to the nights eerie quiet.
The room he crawled into was quiet, dark and brimmed with jars of materials that Hadrian presumed were used to build wands. Strands of glistening hairs, feathers, and clippings of wood - the shelves were disorderly, yet there was a sense of organisation within the mess Hadrian gazed upon with interest.
He moved with the shadows, intent on making it downstairs, to collect the wands, before their short opening - one he’d spent days trying to uncover - ran out. The floorboards creaked as he walked down the steps leading to the main shop, he winced as they did.
The shop was a labyrinth of shelves. They reached from floor to ceiling and were packed full of both long and short boxes, each containing its own unqiue wand, with labels that were faded or curled with age. There was a thick smell between the shelves, one that smelt of polished wood and parchment, dust and, strangly enough, magic - if such a thing could have a scent.
Hadrian twisted and bent through the narrow, winding path, which was made of stacked towers of wand boxes that looked ready to topple with even the slightest gust of wind.
Looking from left to right, he stepped toward one of the shelves and reviewed the wands that lay undisturbed on the ledge.
Red Elm, 13”, Dragon Heartstring
Blackthorn, 10.5”, Unicorn Hair
Williow, 11”-
“Mr Evans…”
Hadrian turned, quick like a whip, to face a man with withered features. He was old in a delicate way, with laugh lines carved deeply into his kind face. A frail man, with eyes that seemed to stare at Hadrian with an intensity that made him appear as if he was seeing something far beyond him.
“Holly, 11 inches, phoenix feather core - nice and supple, how does it fair after all these years?”
Hadrian kept his mouth deliberately shut as the old man walked toward him, to stand directly in front of his rigid limbs.
“My, my, child, how you’ve grown,” he smiled.
“Ollivander, I presume?” Hadrian offered.
“You presume?”
“Not many men could discern the roots of a wand without laying their hands on it.”
Ollivander chuckled, “I would be dumbfound if a craftsman could not spot his own works, even after so long, mind you!”
Hadrian paused, a shiver running through him as if a squall of wind had rushed through the shop, “I’m sorry - his own works?”
“Why yes!” he beamed at Hadrian, as if he wasn’t trespassing and about to break a hefty number of laws, “Holly and phoenix feather, an odd combination that took a great deal of work to fuze together, I assure you! But nonetheless, a beautiful wand, indeed, one most loyal to its wielder.”
Hadrian swallowed down the bile threatening to rise up his gullet before he spoke, almost breathlessly, “You’re saying that you crafted this wand?”
Ollivander seemed to consider him for a moment, with narrowed eyes and a tilted head, “Of course? All wands purchased in my shop are works of my own - or my family, though there are very few of my fathers creations here anymore…”
Hadrian’s breath came in short, silent gasps. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic, relentless drumbeat that echoed in his ears. The close confines of the narrow aisle felt suffocating, the walls of boxes were leaning in, taunting him, swallowing him whole—
Sweat beaded on his forehead, it trickled down his temple as he tried to steady himself.
He struggled to focus, to remember why he was there, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess. Each breath felt like a battle, his chest tightened as if air was being cruely torn from his lungs.
“Mr Evans? Is everything okay?” Ollivander spoke, softly, pulling Hadrian away from his thoughts.
“I’m sorry but you must be mistaken, this wand was given to me, not too long ago, actually…” Hadrian tried, “I was told it was one of Gregorovitch’s designs?”
“No, no, I assure you, that wand is my own! If it were the works of Mykew your wand would have his initals carved into the handle, terribly tasteless, I think,” he said, with a shake of his head, almost in contempt, “Tasteless indeed! Come, come, I’ll show you!”
Hadrian followed, shakily, as Ollivander walked toward the front of his shop, on slow, unsteady legs. His aged hands reached for the pages of a large tome resting on the polished counter, in front of the entrance. As he flipped through the pages, turning the archaic parchment backwards, nearing the front of the book, Hadrian grew uneasy.
“Ah! Here we are, look here,” Ollivander smiled, beckoning Hadrian forward before he pointed at the cursive calligraphy, five lines down from the top of the page, “Proof of purchase, written in my hand, upon acquisition!”
Hadrian looked at Ollivander’s smiling face briefly whilst he stepped closer to the counter to hover over the tome. With a trembling hand, he followed Ollivander’s finger with his own to read the inscription forever stained on the page:
Wood: Holly
“I remember when you came into my shop-“
Size: 11 inches
“-bright eyed and so very young-“
Core: Phoenix Feather
“-but not afraid, like so many from the muggle world had been-“
Price: 6 Galleons
“-I imagine those eyes had seen the world for what it was-“
Owner: Evans, Harrison
“-and perhaps explained why that boy had clung so desperately to you-“
Signed: GOllivander
“-ever so protective of you, he was. Yes, I remember it well-“
Date: 19–
Hadrian slammed the book shut with a deep breath.
“I need wands.”
“Mr Evans?”
“Hadrian?” came a surprised voice from behind them. Hadrian turned, on edge and skittish, to meet Marlene’s eyes. They were narrowed, as if she was trying to discern what he was doing in the very shop he’d been told not to go near that night, “What’re you doing here?” she resumed, a note of irritation creeping into her tone.
Hadrian sighed, getting a hold of himself.
Seeing Marlene, her fierce face so full of grief, of anger, of resillience, seemed to relight the fire pooling in the depths of Hadrian’s stomach. He’d followed her to protect her, and yet he was losing himself on topics that didn’t matter - not in that moment, at least.
Not when Marlene was so close to the belly of the beast.
Not when they were running out of time.
Hadrian turned away from Marlene, “Are there any wands you can spare us?” he asked, hurridly.
“Wands? I-“
Marlene seemed to catch onto Hadrian’s urgency, as she stomped toward the owner of the wand shop with pleading eyes and a begging note on her tongue, “Mr Ollivander, we don’t have money to offer you but we need wands. If you can give us anything, anything at all, we would-“
A sudden, thunderous bang echoed through the shop.
Hadrian froze, his head snapping toward the door.
A second, louder explosion shook the shop walls, making boxes of wands tumble from their shelves onto the floor. The locked door burst open, flying of its hinges with unnatural force, allowing the hellish glow of fire to flood through the dim shop.
Outside, a chaotic dance of spells stained the Alley kaleidoscopic.
Wizards and witches, foes in masks, allies with blooded skin, clashed with dazzling streams of lethal light. Buildings were burning, the acrid stench of crackling wood stretched throughout the debris covered Alley, as the rain slick cobblestones became spotted with red.
“We have to help!” Marlene shouted, over the roar of battle.
Hadrian’s heart slowed, settling on an even croon.
Fighting was familiar.
“Can you help us, or not?” Hadrian demanded.
Ollivander’s eyes were wide, deer-like; the flames that wailed outside his shop echoed through them, reflecting the horrors flawlessly. His eyes panned, to look at Hadrian.
There was fear there, right in the depths of his irises, but it wasn’t a fear that mirrored the dance outside.
It was the fear of —
Ollivander nodded.
Hadrian turned away from his gaze to gather Marlene’s hands with his own, “Go with Ollivander, get the wands, and leave, do you understand?”
“What?” she shouted, “No! Are you mad?! I’m not leaving you!” Marlene defied, trying to pull her hands from Hadrian’s.
“Marlene, please, for once, don’t argue with me about this.”
“No!-” she cried, “Let me go!”
Hadrian snarled, “I can’t fight knowing that you’re out there, please, go with him, get the wands and leave.”
Marlene stilled, her eyes glazing over as she gaped at him with a tense jaw. Hadrian felt his chest constrict as a single tear ran down her face, “Marlene,” he whispered, cupping her face delicately, to wipe her tear.
She remained silent, her gaze fixed on him with a tumultuous expression smeared on her face. Anger, determination, fear: he watched as each emotion flickered through her eyes, as she wrestled with each one, attempting to determine which one to run with.
It was a battle they both knew she wouldn’t win.
She nodded once, a small thing - barely noticable, before she took a step away from him with her head held high.
Hadrian watched, slightly detatched, as she helped Ollivander run toward the back of the wand shop. As they disappeared from view, Hadrian turned to face the door. The fiery glow cast an ominous reflection on his face, turning his skin an eerie hue of red.
He ran toward the flames, without taking a look back.
The air was thick with smoke, Hadrian held his breath as he sprinted, trying to evade the roaring fire that seemed to swallow the Alley whole. Spells zipped past him - blue, red, purple, green - and lit his face alight whilst he threw up inconspicuous shields around himself and whoever he could identify as an Order member. He ducked, he weaved, dancing with any shadow he could to stay hidden.
He had to stay hidden, until he found a way out.
Until he found a way out for all of them.
A violent purple spell struck the building beside him, showering him in debris, that he flung at a masked man. He released a pained grunt as the bricks knocked him to the ground.
Hadrian took a moment to breathe before he scaled the side of Flourish and Blotts.
He scanned the lengths of the Alley from above, straining to distinguish friend from foe. The dark cloaks of the Death Eaters melded with the worn overcoats of the Order, making it almost impossible for Hadrian to discern allies from enemies.
He leaped from roof to roof, frantic.
Below, the street was a battlefield; the sky was lit up with the furious glow of spells, and the air was thick with the metallic tang of fear.
Buildings were crumbling, their stones scorched by fire.
Shattered glass littered the ground, catching the light of curses and hexes that flew through the night. Flames roared, hungrily devouring the wooden beams of shopfronts.
The blistering heat was palpable even from above.
Screams of pain and shouts of incantations intermingled, creating a chaotic symphony of war - one he was all too familiar with.
Hadrian's eyes locked onto Moody, who stood in the thick of the fray, his face a mask of fierce vigor. Moody's magical eye spun wildly, surveying the battlefield with relentless vigilance, while his wand, coated in green, cut through the darkness like a scythe.
Without a second thought, Hadrian jumped and sprinted towards him, his urgency driving him forward.
As Hadrian closed the distance, Moody's gaze shifted and locked onto him. For a fleeting moment, a glimmer of relief crossed the older wizard's face and—
A sickly green spell hurtled through the air, striking him square in the chest.
Time seemed to slow as Hadrian watched in horror.
Moody's expression froze in shock, his body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap.
The light in his magical eye was dim.
Hadrian skidded to a halt, his heart pounded in his chest.
Shock, anger, and fear surged through him, a torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. The battle raged on, but for a moment, all Hadrian could see was Moody’s fallen form: the man who had always fought so valiantly, had been silenced by a single curse.
Hadrian forced himself to move.
The cacophony of battle seemed distant, drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the cackling laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Desperation clawed at him, urging him to reach Alastor, to do something…
…anything.
He dropped to his knees beside Moody, his hands trembling as he tried to pull him up.
"Come on, Moody," he whispered, his voice wavering, "We've got to get you out of here."
His lifeless weight was unbearable.
A sudden flash of light seared the air beside him, forcing Hadrian to duck instinctively. The ground exploded where he had been a moment before, debris scattering in all directions. He glanced up, frenziedly, his eyes meeting those of a masked Death Eater, who had their wand raised.
Hadrian's heart raced as he desperately tried to haul Moody's body, inching backward.
Another spell hurtled toward him, and Hadrian barely had time to throw himself to the side, the curse missing him by mere inches, "Fuck!" he cursed, sweat trickling down his forehead.
He needed to get out of the open.
Spells were being cast with reckless abandon, the air was thick with their deadly glare. Hadrian tightened his grip on Moody's coat, attempting to drag him towards the nearest cover, but the effort was futile.
Moody's body was heavy, unmoving.
With a surge of determination, Hadrian raised his wand to cast a shield charm, deflecting another curse. The impact of the spell against his shield should have sent him reeling, but he held firm, his eyes blazing.
"You won't have him," he growled to himself.
But the onslaught was relentless.
With a cry of frustration, he let go of Moody's robes and rolled away, narrowly avoiding another spell of viridescent colouring. He scrambled to his feet, his mind racing - Hadrian couldn't save Moody, not in that moment, but he could still fight, he could still save the others.
“Incendio!” Hadrian roared, pointing his wand at Moody. Flames erupted from his Holly wand, engulfing Moody and everything around them in a fierce blaze. His incantation seemed to devour the surrounding fire and spells, as if it were famished. The heat was intense; the fire consumed everything in its path, creating a blazing barrier between him and the Death Eaters.
From behind the roaring wall of fire, Hadrian began launching spells in every direction he could. Each curse and hex cut through the flames, felling the Death Eater’s one by one.
He hoped those remaining of the Order were fighting their way out.
He hoped Marlene-
Hadrian staggered backwards as a figure emerged, unscathed by the searing flames. Stark and menacing, the fire licked at his robes but did not consume him, and Hadrian’s spells dissipated before they could touch him as if they were mere illusion.
Hadrian's breath caught as the dark figure advanced with an eerie calm, undeterred by the destruction around him.
His heart pounded, a mix of fear and fury - excitement - surging through him. The blazing barrier he had created now felt like a mere flicker against the overwhelming darkness that threatened to engulf him.
The Dark Lord had walked through his flames: unburnt.
With a determined grunt, Hadrian unleashed a flurry of spells, each one aimed with intent. Bolts of energy crackled through the air, but the Lord deflected them with effortless flicks of his wand.
As he closed the distance, the very air seemed to crackle. Hadrian dodged and countered, but the man’s skill was overwhelming. A red curse shot from the Lord's wand, and Hadrian barely managed to deflect it before the force of the spell sent him stumbling backward.
Hadrian's resolve hardened as he pressed on, but the Lord's relentless assault was driving him back, inch by inch. Finally, with a flick of his wand, the Lord disarmed Hadrian, sending his wand spinning out of reach.
The man advanced and Hadrian found himself backed against a crumbled shop wall, the rough stone biting into his skin.
The Lord’s wand pressed against his throat, holding him in place.
With a surge of desperation, Hadrian reached out and clutched the Dark Lord's arm.
A dark chamber, lit only by the flicker of candles.
A babes cry - terrible and fleeting.
A man - young, desperate, please! Don’t! - inside a glowing circle, his skin dripping red, runes carved deeply into his limbs.
Another, knelt close, chanting in a low guttural tone: Forgive me, Forgive me.
An oppressive wave of power, heavy with blood and decay, followed by screams and flames:
Black, black flames…
The memory cut off abruptly, as Hadrian’s hand dropped from the mans arm as if he’d been burnt by the raw force of it.
He hadn’t done that since-
Hadrian looked up, meeting the mans red, red eyes, the familiar colour - so close, closer than they had ever been - sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through him as if he’d been shocked back to life.
…and those eyes, they looked right at him—
“Hadrian!” he heard, a scream that sounded so much like Marlene, from the side of him.
The world snapped back into focus, the chaos of battle resuming around him.
With a burst of determination, Hadrian summoned all his strength and headbutted the Lord squarely in the face. The impact was jarring, it sent a shockwave of pain through his skull, but it had achieved its purpose.
The Dark Lord staggered slightly, momentarily disoriented.
Seizing the opportunity, Hadrian pushed away from the man and sprinted through the dying inferno, his eyes scanning frantically for Marlene. Perishing flames licked at his heels, and spells whizzed past him, but his focus remained unbroken.
He spotted her amidst the chaos, her wand gleaming with light as she fended off attackers.
"Marlene!" he shouted, his voice barely audible above the din. She turned, her eyes widening as she saw him. Without hesitation, Hadrian closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her.
The world blurred as the familiar pull of a portkey took hold. Just as a spell shot past them, narrowly missing Hadrian's shoulder, they were whisked away from the burning ruins of Diagon Alley; far away from red, red, red.
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He found himself outside, beneath the canopy of rain shrouded trees that surrounded the Order’s headquarters: an abandoned cottage, with one heck of a surprise underneath. The heavy downpour that had fallen the day prior fell steadily from bowed leaves, dripping onto his back. He didn’t shudder as the cold drops ran down his neck, as they followed the curviture of his spine, nor as they traced the bruising from the battle that saw him bleeding, still, many hours later.
He stared forward, detatched almost, at the dead leaves and pine needles, that were caught in furred clumps of moss. He couldn’t feel the cold or the harsh winds that sent a shudder of movement through the branches above; the wood knocked together to create a Winter’s symphony that saw his hands turn a melancholy blue.
He looked down at his empty, sodden hands.
With wide, wild eyes, that showed all of the white that surrounded his Avada-irises, Hadrian clenched his fists with a force that elicited half-moon indentations on the palms of his hands. His jaw clenched as his chest grew cold, his raging heartbeat pulsing to the sound of his growing fury.
They had taken his wand.
His precious Holly, sweet and supple, an extension of himself - he had taken it.
To take a wiccan’s wand, was to take their arm, their greatest companion, their very beating heart.
His lovely Holly, that screamed for him, despite the distance.
Hadrian could hear her calls, her woe ridden melodies that tormented his ears; he could feel her sorrow, her despond, for it reflected his own so perfectly. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, his fingers felt gravely deprived—
His shoulders drooped as he looked at his empty palm.
Rage simmered beneath his skin, a vile thing that left him nauseous.
His wand was taken.
Moody was dead.
Hadrian had seen him.
“Fuck…” he whispered, to the barren ground surrounding the log he’d taken a seat on.
Hadrian ran his blood cladded hands through his hair, the frantic action betraying his innermost turmoil to the silent forest that encompassed him. With his head in his hands, Hadrian huffed out a sudden breath of laughter. Amidst the searing loss of Moody and his wand, Hadrian’s thoughts still kept circling back to him.
Those eyes up close, such a blistering colour, that had set every one of his nerve endings on fire. The shade lingered, like a bad smell, for the memory made Hadrian’s nose turn up all the same.
Alive, he’d felt painfully alive, as he’d fought the Dark Lord next to the burning corpse of Alastor Moody.
The soft crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves broke through Hadrian’s reverie. He didn’t turn, there was no need. She sat down next to him, on the toppled log he’d claimed, close, but not touching.
For a moment, they sat in silence: Hadrian’s head in his hands, chaos and anger writhing inside him like something sinful, Marlene’s face tear stroked, the crystal lines cascading down her cheeks shining under the soft light of the Winter’s moon.
“They’re in arms…” she sniffed, “Gideon’s ready to march back out there…”
“He’d be stupid to,” Hadrian replied, stifly, “As we were the last time.”
“It doesn’t make sense! Alastor knew that going to the Vale was a trap, so why would he—” Marlene sighed, they both knew why Moody had been in agreement with Gideon, why he’d been prepared to risk countless lives to save the ones of others.
Moody had been many things, but one thing every member of the Order could attest to was that he never left anyone behind - not matter how dire the cost.
Alastor Moody hadn’t been a selfish man - not like Gideon Prewett was, the bastard.
Marlene exhaled again, seemingly coming to the same conclusion as him. Hadrian could feel the weight of her exhaustion; it weighed on him too, heavy - heady, “Gideon wants us to proceed with the plan, he wants to go to the Vale.”
Hadrian shook his head, of course he does.
“Maybe… maybe he’ll listen to you?” Marlene tried, “If you explained why it’s a bad idea? You’ve surveiled the Vale before, haven’t you?”
That’s putting it lightly, Hadrian mused, bitterly.
“Maybe if you told him how impossibly stupid this plan is, he’ll listen! He won’t listen to us, but maybe—”
“He won’t, Marlene,” Hadrian interjected, “If he didn’t listen to Moody, he won’t listen to anyone - especially not me, you know he doesn’t like me.”
Marlene sighed, a frown taking over her face.
“I told him not to,” Marlene started, “Gideon - he wanted to kill them, the Death Eater’s on patrol, I told him not to…”
“…and he did?”
Marlene nodded, “I don’t know how they do it, but they knew, I know they did. As soon as that… fucker’s body hit the floor, they knew. It wasn’t long before the rest of them showed up…”
Hadrian stayed silent as he listened to the faint sobs coming from beside him. He could feel the aguish rolling off of Marlene in waves, he could also taste the fury that followed soon after, “He didn’t listen! And now— and now Alastor’s dead and he’s going to get all of us killed because of his selfish need for vengeance!”
With a sigh, Hadrian moved to crouch in front of Marlene’s hunched form. He didn’t try to remove the hands that were covering her face, instead he engulfed her in a hug that Hadrian hoped could piece her together again.
He’d always hated seeing Marlene cry - it seems he’d been cursed to see it more often than not, as of late.
He pulled her close, clutching her as much as he was able, without hurting her, “Moody died a soldiers death,” he tried to soothe, “You know that’s how he would have wanted to go. He died protecting you, it was what he was best at.”
Hadrian nodded to himself as he spoke the word ‘you’ rather than ‘us’. Moody had always had a soft spot for Marlene, what with the gentle tones he reserved for her, along with the array of self-defence lessons he’d pushed her through. Marlene being his Achilles’ Heel was the reason Hadrian found himself with the Order, after all.
He knew he wouldn’t have made it within a mile of Headquarters without Marlene’s pleas.
He also knew that their shared loyalty to the unruly woman was what had made him Moody’s closest confidant, despite their alarming moral differences and preconceived dislike for one another.
“…and, as for Gideon, I can’t control what he does, or will do, but I can control what we do. Wherever you go, whether I’m allowed-” Hadrian enunciated with air quotes, “-or not, know that I’m right behind you.”
Hadrian took Marlene’s hands in his own before he tapped her chin, making her look into his eyes, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Marl. If you can’t trust anything, or anyone - even me - trust that.”
Marlene’s eyes softened as a stray tear ran down her face. There were black smudges underneath her lashes and the dark lipstick she’d applied earlier that evening was smeared across her cheek; it added to the wildness that surrounded her day and night.
“You burnt his body?” Hadrian nodded, making Marlene smile, ever so slightly, “Dad used to say that burning the dead is most noble, it grants them safe passage to the free plains of The Hereafter,” Marlene shrugged, “Wards off bad spirits - if you believe in that kinda’ thing.”
“A nice thought, isn’t it?” Marlene spoke, whimsically.
Hadrian hummed, in question.
“That in Death, we may find our freedom.”
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Trouble can often be traced to a single strong individual - the stirrer, the arrogant underling, the poisoner of goodwill.