A New Chapter of an Old Story
Sitting around waiting for a towel clad Dark Lord to return to sweep him away to a French shopping extravaganza was not circumstance Hadrian had ever expected to ever find himself in. Yet here he was, life continued to surprise.
Hadrian was quite lost in thought, there was ever so much to think about after all. He still needed to come up with a definitive revenge plan that satisfied his desires. He also had to have a talk with Voldemort about his ideals and the foundations of the Dark. In reflection, he had been a bit quick to jump ship over to the Dark, let alone decide he was going to be their Lord. He had no idea what he had declared himself a part of, or more realistically, any ideas he thought he had were probably wrong and just Dumbledore propaganda.
He also needed to figure out how to establish his position within the Dark. Voldemort knew he wanted to be a Dark Lord, and he even apparently believed it enough to take him shopping to find some clothes that were ‘befitting of a Dark Lord’. Even with his apparent confirmation of his support, Hadrian still had his doubts, realistically, there was nothing keeping Voldemort helping him, or keeping him from turning Hadrian in.
Hadrian wasn’t completely stressed out and lost though, through all of the events of the past month or so Hadrian had decided on a few things. He wanted to first finish off his basic Hogwarts education, even he knew that not having any NEWTs would be absolutely detrimental to his public image. Alongside the basic Hogwarts classes though he also wanted to learn about some things he had been passionate about for ages that he had never got to explore further due to the closed mindedness of the Light side.
He really wanted to continue with the Duelling that he had left behind after that first horrible lesson in second year. He had seen some epic battles between Duelling Masters, and he wanted to possess even a sliver of their talent. Duelling Masters like Flitwick and Voldemort just had this certain finesse and elegance to the way they moved and fought that just screamed years of training and when you were in a room with a duelling master, you could feel it. The way they observed everything and were always in the right position to win a fight if one started. They exuded danger and “don’t mess with me”.
He had also found himself enthralled by languages, especially magical ones. He knew from personal experience with Parseltounge that knowledge of language over your enemy, again especially magical ones, was huge advantage. Also, the advantage of communication and travel, you had so much more knowledge available to you with knowledge of languages, being able to communicate with new people and read new books. He had yet to do any research on it, but he really wanted to expand his horizons when it came to languages.
He left his thoughts as the fireplace flared green. It appeared Voldemort had taken the time to change as he was no longer clothed in only a towel. He was dressed smartly, if bit more than Hadrian thought was warranted for a simple shopping trip but each to their own, he guessed. He wore a sliver button down with black slacks under his robes that looked an awful lot like a long muggle coat that did up with buttons at the front, he had them undone though to show beneath.
“Looked your fill?”
Hadrian blushed at being caught looking. Wait why was he blushing? It wasn’t like he was caught thinking anything indecent, he was only looking at the clothes after all. But if he were to be looking, these robes certainly made Voldemort look more attractive, he looked smart and wealthy, exuding power and elegance. But that’s only if he were to be looking, which he wasn’t.
“Take these, go change in the wardrobe.” Voldemort handed over the pile he was carrying. Then he smiled and continued, “Ensure to yell out if you need help. I’m sure clothes of culture confuse you.”
Hadrian scowled in response, “I think I’ll be right by myself thanks.” He snatched the pile off Voldemort and stormed to the closet. Just because he didn’t dress like it didn’t mean that he knew nothing of fashion, he understood how to fasten a button up thank you very much, he wasn’t incompetent.
Voldemort had indeed given him a button up, but in navy instead, he appeared to have the same black slacks as well. He didn’t seem to have a robe though, just a hooded cloak that sat on his shoulders and gave him no shape, the button up was also loose on him so you couldn’t see his waist at all. He was used to it of course with Dudley’s castoffs, but he had hoped at least with some well-made clothes it would be better.
He changed and clasped the cloak around his shoulders, the fabric felt amazing on his skin, it wasn’t scratchy at all, and the cloak was even lined with some kind of soft fur.
He walked out to find Voldemort on the couch he slept on last night, sitting regally with a book in his lap. He set the book aside and turned to face Hadrian as he came out. He had analysing glint in his eyes before nodding slightly.
“It’ll do.” He declared, but then he frowned, “But we’ll have to do something about that hair. A trip to the barbers as well then.”
Hadrian reached up and tried to pat his hair down self-consciously, “I can’t help it, it’s hereditary. It doesn’t go away no matter what I do.”
“No matter what you do Potter. But once you get a qualified hairstylist to work on it, I’m sure they’ll be able to do something. Now come on.” He made his way over to fireplace and started waving his hands in intricate patterns over the fireplace.
“What are you doing? Just chuck the floo powder in.” Hadrian said, tired of his theatrics.
“Has it not occurred to you to question why international floo travel would be available to us, but not to Barty in his mission to Albania?”
Hadrian refrained from admitting to his failure to consider that side of it by making a gesture for him to continue.
Voldemort smiled like he understood that Hadrian was avoiding admitting he was right. “Well, I have had to call in a favour to my barber in Paris to take his floo system off the network briefly. Our floo,” he said, indicating the fireplace he was still messing with, “was made by me, and thus never put on the network, and thus wouldn’t register us travelling. The problem is that the receiving grate would read our magical signatures and alert the Ministry of whatever country that floo is in. However, if a grate is taken off the network, and for whatever reason someone checks, the owner can be sentenced to Azkaban for 5 years. It depends on who they let through while it was down. Thus, calling in my favour.”
Hadrian moved to interrupt, but Voldemort quickly continued, “Barty’s mission is not on a time crunch, he may take his time, I have enough of my possessions here to get by for a while. But I plan on reintroducing myself to my followers and beginning my campaign again as soon as possible, and as such will be in need of clothing, so this clearly takes precedence.”
Hadrian felt he needed to get his priorities in order more than Hermione if he put shopping over his ancient artifact possessions but oh well, no one was asking him anyway.
A couple seconds later Voldemort finished whatever he was doing and grabbed a handful of floo powder out of the urn on the mantel.
“No need to yell a location, our grates are linked now so it will only take you to the intended location.”
How useful that would’ve been his first time flooing, Hadrian thought.
Voldemort threw in his handful and the fire turned green again. As soon as Voldemort touched the flames he was gone.
The fire settled back to orange and flickered merrily. Hadrian reached for the urn himself and grabbed a handful that he then tossed into the flames.
As soon as they turned to green, he reached out, despite his inner instincts and fell into the fire
Soon the world went from an endless emerald whirlpool back to its normal settled self. Hadrian looked up to find himself on a rug in a cosy cottage’s living room. While cosy and small though, it was clear it was an expensive place, it even had a grand piano in the corner!
Hadrian quickly stood to see Voldemort hugging a man in his peripherals. Forget the wrong grate, the floo dropped him in the wrong universe. Voldemort was smiling. Like not smirking, or grinning evilly, smiling at this man as they released each other.
“Thomas!” the man boomed.
Hadrian thought he might combust, this man called Voldemort by his muggle name, and Voldemort was still smiling. The man’s French accent was thick, so clearly, he had at least made it to a universe where they still had France, that was good at least,
“André! It’s been an age.” Voldemort responded cheerily, downright cheerily.
“And whose fault is that old man! You and your endless world ruling ambition. You forget an old friend in your haste for victory.” Hadrian hadn’t known Voldemort even had acquaintances, let alone friends. It was a little ironic though, the French man had greys at his temple, yet he was calling the newly rebirthed, mid-twenties looking Dark Lord an old man.
André, apparently, continued his rant but had turned to rapid French and despite his love of languages, Hadrian didn’t know any other than English and Parseltounge. Voldemort however seemed to be keeping up and even offered his own responses in French.
André turned now to Hadrian as if just now noticing his presence. “Now what is this you’ve brought me? A new blank canvas? I would say that he’s too young for your tastes but we both know that you don’t have any tastes.”
Hadrian, wishing he hadn’t received this new information on Voldemort’s tastes, tried not to shrink before the assessing gaze of André. He was staring at him like a specimen
André was humming in his concentration and began circling. Hadrian felt like a small mouse. When he got back around to Hadrian’s front, he reached into Hadrian’s hair and ruffled it horribly.
“Hey!” Hadrian exclaimed, reaching up to try a right his forever messy hair.
“Hadrian this André Beaufort, the best barber in all of Paris. André this is Hadrian, as you can see, he needs some serious help.”
“Best in all of Europe I believe you mean. I see what you mean though, but there is potential here. Yes, yes, we could grow this out and maybe…” André lapsed into French again, walking around and occasionally moving Hadrian’s hair this way and that.
After a while he stopped suddenly, “What is this, Thomas?” he said fingering the clothes Hadrian was wearing.
“Ah, that’s why we really came. Admittedly, I realised on the way we would also be I need of your help, but we had originally intended to get a new wardrobe for each of us. My last was lost in a fire while I was predisposed with death, I’m afraid.” Voldemort spoke the last sentence with a frown and looking at Hadrian disapprovingly.
André clearly understood the intent behind the look, “Oo a feisty one. Haven’t have one of those before, they’re usually all ‘My lord’ this and ‘My lord’ that.”
Voldemort just looked exasperated instead of deadly angry, so Hadrian supposed they had succeeded in achieving a saner Dark Lord at least.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me Thomas, I can’t do anything until I know what he’s wearing. Go down to Aguillard’s and ask him for my list after you’re done. Now shoo shoo and come back with something I can work with.”
Voldemort nodded and responded in French. Hadrian was feeling very left out with all the French he couldn’t understand. This was just proving his point about learning languages.
Voldemort made his way down the stairs in the corner of the little flat and Hadrian followed. The stairs led to what looked like a very fancy hairdressers. There were the same expected stations and sinks along the walls as any other hairdressers, but what made it fancy was the little details. The gold gilding on the edges of the sinks and mirrors, the quality of the products lining the walls, the spotlessness of the mirrors and windows, not a smudge in sight.
Voldemort strode straight through and out what was presumably the front door. His long legs caused his strides to be unfairly long, meaning that Hadrian had to almost run to keep up on his short legs that he got courtesy of nutrient deficiency and stunted growth as a child.
As Hadrian hurried out the door, he was stunned to a standstill by the beauty of the French magical shopping district. It was so much more organised than Diagon Alley but without losing the character. It almost shone in its glory, the stores were all bright colours, the cobblestone path was clean and there was no rubbish anywhere.
Hadrian had never thought about it much, but he had noticed there was a lot of rubbish all over Diagon, candy wrappers from kids and packaging thrown aside when the new acquisitions were quickly opened. It took away from the beauty a bit, but the French alley had no rubbish in sight. It was so different and the same in all the right ways.
“Close your mouth, it’s unbecoming.” Voldemort suddenly interjected, having returned after realising Hadrian wasn’t following anymore.
Hadrian shut his jaw that he hadn’t realised had fallen open. He may as well be a permanent shade of red from embarrassment from how much he was blushing. Voldemort just always made him feel incompetent and idiotic.
Voldemort turned and again headed down the street, and this time Hadrian hurried to follow and keep up. Most of the shop names were in French but Hadrian could usually tell what it was from the window showcase.
Voldemort walked straight past all the shops, not even bothering to look in the store windows. Hadrian was disappointed he wasn’t getting a chance to explore, but he also didn’t want to be left behind.
Voldemort suddenly made a sharp right down a narrow side alley that Hadrian struggled to follow. It wasn’t a particularly dark alley but there wasn’t much of anything or anyone down here either.
Voldemort strode up to an unmarked door with no advertisement and no sign and knocked three times. It was then opened by a new man who instantly frowned upon seeing them. He beckoned them in anyway and shut the door behind them.
The change between the outside and the inside was more dramatic than the manor. Outside was a non-descript door down an empty, small alley. Inside was a sparkling, tasteful tailors store. The walls were lined with rolls of fabrics in every colour, style and pattern. There was a platform surrounded by mirrors like at Madam Malkin’s as well. There were some comfortable looking couches off to the side with catalogues of drawings of dresses and robes spread across a low table. The open pages revealed black and white, hand drawn designs that looked very high end.
“Thomas, while it is lovely to see you, an owl ahead would be appreciated. You haven’t forgotten your manners over your course of insanity I hope?”
Hadrian thought that it was strange that both the people they had met so far seemed to be very in the loop, seemingly without direct contact with Voldemort either.
“Of course, Aguillard, you must forgive my unannounced entrance, we were in quite the hurry.”
“Very well, I will forgive you this once.” Aguillard turned to a giant tome on one of the many surfaces in the store. “Will it be the usuals for you?” he asked Voldemort.
“Yes, with the modern updates of course.” Voldemort replied.
“Of course, of course. Now who is this?” Aguillard said turning to Hadrian. “This isn’t one of you minions you’ve brought with you before.” Aguillard looked him up and down, what was with French people and their assessing stares?
“No, this one is not one of mine. This is Hadrian Potter, and he is also in need of a whole new wardrobe. He’s been slumming it in Muggle clothes and we need to improve upon that.”
“Yes definitely, what’s his station?” Aguillard asked.
Hadrian was confused and angry about why his station would matter and was about to say as much when Voldemort interrupted him, “He’s not being rude Hadrian he needs to know to know the style of clothes you’ll need.”
Hadrian turned to Voldemort, “I don’t care, and don’t speak for me! I fail to see how it has any relevance…”
Hadrian was going to continue his righteous tirade but was again interrupted, by Aguillard this time, “Say no more, say no more, I am sorry for any offense I may have caused.” Aguillard put a hand on Hadrian’s shoulders and herded him towards the couches with the catalogues. When they got there though he swept most of them onto the floor and reached for some new ones on the shelves.
“If you would just look through these please, tap any you like with your wand, and I will be able to get a sense of your style so I can design you a wardrobe.”
Hadrian was still ticked off but sighed and decided to just do as the man said. The title on the front of the book was in French so he didn’t know what it meant but as he flicked through, it looked like some fancy wizarding men’s wear. He began to tap the ones he liked and kept flicking through.
Meanwhile, Voldemort still stood off to the side waiting for Aguillard’s return. Eventually the man came back with a smile on his face, “I must say Thomas I never thought I’d see the day. There will be many a broken heart when you announce it.”
“What are you talking about?” Voldemort responded.
“It is a strange choice, your murderer, but I suppose you never do things the normal way. I must say he will make a beautiful consort. Once he has an appropriate wardrobe and a good haircut of course. I assume you came through André’s floo, and he will be handling that soon?”
“He is not to be my consort Aguillard, our interests now align, and I have agreed to take him under my wing and teach him the ways of the Dark, that is all.”
“Of course, of course.” Aguillard responded, clearly not believing him at all.
“Have care how you speak; we may be friends but remember to whom you speak so candidly.”
“My apologies, I did not think before I spoke. His openness in speaking out to you confused my perceptions.” Aguillard bowed in apology, though Voldemort suspected he had not changed his opinion.
“Do not let them be confused again.”
Aguillard nodded in acknowledgement before turning to his Book of Tastes as he liked to call it. Aguillard was a unique tailor in that he designed the clothes he sold specific to the client. He collected the client’s style beforehand, resulting in the best clothes in Europe. Voldemort’s own style was in there somewhere, from when he had sat down with Aguillard’s catalogues and picked out to his own tastes.
Voldemort looked over to see Aguillard watching the new page that was appearing full of Hadrian’s choices. Voldemort didn’t know what the collection meant but clearly it was something that pleased Aguillard. He smiled and looked like he was about to start jumping for joy.
Voldemort shrugged, what did he know about clothing anyway? He walked over to where Hadrian sat with the intent of browsing the catalogues himself but was confused when the first, he picked up was the one that should have been given to Hadrian. The lords wear catalogue had been discarded and Hadrian was now flipping through one of the ladies’ catalogues. Voldemort doubted that Hadrian had noticed his error since he couldn’t read the titles, but Hadrian clearly liked the ones in the catalogue, he seemed to be tapping every second page.
Voldemort decided to stash that information away for later reflection. Maybe that was why Aguillard had looked so pleased, he must have seen the ladies apparel appearing on Hadrian’s taste page.
“Come now, Aguillard has enough now to know your tastes, we can come back, and he will have some designs ready to approve.” Voldemort stood Hadrian up and led him back to Aguillard who was smiling like a loon at his book.
As they approached, he slammed the book closed. “Excellent, excellent, I’ll have some designs ready for you within an hour or two.”
Voldemort nodded and made his way out, they needed to get to Gringotts so he could get some money to pay once Aguillard had his designs, and he knew that André would be going over the top as always.
Like most magical districts, Gringotts had a central placement at the end of the alley. Walking through they appeared in the same lobby as in Diagon. Few knew that when you walked through the Gringotts, you actually walked into a version of wizarding space that the goblins used to house their absolutely massive bank, vaults and their Horde even deeper. It was like its own pocket-dimension, which also meant no one could apparate in or out, or floo in or out. Rumour has it the goblins had their own way of transport out, but for the wizards, the only way in and out was on foot in one of the wizarding shopping districts. Which was terribly inconvenient when you were an internationally wanted criminal.
Voldemort walked up to one of the goblins and stood before it without a word until it looked up. When it finally deigned to look at him, its facial expression went from the usual goblin frown to a sharp smile. It nodded it’s head in respect to him and immediately got down from its chair and led him away without a word.
The goblin led them to his account managers office and then bowed to excuse itself. Voldemort knocked and then heard the grizzly “Enter” from his accounts manager.
He entered and saw the expression on his account managers face change within seconds, same as the goblin in the front, from a frown to a mile that showed off its pointed teeth.
“Dark Lord Thomas Marvolo Riddle,” it acknowledged, “I see the rumours of your demise were exaggerated.”
“Hardly Silverspike, I was dead, then revived by my associate here.” He indicated Hadrian who he had heard walk in behind him.
“Well regardless, I had feared you had left me jobless again, there is little for the Dark Lords account manager to do without a Dark Lord’s accounts to manage.”
“Of course, I have even brought you a new Dark Lord to cater to.” He again indicated Hadrian. He had decided that without Magics response, he would continue under the assumption that Hadrian was also a Dark Lord. It made sense and helped him significantly.
“A new Dark Lord? Well, that would indeed explain a lot.” Silverspike looked pleased, like a problem he couldn’t fix had just been solved.
“It would?”
“Yes, it would, I had many additional vaults added to my ledger on the night of Litha. As a goblin who only serves the Dark Lord of each age, I have lived a long time, and never, in my many centuries of life, has another’s accounts appeared alongside those owned by the Dark Lord.”
Well, Voldemort thought, that was that then, Magic had approved and created a second Dark Lord. The Gringotts vaults and accounts were directly linked to Magic herself and they could not be fooled by anything. If a new account appeared in the ledger of the goblin that only served the Dark Lord, then there was nothing else for it, Hadrian Potter was a Dark Lord, just like him.
Voldemort turned and appraised Hadrian in a new light. Despite deciding to treat him as such, Voldemort had not been certain that Hadrian was a Dark Lord. Now he was. He had always been alone, and had accepted that long ago, but now there was another, another to share the burden of being Magics chosen. Not any time soon though, he still required much training, he was nowhere near ready to even face Voldemort’s inner circle, let alone be presented as a fellow Dark Lord.
“If you would permit it my Lord,” Silverspike spoke to Hadrian now, “I would take a drop of your blood to do an assessment of your inheritance, titles and vaults.”
Hadrian was bit confused with all that was going on but nodded his head in permission anyway. Silverspike reached into one of the drawers of his desk and withdrew and very gaudy looking dagger. He handed it to Hadrian, handle first, and slid a piece of parchment with a black rune on it over the table.
“Just put a drop of blood in the centre of the rune and it will create your inheritance test.” Silverspike explained.
Hadrian drew the dagger to his palm like he’d seen in fantasy movies to cut his palm, but Voldemort’s hand reached out to stop him.
“What are you doing?” He asked
“Cutting my palm?” Hadrian stated, confused. Was he not supposed to do as the goblin said?
“Don’t be idiotic, do you know how many nerve endings are in your palms? Just cut your forearm.”
Oh, that made sense actually. Hadrian had known that injuries to your hands are more painful, he’d been in the hospital wing enough times to have enough experience to be able to compare the pain of injuries from all over his body. He just hadn’t really thought about it. He drew the knife across his upper forearm instead and let a drop of blood drop onto the rune on the parchment.
The ink of the rune started swirling like liquid across the parchment, it was like a whirlpool across the page. Eventually it started to settle and form actual words.
Inheritance of Hadrian Charlus Potter
Personal Information:
Name: Hadrian Charlus Peverell-Black-Potter-Gryffindor
Date of Birth: 30th of July 1980 (Gregorian Calendar)
Age at time of document creation (22/06/1999, Gregorian Calendar): 18 years 10 months and 23 days
Family Membership:
The Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
The Noble and Ancient House of Potter
The House of Gryffindor
Titles:
Dark Lord of Magic, bestowed by Lady Magic on the 21st of June 1999 (Gregorian Calendar)
Lord Potter (unclaimed), bestowed upon death of Father, James Fleamont Potter, 31st of October 1981 (Gregorian Calendar)
Lord Black (unclaimed), bestowed upon death of Godfather, Sirius Orion Black, 18th of June 1996 (Gregorian Calendar)
Lord Gryffindor, bestowed by magic of House Gryffindor for unmatched act of bravery, 2nd of May 1998 (Gregorian Calendar)
Heir Peverell (unclaimed), bestowed under Magical Preservation Act of 1567
Vaults:
Vault 002: Dark Lord’s Vault, co-ownership with Thomas Marvolo Riddle
Vault 208: Peverell Family Vault, access granted under Peverell family Lordship, Thomas Marvolo Peverell
Vault 429: Black Family Vault, sole ownership under Black family lordship
Vault 686: Potter Family Vault, sole ownership under Potter family Lordship
Vault 687: Potter Trust Vault, sole ownership under Potter family Lordship
Vault 711: Bellatrix Black Vault, sole ownership under Black family Lordship
Properties:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, co-ownership with Thomas Marvolo Slytherin
International Confederation of Wizards Headquarters, co-ownership with Thomas Marvolo Riddle and Albus Percival Dumbledore
Number 12 Grimmauld Place, sole ownership under Black family Lordship
Godric’s Hollow, sole ownership under Gryffindor family Lordship
Property in Godric’s Hollow, leased under Potter family Lordship
Land formerly of Potter Manor, sole ownership under Potter family Lordship
Black Manor, sole ownership under Black family Lordship
Hadrian sat in silence staring blankly at the wall. He sat for so long that the Dark Lord snatched the parchment out of his limp fingers to see what was so shocking.
Voldemort looked it over, he hadn’t known that Black had named Hadrian his heir before he died, but it wasn’t all that surprising honestly. He had known objectively that Hadrian must be descended from the youngest Peverell brother because he had the invisibility cloak, but again he hadn’t completely followed the thought through and hadn’t realised Hadrian would be his heir for the title of Peverell.
The Gryffindor lordship was the biggest surprise, he hadn’t known that the Gryffindor family magic was still around to bestow the title, usually after a few centuries without a member to support, family magics dissipated. Voldemort was slightly annoyed at having to share ownership of Hogwarts now, but at least it wasn’t with someone who was completely against him.
It was strange that Bellatrix had her own vault though. The Black family, like most, had the main vault, and then when new members of the family were born and exhibited magical abilities, a trust vault was automatically made under their name for them for the duration of their lives until they died where it would then be absorbed back into the main family vault. Having a vault separated form the family wasn’t common at all, in fact when he had gifted Bellatrix his horcrux, it had been under the impression that in the event of her death, it would be then absorbed into the Black family main vault, some of his staunchest supporters, meaning he would always be able to get it.
Still all things considered, there weren’t that many surprising things contained on the parchment, certainly not enough to warrant the state of shock that Hadrian seemed to have entered.
“Hadrian.” Voldemort stated hoping to shake him out of whatever state he was in.
It worked, as Hadrian jumped in surprise. He was so confused, his whole life he had been told that he only had the vault Dumbledore had supplied him the key for. He specifically remembered asking Dumbledore if his family had any other vaults, hoping to find family portraits and maybe some heir looms. Dumbledores answer? That he was so sorry but what he had already been so graciously given was all he had been left with.
Hadrian had so many questions and he was experiencing so many emotions. He just decided to start small.
“Why does your name change? First Riddle, then Peverell, then Slytherin.”
“Goblin documents only show what is necessary.” Silverspike answered “You wizards can have absurdly long names, so we created rules to limit the amount of idiocy. Now, a document will only show the first name, one middle name, and relevant last name of the relevant wizard. For example, here we see that when talking of the Peverell vaults, the Dark Lords name is Peverell, but when speaking of Hogwarts, it is Slytherin. The only time full names are stated is when a document is stating a person’s name for no other purpose than stating said persons name, as can be seen by your full name at the top, my Lord.”
Hadrian was too overwhelmed to really register the use of the title, but he would later. He was still in shock honestly and wasn’t processing what was happening.
The Dark Lord however, had processed and was now getting impatient waiting, “What is shocking you so? You would of at least about the Potter vaults, due to your knowledge about the Deathly Hallows and the fact that your family heirloom is one of them, it also would have been easy for you to figure out that you were a Peverell. You would have been notified by your godfather when he named you his heir. Admittedly you wouldn’t have had a way of knowing about Gryffindor, but it isn’t that shocking.”
“I thought the trust vault was the Potter Vault” Hadrian whispered “Sirius never told me that I was his heir. The Peverell’s were old enough that I had thought there would be nothing, if my ancestors had had anything it would be thousands of years old.”
“What does ‘formerly of Potter Manor’ mean?” he said, moving on before he could overwhelm himself more.
“Well,” Voldemort looked a bit put out by his question, “It would mean that Potter Manor was formerly on that land, meaning it is no longer, either demolished or moved, but since it does not appear elsewhere in your properties, I would say it is safe to assume it was destroyed. From memory, when I was looking for the Potter at the end of the first war, we had assumed they would be at Potter Manor, as an ancestral home, it has generations of wards, is unplottable, and is generally the safest place to be. I had asked Severus to inquire to the Potters at an Order meeting about it, and he returned saying that Lily had told him that Potter Manor was not a viable option and said no further.”
Hadrian was slowly coming round, he was still very confused, but he was pushing it all to the side. Eventually he composed himself and nodded at the other two present in the room to continue.
“Well, my Lord, you have many unclaimed Lordships and an unclaimed heirship. I would highly recommend you claim them before you leave. The rings will provide you with family protections as well as proving your status amongst those who doubt.” Silverspike spoke to Hadrian.
“Those who doubt?” Hadrian questioned.
“You must understand my Lord, there has only ever been one Dark Lord,” Silverspike explained, “To make the claim of being a second will be frankly quite unbelievable to many. Even with the support of the known Dark Lord.” The goblin gestured to Voldemort, “Many do not even believe his claim to the Lordship, let alone what they would think of you being a surprise second. Having some older family lordships, with the rings as proof, will elevate your status to them and possibly prevent them from immediately dismissing your claims.”
“Okay…,” Hadrian was a bit confused on all the talk of rings, “How do I do that?”
“Simply place these on your right-hand ring finger.” Silverspike pulled out numerous boxes from under his desk as he spoke until three sat on the desktop.
Each had a family crest engraved on the lid, the Peverell box was easiest to discern from the other two with the simplistic Deathly Hallows sign within a laurel. The other two designs were much more complicated, and Hadrian recognised neither. One had Toujours Pur inscribed under the sigil, that must be the Black’s box then, Hadrian assumed. Which meant the one left over must be the Potter’s. His own family crest, that he had never seen in his life, taken from him by a greedy old man who sort to control him.
He traced his finger along the grooves of the design, it was shield with two great stags on the side. The words Brave, Strong, True were inscribed below like the Black family motto. It must be his family motto. Gryffindors, Hadrian smiled to himself, he actual liked that his family motto was in English, instead of some ancient lost language. It was more personal; it had more connection to him.
Hadrian lifted the lid to reveal a red-gold ring that beheld a ruby with a smaller version of the crest cut into its surface. The detail was immaculate, and it was all carved into a gem.
He slid it onto the instructed finger and instantly felt surrounded and blanketed in comfort he only got from the invisibility cloak. It felt like family, all his family, their magic around him, protecting him. He blinked quickly to disperse the tears he hadn’t felt form in the corners of his eyes.
“We will be requiring a withdrawal from the Peverell Vaults, 100 000 galleons aught to suffice.” Voldemort told Silverspike.
Hadrian whipped his head around at the amount, while Aguillard’s had seemed a bit high end, he hadn’t thought it would be that expensive. He instinctively opened his mouth to protest, even with his change of heart and his newfound confidence and dark personality, it didn’t sit well with him to have someone spending their money on him, especially that much.
Silverspike responded, unaware of Hadrian’s inner protests. “Of course, my Lord, But I feel the need to inform you of some new advancements here in Gringotts.”
Voldemort’s eyebrow rose in questioning, he gestured for Silverspike to continue. “We at Gringotts recently learned of a piece of Muggle technology, they call it a bank card, it contains a core of a sorts, that knows the information of your accounts and can transfer money into that of another as payment, without the handling of galleons at all. I feel this may be useful to you then having to traverse the way to a Gringotts branch every time you wish to withdraw money from your vaults.”
Voldemort considered this, he didn’t want to agree immediately as he would never be seen so willing to admit to the advantages of Muggle advancements, but this did sound perfect and solved many of his problems concerning retrieving funds.
“Simply have whoever you are paying place their wand on the card and speak the amount necessary. Our cards will read their signature and move the necessary amount from your vault to the vault matching their magical signature.” Silverspike looked most pleased with this advancement.
“That is acceptable, when will I be able to get one of these cards?” Voldemort inquired
“It will take but a half hour. May I suggest that you visit the Vault of the Dark Lord while you wait. I do believe it would be most beneficial my Lord.”
Voldemort frowned at Silverspike, the goblin had been trying to convince him to visit the vault since he had been discovered as the Dark Lord. The vault, he was told, contained journals, artifacts, grimoires and more from all the previous Dark Lords and a few were gifts from Lady Magic herself, meant to assist the future bearers of the title.
Though he had been sane when he had first discovered his title, he had been an arrogant teenager who refused to accept that he needed help and felt the need to prove he could do anything he wanted, without the help of those who thought to educate him from beyond the grave.
Now though, he had a different perspective. He still thought he didn’t need the help, but he also would use every advantage he had to defeat Dumbledore. He also now needed to educate a new Dark Lord.
With this in mind, he nodded to Silverspike, who grinned again, knowing he had finally won. The goblin jumped down from his chair and was quick to lead them through the catacombs if the goblin’s hold. They didn’t need to endure the torture of the cart track. Gringotts was organised with the oldest vaults the highest, as more vaults were made, they dug deeper to make room for the new vaults.
As such, the Vault of the Dark Lord, as #002, was quite close to the surface. They quickly found themselves in front of the entrance.
“You must place your hand on the door for it to open.” Silver spike explained.
Voldemort reached forward and placed his hand on the door, but nothing happened. You could hear a pin drop. He frowned, then turned and reached for Hadrian’s hand, who had been following them in silence. He placed Hadrian’s hand along side his own on the door, which then creaked open wider and wider until it revealed the vault hidden behind.
While the need of both of them was curious, it paled in comparison to the vault. There was the customary pile of galleons off to the side that appeared in most Gringotts vaults. There was also one complete wall of the vault covered in bookshelves that were all jam packed with ancient looking books. Voldemort struggled to maintain his composure as he ran his hand along some of the spines, seeing many titles that had been thought lost to the world.
Organised on other sets of shelves were many, many artefacts. From swords to jewellery and enchanted trunks. The dark magic practically oozed out of the very walls, and it surrounded him in a comforting blanket of magic.
His eyes roaming the shelves paused when he came across an ornate wooden box. He reached up and pulled it from the shelves. On the lid was an engraving of the insignia of Lady Magic, the same one inscribed on the door of the room in the ICW. He opened it and gasped at what he found inside. A silver circlet sat on a plush velvet cushion. it had a deep black gem in the centre and the band of the circlet was intricately woven in a way that was so detailed it should have been impossible to do with metal.
Upon closer inspection the Dark Lord recognised it. Every dark wizard alive knew this circlet. The deep black gem, so dark you got lost in its depths, was called ‘the Mark’. It had been gifted to the first Lord of the Dark by Lady Magic herself, and from then on it was seen as the telling factor of whether a Dark Lord was truly magic chosen.
After the death of a Dark Lord in the 11th century, their name lost to history, someone had stolen the Mark. A new Dark Lord soon arose, brandishing the Mark as proof of his status. It was when the imposter was invited onto the Sacred Lands that the magic of the Mark had shown what happened to those who thought to pretend to be its master.
The Sacred Lands, where the ICW headquarters now stood, had always been the focal point of Lady Magic upon earth. It was tradition for a newly discovered Dark Lord to visit the Sacred Lands with the Mark, to prove themselves under the eye of Lady Magic.
The circlet the Mark sat in was gifted upon the next Dark Lord after the theft. The metal was goblin-made, magically returning to Gringotts upon the death of its owner for future claiming, the circlet would return no matter the wards or protections it was hidden behind.
Due to his refusal to enter the vault, Voldemort had faced much opposition when he claimed the lordship, people didn’t believe him without the Mark, but with Dumbledores continuingly worrying amassment of power, both in Britain and internationally, eventually the dark wizards of Britain had accepted him on his amazing power levels alone, desperate for some hope.
Internationally, he had always had trouble amassing supporters, due to the fact he didn’t possess the Mark, and Dumbledores power hadn’t reached a worrying enough level for them yet to accept him without.
Rumour had it there was also a Mark for the Light Lord, their own gem that would show the Light Lord, but it had never been seen.
Voldemort turned around and saw a bottom-less bag sitting on the floor off to the side, he gently placed the box inside for safe keeping while he continued around the vault.
Nothing else was anywhere near as interesting or key to his cause as the Mark, but he did find many ancient books that he sorely wanted to read, he added some of the ones in better shape to the bag and left the more decrepit ones. He would have to get a book restoration expert to come look at them, sworn to hell and back in secrecy wards of course.
He ran into Hadrian a couple times, on a journey of his own around the massive vault. It wasn’t long after he had exited that Hadrian Followed, he didn’t have a bag with him, and it didn’t seem he had taken anything.
Frowning Voldemort decided to consider it later.
They returned to Silverspike’s office, where a new card was handed over. It had a sleek design, like a high-end muggle card.
“Thank you for your services Silverspike, may your vaults never empty.” Voldemort Silverspike farewell.
“And may the blood of your enemies ever flow.” He responded.
With that they were soon exiting back out to the French Wizarding District.
“Come Hadrian, we have many appointments to make, but first, lunch.”