look me in the eyes and burn

It took a total three seconds for him to realize just what exactly had happened and to remember where he was.

Hastily he brought his hands back down and returned to a more normal stance. Laughing sheepishly he ran a hand through his messy, unimaginably short hair.

“Sorry,” apologised Hadrian, “I was lost in thoughts. You, ah… startled me.” He grinned bashfully at the wide eyes and gaping jaws of the Order members and the shocked Molly Weasley who had been thrown a few feet back. Fortunately not hard enough to hurt her in any way and quiet enough not to disturb a certain concealed portrait.

‘Way to go to be inconspicuous’ he berated himself while everyone just continued to stare, ‘I’m just as bad as this Order of the Phoenix.’

Finally, the extremely tense and awkward atmosphere was broken by Molly Weasley’s nonchalant, though slightly hysteric, whisper, “Oh, no need to apologise, dear. I shouldn't have ambushed you like that, and since we all need to be really quiet here you couldn't have possibly heard me. Its my fault, really." She waved it off. “It’s just lovely to see you, Harry!”

With that she once again pulled the reluctant — but now expecting — man into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm’s length and examining him carefully.

“You’re looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you’ll have to wait a bit before dinner I’m afraid.” She criticized before immediately turning to the gang of wizards behind him and whispering urgently, “He’s just arrived, the meeting’s started.”

With that the wizards behind Hadrian all made noises of interest and excitement before filing past him and towards what he knew to be the kitchen. Hadrian, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed inside and desperately wanting to get away from Molly’s strong and firm grip, made towards the stairs. However, before he could take as much as two steps, the bruising grip returned.

“No, Harry, the meeting’s only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting’s over, then we’ll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall.”

Had Molly's voice sounded that sweet and pitying the first time around? It must have, but he couldn't be sure. He was almost certain that if it did he would have flipped, would have screamed and raged at them for pitying him and not letting him in on Order meetings. But then… he had been really freaking oblivious, so maybe?…

Stumbling slightly when Molly reprimandingly pushed his malnourished body towards the stairs and therefore away from the place where the meeting was taking place, Hadrian vanished up the stairs without waiting for further directions and simply — if a bit timid — went to the room he clearly remembered sharing with Ron.

The hallways he walked through on his way there were just as grim, opulent and decayed as the outside of the house. Somehow it was a shame, really, to have such a great and magnificent house reduced to this… Okay, the house-elf heads obviously couldn't count as anything other than horrendous. Honestly, it might be an honor and a sign of wealth to participate in this tradition (for both wizards and house-elves), but some traditions were better left in the past.

And also, having heads decorate the walls was just so 1700.

xXxXxXx

The moment he stepped inside the familiar — more clean but still grim and already once again untidy — room, a very large quantity of bushy brown hair attacked him. His magic was coiled and ready to strike. It almost gave his attacker the same treatment as Molly just a few minutes ago. Fortunately for the attacker — Hermione — though, Hadrian recognized her in the last moment possible and managed to reign his magic in.

The girl, of course, didn't even notice her almost flight.

“HARRY! Ron, he’s here, Harry’s here! We didn’t hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless — but we couldn’t tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn’t, oh, we’ve got so much to tell you, and you’ve got things to tell us — the Dementors! When we heard — and that Ministry hearing — it’s just outrageous, I’ve looked it all up, they can’t expel you, they just can’t, there’s provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations—“

“Let him breath, Hermione.” Said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind a thoroughly overwhelmed Hadrian.

The moment he laid his eyes upon him he was once again reminded that this was not his ‘home’ anymore, if you could call the place he came from home. But neither was this his home.

Ron was… younger. More boyish and gangly. Though, the long nose, bright red hair and freckles were still exactly like he remembered.

The same with Hermione — who had sheepishly, although still beaming — let go off him.

They were so… young. So innocent. So —

“We’re really sorry, mate.” Ron said in that moment. “We know you wanted answers, but we couldn’t give them to you. Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you’d do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us —“

“— swear not to tell me. Hermione’s already said.”

— so gullible.

There was a strained silence in which no-one really knew what to say.

The emerald-eyed man just continued to look at the two fidgeting teenagers in silence. They looked almost exactly as he remembered them; maybe a bit younger, a bit more innocent and naïve, but still just like in his memories. And yet, he didn't know them. He had no idea how to handle these two children; children who were eager and expecting to be his friend, who obviously wanted to talk to and spent time with him and had expectations of him he couldn't possibly fulfill.

Because now, when he looked at them, Hadrian couldn't seem to remember anything. Only a faint, aching yearning pulsed in his chest, but even that was dulled and scabbed over by time.

“He seemed to think it was best,” spilled out of Hermione in that moment, rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.”

Of course she did. Dumbledore always knew best, after all.

He sighed internally, sadly. He definitely couldn’t relate to them anymore.

“I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —“ Ron began but Hadrian cut him off. He’d heard all this before — as the ache in his chest knew and simultaneously hurt more but pulsed less — and he had no desire to hear it again. Once was more than enough.

“Yeah, because you never had to rescue me from these muggles. Or that I have been attacked by Dementors while I was there.”

“Well, no —  but that’s why he had people from the Order of the Phoenix trailing you all the time —“

A sudden, derisive snort escaped Hadrian’s unsuspecting mouth, starling everyone in the dirty, pompous room.

“Didn’t work that well, now did it?” He held up a hand when he saw Hermione opening her mouth to say more — excuse their inactions or Dumbledore’s actions, it didn’t matter — and stopped her from saying more. “Look, I don’t want to fight. You didn’t write me and deliberately kept me in the dark because holy Dumbledore said so and you obviously couldn’t have found another way to keep me up to date. But, no matter. I’m sure you can fill me in now, since, you know, we’re safe now.”

Was it evil of him to relish in the way both Hermione and Ron flushed and averted their eyes sheepishly? No, he decided, no it was not.

They had left him completely uninformed after he had to live through a seriously traumatising event and the murder of one of his comrades, all because their headmaster thought it to be a wise idea. So, even though it had been years for him, it felt good to let go of this pent up anger and frustration he had felt the first time around.

And if this was out of character for him? Well, then he would just blame it on the trauma. Or the Horcrux. Both works. After all, if he already had to relive all this shit again then he would at least get some things out of his system he hadn’t be able to before. And maybe fool around a bit.

How else was he supposed to get at least some amusement out of this stupid situation?

And so, after a few more awkward minutes where the two apologised again and again, always excusing their actions, they finally settled down on a bed in a cloud of dust and told the emerald-eyed man about the things he was more informed about.

Eventually they got to the topic of Fred (alive, breathing, happy, alive) and George’s (happy, whole, living) Extendable Ears. They crowded around the creaking banister, trying to get information from the Order meeting without avail.

Hadrian just sat next to them, trying oh so hard to seem as interested and intrigued as everyone else, but was really only apathetic towards all this.

It was just… when he watched and interacted with them all he saw were children. Naïve, stupid, overeager children who where desperately wishing for a great adventure and brave heroism. Like they'd always heard about in stories, in fairytales. Like they expected a war to be. Great, and heroic, and easy, and simple. They were like he once used to be, and look where it brought him.

Somehow it was endearing to see them like this, so naïve and delusional. It just showed what a great and easy life they’d lived. But then…

Oh, how they’ll fall once they get their great adventure. How they’ll mourn and cry and scream and beg once they get their heroic war.

These mollycoddled children. Always kept warm and fed and safely within their rose-tinted world.

Hadrian had to concede that Molly had been right in this one aspect, children did not belong in a war, but neither should they be thrust into the unforgiving world without as much as a by your leave.

Sighing, green green eyes swept over the teenagers gathered around him. They took in their bickering and smiling faces, their careless demeanor and childish frustration when they got no new information; they wanted information to help the Order of the Phoenix fight. Fight in a probable war. They were (not) old enough!

They were barely recognizable.

They were so blinded by their rose-coloured glasses that they couldn’t see the warning signs right in front of their faces —

“The meeting’s over, you can come down and have dinner now —”

How could Molly let her children be so innocent in the face of war?

It was cruel.

CRASH.

Tonks had — once again — tripped over the troll foot umbrella stand.

In anticipation to something other than the mind-numbing boredom or further dark thoughts, Hadrian’s eager eyes flew to the moth-eaten velvet curtains, already flying apart and revealing a screaming, black-haired (banshee, he was sure) woman in an extravagant — also black — dress and a mouth that would impress any sailor.

“Filth, scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —“

Tonks continuously apologised to the exasperated and scowling Weasley matriarch who had abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and was hurrying up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits that had woken to the screaming and decided to join in; every other person still left in the hall had hastily clapped their hands over their ears, trying in vain to block out all the noise.

In all this ruckus, a wild-haired man stepped forward and raised a (slightly impressed) eyebrow at the banshee of a woman.

“What vulgar behaviour for a member of the noble House of Black. Your breeding must have been very poor indeed.”

Silence.

Sudden, echoing silence.

But before either he or the stunned speechless portrait could say anything else, a man with long, black hair — the same as the woman’s — came charging out of a door. With a stupendous effort he and Lupin forced the curtains closed again.

Panting slightly and sweeping his wild dark hair out of his eyes, Hadrian’s fugitive godfather Sirius Black turned to face him.

“Hello Harry,” he said grimly, “I see you’ve met my mother.”

Oh, he had met her alright. And like everything and everyone he had met before, he suddenly couldn’t quite understand the initial dislike he had felt towards her.

Grinning, Hadrian turned to the man that was his godfather but didn’t really know that well. “She seems lovely.” He empathized.

A bark of a laughter was ripped from the almost unfamiliar man before he was pulled into a strong hug. After a far too long moment — even though the embrace felt kind of comforting, but was not what he needed nor wanted right now — Sirius let up again, holding him at arm's length and looking him over with something akin to wistfulness.

"Harry" he breathed, looking delighted and crazed all at once.

Hadrian smiled tightly. I’m not James. I will never be him. "Sirius."

Before anymore else could be said Molly's too commanding and slightly shrill voice demanded everyone’s presence in the large, slightly cleaner — but still overflowing with dark strains and horrible stenches — kitchen. Hopefully breathing in all this filth — or Mundungus' horrible smoke — wouldn't be too damaging to his already much too frail body. At least he would have enough food now. Well, as long as it wasn't decaying also.

Dinner in itself was a slightly messy but fairly peaceful affair. The metamorphmagus joked about with the other kids, Fred and George set to drive their mother insane before switching, along with every other kid in the room, to the well known jealously and dumb idea to want to participate in the Order's dealings. Molly however, kept interrupting Sirius every time he opened his mouth to try to tell Hadrian anything useless; therefore they should notice it was unnecessary to be so jealous, he would not get any more information than them.

And well… once Molly and Sirius got started they delivered a whole show.

Like, honestly, they were fighting about who had more right to him. Maybe they should simply ask him or consider his opinion? Hadrian pondered while he absently chewed on his delicious meal, all the while following the shouting match with his eyes.

It was stupid, really. Molly already had more than enough wonderful, if exhausting, children to take care of and Sirius was honestly not quite right in his head. Partly because of the excessive inbreeding of the Black family but also because of his prolonged stay in Azkaban. Yeah, Hadrian hummed silently, all the while observing his crazed-looking godfather, the infamous Black-madness and Dementor exposure did not mix that well; Hadrian’s thoughts did not wander to another member of said family who currently also resided in Azkaban. 

It also didn’t help Molly that she continued to bring Dumbledore into all this. "Dumbledore said this, Dumbledore expects that, Dumbledore wants us to —" Yes.

Dumbledore, Dumbledore, Dumbledore.

Always Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was the headmaster of their school and the founder of the Order of the Fried Chicken, but since Hadrian was currently neither in school nor in the Order why should he have to listen to him and follow his every lead? The last time he did this hundreds of people died, he himself included.

Besides, the way she talked about him would have her thrown into Azkaban to never be seen again if you exchanged the word 'Dumbledore' with 'Voldemort'.

After all, they both had their secret clubs and devoted following with fancy names and ridiculous high egos as well as a superiority complex. Actually, now that he thought about it, it was honestly quite uncanny how alike they were.

"He is not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly!" Brought the green eyed time-traveler out of his thoughts and back to the situation at hand. He berated himself for it. He couldn’t keep loosing himself in his mind like this. Especially not with so much at risk — well, the only risk was him getting surprised and lashing out in a way he never had before and obviously shouldn't know. There was no way he would ever let slip that he was not from this time.

“He's not your son," Sirius suddenly said, much quieter and calmer than anyone had seen him before.

"He's as good as," said Mrs Weasley fiercely, obviously so lost in their argument she didn't notice Sirius sudden sullenness. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me."

"Yes." Mrs Weasley almost sneered, her lip curling, "the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you’ve been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

While Sirius rose from his chair, Hadrian only continued to look at the red-haired woman in shocked silence. That was a seriously low blow. No wonder his godfather couldn't really stand her. After all, it was hardly his fault the Ministry was so corrupt and desperate to save face they threw him into the Dementors' Den just because they could. Never mind checking if he was really guilty or caring about the fact he was the heir to a prestigious and noble house.

"Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry." Lupin said sharply — obviously as displeased with her as Hadrian. "Sirius, sit down."

Molly's lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this." the werewolf continued, "he's old enough to decide for himself."

Hadrian's fork stopped midway to his mouth when suddenly all eyes were on him. He looked around with big, green eyes, before eating the mouthful. All the while he continued to look around with his impossibly wide and innocent seeming eyes.

"Well," he swallowed the delicious food, "I’m in all honestly not much interested in all this. And obviously also not allowed." Skillfully, he ignored Molly's proud, beaming smile and the bewildered exclamations of the teenagers and continued unabashedly; once more filling his fork and lifting it. "So if you could just keep me out of everything and also send a nice letter to Voldy explaining that I’m too young and really not interested in pulling pigtails with him so he will stop trying to unalive me, that would be neat."

With that he returned to his food, seemingly utterly unconcerned with the mess he suddenly created while internally simultaneously berating and loving himself. Ohh, his Phoenix would be so proud of him.

"Mate, are you crazy? You can’t be serious!"

"How can you say something like this?!"

"He killed your parents!"

Exclamations like this filled the kitchen, their hunger and dinner all but forgotten. Hadrian tried to ignore them, he really did. He was also very aware of the fact that — as an orphan that was forced to live with his so-called family and for being an intelligent being — his parents had been killed by this very figure and that his words would create something like this. There was one statement, however, that really irked him something foul.

"Do you not care that He-who-can-not-be-named will kill us all?!"

Deathly burning eyes turned to the speaker — an old, pompous man who, judging by the size of his belly, preferred to spend his days lazing about and eating sweets. Diggle swallowed.

"Do you not care that you condemn a fifteen year old child to death?" He hissed, "Do you not care that you, all of you," with that he looked around the room, at every adult and child, "want me to fight against the most dangerous wizard in this age with barely four years of magical education, with absolutely no information because I am too young, and too impulsive I couldn’t understand the gravity of the situation and do something reckless. 

"Is it because I am an orphan and I have no family to live for? No one to miss me if I was dead? Or do you expect me to fight because that's what my parents did, because it’s what my parents would want? 

"Because if so then I best remind you all that my parents sacrificed themselves so I could live, and I have absolutely no desire to disregard their sacrifices like this because you insipid lot were too lazy to change things after the last war to stop another uprising. Just like the last time. Excuse me."

With that the emerald eyed man stop up. He ignored the shocked and infuriated people, the indignant and mighty old men and disbelieving children. He simply took his plate and vanished from the kitchen. He could not stand it anymore, this childishness. They should just finally decide what they wanted and then do it. Stop with this stupid bickering that would bring them nowhere.

Walking by the entrance hall and Walburga's closed portrait, a hunched, wrinkly and filthy figure swept a duster uselessly over the delicate ornaments while mumbling about filthy mudbloods and disgraceful blood traitors dirtying this reverent halls.

Without stopping or halting in his steps, Hadrian swept up the stairs, calling imperviously "come, Kreacher."

During all this, he didn't notice the other portraits in the hall, all silent, all watching.

xXxXxXx

Hadrian settled back into the first and cleanest room he found. Additionally he also knew that no one would look for him in the library.

Of course, the room was also covered in layers upon layers of dust and grime that seemed to have developed a sense of life — or it were just the creatures that had moved in over the years — but still, compared to other rooms he had seen just now and still remembered, this was pretty clean…

"Why has unworthy Master's filthy godson called for Kreacher?" The little house-elf sneered, so full of venom.

Hadrian didn't react however, he just looked at Kreacher steadily.

And continued to look.

And continued.

He did not say anything, did not move or rise to Kreacher's provocations, he simply stared.

After a while Kreacher looked away — seemingly disgusted with himself for that — and shuffled.

"Kreacher," Hadrian finally purred. And the contrast to his staring was so glaring it obviously caught the elf by surprise. "Proud House-elf of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, tell me, how do you think people will think about this mighty house if you’re always disrespecting not only your Master, but also insulting his guests? I had always thought it was an honor for elves to be able to bond with a family, especially one with such a prestigious history." 

It seemed, the more unworthy Master's filthy godson spoke, the more hunched Kreacher became. It actually surprised Hadrian a bit. After all, while he may now know more about house-elves and their origin — and considering Kreacher's... inclination — he hadn't expected the old Elf to listen to him. Or to take anything he said serious. Even though it obviously was the truth.

Kreacher continued shuffling about, looking everywhere but the green eyed man in front of him, before —

The wrinkly figure squared his shoulders and looked steadfast head-on; therefore looking at Hadrian's clloar bones.

"Why bes scum asking?" he rapsed, almost growled. "Bes accommodations not to filthy halfblood's liking?"

An amused smile flitted over Hadrian's youthful face — Kreacher's defiance was so endearing, so proud and independent, it just reminded him of —

"I have slept in much more decaying places, so it doesn't really bother me, but that's not the point." the wizard waved off dismissively, "The point is that your behavior casts a bad light on the Noble House of Black. Not that it isn't already bathed in a bad light, mind you, but your continuous bad mouthing everyone isn't helping the whole situation. Well, that and the horrible state of the house. It's honestly disgusting." 

"Mudbloods be dirtying the Most Noble House of Black. Blood traitors be dirtying it. Kreacher is a good house-elf. Yes, he bes making his line proud. But mes not can cleanse the dirty blood out of this house. It bes not my fault." 

Proud. Defiant. Determined. That was what Kreacher radiated.

He was the picture of a brilliant and diligent Elf — not the hunching, insulting shadow of madness he had been just minutes ago.

Hadrian smiled.

"I don't doubt that you are trying, Kreacher. However, your... ways don't seem that efficient. And their result is most likely the opposite of what you actually want to achieve."

"Filthy halfblood will not bes telling Kreacher of the Most Noble House of Black what's to do. Yous be in Kreacher's house. Yous be unwanted guest. Yous be quiet." Venom. And narrowed eyes.

Lovely.

"Right now I'm not telling you to change or to do anything. What I'm saying is just that maybe, if you’d stop insulting everyone and get this house back to its marvelous self, as it is supposed to be, then the Mudbloods and Bloodtraitors will probably see how much better Purebloods are and how much they don't deserve this."

With that he gestured to everything. He let his magic swirl up the dust covering the books, draw circles into the dirty shelves and grime covered windows, let a soft wind flow through the filthy and wide halls, and jingle the elegant chandeliers. Everything came to live. Everywhere his magnificent magic touched something so unbelievably decayed the contrast was like night and day. And hopefully an eye-opener for the hollow House-elf who had been alone and inside these walls for too long to really appreciate their beauty anymore.

Kreacher blinked once. Twice. Thrice.

He looked confused, suspicious. Flabbergasted. Awestruck.

"Yous magic…" he turned to him. "Yous be telling Kreacher horrible guests will leave if they bes confronted will full power and shine of magnificent House of mine?... Yous be not appreciating the old one's parrots?!" 

"Not particularly, no." Hadrian revealed, however reluctant. He knew his magic had made sure that they wouldn't be overheard, but he didn't really want any of the people here hearing him talk like this, or so 'extreme'. So… 'pureblood-ish'. (Like a Death Eater, they would probably say, while looking at him with suspicion and disgust in their eyes.)

"So, do you think you can do this? Can you return this townhouse to its prestigious self and safe the family heirlooms all on your own with just me as a tiny, little help?"

The old house-elf looked on thoughtful, for a moment even actually loosing his scowl to seriously consider Hadrian's challenge.

"Kreacher wills be thinking about it, Halfblood." He finally nodded curtly. And before Hadrian could say anything else, the elf vanished with an almost inaudible pop, probably to not be seen again for at least a few hours.

Elves we’re good at that, after all. Vanishing and staying undetected in the midst of a search for them.

Emerald eyes gleamed satisfied while another bite of delicious food made its way into his mouth. He knew for certain that neither Sirius nor any other person in this house would ever learn about this little conversation. And while Kreacher definitely still hated everything traitorous or impure, the glare when he looked at him and his degrading remarks had definitely lessened. Who knew a few deliberate words — some praise for the great house, some praise to Kreacher, some praise to the family, some lowly insults, some seemingly blood-purist comments — and boom — he went from filth and unworthy to Halfblood.

Admittedly, considering this impromptu discussion had not been planned, the progress was better than anticipated. And since he was already on the subject of House-elves and their specialness, he once again sat down his fork.

"DOBBY!"

POP

"Great Harry Potter sir has called for Do— why is Dobby not being able to see Great Harry Potter sir?! Why is Dobby not seeing anything?! Where isDobbybeing!“