What happened to you?
Fuck. Fudgedy fudge fuck.
He had forgotten the Fidelius. And that Dobby was not yet keyed into it.
… Fuck.
"Okay Dobby… DOBBY!" Hadrian raised his voice to get the house-elf to listen to him, "I'm here, right here. I know you probably can't see me or any of my- uhm- your surroundings, but I assure you, you and me both are quite safe and nothing is going to happen to you. I promise."
By the sounds of the rapid and shallow breathing Dobby was still more panicked and maybe a bit more overwhelmed than Hadrian actually wanted, but it was better than before.
"G-great Harry P-potter sir be sure? Dobby bes not liking this."
"Yes, Dobby, I’m perfectly sure. And I should apologise, I had not thought about the fact that you would be stuck in this… nothingness."
Oh oh, Dobby was crying again. Crying about the greatness of Harry Potter sir.
Oh please no.
He wasn't that great. Certainly not. Especially considering he was at fault for the house-elf's whole predicament.
"Dobby, I really need to know this, so I’m asking you to be truthful, alright? It's really important." Serious gleaming green eyes stared in the middle of the room — nothing was there and yet his magic had determined that something should — would be there. Just not as long as the Fidelius would prove to be a problem.
At Dobby's immediate, zealous response, Hadrian suppressed a little chuckle before turning serious again. This would not only be crucial now, in this time, but it was also something that had kept him up many terrible nights where he just couldn't sleep and Occlumency didn't seem to help.
"Are you mine?"
The air cracked lightly, before Dobby's suddenly much dimmer, much more hesitant voice creaked, "W-what bes Great Harry Potter sir asking? D-dobby is a free Elf."
Sighing, Hadrian ran a hand through his still much too short hair. "Look Dobby. I don't want your chaotic magic to burn out and kill you. So I need to know, are you safe through a bond with Hogwarts or do you need me to finalise our bond?"
Oh… Oh no. Dobby was crying… again. Heaving big, heavy sobs that probably wrecked his entire frame. "Great Harry Potter sir bes knowing about Elves' magic. Great Harry Potter sir bes wanting to help Dobby. Great Harry Potter sir truly bes the greatest wizard alive."
He… was not really sure if having to put up with this was really worth it. But then, Dobby was Dobby. The little, eccentric elf that had sent a bludger after him to "keep him safe". He was the Boy Who Lived's greatest self-proclaimed fan.
This little elf had taken a probably poisoned dagger to his chest to save him, and would have probably done it a hundred more times if it meant "Great Harry Potter sir" would have been safe.
That, and the obvious knowledge that this little elf would never betray him and his trust, made Hadrian go through with his plan. He really wanted — needed — a trustful ally.
Finally, through all the hiccuping and sniffs, Hadrian could discern the answer to his question. "Dobby would be honored. Oh so honored to serve Great Harry Potter sir. So so honored."
Hadrian smiled and let his magic spread out around himself and the spot where Dobby would be in a few minutes’ time.
“Be part of my family, you’re welcome in my home. Service and magic; both hold strong. Family and amity; this is where we belong. So mote it be.”
“So mote it be.” Dobby intoned proudly.
Not a second later magic flared all around them and then the next moment — Dobby stood in front of him, gazing avidly at his surroundings and finally at Hadrian. Disgust contorted his face.
“Where bes Great Master staying?!” He asked aghast.
“In a grim, old house.” He chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry, Dobby, I won’t stay here for long. And anyway, the conditions here should… improve soon.”
Dobby continued to look at Hadrian a bit incredulous but let the topic drop… for now. The man was under no illusions that the creative little house-elf would try to find a way to get Hadrian to leave and go to a, in Dobby’s opinion, place worthy for him.
Then, Dobby’s beaming, eccentric self returned full force.
“What bes Great Hadrian Grim sir wanting me to wear?”
“I don’t really care. Though,” said Hadrian, eyeing the Elf’s towel in distaste, “I don’t want to see you in towels, rags or dirty, ripped things that may have once been clothes. You may take some money from my vaults — as it is my duty to provide you with any necessities you might need — to either buy some fabric or simply clothes from a store.”
Dobby blinked at that, unsure, certainly also apprehensive of buying his own things with his Master’s money.
Such a sin.
Unimaginable.
Hadrian put another forkful into his mouth, staring stubbornly at Dobby, daring him to open his mouth and complain.
He would not tolerate a bonded member to his house dressed in rags, or worse, tea-towels. He would not.
Finally, Dobby nodded without complain.
Hadrian inclined his head.
“Further, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t go around telling everyone that we bonded. I do not want — nor need — certain parties to be aware of it. It would limit us in getting particular information.”
At first, the little Elf looked a bit uncertain — saddened even to not be allowed to tell anyone that the ‘Great Hadrian Grim sir’ saw him as worthy enough to bond with him, but after Hadrian’s quick, if not quite sufficient explanation, Dobby acquiesced, promising over and over again that he wouldn’t ever tell a soul about anything.
Hadrian chuckled softly at that, all the while thoughtfully chewing his last bit, trying to remember what else he’d wanted of the Elf but not quite remembering it.
“Ah!” He exclaimed suddenly, swallowing. “When you go buying cloth for your new attire, I’d need you to also buy me a new wardrobe; everything I might need. Formal, informal, sport gear, school robes, everything. Preferably all in darker colours. And fitting, please. I really can’t stand these obscene rags.”
Dobby, eyeing Dursley’s hand-me-downs in disgust, nodded in complete agreement.
“Dobby wills be doing this rights now, Master Hadrian. Bes there anything else Dobby cans be doing?”
Hadrian shook his head.
“No, not right now. I will call you when I need you, but for the time being you should just return to Hogwarts and whatever task I pulled you away from to avoid suspicion.”
The elf beamed confidently. “Dobby wills be doing this, Master Hadrian.”
Then, he raised his fingers to snip and pop away, but a millisecond before he could do this Hadrian’s voice stopped him.
“Oh, and Dobby?” The elf blinked at him with large, tennis ball eyes, “Thank you.”
For a moment, Dobby looked confused, but vanished before anything else could be said.
“Thank you.” The tired ‘fifteen year old’ repeated while sagging back into the armchair, staring at the shadow that remained of the little elf before turning away.
xXxXxXx
When Hadrian walked into his shared bedroom he did not expect to get assaulted. Again. But he did. By a rather… red specimen.
“Mate, where’ve you been? Mum’s going bonkers! We’ve looked everywhere for you, but you were no-where to be found! And Sirius — Sirius has been sitting at the table all the time. Staring. Just staring ahead without doing anything! I think his whole world view just crashed! But I understand him, mate. How could you say all that? It’s almost like you want you-know-who to win!”
The red blotches on Ron’s agitated face were almost the exact same color as his hair.
That was… impressive. It always occurred when he was agitated, Hadrian mused while he looked at the teenager calmly. Silently.
“Like what the hell, mate! You didn’t really mean it, did you?”
Hadrian blinked.
He blinked again.
Was Ron serious? — He looked at Hadrian steadily. His breathing was laboured and his hands balled into fists.
Hadrian blinked again.
Yes, he concluded, yes he was.
A faint, familiar ache pulsed pulsed pulsed.
“I already explained.” He told Ron softly, “I already said why I don’t want to. And if you looked everywhere and still couldn’t find me, then you obviously did not look everywhere. I’m going to bed. G’night.”
The man silently took his shampoo and toothbrush and calmly went to the bathroom, leaving the lavish bedroom with a shocked silent teenager behind.
It did not take long until he entered the grande bathroom, layered in dust and unnecessary emblem on almost every furniture.
He didn’t let it bother him. Within minutes hot steam filled the room, fogging up the mirrors and scorching away the dull ache reverberating through his chest.
Hadrian closed his eyes and just let the water wash over him, enveloping him in its hot, mindless tranquility, letting himself get lost to the sensations.
And then, when he stepped out of the shower again and looked at himself in the mirror, the person that stared back was the naïve child he still saw in his memories. Everything seemed like that. Everything, but his eyes. Because looking at these poisonous eyes, he was far from naïve. Far from innocent.
It was the body of a scrawny child, and it was empty. There was no art on his blank canvas, no colours or shapes to tell stories. No pictures to remind him of loving times and terrible horrors.
No.
This body was not his, not really, and it held almost nothing of his life.
His eyes though, his eyes told everything his body didn’t. The vivid green and its slightly slitted pupils told stories of fighting a Basilisk and Dragons, of facing Death and walking away with a beating heart. These eyes have seen murder and resurrection, torture and the dead.
They have seen death. And relished in it.
Those… were not the eyes this body should have.
But then, the eyes were the mirror to the soul. Therefore, it were the most fitting eyes this soul could ever have…
When the man with deathly green eyes returned to the room with dripping wet hair, there was no other person found.
Sighing softly, he simply went to bed, not waiting for the red head to return. His magic, like always, swirled protectively around him, embraced him in its cocoon of safety and the promise that he could do this, that he wasn’t alone.
xXxXxXx
The morning after the Order meeting Hadrian entered the kitchen only stop in his tracks. A snicker was ripped out of his mouth when he saw a moving-halting-moving-halting-moving-gawking-staring-halting-moving Molly Weasley trying to prepare breakfast.
Every few seconds she would stop with whatever she was doing and stare at her surroundings in awe, amazement. Disbelief.
Hadrian could share the sentiment — having never seen the kitchen of this house so clean and gleaming and simply elegant — but honestly, Mrs Weasley’s reaction was just so overdone.
When he eventually ripped his eyes away from the sight the Weasley Matriarch made, he looked to where his magic told him another magical being was. And, unlike Molly, this being was not gawking in amazement, no. Instead they watched the ridiculous proceedings with a small, satisfied, vindictive gleam in their eyes.
Hadrian suppressed a smile at Kreacher’s reaction.
But really, not only was the room as magnificent as if hasn’t been in years and finally looked like something one would expect of the House of Black, but, as predicted, Molly also looked slightly uncomfortable to touch all the gleaming, obviously expensive, items.
And while her belongings and clothes were obviously well cared for, it was still such a harsh contrast that just did not fit in such an environment. She seemed to be aware of this too, if her tiny, little hesitations and slightly pinched face were any indication.
When the house-elf caught sight of him he also hesitated and stared for a second before popping away.
The minuscule nod Kreacher sent Hadrian before vanishing, however, made Hadrian believe that the Elf would follow his advice.
Especially since it obviously seemed to bore fruit.
xXxXxXx
Breakfast was lovely, and filling.
He might not like Molly Weasley as much as he used to anymore, but never let it be said that her cooking was bad.
The reactions of the other inhabitants of the house were even better.
The ogled, gawked, stared, gasped and actually rubbed their eyes when they stepped into the kitchen.
After getting over that shock, however, they, of course, started with their inane talk about his own, personal choice of not wanting to take part in the coming war. As if it was so unbelievable. (He didn’t know what scandalised them more — that he did not want to fight, like his parents had, or that he had actually an own opinion that did not fit in with their view of the Boy-Who-Lived.)
And so, the moment Mrs Weasley ordered everyone off to clean the rest of the house, Hadrian took his chance and slipped away.
Obviously, the other teenagers followed him, but cleaning was a welcoming reprise, something he could do well, and since talking distracted and hindered them from cleaning, which then somehow summoned the Weasley matriarch, conversation was kept to a minimum. And luckily revolved mostly around the things they found while cleaning.
And that’s how they spent the next few days. Cleaning.
Cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning.
Every day the house regained more and more of its pristine and shiny façade.
And every day a new room got the, by now traditional, gasping-gawking-gaping-eye-rubbing once-over.
And also every day Kreacher looked more and more proud of himself and maybe a little bit vindictive…
Okay, a great deal vindictive. He really couldn’t stand these people and relished in making them increasingly uncomfortable with showing what the great house of Black had to offer.
Nothing worth their standards, of course.
What Hadrian noticed as well was that the house seemed to be getting emptier. And that not only happened because of their cleaning spree and them throwing away priceless heirlooms because they thought them to be dark. Kreacher must also remove items. Just like he’d told him to do.
Funny thing though, was that the rooms he’d ‘renovated’ had still all their ornaments, and of course they had to be removed because it was all so terribly dark and evil and Mrs Weasley didn’t want them to get cursed.
This thought process left Hadrian wondering about their mental capabilities. Especially considering the things that were actually cursed were either in showcases or out of reach for genuinely everyone, and the things she wanted to remove were only old, gaudy pieces with no magic on them whatsoever.
Though, it was funny watching them loose their minds trying to stow these things away. Because it seemed Kreacher had secured them the same way Lady Black’s portrait was held in place: unremovable, no matter what they tried.
Mrs Weasley despaired. Wailed to her husband and buggered Sirius abut removing it.
He also did not manage to achieve this.
Though, Hadrian had to admit that Sirius did not put much effort into it. Maybe he had been wrong about him. Maybe he actually did care about his hated childhood home, no matter how much he denied it or didn’t want it to be true. Even Molly’s urging about keeping these dangerous items away from her children didn’t make him try harder.
Anyway, they couldn’t remove them and no matter what they said, the rooms they wanted to remove them from obviously showed that they didn’t necessarily care about cleaning but rather getting things they thought dark out of the house. Because Kreacher honestly left these rooms spotless.
The rooms he, the Weasleys and Hermione actually had to clean themselves because Kreacher had not done them yet also left Hadrian reeling.
They were guests in this house — yet they behaved as if they owned everything here. They looked at the exclusive if dirty furniture in disgust, threw away priceless artefacts as if they were yesterday’s trash and generally belittled and badmouth everything about this house.
It was abhorrent. Absolutely unacceptable. And it was even worse that Hadrian knew — remembered — having behaved exactly the same.
Back, when his world had still been black and white, he had been no better than them. He had not seen any faults in anything he did, but everything in this house and family was wrong, dark. Evil. Therefore it obviously needed to be destroyed and never be seen again.
Ha… haha.
Lamb.
Stupid, little, naïve, gullible lamb.
Never thinking for himself and only spouting off Dumbledore’s words everywhere he went.
Like it was expected of him.
Like it’s expected of Death Eaters. After all, they were also expected to spout off the Dark Lord’s word with every breath they took.
Just that he was no Death Eater, so it was obviously totally different.
Ha.
Funny.
… yeah, the stuffy air was definitely getting to his head.
“Where are you going, Harry?” Asked Hermione from where she was trying to scrub the filth off of the floor in vain.
“Outside,” Hadrian replied without pausing in his steps. “I need fresh air before I suffocate or turn out like the mad creatures living inside this house.”
He let the cloth fall into the bucket and swiped his hands on Dudley’s old trousers before leaving the room.
“Wait, I’m coming with you.” The girl’s hasty footsteps sounded behind him, before a panicked “ahh!” Replaced them and Hadrian had his arms full of bushy brown hair with a human attached to it.
The sudden weigh of Hermione sent them both tumbling down the hard-wood stairs and literally crashing into the wall. Actually, no, they did not really crash into a wall, but rather into Walburga Black’s closed portrait.
Well… Walburga Black’s formerly closed portrait. It was not closed anymore.
“Filth, scum! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers and destroy our reverend ancestry!” Her thrill voice echoed through the gleaming hallway.
Immediately, Hermione clasped her hands over her ears while her face contorted into silent outrage.
Hadrian on the other hand, turned towards the portrait, looking as unimpressed as he’d looked impressed the first time he’d encountered her in this timeline.
“Now really, Lady Black,” said Hadrian, shaking his head sadly, “I thought we’d already established the last time that this behaviour is absolutely unacceptable. And as the heir to this great House I must say it is utterly embarrassing.”
Different than with Kreacher, Walburga did not look chastised in the slightest. Her regal face was contorted with an ugly sneer and if Hadrian was being honest she looked at him as if he was dog shit she’d stepped into; extremely disgusting dog shit.
“It is not you that should be embarrassed about the occupants of this house, mudblood.” The woman hissed, venom practically dripping from her every word.
A smirk grew on the man’s face.
He could do without.
He really could.
Considering Hermione’s obvious shock at what he’d already said, doing it would only worsen her condition.
But… Walburga smirked triumphantly at his continued silence.
Yeah, he could really do without, but why should he?
Hadrian smirked right back, anticipant of the look the portrait would wear soon.
“Maybe not, dear Lady, but I assure you,” his smirk grew predatory, “I am certainly no mudblood.” He hissed.
Literally.
In the ancient tongue of the serpent.
Walburga blanched, gaping.
“You should close your mouth, otherwise you’ll catch flies.” Hadrian continued to hiss while he drew the curtains shut again, “Bye bye.”
With that he turned away and set towards the front door for the much needed air.
His bushy friend, he noticed, was also left gaping and pale, staring at the closed portrait, unseeing. And out of the corner of his eyes the emerald eyed man also saw another dark haired, young man. But he did not gape nor stare, no, he simply hid his snicker behind his hand.
Smiling slightly, Hadrian swept down the hallway and out of the door.
The fresh air hit his face full force. It felt as if he had walked into a sweltering, sultry wall that made his limbs and movements all heavy and sluggish, but despite that, it still felt heavenly.
Heavenly to finally be outside again and feel the sun caress him with its warmth and light.
After having been forced to stay inside the last few days since the Order took him, this boiling weather felt perfect — even if only because he could finally inhale fresh air without having to worry about dirt clogging his lungs.
Hadrian closed his eyes contentedly when he sat down on the front porch, basking in the soft summer breeze that made the scorching heat almost bearable.
He didn’t open his eyes when the sound of the door opening reached his ears, nor when he felt someone sit down next to him; his magic had already told him who it was.
“What’s up with you, Harry?” Hermione finally asked, “since you came here you’ve been… I don’t know, different, I guess? You suddenly proclaim that you don’t want to fight Voldemort any more and you always vanish somewhere without telling Ron or me. And that just with Sirius’ horrid mother… that’s not you.”
“If that’s not me, then what is?”
“Doing something reckless, I guess.” She gave a short snort, “I don’t know. You wouldn’t have stopped trying to get information, would have done everything to get to be involved into the Order, not out and away from it. And you’re quiet. Or at least more quiet and calm than before the holidays. It’s weird.”
“No, not really.” Hadrian shook his head while still not looking at the girl at his side, “I wager that’s just what trauma does to you.”
“No, I once read about it. Trauma can cause anxiety, fear, anger, irritability, depression, PTSD and increase the possibility of alcohol and drug abuse. You neither did nor do display any of the signs that indicate trauma or consequences of a traumatic experience. Therefore it isn’t the fault of trauma.”
Throughout Hermione’s lecture Hadrian could feel his eyebrows climb higher and higher with incredulity. By now he was looking at the girl who had a small, sympathetic smile on her face and pity in her eyes.
The young man had to replay everything she’d just said a few times in his head before he blinked, once, twice, and finally opened his mouth.
“Really?” At Hermione’s positive hum he continued, “please, do tell me more.”
And she did, not noticing — or simply not caring about — the sarcasm that dripped from the male’s words.
By the end of Hermione’s ‘explanation’ Hadrian was sure that the heat had made her brain melt — there was no way such a smart and bright girl actually believed the bullshit she just spouted.
He wisely decided not to contradict her or say anything else on that matter — as long as whatever he said wasn’t written in an authentic book, then she would not believe him. Besides, the slowly building headache caused by the boiling heat was more than enough. No need for his head to explode by trying to argue with Hermione about something she’s read in a book.
xXxXxXx
Softly, he let the door click shut behind him. Admittedly, the weather outside might be heavenly compared to the cold and dark interior of this house, but after a while the swelling heat and his boiling insides were just too much to bear.
Besides, if they didn’t get back to cleaning soon, Mrs Weasley would pull them by the ears and talk and lecture and disapprove of them taking a much needed break.
The thought alone was enough to make Hadrian’s headache pulse some more, as if to say ‘I can do more if you want to?’
Groaning, Hadrian raised his hand to his pulsating head, just to clutch at his furiously beating heart.
“Where’ve you been, Harry?” Whispered Sirius breathily. His breath was a breeze that ghosted over Hadrian’s skin much the same way the shadows flickered over the ex-convict’s face, illuminating it to show him as the crazed lunatic he probably was.
“Merlin’s tits, Sirius, my heart!” Hadrian gasped — hissed — but felt not nearly safe enough to stop his magic from spinning wildly around him, creating a protective web of promises to keep him safe and sound. Like being wrapped in a mother’s loving embrace. Or a lover’s.
Meanwhile, Sirius’ face contorted from grinning to sneering. At least a bit.
“Why are you hissing like some slimy Slytherin? I mean, the ability is cool, I guess,“ he conceded, though he scrunched up his nose once more, “but I don’t think James would have used it if he had had it. Wouldn’t want people to think you were one of Snivellus’ spoiled brats.”
His magic coiled tighter, protective, loving, but not able to completely overshadow the pulsing ache that had traveled from his head to his chest.
Because it hurt.
I’m not James . He wanted to say.
You are no better than them. He wanted to scream.
But all that came out was a quiet, calm, “What are you doing here, Sirius?”
Instantly the man’s whole posture seemed to change. As if a switch had been pressed. A switch that replaced the man’s sneering disgust with grinning mischief.
“Saw you talking to my dear mother, earlier.” Sirius said conversationally, his face shifted to reflect crazed disgust and a sharp grin with too many teeth, while his hands traced over his pristine robe. “Never heard that Harpy so quiet before. Must have really given her a piece of your mind to shut her up, eh?”
Hadrian grimaced faintly, “Something like this.”
“That’s the spirit, Harry. Never let anyone disparage you or get you down. Trust me, I know how much of a bitch this woman can be. Terrible really. Not a single, loving bone in her decaying body.” Okay… now Sirius seemed to be on a wave…
“But your behaviour – I swear I mistook you for your mother for a moment there.” I’m also not Lily. Stop comparing me to dead people! “Ohh, you should have heard James moaning about it, how she never let anyone talk down to her because she didn’t have a pure bloodline. I bet he got off on it.”
That… wasn’t really something Hadrian wanted to know about the people that died for him.
He had, quite honestly, absolutely no interest in knowing about their sex-lives or what got them off.
Hadrian shuddered as a cold, slimy shiver crawled down his back. Though, he couldn’t suppress the fleeting, staggering widening of his eyes and quirking of his lips at Sirius’ mention of Lily’s impure bloodline.
… Seemed like his upbringing — no matter how hated or tried to counteract — still had its remnants in him.
“So my bloodline is dirty, is it?” immediately, his godfather’s eyes widened and seemed to try to evict his eyeballs out of his head.
“Who—” he raged, “Who said that to you? I swear I will make them regret it. I will skin them before making them eat their own insides. I know quite a handy spell that will make them do it. It’ll even keep them conscious through the whole process.”
… Well, okayyy…
Not creepy at all...
“You.” the green green eyes shone with mirth, “You just implied that, Sirius. Though, I’m really touched that you would go to that length for me.”
The Lord of the house stuttered, loosing what little color he had left in his face. “I would— Harry, you have to believe me, I never – I didn’t mean it, really.”
Despite Sirius clear desperation, Hadrian didn’t immediately reassure Sirius that he wasn’t mad. Or offended. Or… whatever.
Because he was.
While it may not bother him that he’d basically called him dirty and impure, it did bother him that he continuously not only compared but also confused him with his parents.
He is not them. Will never be them. Damn it!
Finally though, “I’m not mad, Sirius.” he said sincerely, “I know you didn’t mean it and really just quoted what these wanna-be Purebloods said.”
Relief, so laughingly obvious, washed over the older man’s face and before the younger of the two could do anything but blink, he was once again drawn into another, very much unwanted, embrace.
But well, what else could Hadrian expect when he had such a Gryffindor as a godfather who wore his emotions on his sleeves despite having had the traditional heir-training.
“Come, “ Sirius said once he’d finally released his uncomfortable godson again, “I want to show you something.”
With that he dragged the younger man up the stairs and into a nice, clean room. Not that Hadrian offered that much of a resistance anyway. Still, the moment Sirius grip on his wrist suddenly slackened he shook his hand free before looking around the room to spot what had the older man surprised.
And there, across the room, the sharp eyes of the man picked it up.
The entire length of the wall was covered in a huge tapestry. But it was not necessarily the existence of the tapestry that not only stunned Sirius, but also his godson. Rather it was the condition of said wall-ornament.
Because were once was an immensely old looking fabric, partially faded and gnawed on by Doxys, now hung a delicate masterpiece. The golden thread with which it was embroidered gleamed brightly in the soft light, showing off the sprawling family tree that dated back to the Middle Ages and a writing in twirling letters:
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
‘Toujours pur’
“Wh—what?” Sirius choked out breathily. Unbelievably.
When Hadrian turned to look at him he could see his wide open eyes, flitting from image to image on the family tapestry, never staying in one place for more than a second.
His godfather walked closer mechanically, appearing as if he’d already forgotten that he was here because of a reason, or that Hadrian was here too. He only had eyes for his family tree.
Shakily, he brought a hand up to touch one of the images. He lingered a bit on the head of ‘Alphard Black’ — Sirius’ uncle, Hadrian knew, who’d left him a decent amount of gold in his will and therefore got blasted off of the family tree — before tracing the thread to another head, which was endorsed with the name ‘Sirius Orion Black’ — his head.
Finally, after the silence got more than heavy, Hadrian spoke up.
“That’s you.”
As if broken out of a trance, Sirius immediately brought his hand down and blinked furiously.
“Yeah, uhm —“ he cleared his throat, “Yeah.”
He ran a hand through his wild locks restlessly. His eyes once again flitting from place to place. This time, though, they continuously returned to Hadrian and his face on the tapestry.
All the while, the younger man continued to look at him — observe him.
This was the man that had promised to take care of him should something happen to his parents.
And this was the man who had broken said promise for revenge.
But it was also the man he had so desperately wanted to live with, who he had loved and blamed himself for his death. And Hadrian, quite honestly, did not know what to feel or think about him.
He had seen Sirius die, had despaired because of it, but had also long since accepted it. And in the end, he had never really known him. He had only mourned the man because of what he represented, and not as a person.
He had mourned the last person who had given him this spark of hope that he would be someone’s main priority. Someone who only cared about him — and not about the Boy-Who-Lived. Someone who would love him unconditionally and give him what he had always so longed for. A family.
But then Sirius had gone and died and he was alone again. Alone with his shattered dreams and hopes. Carted off to the Dursley’s and forgotten, only brought back when someone needed him once more.
And now, when Hadrian really looked at the man now, he couldn’t relate to this childish hope anymore.
He had long since accepted that he would never have parents and uncles. Had long since realised that, even if Sirius had been freed, he wouldn’t have lived with him.
Not with how unstable Sirius was.
Not with Dumbledore telling the man Hadrian would be better off with the Dursleys.
Hadrian would never have escaped the Dursley’s loving care, no matter what.
And even if, by some miracle, it had actually happened, then he would have had to be a carbon copy of his father — never his own person because Sirius would have made sure of it. And Hadrian wouldn’t even have minded it — wouldn’t have noticed it in the first place.
Looking back on it, Hadrian could really say that he would never be that boy again.
It was just impossible.
“My sweet old mother had actually blasted me off this thing.” Came Sirius sudden, melancholic voice, “right after I ran away from home —“
Sirius cut off abruptly, and didn’t talk further. His grey eyes seemed to be glazed over and Hadrian was sure that he was reliving this moment. Like he had probably done for the last thirteen years in Azkaban.
Reliving every bad and hurtful moment in his live. Over and over again.
“I was sixteen. And I’d had enough.” He continued unprompted, “I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that a Black made you practically royal… my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them… that’s him.”
Sirius jabbed a shaky finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name ‘Regulus Black’.
He had both — a date of birth and a date of death.
The finger lingered for a moment. “He was younger than me,” said Sirius softly, before bitterness returned, “And a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.”
“But he died.” Said Hadrian, not matter how sympathetic, just to see Sirius’ reaction.
A choked off huff was all he got. “Yeah,” Sirius answered, “Stupid idiot… he joined the Death Eaters.”
Hadrian watched with interest how his godfather’s eyes were still glued to the dates of his little brother, before his sharp emerald eyes stared at Sirius intently.
“On his own free will, or because he didn’t have a choice?”
Sirius floundered at that, he opened his mouth several times, only to close it again without having said a thing.
“Well, he was always the perfect son, never complained much, and he was in Slytherin.”
As if that said anything…
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Hadrian rebuffed immediately, “did he, or did he not, join the Mort Munchies willingly?”
The older let out a bark of a laugh at Hadrian’s name choice for Voldemort’s followers, but quietened at once when he saw the serious vivid eyes.
“I… I…” his hands clenched, his mouth swallowed, “I don’t know.” He finally confessed quietly. A total roundabout from his usual personality.
“He was so young, only 18 years old, but he still got murdered by Voldemort, they say. Or on Voldemort’s orders — it doesn’t matter. He was too far in already. He panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out.” A mirthless laugh escaped Sirius’ mouth, before said man turned to look his godson in his shining green eyes, “With Voldemort it’s a lifetime service, you know, or death. As far as I know Regulus’ body was never found.”
Emerald eyes locked with grey eyes, neither able to look away.
Eventually though, Hadrian ripped his gaze away and returned to look at the tapestry in front of them. He traced lines with his eyes and read the names of some of Sirius’ relatives.
He kept quiet, not exactly knowing what he should say, but Sirius didn’t say anything either, maybe it was best to just keep quiet for the moment.
His godfather’s eyes still seemed to be locked to the sign that was his brother, but Hadrian let him. After all, it was his right to mourn his brother — wether he’d formerly professed to hate his family or not.
After some time, Hadrian spotted another familiar name: Dorea Euphemia Potter neé Black, who had married Charlus Fleamont Potter. They then had a son James Potter. All three of them had a death date, not more than a year apart.
Hadrian opened his mouth. “Lily and James were also young when they died.”
Sirius blinked a few times before he turned towards the emerald eyed man with confusion written across his face. Just as the boy next to him.
“… What?” He asked after he found his voice again, “why do you suddenly bring up your parents?”
“Because they were really young when they died. Just like your bother.” Hadrian elaborated, but Sirius’ confusion didn’t clear. “You are not Regulus. Just like I’m not James, or Lily. And if nobody had told me how they died, then I wouldn’t have known either.”
Sirius’ brows furrowed, “What?!” Came his impossibly intelligent reply once more.
Hadrian sighed, “Just think about what I’ve said, alright? Other wise you’ll only hurt us both.”
With that Hadrian turned around, intend on leaving but stopped by Mrs Weasley’s voice before he could take as much as a step.
“Lunch!” She screamed through the whole house. Instantly, loud, hasty footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Internally heaving a sigh, Hadrian once more set towards the door, already dreading another meal that would be passed with inane questions and much scowling. Now also coupled with his godfather’s whining and demanding answers.
“Harry, wait, Harry!” Sirius scrambled after him, reaching out to grip his hand, but Hadrian was already around the corner.
“Wait! What do you mean?” He called in exasperation bordering on despair, “I don’t understand! James!”