Don't Mess Up Now
The founders of our noble school
Thought never to be parted —
And never did they dream that they
Might some day be divided,
For were there such friends anywhere
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?
So how could it have gone so wrong? —
Thus the houses and their founders
Retained friendships firm and true. —
But then discord crept among us
Feeding on our faults and fears. —
And never since the founders four
Were whittled down to three
Have the houses been united
As they once were meant to be. —
Listen closely to my song:
Though condemned I am to split you
Still I worry that it’s wrong, —
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
The warning history shows, —
And we must unite inside her
Or we’ll crumble from within
I have told you, I have warned you …
Let the Sorting now begin.
The hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbours and Hadrian, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about.
“Branched out a bit this year, hasn’t it?” Said Ron, his eyebrows raised.
“Too right it has,” Hadrian answered, a small, almost unnoticeable frown gracing his features.
The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts Houses and its own role in sorting them; Hadrian could remember the last time he told this warning and had to wonder why they had not heeded his advise. Why they had ignored its wise words, even while knowing it had been there since the beginning and had seen it all.
“I wonder if it’s ever given warnings before?” Pondered Hermione aloud, sounding slightly anxious.
“Yes, indeed,” Nearly Headless Nick nodded knowledgeably, leaning across Neville towards her (Neville winced, it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). “The hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels —”
But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first years’ names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end.
With a last frowning look that swept the four House tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out; the sorting began.
Slowly the long line of first years thinned; in the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat’s decisions, Hadrian could hear Ron’s stomach rumbling loudly. Finally, “Zeller, Rose” was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and stool and marched them away as Dumbledore rose to his feet.
In a conscious effort, Hadrian had to stop his lips from curling downwards. There he was, their benevolent general headmaster rising to greet them all.
“To our newcomers,” said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, “welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!”
The appreciative laugh and outbreak of applause was muted and distant as detached eyes watched Dumbledore sitting down and throwing his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate. The delicious food that had appeared — pies and dishes of vegetable, bread, sauces, and flagons of pumpkin juice blanketing all five, long tables — remained untouched by Hadrian for several minutes.
He ignored Ron’s obscene groan at the food and Hermione’s renewed questioning of Nearly Headless Nick. Only his response made Hadrian come back to the present and participate in the conversation. Not that anyone had noticed anything amiss…
“— ve heard the hat give several warning before, always at time when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advise is the same: Stand together, be strong from within.”
“Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?” Said Ron before Hadrian could even open his mouth. Not that he wanted to now anyway, not with the danger of his lunch making a reappearance from seeing Ron eat like that.
“I beg your pardon?” Nearly Headless Nick said politely, while Hermione looked as revolted as Hadrian felt.
Ron gave an enormous swallow and repeated his former words, “How can it know if the school’s in danger if it’s a hat?”
“I have no idea.” Nick shrugged. “Of course, it lives in Dumbledore’s office, so I daresay it picks things up there.” — And what a surprise, Hadrian’s eyebrows rose minutely at the observation that Nearly Headless Nick spoke Dumbledore’s name not in indifference or reverence, but rather, dare he say it, disapproval. Who would have thought. And why was that?
Anyway — “So it wants all the Houses to be friends?” Hadrian asked shrewdly, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. The blond turned a bit and caught Hadrian’s eyes. A sly, amused smirk flitted over his face before his lips curled into a judgmental sneer. Haughtily he turned back around, but not before a loving, warm tendril of familiar magic curled around Hadrian’s own.
Tension drained out of Hadrian. Smiling slightly, he turned his eyes back to the Nearly Headless Nick. “That’ll be… hard.”
“More like impossible,” Ron butted in, his nose wrinkled in disgust, “why would we want to be friends with slimy snakes?”
“Well, now, you shouldn’t take that attitude,” Nick reprimanded. “Peaceful cooperation, that’s the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate Houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron.”
“Only because you’re terrified of him,” pointed Ron out. Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted.
“Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins —“
“What blood?” Asked Ron, “surely you haven’t still got —?”
“It’s a figure of speech!” Nearly Headless Nick defended himself, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. “I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!”
“Nick, he wasn’t really laughing at you!” Hermione went to reassure him immediately, throwing a furious look at Ron.
Unfortunately for all present, Ron’s mouth was packed once more to exploding point and any table manners still unknown. He opened his mouth and said… something.
Nick did not seem to think this constituted as an adequate apology. Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Dennis (smiling, happy) and Colin (breathing, alive). Merlin, they were so young.
“Well done, Ron,” Hermione snapped.
“What?” The boy in question asked indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. “I’m not allowed to ask him a simple question?”
“Oh, forget it,” huffed Hermione irritably, and the pair of them spent the rest of the meal in huffy silence.
Hadrian, neither willing to participate in this delightful little spat nor putting up with either of them in such a mood — also kind of used to this after having spent years with the two of them — felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his delicious meal. No need to waste it or have his appetite spoiled even more than it already was.
When all the students had eventually finished eating and the noise level in the hall was starting to creep upwards again, their general got to his feet once more. Like a king rising before his subjects, all talking ceased immediately and faces turned to look at the headmaster.
Not all faces though, two boys — one blond, one raven — only looked at the Headmaster for a moment before redirecting their gazes around the Great Hall, taking in the magic — non-restricted, loved and cherished — and the young children — excited and amazed, some bored or already half-asleep, but all still filled with an innocence these two boys — men — hadn’t seen in too long.
There was not an ounce of fear or death anywhere, no high-strung tensions, no despair or sorrow.
Not one person looked on with unseeing eyes, covered in white or dirt or tears. There was no blood and no destruction.
There was only life. Life and magic so whole and healthy it felt surreal, as even the very air they breathed was saturated in it.
It was beautiful.
Sometimes though, sometimes, out of the corner of his eyes or in the flickering shadows cast by the many candles, Hadrian could still see it. The fighting and dying and defeat. The pain and loss, the despair and hopelessness clinging to the people even now; years before it has come to pass.
A round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause had Hadrian’s hands moving instinctively to clap too. His eyes snapped back to the front and caught a panicked looked shared between Ron and Hermione, wondering what that was about.It couldn’t be about him, right? Right?
A more thorough look at the professors’ table had him release a relieved breath. No. The panicked look wasn’t because of him, but rather the absence of Hagrid and the presence of Umbridge.
Umbridge…
Right. Hadrian knew he had forgotten something. Flexing his scar-free hand, he remembered what exactly it was.
Blood quills. Written blood-bound oaths. Scars.
Oops.
Unconcerned, Dumbledore droned on, “Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —“
He broke off, looking inquiringly at Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge said, “Hem, hem,” and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.
Delightful.
Though, Dumbledore’s gobsmacked look at being interrupted was quite a sight to behold. As were the pinched expressions of the rest of the staff.
“Thank you, Headmaster,” Umbridge simpered, “for those kind words of welcome.”
Her voice was just as Hadrian remembered, high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish and again, Hadrian felt a powerful rush of dislike, no less than the last time he had unfortunately had to see her.
She gave another little throat-clearing cough (“Hem, hem,”) and continued: “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!”
Hadrian glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy; on the contrary, they all looked rather taken aback at being addressed as though they were five years old.
“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!”
Oh, but Dolores, Hadrian’s lips curled, you must not tell lies.
Other students must have had similar thoughts, as he could hear some badly concealed snickering and disparaging comments.
Wow. She was already disliked and she’d only just opened her mouth. That had to be a new record, even for a Defence professor.
Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again (“Hem, hem”), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She now sounded much more businesslike and her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.
“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations, lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”
This actually didn’t sound that bad at all — quite the opposite, really, it sounded good, partly at least, and exactly like something they needed — now, if only Umbridge really felt this way. And wasn’t such a scumbag. What a shame.
(“Hem, hem”)
She was talking again.
Hadrian didn’t know about what. His attention span had never been that great.
At least he didn’t seem to be the only one, so no-one could hold it against him.
At the end of the feast, a few observations had been made: Hadrian still couldn’t stand Umbridge, his dislike for Dumbledore was stronger than he had expected, the “Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts”, and —
“Ron, we’re supposed to show the first years where to go!”
“Oh yeah,” said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. “Hey — hey you lot! Midgets!”
“Ron!”
“Well, they are, they’re titchy…”
“I know, but you can’t call them midgets… First years!” Hermione called commandingly along the table. “This way, please!”
A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Hadrian was sure he had been even smaller; he had been malnourished almost all his life, after all.
A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified, nudged Euan, and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Hadrian, who was immediately reminded of the shit the people believed about him right now, courtesy of the reliable, truth-printing Daily Prophet.
“See you later,” he said in Ron and Hermione’s direction and made his way out of the Great Hall alone, ignoring the whispering, staring, and pointing as he passed. It’s not like this had never happened before.
He looked around the room, taking in the people and their reactions to him, and smiled at them all a polite, welcoming smile. Let them believe what they wanted. The moment the Daily Prophet wouldchange their course, they would too.
Sheep, the lot of them.
A tenseness he hadn’t known he carried left his body the moment Hadrian stepped out of the crowds and into a vaguely secluded alcove, a disillusion charm rising to cover him like a blanket. From there he could see the students swarming by en masse. Flowing out of the Great Hall, splitting into two groups, and finally into four.
It did not take long until he felt familiar magic drawing nearer and nearer.
A youthful Pansy Parkinson walked by with a herd of ickle First years excitedly skipping along behind her, looking at anything and everything, their eyes simply sliding over his form unseeing. At the end of the little group walked the other Slytherin Prefect; his platinum hair styled back and gleaming softly in the dim light. His impeccable robes swished along his lean body, while the Prefect’s badge shone proudly on his chest.
Draco Malfoy reached a hand inside his robe pocket, before drawing it out again to ‘stop a first year from wandering off’. Coincidently, a little, shrunken box fell to the ground, just before Hadrian’s feet. Not that anyone noticed. After all, it were only seconds before the box, too, was enveloped by his magic and its disillusion charm, and Draco once more out of sight, getting further and further away.
Smiling, Hadrian picked up the package, slipped it in his pocket and seamlessly joined the crowd of students. His disillusionment faded gradually with every step he took.
xXxXxXx
“Me mam didn’t want me to come back,” Seamus said, his back turned to Hadrian, who had just entered the room. He, Dean and Neville had already been there, either putting away their belongings or decorating the wall beside their beds with photos and posters.
Perplexed, Hadrian opened his mouth. “What?”
“She didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts.” And he knew Seamus mother was a witch. And that she, as well as her son, had seriously bought into the rubbish the papers spouted about him. “What with everything the Prophet said all summer, and nothing from you or anything, it’s just…” Seamus shrugged, still avoiding his eyes and clearly uncomfortable.
“It’s alright, I understand.” Hadrian waved off unaffected, “I mean, I wouldn’t want my kids in close proximity to a disturbed and dangerous individual. Or in a school lead by a senile, oldman. It’s not like you’ve been around both for four years already. I could have done anything while you all slept peacefully.”
The boys’ eyes widened, just as Hadrian’s ‘innocent’ smile did. Before long, however, a snort tore out of his throat.
Quietly laughing, he turned around to shrug off his robe and begin unpacking his own things. “Sorry,” he rasped out at last, “I just had to. But seriously, I understand why your mum might be concerned; as needless as it might be as you know me better than that, and know what I’m truly like.”
The following silence was Loud. Capital L. Even the rustling of paper and cloth had stopped. Everyone was completely still. Expect Hadrian that is. He just continued to unpack his things unhurriedly.
Eventually, it was once more Seamus’ — much more hesitant and smaller — voice that spoke up; his former anger and bravado gone entirely. “Look … what did happen that night when… you know, when… with Cedric Diggory and all?”
Hadrian’s small smile vanished at that. Of course he’d known that people would ask that question, as they had the first time, but had it ever done anything?
Actually, now that he thought about it, did he ever really tell anyone and answered their questions about this topic?
He had been an emotional, explosive wreck. Lashing out at anything and anyone; looking for a fight, giving out insults, not trusting anyone but suspecting everyone.
Hadrian couldn’t remember ever telling someone not his closest friends, the whole story.
The atmosphere in the dorm changed. It grew more somber, more serious and anticipating.
“Are you sure you really want to know?” Hadrian asked at long last.
Tense, the three boys looked at each other. Neville seemed more hesitant than Dean or Seamus, but in the end they nodded as one. Not breathing a single word. (The atmosphere did not allow it.)
Running a hand through his loose hair, Hadrian heaved a big sigh. The robe in his hands fell back into his trunk and he sat down on his bed, his green eyes lot leaving the other figures in the room. “Maybe you’ll want to sit down as well.” He waved his hand in their direction, and without more prompting or words, the boys sat down, quietly staring at Hadrian.
“So,” his mind whirled with memories long past, imagines flitted by he had never wanted to see again. A dark maze, shrouded in fear and anger and adrenaline. A gleaming cup and a boy — not yet a man — smiling at him kindly, a stubbornness in his eyes that must have rivalled his. In the end — “in the maze, both Cedric and I reached the centre in which the Tri-Wizard Cup stood.”
Hadrian’s eyes glazed over, staring unseeing into the room. His voice sounded distant, even to his own ears. The words just tumbled out of his mouth.
“Cedric would have gotten there first, but he didn’t see the Acromantula coming at him. I shouted out a warning, and Cedric managed to dodge it. But then it turned its attention to me. I was already hurt and no spell I used seemed to accomplish anything. It took both Cedric and me to Stupefy the spider, but we did it.
“Cedric wanted me to take the Cup even though he had been there first. He insisted that without my help he would have already failed at the First Task, never mind now. I wanted him to take it, as I shouldn’t have been in the Tournament at all. He was as stubborn as I.
“At long last we took the Cup together; it would have been a win for Hogwarts either way.
“The portkey took us away and we landed in a graveyard. The next moments are hazy, clouded by searing pain. I remember someone with a high, cold voice give the command to ‘kill the spare’ and a green light, Cedric lying on the ground motionless. Pettigrew bound me to a gravestone, and took my blood. He—” Hadrian swallowed roughly, “he did a ritual. To resurrect someone. They needed my blood.
“I hoped he was dead. I hoped he’d drowned. But The Dark Lord Who-Cannot-Be-Named came out of the cauldron. White and scale-y, with no nose or hair, his eyes blood red. He summoned his Death Eaters, and we duelled, and then there were shades. Of the people he’d killed. Cedric was there. He wanted me to take his body back. To take his body back to his parents. I did. I brought his body back.”
Green lights flashed and thuds followed.
A trigger was pulled and thuds followed.
Red booms sounded and thuds followed.
No time for screams. No time to think. No time to do anything.
Emptiness settled in the viridian eyed man’s chest. Emptiness and coldness, numbing the sharp pains of loss and horror.
He blinked. Forcefully, the memories (they wouldn’t come to pass. They couldn’t.) were shoved back, deep deep down and buried under layers of better, happier memories. Hadrian’s eyes refocused.
A welcoming, cozy circular tower room came into view. Plush fourposter beds, complete with big pillows, comfy covers and grande hangings graced the room. The walls were covered in posters and pictures, with more yet to be put up. A mess of strewn about clothes, belongings and school materials adorned the floor, horribly messy and yet so well known, so expected.
Warm, kind magic swirled along every stone and crack, through the mess and over the occupants in the silent room. The magic — familiar, loved, comforting, alive — caressed every boys’ own magic, it soothed their edges and healed their tears, it ruffled their hair and embraced their bodies.
Hadrian perked up. His own magic whirling with Hogwarts’ before he even realised it. His hand wove through the air and his fingers danced alongside the currents.
“What’s going on?”
Ron had appeared in the doorway. His confused eyes traveled from Hadrian, who was still sitting on his bed, hand tracing unseen patterns into the air, to Seamus and Dean and Neville, all sitting, stiff as a board and eyes wide open, their faces frozen in horrified disbelief. No, not disbelieve, but rather wilful denial. The wish to ignore, and disparage, and remain oblivious.
They did not want it to be true. (No-one wanted it to be true. No-one.)
Ron waved his hand, a concerned frown gracing his features.
“Guys? Hey? Guys, come on!”
In silence, Hadrian’s hand sank, Neville blinked, Dean looked at Ron, and Seamus shook his head.
“No,” he said quietly. “You know what?” Seamus asked, his voice growing heated and a fire reentering his eyes. He cast Hadrian a venomous look. “You’re a madman.”
“That’s out of order, Seamus,” said Ron, whose ears slowly but surely turned red, always a sign of danger, of his temper rising.
“Out of order, am I?” Seamus shouted, who in contrast with Ron was turning paler, even paler than he already was. “You believe all the rubbish he’s come out with about You-Know-Who, do you? You reckon he’s telling the truth?”
“Yeah, I do!”
“Then you’re mad too,” the disgust was clear in Seamus voice. But it was not enough to hide the strain it was layered with, or the shaking of his clamping hands.
“Yeah? Well unfortunately for you, pal, I’m also a Prefect!” said Ron, jabbing himself in the chest with a finger, his badge shining proudly in the dim light. “So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!”
Seamus looked a few seconds away from exploding, only held back by the threat of detentions, when Hadrian finally opened his mouth. This was not the way he’d wanted this to go.
“Let it be, Ron, just let it be. Believing me to be a madman is so much easier than acknowledging the fact that Voldy is back.” Hadrian said warmly, nostalgic in the face of Ron’s fierce protectiveness. “But Seamus, just know that even if you deny it, call me a madman and disparage me, and don’t want it to be true, it doesn’t simply go away. It doesn’t change the fact the he is back.” Hadrian shrugged unapologetic. “It’s getting late. Good night, guys.”
With a few unnecessary swishes with his wand, his belongings packed themselves away while Hadrian changed into his pyjamas; a shrunken box finding its way under the red cushions went unnoticed. And so it was that he was just pulling his t-shirt over his head when he heard the muffled declaration of Neville — “We believe Harry.”
Impossibly deep affection and sadness washed over him. Because even now Neville was already starting to sound like the man he’d grown into in another time, and Hadrian would forever regret to have lost such an amazing friend. For his Neville had been great — greater than great even; loyal to a fault, brave but not foolish, strong but gentle, wise but not overconfident — Hadrian would make sure that this boy would never have to face the same, horrific trials. Even if it meant loosing the chance to get his friend back.
Neville could be great even without them. That Hadrian knew for sure.
Nobody else said anything. Seamus vanished behind his bed hangings and Dean also got into bed, rolled over, and fell silent.
Neville, who apparently had nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus — Mimbulus mimbletonia.
Only Ron was still really doing anything; he bustled around the next bed, putting his things away.
Eventually, when everyone had gone to bed and the room had fallen dark and silent, with only the moon bathing everything a soft, soothing light, Hadrian turned around, buried his head in his pillows and closed his tired, burning eyes.
Somewhen later, Ron’s snoring filled the empty silence. And even later, Neville started to mumble incomprehensible things. However, they all slept peacefully.
And still, sleep eluded Hadrian.
xXxXxXx
“What do you think you’re doing?” A tired voice hissed, the boy’s blurry eyes blinking slowly, trying to make out the figure in the darkness. “And what are you doing here? Are you bloody crazy?!”
Hadrian climbed into the bed unrepentant, its occupant making room despite his complains. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“I just hope you know that if they find you here, or that you’re not where you’re supposed to be, then any subtlety we had going was for naught. They’ll know something’s up.”
“I know. But I can’t sleep another night without having you close.” Hadrian slipped under the covers and drew Draco close. “Just tonight. Please. I just need to hold you.”
Draco didn’t say anything further. Mainly because he, too, had missed having the other man in his arms, or feeling his magic brushing against his, constantly making sure the other was okay, was there.
And this time as Hadrian closed his eyes, content and warm in Draco’s embrace, he could already feel sleep tugging at his consciousness. He sighed contently, amazed at how safe and cared for he felt laying like this.
Silence returned to the dark Slytherin dormitory, blackness hiding this once believed impossibility, and inside the closed bed hangings, cuddled tightly together, Draco’s hand ran through Hadrian’s too short locks.
“Sleep. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
xXxXxXx
“You got to admit, Gryffindor tower is low key ugly. There’s so much red.”
“It’s not ugly. It’s warm, and comfortable. And it’s not like you can talk. Your common room is swamped with the creepy, flickering shadows of the lake.”
“That’s classic. And it conveys our evilness. But this… this hurts my eyes. It’s just so garnish.”
Hadrian rolled his eyes fondly. “Just be quiet. You’ll wake up the whole tower with all your complains. And we certainly don’t need any questions asked.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll just wait down here while you get ready.”
“I’ll be quick.”
Ten minutes later found the two disillusioned men, masquerading as boys, running down the stairs and through the halls, their silent footsteps echoing around the sleeping castle.
Slowly, the moon faded away, light took over the darkness of the night and the sun started to rise. And as the birds started to sing and the first few people awoke from their sleep, Draco and Hadrian collapsed against a cold stone wall, panting and sweating.
“I,” Hadrian wheezed out, “hate it.” His side hurt something fierce and he knew from experience that he really needed to drink something. Otherwise the floor would stand up just to high-five his face. “Damn stupid time travel.”
Suffering next to the raven haired, Draco nodded his agonising agreement. “The next time we do this we seriously need to find a way to keep our bodies. Or at least the work we’ve put into them. This is torture.”
“It’s gonna be worth it.” Hadrian had to say it, because he knew it would be true. Both of them knew it, and yet, “it’s still fucking horrible. Merlin, I’m dying.”
All Draco could do was huff out a breath of a laugh before steeling himself and pushing off of the wall.
His offered hand was taken with no hesitation and, using the opportunity, he pulled the shorter man flat against his chest. An affectionate kiss was pressed against Hadrian’s sweaty forehead; he leaned into it. And when he turned just so, then Hadrian could also capture the blond’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss.
“I guess I’ll see you in classes, Malfoy,” Hadrian eventually managed to get out when the kiss(es) stopped. It was getting too late in the morning, and they couldn’t risk someone running into them together. Least of all together like this.
“I guess you will. Be careful, love.”
“I’m always careful.”
Draco laughed. “You wish,” he hissed. “And read the bloody instructions thoroughly and follow them.”
A highly affronted “I always do!” From over Hadrian’s shoulder had the blond shaking his head once more, chuckling. Needless to say they both knew he didn’t. Reading instructions and following them just wasn’t his style. Hoping to get it somewhat right and not die when doing something? Now, that sounded more like him.
xXxXxXx
…
This potion needs to be taken three times a day, one dosage with each meal. Make sure you remember to take it before the meal, so it can help your body absorb all the nutritions. If you take it afterwards, it won’t do anything of the sort and instead help you relieve yourself of what you’ve just eaten.
Also, don’t take it when you don’t plan to eat anything. This would just be a waste of my perfectly good potion and time.
For idiots: three times a day, one before each meal, only three, not more — your body needs time to accumulate to the change, consuming more will only hinder your progress.
With love,
your Phoenix
…
Even while rolling his eyes, Hadrian wouldn’t keep his lips from twitching upwards. This whole ‘instruction sheet’ was just so Draco; efficiently, downgrading, caring and with love all at the same time.
It was perfect.
Refolding the sheet and taking out one of the vials, Hadrian quickly downed it before putting the empty vial back in its place and shrinking the whole package.
He’d only just managed to put it back into the depth of his trunk when Ron reappeared form the bathroom, all dressed and still sleep rumpled.
“Ready to go, mate?” He asked around a yawn, “I’m starving already.”
Hadrian stood up and brushed off his robes. “You always are,” he smiled slightly, “d’you reckon Hermione is already in the Common Room?”
“I would be concerned if she weren’t. She probably has her nose buried in a pile of books already.”
And true, when the two reached the common room, Hermione was grimacing at the book she was reading. The moment she saw them, however, the book was quickly closed and thrown carelessly into her bag and she stood to join them.
“What did the book do?” Ron asked, sounding as perplexed as Hadrian felt. “Or are you finally ready to have some fun?”
Why Hermione was glowering at the both of them equally, Hadrian could not understand. He had not even said anything! Never mind…
“I am having fun, Ronald,” she said snootily, “learning and having fun do not exclude each other. But this year’s DADA book is a joke. Even Lockhart’s books are educational in contrast.”
Ron’s horrified gaze went unnoticed by Hermione as she swept past them and up the stairs. The same could be said for the few, nervous first years that were huddled close in a corner of the room, none of them having any idea on how to get to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Stopping, Hadrian turned, “Hermione —“ but she was already gone, Ron close on her heels; only the sweeping robes could be seen as the portrait fell close behind them.
Hadrian sighed. Well, considering the antsy, new students and the lack of Prefects, why shouldn’t he use this to his advantage?
Smiling gently, Hadrian walked across the room.
“Hey,” he greeted them, “did you sleep well? Had any problems?”
The kids shook their heads, some echoed his greeting while others remained silent. Their big eyes still flittered around the room, taking in what they hadn’t seen in the darkness the night before. Though, it was obvious that some knew who he was and the reputation he had thanks to the papers.
It didn’t really help that their frightened eyes were very (too) reminiscent of other times people looked at him like this.
It was kind of easier than it should have been to keep smiling in the face of their fright; open and welcoming.
“That’s good to hear. I know I have been very nervous when I first arrived, but everything here is so very magical. I have found great friends and I’m sure you will too. You do not need to worry.” He told them honestly. And it was the truth, he had found great friends, even if not every friendship held.
“And even if magic is very new to you, as it was to me, you’ll catch up. If you have any question, you can always come to me or other students. Hell, it’s the professors’ job to educate you, so don’t ever hesitate if you need help. Okay?
“I admit that Hogwarts has its faults and problems, but it’ll be great. In a way Hogwarts is like a home away from home.” Because while he would always love Hogwarts and consider it his first home, he had found his true home elsewhere.
It was heartening to see his words have effect, as some of the kids seemed to calm slightly and even reciprocate his smile. It was even better to see some previous venomous looks turn into slight confusion, while their bodies opened up.
“Now, enough of my babbling. You guys hungry?” Hadrian had to laugh at their enthusiasts nods but motioned them to follow him and set to lead them to the Great Hall.
On the way there he warned them of the trick steps on the moving staircases, and pointed out various paintings and corridors, telling them what little he knew about them and which classrooms there were. He even made sure to include a few secret passages in a conspiratorial tone, hinting about the hundred of others they could find and explore.
The kids seemed delighted. All their previous worries and reservations almost gone entirely.
And then, just a corridor before they would reach the Great Hall, the horde of Gryffindors met their Slytherin equivalent. Both groups stopped short at seeing the other, and while Parkinson’s face contorted into a sneer, Draco’s stayed carefully neutral, something Hadrian copied.
“Malfoy, Parkinson,” he inclined his head respectfully, fisting his right hand in his robe to stop it form reaching up to his left shoulder. Unlike the other year groups, the first years had not yet experienced the outright bullying and separation amongst the Houses. Something, if Hadrian and Draco were concerned, they also wouldn’t.
“Potter,” Draco responded in kind, cutting Parkinson off successfully.
She looked at them both as if they were crazy.
Understandable, given how their previous meet ups normally went.
Hadrian turned to the first years waiting behind his back like little ducklings. “Guys, this is Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, the fifth year Slytherin Prefects, you can also go to them with questions or problems.” He pointed at his classmates respectively, and then behind them. “And those are —”
“But they are Slytherins,” a squeaky voice interrupted him. And the way they said Slytherin had him heave an internal sigh. “Aren’t they evil?”
“No,” he said, “they are Prefects. It is their duty to help you in any way. And the others are your classmates; all either eleven or twelve years old. You probably already talked to or are friends with some of them, and they weren’t evil then. Do you seriously think they are evil now?”
“Well… no. But… Slytherins…”
“At least we are no stupid Gryffindors!” Several others voiced their agreement.
By Merlin, this was so pitiful.
He looked at his classmates pleadingly. “Please tell me we weren’t like that.”
Parkinson looked at him bewildered, but answered nonetheless, and with no mercy. “You two were worse.”
At that, Draco and Hadrian looked at each other for a few seconds. Silently, assessing. Then they turned to Parkinson and complained loudly, nay-ing everything.
What a show. For the first years at least, Parkinson didn’t seem so amused.
“Oh will you shut up!” She finally sneered, exasperation and annoyance pouring from her every pore. “You’re a Prefect Draco, so behave like it. Potter —… do what you want, I don’t care.” And with that, with no glance back or any other form of acknowledgment, she continued on towards the Great Hall.
Hastily, Draco and Hadrian made to follow, though, always thoughtful to stay at least a few feet from the other.
Behind the three of them, the kids walked in a silent, bewildered group. The lines between Gryffindor and Slytherin still obvious but not as far apart.
“So,” only fifth year who was not a Prefect, dragged out, “any thoughts on Umbridge?”
Parkinson looked at him and blinked.
Draco looked at him and blinked.
The mishmash of first years looked at him and blinked.
Hadrian shrugged. “Well, I mean up until now we had four different DADA professors: a stuttering fool, an idiot, a werewolf, and a polyjuice’d Azkaban convict. I’m pretty confident Umbridge is on par with Lockhart, if not worse.” Oh, who was he kidding, he knew she was worse.
After a few seconds, the girl inclined her head in reluctant agreement. “You know, you shouldn’t talk bad about a teacher where they might hear it; they are the ones in power here.” Parkinson sniffed, “but I have to agree. Though, Lockhart had at least style.”
“Yes, but all the fringes he wore…” Draco shuddered theatrically, while the students behind him exchanged uncertain glances. “Horrendous. No self-respecting wizard would ever wear such pretentious robes if he weren’t making up for something else.”
“What would that be? Personality? Intellect? ‘Cause I somehow get the feeling Umbridge is missing all those things as well.”
When Parkinson turned her head away and brought a hand up to her face, Hadrian felt proud in his accomplishment in having made her laugh. Especially when Draco — cold ice prince of Slytherin — also couldn’t hide his amused smirk.
“Okay Potter, that might have been fun and all… but what do you want?”
“World peace? The end of world hunger? A hot boyfr— chocolate?” He smiled innocently, his body relaxed and aloof. But of course, observant Slytherins had to catch everything. Every tiniest, little thing.
At least the kids weren’t that bad yet. As it was, they were obviously more interested in gossiping about the fact that craziness was infectious and actually managed to get two newly appointed Prefects.
Or maybe they were simply talking about Umbridge.
Okay, let’s be real, concerning the bits of conversation Hadrian managed to catch, they were talking about their respective common rooms and whose was cooler (they obviously couldn’t come to an agreement), and also about the rest of Hogwarts, including gushing about the magic and secret passageways.
Glancing at Parkinson’s still raised eyebrow, Hadrian decided it was best to keep his eyes straight ahead.
“Do you think Umbridge is the result of a failed attempt at human-toad transfiguration?”
“Your inconspicuous subject changes are truly pathetic.” She commented dryly, “you wouldn’t happen to like your hot chocolate ice-cold, filled with air and richly decorated?”
Someone squeaked. And it certainly wasn’t Hadrian. As it was —
“Harry! Where’ve you gone?” Oh yes, Hermione, perfect! You couldn’t have come at a better time! “You can sulk later! Breakfast is almost —” He let her talk, preferring to turn around to the first years, while already being pulled away.
“There’re no rules that dictate you have to sit at your house table!” Hadrian just managed to get out before Hermione dragged him away, all the while giving the two Slytherins a stinky eye, as if they had done anything. Was it not obvious that they had been talking? Civil at that?
Either way, Hadrian was saved from his horrible blunder and could now spent the rest of their time before classes cursing himself for fucking up so soon. But honestly, one day. He had not even lasted one day!
All the same, if the other result of this horrible encounter were a few green and red dots at the other House tables, then it was worth it. Somewhat.
Deflating sightly when there was no hot chocolate at his table, he started to fill his plate.
… Oh, Hermione was talking to him.