Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the year 1995, and the hottest days of summer were drawing to a close. 

Cars that were once clean and shiny now stood dusty in their driveways. Plants wilted and lawns turned a sickly yellow color in the unforgiving July heat.  

In the town of Little Whinging, Surrey, most people were tucked away inside, hoping to escape the sun. On Privet Drive, # 4, however, one person stood outside, crouched behind dying hydrangea bushes. This young man's name was Harry Potter.  

Now, you may be thinking, what on earth was he doing? Well, to know that, first you would need to know a bit about his aunt and uncle, the Dursleys.  

Petunia and Vernon Dursley were what you would call boring, but only behind their backs. They prided themselves on being extraordinarily normal, and made sure everyone else knew it, too. Their lawns had to always be green, their new car red and shiny in their  driveway. They absolutely detested anything that didn't fit their perfect little bubble.  

Our dear Harry, for example, did not fit in the bubble. This was for many reasons, each one divulging just what kind of people the Dursleys were. For one, he was an orphan, entrusted to the Dursley family when he was just a babe. His parents had died when he was barely a year old, leaving him in the care of his closest living relatives. For that reason, they saw him as a personal burden and despised him for simply existing in their space. There was no way they could pass him off as their own, you see. Because, dear reader, while the family might not admit it to your face, and assured their neighbours they have no issue with people that are, in fact, different from themselves, anyone with half a brain might see through this thin facade.

When young Harry, fresh from the scene of his parents’ murder, showed up at their doorstep looking just like his father, their hatred for him started. 

The icing on this terrible, rotten, no-good cake that was his existence, however, was the discovery they made when Harry was nearly 2. They had discovered he was magic, just like his good for nothing parents. It did not help, of course, that this discovery came by when young Harry broke one of Petunia's fine vases, overwhelmed as he was by yet another of his uncles shouting bouts. And oh no, they assured the neighbors, he did not mind staying inside all the time, conveniently away from prying eyes. They locked him in the dusty cupboard under the stairs, and all but forgot him most of the time. ‘

This was a blessing in disguise, Harry would come to learn, for Vernon could not shout and hit him if he forgot his existence, however long that lasted.

He got his Hogwarts letter when he turned eleven, and ever since, the magical boarding school on the Scottish Highlands had been more of a home to him than number 4 Privet Drive ever would. 

The Dursleys had tried their absolute best to keep his ‘freakishness’ a secret, and to their knowledge, succeeded. Despite that, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley still lived in constant fear that someone would find out. They treated him horribly in hopes of stamping out the teen's magic; or in Vernon's case, simply because he could.  

This particular summer day, his uncle had gone to work, and as punishment for needing breakfast, aunt Petunia had him weed out the back garden, and he was not to come in until the whole yard was finished.  

Harry didn't mind, really. Anything was better than being around his uncle, who drank more and more nowadays, or his aunt, who always had a sharp remark to throw his way. Or being in his cupboard.  

Ever since he had gotten his school letter for the first time, they moved him upstairs to the spare room, out of fear of how these people could possibly know where he slept. But still locked him in the stuffy broom closet when Vernon decided he was being too disappointing, which was often.  

Sometimes he was there for weeks at a time.  

That was his uncle's oh so original way of telling him he would never belong, never be good enough for his perfect family.  

And as much as Harry was used to it, sometimes a tiny part of him, buried under carefully curated layers of unfeeling shields, cried out in pain. For a child is meant to be loved, and yet. 

During his time with them, his only escape from spiraling was his cousin Dudley. A few months older than Harry himself, his cousin had been his only friend, up until he was given Hedwig, his snowy owl, in July before his first year. They bonded over their shared hatred for Dudley's father. When Harry received his Hogwarts letter, Dudley was the only one happy for him, even though he didn't truly understand what that meant. 

But in the last couple years, Vernon had taken to locking Harry away more and more, no doubt hating the influence his wife's nephew held over his 'heir'. For a muggle, he was quite obsessed with the idea of a legacy. It sometimes reminded Harry of the stuffy purebloods of London.

Thankfully, Harry only had to be there for less than 3 months of the year, as the rest of his time was spent in the Scottish countryside, at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Since he received his first letter, he had yet to spend the winter and easter holidays back here. 

Now, Hogwarts may be his favorite place, but it was far from perfect. Encounters with one of Voldemort's minions was basically commonplace now, and even the bastard himself has paid Harry a visit more than once. The year before, Harry had been tricked into a magically binding tournament, despite being too young to participate,  and was then forced to watch his friend Cedric Diggory be killed by Voldemort right in front of him. 

Then, as the cherry on top of the situation, he wasn't allowed to go to his godfather—Sirius Black’s— house for the summer and was instead forced back to Privet Drive. Dumbledore had assured the teen it was for his own safety, but Harry didn't buy it. The headmaster had this twinkle in his eyes, one the teen had come to associate with another one of Dumbledore’s schemes.

He had been forbidden to communicate with anyone, and as such, had yet to hear from any of his so-called 'friends', Ron and Hermione, or even Ginny and the twins. Sirius as well had yet to write to him, and none of Harry's own letters seemed to be going through. Even Molly, who usually sent him something for his birthday at least, had not been heard from. 

His only escape from boredom was listening to the neighbours' new gossip, outlandish tales drifting through the window in his aunt's high shrieks. And, of course, having conversations with the small garden snakes he sometimes came across.  

-Flashback-  

 Vernon  Dursley POV

Vernon Dursley was a proud man, overly so. He ran a successful company called Gunnings, which made drills. He believed himself to be quite influential in social circles, and prided himself in being something of a leader. He wasn't, of course, but no one confronted him about his ways, lest they be caught in the crossfire of one of his impressive temper tantrums. Now, the day his Dursley was born might have been the proudest moment of his life, had he not been driven mad by greed. He saw, instead of his newborn son, only an heir to his 'legacy'. The baby in his arms held the weight of all his expectations and dreams.

Then, Harry arrived. The dark skinned brunette, swaddled in blankets and gripping a letter tightly in his pudgy hands, was left on his doorstep on a cold November night at barely a year old. The infant immediately became the bane of Vernon's existence.

When he was young, he had an unsettling habit of suddenly appearing in rooms he wasn't in moments before. As he got older, weirder and weirder things occurred. Jumping onto the school roof, birds flocking to him, strangers waving (Mrs. Dursley had complained incessantly about that one, much to his chagrin), snakes and disappearing glass. All in all, a weird, horrible child, and a wrench in his careful plans. 

Then came the little freak’s 11th birthday. Vernon did not keep track of such unimportant things, of course, and neither did his wife. 

Or so he thought. Looking back, she had seemed more fidgety than normal, voice shrill and constant as she found new ways to complain about the same old things. If he had paid more attention, he might have noticed how she flinched when watery blue eyes met green, or the lengths she would go to never be in the same room as the boy. He didn't.

That day, it all changed. In all the years that Harry was forced upon their perfect, normal family, not once did anyone write to him, except for the library looking for an overdue book. No distant relatives, coming to claim him, and no one to dispute the handsome checks they received each month to keep the brat under their roof. 

But that day, someone did.  

The day began like any other. A drab, cloudy morning, a wednesday. His family was sitting around the table, having bacon and eggs, when the post arrived.  

Harry was, of course, sent to retrieve it from the door. He came back and dropped a stack of bills on the table. One envelope stayed in his hand. The Letter.  

And so, it began. Really, Vernon should be glad. After all, now he only had to see the brat a couple months of the year. 

It would be better, of course, if he didn't have to see him at all. 

-End of flashback-  

Harry POV

In a couple of days, his best friend Ron's dad, Mr. Weasley, would come for Harry, to finally take him away from this awful house, to spend the rest of the summer in Ron’s home, The Burrow. The Weasleys treated him like family, and Harry missed the chaos the house was usually like. Molly Weasley, Ron’s mum, was like a mother to him, and the twins, Fred and George, treated him like a little brother. 

Sometimes, he wished he could bring Dudley along, if only to experience what it was like to have a good family. 

His other best friend, Hermione Granger, was a muggle-born, and usually met them in Diagon every August. She would then spend the last week or so at the Burrow, before heading to Kings Cross all together. 

Harry smiled grimly as he pulled the last of the stubborn weeds. It was well past lunch time, and he wasn't confident about his chances of getting food. He had heard some interesting gossip today (#7 was pregnant out of wedlock, #3 had cheated on his wife, and other inconsequential things.) but nothing that sounded like it could be a cover up for something more magical. 

With a grunt, Harry stood, knees aching from kneeling so long. He gathered all the tools and shoved them in the shed, and threw the last of the weeds into the bin before walking into the house.

Inside, it was significantly cooler, and Harry relished the change. Quickly washing his dirty hands and bolting upstairs, he let out a sigh of relief when the door was closed behind his thin frame.  

His dirty clothes were stripped off, and after a quick, quiet shower, soft pajamas replaced the coarse feel of his old jeans. his head hit the pillows and his eyes closed, glasses sliding down his nose. Soon, his aunt would call him down to start on dinner for the family, but for now, the Boy Who Lived had a moment to himself. 

He smiled softly to himself, his dear Hedwig hooting softly from her perch by the window. 

‘Soon, I'll be free. Just a few more days…’

Chapter Text

The rest of the week passed without much incident, at least by the family's standards. Harry managed to avoid getting locked in the cupboard, but it was a near thing.

Soon came the day Mr. Weasley was set to pick him up. Coincidentally, it was also the day before his birthday, which would make him a grand total of fifteen years old on July 31 st , 1996. 

He woke up in high spirits, bags having been packed and set aside a week in advance. He missed his best friends a great deal, and was (in)patiently waiting until he could leave this place and head to the Burrow, the Weasley clan's home. The family of redheads had welcomed him summer after summer since his first year, and he was assured this year would be no different. He expected to be picked up sometime in the afternoon, but instead, he was greeted awake by the Weasley family owl, an old, crumpled mess named Errol. 

Tied around his neck was a small piece of parchment with messy font, which Harry immediately recognized as Ron’s scribbled handwriting. He quickly grabbed it and fed the ancient owl one of Hedwig's treats (she hooted at him from her cage at that, demanding his undivided attention, the jealous girl) and sent Errol off again.  

As he read the small note, his good mood plummeted to his stomach and died. His smile fell slowly off his face, and he couldn't contain his disappointment, staring dejectedly down at the small paper. He fell back onto the bed, dejected. He fell back into the bed, glasses skewing. Moments later, aunt Petunia shrieked his name from the stairwell, and he dressed himself quickly before making his way down to start another day filled with chores.

————————————————— 

Sorry Harry, you can't come this week!  

Dumbledore says not to leave the house. 

See you soon.  

-Ron  

————————————————— 

Later that night, dejected from the day's events, and well after he should have gone to sleep, Harry lay in his bed, staring up at the drab gray ceiling. Every so often, he looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table, checking the passing minutes. His mind travelled to Ron's note, and he huffed in frustration. He had barely been given any sort of explanation for the radio silence this summer, and now his escape from #4 had been delayed. He closed his eyes and counted the seconds until midnight, hoping his birthday might bring good news. Just as the clock struck midnight, and he was officially fifteen, he turned over and closed his eyes. 

As soon as he did, he felt it. Sudden, stabbing pain on his legs and arms, then his torso and head as well. 

His eyes flew open, but he forced himself not to scream, although it was truly a near thing. A million knives of pain tore at his skin from every possible angle, and it wasn't long before the excruciating pain became all too much for Harry, and he faded into blissful, pain-free unconsciousness. 

-----  

Harry awoke the next day very, very sore. As he slowly grew accustomed to the fading aches, he grabbed at his glasses, bound together rather precariously with some duct tape and slid them on, the world coming into slightly sharper view. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a flow of movement, a dark, shadowlike form that seemed to move behind him as he turned. 

He pulled his legs from under the thin covers, pajama pants falling just above his ankles as he stood, staggering to the small mirror above his dresser like a newborn fawn.

His eyes adjusted to the sunlight coming in through the small window, and he gasped softly at his reflection, jaw dropping.

Well.  

At least he knew what the strange shadows were, now. A pair of magnificent, black wings sprouted seamlessly from his shoulders and back, reflecting in the dim morning light. And ‘ oh, this is weird.’

Beautiful plumage gave way to slight claws at the bend of the wings. Feathers as sharp as knives brushed along the carpeted floor, stirring up dust. 

And still, the changes didn't stop there.  

Another surprise was his eyes. Before, they had been a dull jade green, and to most people, reminiscent of his mother. He was constantly reminded of people’s comments whenever he looked in the mirror. Now, they shone a lush, dark green color, like emeralds, and flecks of gold and brown seemed to swirl in them as he stared at himself.

And come to think of it, it hadn't much of a difference when he had put on his glasses before. Hesitantly, he reached up and pulled them off, expecting his vision to blur, but nothing happened. The glasses slipped from his hands onto the - thankfully carpeted - floor with a soft thump, quickly followed by Harry himself, as his knees buckled in shock.

As his brain gradually caught up to the changes, he deigned simply to sit there and wonder as to what in Merlin's name was going on. 

‘I swear to Godric, if Dumbledore knew of this, and it was simply another thing the old Headmaster forgot to mention, there's going to be hell to pay.’ he thought darkly.

While the newly turned 15-year-old tried to process all the information he was now being faced with, an owl swooped down silently through the small window, left open overnight to abate the stifling July heat and allow his own Hedwig some modicum of freedom. Around its fluffy neck was a leather drawstring pouch.  

It alighted on the wooden bed frame, sharp talons nicking the wood as it scrambled for purchase. Hedwig, from her regular post at the top of the dresser, hooted softly, both to warn her boy and greet this new owl. 

Harry moved, then, at the familiar call, and was taken aback by the new addition to the rather small space. 

The owl held out its neck expectantly, and he quickly reached for the parchment. And as quick he noticed the Gringotts seal on the bag, he was just as quickly distracted again by his wings, as they faded smoothly into his back, leaving nary a mark on his skin.

Harry tore open the envelope, finding inside was a fesh, neatly folded sheet of parchment, and when he opened it, he saw it was covered in neat, looping script that left him slightly jealous. It read;

To Mr. Hadrian Potter,  

It has come to our attention, here at Gringotts Bank, that you have come into your creature inheritance.  Due to unforeseen issues, we were unable to warn you of this any earlier, and have found that a rather strong ward has been stopping our letters from ever reaching your person.

As it stands, we have recently discovered some anomalies with your account, and we feel this is an excellent opportunity to clear this all up in one go. Two birds with one stone, if you will. 

I would prefer to discuss all of it in private, as this is quite a delicate matter.  

When possible, please come see us. In the next couple of days is preferable, due to the urgency of your situation.

We have enclosed a touch activated Portkey for your convenience. It will only activate in response to your magical signature.  

Regards, Striketooth,  

Potter Vault Manager 

Harry frowned. Who was Hadrian? Did they mean him? What was a creature Inheritance? Surely Dumbledore would have told him about something so important as that?  

He looked at the pouch, presuming that was where the portkey was. He gently untied the string from the owl's neck, and gave it a few owl treats from Hedwig's stash, before letting it soar back out the window again, hooting softly.  

He was willing to bet Dumbledore would not want him to go. He had, after all, given explicit instructions not to leave the Dursleys this summer, only cemented by Ron’s most recent letter. But. Clearly Dumbledore had kept this from him. Could he really even trust the headmaster anymore?  

Quickly making his decision, he reached into the pouch and grabbed the small silver pendant. 

With a tug at his navel and a pop, Harry - no, Hadrian - was gone, leaving a bewildered owl in his wake.  

------- 

The portkey spat him back out instantly, reminding the young wizard once again why he hated wizarding teleportation. In hundreds of years, they couldn't have made it any nicer to travel by?

As he landed, he began to topple forward, grabbing onto the handily placed nearby handrail to avoid face planting to the smooth marble floor. When he stabilized himself, and the lingering nausea had dissipated, he raised his head to properly look at his surroundings, pushing his hair out of his eyes to take in the very tastefully decorated office where he now stood.  

The walls were painted a dark blue with gold leaf trim, and a large wooden desk took center stage, piled with rolls of parchment and letters. A high-backed velvet chair was placed in front of it, it's back to Hadrian. A large white plume feather pen and ink pot completed The Look ™ , as did the thick tomes and books on the matching shelves behind it.

Everything gave off an air of importance and wealth, and it took a couple of moments for Hadrian to notice the burly, well-dressed goblin behind said desk, hands crossed in front of him and observing him with a somewhat stern expression. He sat on a matching chair, and in his hand he held another large plume quill, this one black.

Hadrian jerked his head, surprised, and smiled nervously, hoping he hadn't already offended who he assumed was Manager Striketooth. The goblin returned the gesture, amusement gleaming in his beady eyes, and cleared his throat rather loudly.  

“Mr. Potter, welcome.” His voice was gravelly and deep, and somehow entirely fit his demeanour. “Have a seat so we may begin. I am Striketooth, the Potter Family Vault Manager. I have been in charge of the family's many vaults since your grandfather was a young boy.” 

Hadrian quickly took a seat in front of the goblin, marveling at the ridiculously comfortable seat cushions. He winced slightly when a purpling bruise on his leg bumped against the solid wood. He should probably try and steal some more cream, his stores were running low. Striketooth flashed a small look of concern, but hid it behind a stern expression once more before Hadrian looked up to see it. 

Striketooth grabbed from the seemingly unorganized piles of paper around him, a softly glowing piece of parchment, and handed it over to Hadrian carefully.

“First, Mr. Potter, to check you are truly who you say you are, we are required to perform a Blood Test, especially when it comes to delicate, private matters such as this. Are you aware of what that entails?” Hadrian shook his head, hair falling into his eyes once more. 

The goblin hummed, tilting his head as he shuffled papers on his desk. “This will enable us to know your name and parentage, which would then allow us to divulge the current state of your vaults and properties, as well as known familial ties and alliances. Alliances made by individuals that are not the Head of house or their spouse will not be shown, however. All you must do is give it a couple drops of fresh blood.”

Striketooth smiled wickedly, his sharp grin doing the opposite of reassuring the lanky boy in front of him. Hadrian gulped, his eyes widening as what Striketooth had said caught up to him.  

“Properties? But sir, I don't own anything except my school things” 

(Note: in my AU, when he saw the ‘Potter Vault’ in first year, that was only a trust fund to get him through school. It is not nearly enough to buy something like a house, let alone several properties, hence his confusion. No one ever really told him he had money.)  

“No, I suppose not, you are much too young to need as many as you have. But your parents owned several, at many separate locations. Most were inherited by the late Lord Potter from his parents, but the late Lady Potter bought a cottage in Godric's Hollow when they left Hogwarts. As their sole heir, you will inherit it all, including their salvaged belongings from the cottage on Godric's Hollow. That property, unfortunately, is not fit to be lived in and was claimed by the ministry some time ago. Has no one informed you of any of this?” Another negative shake of Hadrian’s head. 

“Tch. Wizards. Nevermind, then. I suppose another meeting is in order. Take this and cut your hand, or just a finger will do, and let a drop of blood drip onto the paper. The wound will heal instantly, do not worry.”  

Striketooth reached into a drawer by his side, extracting a wickedly sharp dagger and handing it to Hadrian, who took it skeptically. The handle was dark wood in swirling patterns, and the blade was smooth and cool beneath his fingers.

Somewhat apprehensive, the young wizard did as he was told, slicing it downwards quickly into his palm. Suppressing a small whimper, he clenched his fist, watching as droplets of crimson liquid fell to the page, spreading in small spirals on the creamy surface, then fading away to slowly reveal loopy writing weaving into letters and numbers, and at the very top was a name. However, it was not the name he had come to know as his own over the last decade and a half, not quite, but the one the letter had been addressed to. It read; 

Hadrian James Evans Potter

Below it, the words curved, forming words he did not recognize,

Blood status: Half-Blood 

Magik Core: Grey 

------------\\------------ 

Father: James Fleamont Haloi Potter 

Mother: Lily Evans Potter 

------------\\------------ 

Godfather: Sirius Orion Black 

Godmother: Alice Fortescue Longbottom 

Magik Guardian: Remus John Lupin

Magik Guardian (illegal): Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore 

------------\\------------ 

Magik Creature Inheritance: Veela (Dark), Naga.  

Mate: Not Found 

Soul Bond: Not Awakened 

------------\\------------ 

- Titles and Lordships - 

Lord Potter – Paternal, unclaimed 

Lord Peverel – Paternal, unclaimed 

Lord Le Fay – Maternal, unclaimed 

Acting Lord Black, unclaimed  

Heir Black – Heir Apparent by nomination 

Heir Gaunt – Heir Apparent by conquest 

---\\--- 

- Properties - 

Potter Manor

Coconut Cottage

Peverel Castle

Peverel Manor

Nightshade Sanctuary

Godric's Hollow

---\\--- 

-Vaults- 

Potter Trust Vault: 34,763 galleons, 1,040 sickles. 

Potter Vault: 386,161,000 galleons, 1,956,000 sickles, 20,018 knuts. 24,006 non-monetary items. (Blocked)

Black Vault: 983,405,072 galleons, 45,739 sickles, 93,400 knuts. 39,983 non-monetary items (Blocked) 

Peverel Vault: 156,180,037,000 galleons, 1,820,600 sickles, 180,267 knuts. 9,573 non-monetary items. (Blocked) 

Le Fay Vault: 908,534,006,732 galleons, 26,304 sickles, 153 knuts. 9739 non-monetary items. (Blocked) 

Gaunt Vault: 18,975 galleons. 34 non-monetary items (Blocked) 

---\\--- 

Ok, what. Hadrian's mind whirled, not understanding what he saw. And yet, it only got stranger the deeper he went. 

-Recent Transactions- 

From Potter Vault  

1,000 galleons monthly – to Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore 

100 galleons monthly – to Molly Weasley  

100 galleons monthly – to Vernon Dursley 

500 galleons yearly – withdrawn by Hadrian Potter 

To Potter Vault  

2,000 galleons yearly – from Twilfit and Tattings Clothing Boutique

5,000 galleons yearly – from Quality Quidditch Supplies 

10,000 galleons yearly – from Zonko's Joke Shop Enterprises

8,200 galleons yearly – from Honeydukes Company

40,500 galleons yearly – from Slekeazy’s Hair Products Company

---\\--- 

-Compulsions and potions (long lasting)- 

Trust Potions: 

Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore 

The Weasley Family 

Love Potion: 

Ginerva Molly Weasley 

Loyalty Compulsion spells: 

Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore 

Gryffindor 

The ‘Light Side’ 

Hate Compulsion Spells: 

The Malfoy family 

Slytherin House 

Severus Snape 

The ‘Dark Side’ 

---\\--- 

Magik Abilities: 

Magik Creature inheritance – active 

Parseltongue – active 

Parselmagik – restricted 

Natural Occlumency – restricted 

Soul Magic – restricted 

Shadow Stepping – dormant 

---\\--- 

-Alliances- 

  Potter : 

Most Ancient and Noble House Black 

Most Ancient and Noble House Peverel 

Most Ancient and Noble House Longbottom 

Most Ancient and Noble House Shacklebolt 

Most Noble House McGonagall  

Most Noble House Fawley

Most Noble House Haloi

Most Noble House Fortescue

Black : 

Most Ancient and Noble House Potter 

Most Ancient and Noble House Peverel 

Most Ancient and Noble House Longbottom 

Most Ancient and Noble House Malfoy 

Most Ancient and Noble House Greengrass 

Most Ancient and Noble House Parkinson 

Most Ancient and Noble House Zabini 

Most Ancient and Noble House Rosier

Most Ancient and Noble House Nott

Peverel :  

Most Ancient and Noble House Black 

Most Ancient and Noble House Potter 

Most Ancient and Noble House Slytherin

Le Fay : 

Most Ancient and Noble House Ravenclaw 

Gaunt : 

Most Ancient and Noble House Slytherin 

---\\--- 

What in the name of Merlin's saggy left tit…?

For several minutes, Hadrian sat on the plush chair, barely feeling the fabric as he tried to process bombshell after bombshell. Questions bounced around his mind, rushing and running about, too fast and abundant for him to pick just one. 

Magik...  

Alliances...  

Power...  

Peverell...  

Potions and spells...  

Heir Apparent...  

What is soul magik?...  

What was GOING ON… ?

One name caught his attention more than the rest. 

‘Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.’

Transactions. Spells, compulsions. Control. Magik Guardian. What a stupid name, honestly. 

Hadrian barely understood what most of it entailed, but one thing was clear. The Headmaster was manipulating his life, likely since the beginning. Playing with the strings of his life like a benevolent puppeteer. Hatred started to boil in his stomach, threatening to spill over when his eyes caught another familiar name.  

‘Molly Weasley. ’ And oh, this one hurt more than anything. With every word he read, Hadrian grew angrier and angrier. The woman he had come to see as a mother, one he had trusted and relied on,  reduced to nothing more than a greedy gold-digger. What a joke.  

A single tear slid down his face, tracing paths on dusky skin. It was quickly followed by others, warm salty droplets on his cold cheeks. A heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he read the parchment again and again, hoping he could wake up now, escape this real-life nightmare. He glanced at striketooth, but the goblin had an impassive expression on his face, giving nothing away. 

“Ok so let me get this straight. My parents were rich, now I'm rich. My best friend is being paid to be my friend by the headmaster, whom I trusted with my life, using MY money, and he also knew my godfather was innocent and did nothing about it even though he could. Oh, and I'm a weird mix of magical creatures, whatever that means, even though my mum was a muggleborn. And I’m a descendant of the Peverells, like in the storybooks, which is how I got my cloak, and now all the people I could actually trust are either under loyalty spells or think I hate them. Did I miss anything?” he drew in a large breath, mouth dry.

His wings sprung up from his back, tenting around him as if to shield him from the world. This jolted Hadrian out of his stupor, his arms flailing out to keep his balance as he careened sideways.

“Ah, yes. Your creature inheritance.” called a vaguely familiar voice from the doorway behind Hadrian. He turned, careful to keep his wings close to himself so as not to knock anything over, and his green eyes found the black, beady ones of Griphook, an old acquaintance of the ravenette. He recalled when he had last seen the goblin, in his first year at Hogwarts. 

“My...creature inheritance. Yeah, what the hell is that, by the way?” Hadrian snorted derisively, the words feeling foreign on his tongue as he struggled to untangle his wings from his shirt. 

“Yes, yes. A manifestation of your heritage. Though I sense there is something blocking it from fully completing its course. It must be rather strong magicks, if i could sense it from my office.” The elder goblin continued, stepping closer and shutting the door behind him, enclosing them from the world. “May I take a look?”  

It took Hadrian an embarrassing number of seconds to realize Griphook meant the scroll still in his hands, and he passed it over sheepishly.  

Minutes later, Hadrian was still standing there nervously. Griphook had taken a look at the pages of his inheritance test and quickly called in two more goblins, and now all four were whispering quietly in a corner, making dramatic, hopefully exaggerated hand gestures and glancing back at him every so often. They must have some sort of spell running, because even with them only a few meters away, Hadrian could only hear a slight murmur.

Finally, after what felt like hours, but was likely only a couple minutes of anxiously waiting, they seemed to reach an agreement. Griphook approached him, parchment in hand.  

“We have found several blocks in your magic, as well as spells and potions lingering in your system. To remove them all would cost 500 galleons. Should we take it out of your primary account, Mr. Potter?” he offered. 

That didn't sound good. “Yes, please,” Hadrian voiced. “How complicated is the procedure?”

The goblins nodded their heads as one, creeping him out a little. Griphook motioned for him to follow them to a door leading to a side room, and Striketooth motioned him forward when Hadrian looked back at the Potter Manager. 

He was led into another marbled room, this one just barely lit by silver coloured torches on every wall. At the center of the room, there was a small wooden stage, raised off the floor only a couple inches. The sides of the wood were carved with obscure runes, some of which he vaguely recognized from one of Hermione's books in third year.  

They led him to the center of the circle, and Hadrian felt the runes activate around him as he sat. The goblins stood around him in a loose circle, raising their hands in unison. 

They then started chanting in what Hadrian assumed was Gobbledygook, the goblin language, but truly could be Mongolian for all he knew. Hadrian fidgeted on the stage, almost leaping out of his skin when the goblins opened their eyes and faced him,revealing glowing white pupils. 

'Creepy… '

After a minute, they stopped chanting, leaving an eerie echo bouncing around the walls. Hadrian tried to stand up again, but his knees buckled, and he fell backwards hard on his butt as his vision started going black for the second time in as many days, his last confused thought turning out the lights before it left. 

Chapter Text

Hadrian came to slowly, aided by muffled voices and the rhythmic stamping of the filing mechanisms. Blinking away the remnants of unconsciousness, his head still swimming from the effects of whatever spell the goblins had cast. His muscles burned with the strain, fingers scrabbling on velvet softness. He opened his eyes fully, going face to face with Striketooth, standing over him. 

“AARGH!!” The teen jerked his face back, head hitting the wall as his arms scrambled for purchase in the soft cushions. He barely had time to think ‘fu-!’ as he face-planted into hard marble.

Groaning, Hadrian pushed himself upright, looking around like a feral cat evaluating his surroundings. The small marble stage and the carved runes were nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by the familiar sight of the office's interior. The goblins stood nearby; their expressions unreadable as they watched him. They seemed to have moved him to a small couch in an adjacent room.

Every noise echoed in his ears, and his eyes stung something fierce. His skin felt new, warm and red as if rubbed raw. His thoughts bounced around his head like a tv screensaver, but his mind had never felt clearer, like someone had taken a giant fan to a room full of smoke and now everything was suddenly high definition.

His head throbbed suddenly, causing him to let out a rather undignified noise and reach up in a futile attempt to lessen the pain. 

In doing so, his fingers brushed against his hair. Except. Instead of the usual unruly mop of hair, it felt much longer than he remembered. A goblin handed him a small mirror, much to Hadrian's relief and he immediately held it up to his face.

The twisted mess from before was gone, and now silky, softly curled strands of inky black cascaded down his back, halfway to his ass. Hadrian held a strand in his hand, curling it between two fingers, the coarse feeling strange to his skin.

‘Huh,’ he thought faintly.

His limbs felt heavy as he placed the mirror down and reached up again, wobbly hands tangling in black tresses. He pressed down on his temples in vain, flinching when a loud bang sounded from somewhere else in the bank.

His ears twitched as he startled.

‘Wait. Twitched?’

One desperate grab for the mirror once more and Hadrian was sure this was a dream.

To his awe and terror , Hadrian's ears seemed to have elongated into delicate points, tapering to soft tips that twitched as he moved. He rubbed them softly, and felt it as if he had been tickled, then pitched his arm. Hard. 

‘Ouch! Ok, so that was real then,’ he thought faintly, feeling slightly detached. He rubbed the reddening spot in his arm, regretting his decision immediately. 

His heart thudding in his chest like a rabbit in a trap, Hadrian attempted to rise to his feet, stumbling like a newborn lamb. Oh, and also he was shirtless for some reason. 

He noticed now that a small section of the opposite wall had been covered in mirrors, presumably for instances such as this one. As he looked up, his eyes caught on the shapes behind him.

The wings from before once again adorned his back, seamlessly sprouting from his back, their feathers as black as the night sky, unfurling in a breathtaking display.

His mind reeled with disbelief at the sight, simultaneously cringing at how he could see all his ribs through his skin. 

The goblins must have removed his shirt when he was unconscious. Now, it was truly sinking in that this wasn't some strange dream, and he would not be waking up back at the Dursleys as if this had never happened.

Hadrian tentatively flexed his back, feeling the rush of cool air against his feathers as they stretched out to their full span, reaching the walls on either side of him easily. He marveled at the sight of them, feathers so long they would probably drag on the floor when he walked. They looked sharp as steel but were soft as the fur of puppies to the touch. As they caught the light, they shimmered like opals and pearls. His eyes slid down towards his face and -”

‘Wha - what the shit…’

Hadrian’s facial features had changed as well, his skin darkening from sickly tan to a soft bronze colour, and his eyes were again a deep jade. His facial structure looked like he had gone through puberty while he slept, and came out on the other side looking a little too pretty than what he was used to. His jawline was sharper now, and his limbs felt too long for his body. He was reminded uncannily of Malfoy.

He looked more like pictures he had seen of young James Potter, except the hair. It looked more like a style Sirius would have worn, before Peter had betrayed them and it all went to shit.

That brought up painful memories of his godfather, and Hadrian blinked furiously to stop his watering eyes from spilling over. 

‘Oh Sirius, I wish you were here…’   he thought. Life would be so much easier with the happy-go-lucky dog animagus by his side. He couldn't wait to see him again, hopefully at the Burrow. Speaking of the Burrow, how in Godric's name was he supposed to look them in the eyes after what he had learned, let alone explain this to them? 

A few moments went by, Hadrian simply standing in front of the mirrors and slowly drinking in his new appearance. His wings twitched behind him, feathers leaving winding patterns on the dusty floor. 

He only snapped out of his stupor when one of the goblins cleared their throat behind him.  

‘Oh right, i’m at Gringotts’

"Thank you," Hadrian murmured, turning around to face them somewhat awkwardly. "For... whatever that was." 

The goblins merely nodded in response, their attention already turning back to their other duties as they walked out of the chamber. Hadrian moved back towards where they had come from, feeling the lingering effects of the strange ritual still coursing through his veins. 

Despite his unease, he couldn't deny it must have worked, judging from his new look. 

He rejoined Striketooth in the office, where the goblin handed Hadrian his Blood Test parchment, and a list of what looked to be book titles. And his shirt.

“What's this for?” Hadrian questioned, waving the list around.

The goblin sighed, not unkindly. “There is more you must know. This list may bring you some answers.” he drawled, “now to the topic of your lordships, of which you have several to claim.”

Striketooth then grabbed a small box out of one of his desk drawers and motioned for the teen to come closer. As Hadrian approached, the box slowly opened, displaying a row of five ornate rings. He recognized the stag of the Potter crest, but the others were a mystery. 

Hadrian reached out to touch them, his fingers trembling as he made contact with the cool metal. As he examined each ring in turn, he couldn't help but marvel at their craftsmanship and beauty. They were truly magnificent.  

The Potter ring gleamed with the brilliance of polished gold, its surface engraved with the image of a majestic stag, eyes glittering with small rubies. It seemed to pulse with a quiet strength, the Potter name engraved on a small plaque placed below it on the box. 

Next to it, the ring labeled Black gleamed with a dark, lustrous sheen, its surface adorned with the image of a small murder of crows, eyes glinting with an otherworldly intelligence. Hadrian snorted inwardly. ‘ I suppose dramatics run in the family.’

Beside it, the Le Fay ring shimmered with an ethereal glow, an opal indented into silver metal, adorned with swirling patterns reminiscent of shifting mists and rolling waves. It seemed to dance with a life of its own, reminding him of how his friend Luna Lovegood sometimes seemed otherworldly, too. 

Next, there was the Gaunt ring, its surface marred with cracks and fissures. Despite its imperfections, it exuded a sense of power and danger, and Hadrian, recognizing it, made no move to touch it.  

And finally, last in the line, there was the ring marked Peverell, ancient and weathered, its surface marked with intricate runes and symbols that seemed to whisper secrets of times long past. Hadrian had heard this name before, but where…

As Hadrian looked at the rings, he felt a deep sensation in his gut, a sense of belonging. In that moment, he felt their power, their wealth and magic, and centuries of history.  

Striketooth placed the box in his hands and Hadrian quickly slipped onto the Potter ring, its weight immediately feeling at home on his finger, despite him never having worn one before. It felt like being hugged, like coming home after a long time away. Warmth flooded his body, and he signed in contentment.

The other rings were left in the box, as they would raise suspicions if seen. Taking one last look, Hadrian slipped it in his pocket, where it would hopefully stay safe until he arrived home, and rose to leave. The lists of books and blood tests were placed safely in his robes, opposite his wand.

Striketooth removed another parchment from his desk drawer, this on blank. “Now your vaults, Mr. Potter. What would you like to be done about them? Several withdraws have been made without your permission, and i have no doubt Dumbledore has used your wealth to his advantage over the years.” 

Hadrian blinked, momentarily stunned.

‘Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Well. Might as well have some fun now.’ he thought, speaking after a moment of consideration.

“Yes. I want any money not withdrawn by me personally returned to my vaults, add interest to keep for yourselves if you wish.” he started gleefully. “However , I don't want any of this done until Hogwarts has started. It would help to let them believe I am still unaware. Please remove Dumbledore as my magical guardian and reinstate Remus, I believe he can be trusted.” 

Striketooth nodded, making a quick note and moving on quickly. 

“And also,” Hadrian continued, "I don't know much about wizarding laws, so if you could teach me some that would be greatly appreciated”

Again, the goblin made a note, then looked up at Hadrian, his beady black eyes piercing right to the young wizard's soul. “Having a creature inheritance does come with some expectations. A Veela such as yourself is highly prized in pureblood circles. When you have Veela blood, you are considered almost like a pureblood by most, and expected to act accordingly. I assume you don't know much about their customs?”

Hadrian nodded along. “Thats true. Being raised by muggles will do that to you.”

Striketooth pursed his lips, pausing for a moment before making another list and handing it to Hadrian. “Read these. Think of it as a crash course into purebloods. I recommend getting a tutor for more extensive learning like dancing and such. Maybe reach out to the Fawley family, they are quite good at what they do. And they are relatively new money in pureblood standards, so they might help you. The Greengrasses would also be a wise choice. Now, how are you to get home, Mr. Potter? I assume you are still too young to apparate?” 

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Erm... do you think you could give me another portkey?” 

Thankfully, the goblin nodded, and reached down into what Hadrian could only assume was another drawer. He pulled out a small coin, similar to a Knut except it had a small hole through it and was tied to a leather cord. 

He handed it to the teen, and Hadrian strung his Gringotts key into it before tying it around his neck.

“We can organize another meeting later this week” said Striketooth “try and read some of the books before then.” Hadrian nodded.

Gathering his belongings, consisting of only his Gringotts key necklace, the rings he now had, and the scroll of parchment that outlined his assets and lineage, he made for the doors of the bank, thanking Striketooth over his shoulder as he left. 

The young Veela smiled as he palmed the portkey, feeling the magic thrum around him as he was transported back to the boring, matching houses of Privet drive. 

Hopefully Aunt Petunia hadn't noticed his absence yet.

Chapter Text

Hey y'all
I know im taking foREVER to get the next chapter out and I'm sorry.

this is happening for two reasons;

REASON NUMBER 1 -

IM MOVING YALL
yeah so I'm in the middle of packing my house and making sure I don't fail my classes (its gonna be a close call ngl) its been a doozy.
and this isn't like a change of city, I'm crossing the Atlantic and moving to a whole new country with a new language to boot.
so so sorry for that but you gotta do what u gotta do lol.

REASON NUMBER 2 -
I have like MASSIVE writers block right now, as diagnosed by my dear beta reader Ariz_5
none of the chapters are pre written, I just have a vague plot, some vibes and crank them out as we go.
so apologies, but my brain is empty rn, and as such no chapters for now.

THIS IS TEMPORARY. ITS NOT A HIATUS OR ANYTHING DRASTIC I JUST GOTTA LIVE TO SEE JULY AND THEN IMM BACK LOL.

when everything settles over yonder in Europe ill com back to this story.
ALSO - just to clarify I DO NOT use AI in my works (blegh), creative brain juices only!

lots of love and vibes,
Mochi

P.S. try and guess my nationality lol. I'm curious as to what vibes my writing gives off.

Chapter Text

As he materialized in front of the Dursley home, he became aware of three things in rapid succession. 

One - his Aunt and Uncle were home, their silhouettes visible through the kitchen window.

Two  - His wings, forgotten until now, were definitely still there, and had snapped out to their full span as he regained his balance from the instant magical travel. Also he was still shirtless, the worn fabric limp in his hand.

Three - Dudley was sitting on the porch, eyes trained on where Hadrian had appeared, and had definitely seen him.

‘Shit’ 

‘Ok Hadrian, think fast.’ the teen scrambled for an excuse.

‘We could always just hex him’ his brain suggested, very unhelpfully.

Dudley, to his credit, had not immediately freaked out, ran screaming to his mother, or alerted the neighbours, so Hadrian was probably in the clear. Even so, his cousin would demand an explanation, and Hadrian had barely understood what Striketooth had said, let alone remembered it all.

As he approached the house, Dudley moved to get up, the wood of the front steps groaning from the release of pressure. His expression was closed off, and Hadrian flinched slightly, fighting the urge to run and never be heard from again.

His cousin reached the end of the drive, looking Hadrian up and down. His eyes, a blue so similar to Hadrian's aunt, sent chills down the young wizards back.

Hadrian expected a big, explosive reaction - after all, seeing your cousin with wings is a weird development so early in the morning. ‘Or not morning anymore,’ he guessed, as the sun was beating down full force now.

Instead, the blond boy in front of him leaned down, face somber. 

“Get in through your window. They won't see you.” he muttered. “And happy birthday, by the way.”

Hadrian blinked. ‘Oh. That wasn't so bad,’ he thought. Taking his cousin's advice, he quietly made his way to the window on the side of the house, muttering quiet thanks. Shabby curtains fluttered in the breeze, and Hedwig poked her head out the window, making a face as surprised as owls could be. Hadrian, not trusting himself to fly quite yet, looked back at his wings, watching as they faded away as quickly as he thought it. He slipped his shirt back on, then started hauling himself up using the trellis by the porch. The vines that used to be there had long dried out into brittle stalks, so he felt no remorse as he scrambled for footholds. He threw himself through the window as quietly as he could, startling Hedwig, who was clearly expecting him to act as if he had more brain cells. Hadrian hissed in pain as his leg scraped the side of the window frame, ripping his pants. His owl hooted loudly, causing the noise downstairs to stop abruptly. 

‘Ah, shit’ Hadrian thought. He pushed himself up, unlocking Hedwig's cage as quickly as he could to the soundtrack of his uncle's heavy steps coming up the stairs. The snowy owl flew out the window just in time as Vernon reached the door, turning the knob and throwing it open in Hadrian's face. 

(jumping to the pigs brain real quick)

Vernon Dursley had had it! That blasted owl and that blasted boy and his blasted friends! This was the last straw. Screw the letter, screw the money, he wanted the boy OUT! 

He stormed upstairs slamming the door and barging in. He raised a hand, prepared to strike… and froze.

There was no one there.

(back to our boy)

Mere inches away stood Hadrian, really bloody confused as to why his uncle seemed to have suddenly gone blind, he watched incredulously as the great pig of a man scratched his moustache, before turning and lumbering out again, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. 

‘What in the…’ Hadrian stared at the door for a beat, then turned on his heel, towards the window where Hedwig had flown off. As he did, suddenly the room felt brighter, like the sun had come out again. 

Shadows like mist faded off his body, shifting back to their corners and dissipating like the neighbours cigarette smoke. Mentally, he added it to the list of things he should probably tell a therapist.

Maybe he was finally going insane. About time, honestly. His knees hit the bed. He didn't remember walking over. The soft pillow cradled his head, and the covers seemed to magically swallow him up. A much needed nap.

—-------------------------------—

When he awoke, Hedwig was back. Perched on the shaky bedframe, yellow eyes glaring like she had something to prove. His stomach lurched. Her claws gouged new scratches into the post as she took off, moving to her favourite spot on top of his wardrobe, where she could watch the entire room at once.

“Hey girl,” he murmured, eyes bleary as he adjusted to the fact the sun seemed to have set as he slept. A copy of The Prophet sat on his small desk, headlines screaming something he couldn't decipher. Outside, the heat had gone from lightly roasting to downright stifling. He got up, hit the lights, and managed to make it to the bathroom before throwing up once, twice, three times. Cold sweat beads his forehead when he turns to the mirror.

He wiped his mouth, flushed the toilet. Downstairs, he could hear his aunt's high shriek, a couple others he didn't recognize. ‘Oh right, the dinner party was today,’ he remembered suddenly. ‘Good thing I didn't come in through the front.’ Whenever they had guests over, he was under strict instructions to stay upstairs, ever since the incident with Dobby in second year.

Hadrian walked back to his room, barefoot on the soft carpet. An old gym bag and a small stash of bobby pins and loose coins were procured from the loose floorboard under his bed. He really didn't have to go to such lengths to hide things, his relatives never came into his room if they could avoid it, but better safe than sorry. 

The pins were put aside for later, the money stowed in his pockets. He filled the bag with old clothes and saved up energy bars, as well as a water bottle and Dudley's old, slightly rusty army knife, that he'd taken after his cousin had lost interest, a mere week after he received the gift.

He zipped up the bag and shoved it under his desk, a just-in-case plan. Hedwig's owl treats went in the side pocket, and his wand in the other. He hated not having it on his person, but it was too tempting, and getting in trouble was really not worth it. 

Just in time, his aunt called him down to clean up. The guests had left, and it was now safe to show his face. His uncle, thankfully, was out, and his aunt only seemed to want him to clean the house before she let him go, and the young teen took the first opportunity he could to run upstairs. Once there, he shoved on a black hoodie and his beat up shoes, grabbed his glasses and wand from its hiding place, tied his gringotts key around his neck and made his way outside. Once on the street, he walked down a ways, hopping between whatever meager shadows the trees provided.

Once far enough away, he stuck out his arm and braced himself as the knight bus materialized in front of him with an almighty BANG.

“WELCOME TO THE KNIGHT BUS, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening.” The young man's voice was entirely too loud for Hadrian, so he simply told Stan Diagon Alley and pushed past quickly, dropping the galleons in the collection box, and claiming a seat near the back. 

At the front, the conductor was now talking to another wizard, his appearance reminding Hadrian of a homeless man. Snippets of their conversations drifted towards him as the countryside blurred outside his window. 

“Rita’s new article…”

“ -where he is?”

“Now, dung…”

‘Dung? Did he just call the homeless guy dung?’ Hadrian snickered, just quiet enough to not be heard. He had a lot of practice with not being heard, after all. Soon after, Stan called out his stop as the bus screeched to a stuttering halt. Hadrian tipped his imaginary hat at them, thankful they didn't seem to recognize him as The-Boy-Who-Lived. Then again, he mused, Hadrian wasn't sure he would even recognize himself.

Before him, Diagon Alley loomed like an imposing challenge, brimming with magicals of all sorts, even during the middle of the workday on a Tuesday. He pushed his way to a more empty corner, pausing to think. Not fully sure where to head first, he looked around, spotting several stores he had never seen before.

 A glance down at his too-large hoodie and tattered jeans settled the matter quite easily, however, and he quickly set course for Twilfit and Tattings, the renowned pureblood clothing store.

He had no doubt now Madame Malkin, his usual tailor, was on Dumbledore's payroll, one way or another. Besides, Twilfit and Tattings had a marginally better reputation anyway.

Don't judge, summer got boring fast and magic magazine subscriptions cost very little and had the added bonus of pissing off his aunt and uncle.

Eventually, he reached where the shop was located. Less known to the public than Madame Malkin's, they made up for it by serving mostly old, wealthy families, who came in once or twice a year and ordered enough to keep the store alive for a long while. He knew for a fact Malfoy shopped here, and that almost made him turn around as he reached the door, but he pushed his way in with a resigned sign.

The shop itself was built using dark oak wood, contrasted by the marble flooring and siding. As he approached the storefront, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. Getting clothes that finally fit him would be a welcome distraction from yesterday. And besides, it was high time he started working on his ‘image’.

Style was as good a place to start as any, I suppose.  

Floor-length silver mirrors lined the walls, bordered by deep blue velvet curtains. Racks and racks of expensive looking robes covered the space, and changing rooms were sectioned off towards the back. One well-dressed witch perused the racks towards the back of the store, but it was otherwise empty.

As it was, Hadrian needed a full wardrobe, as he had grown out of the few pieces he had bought himself last year, and Dudley's old castoffs wouldn't cut it for anything involving higher wizarding society, anyways. Which, apparently, he was a part of now.

And, if his half-baked plan to overthrow the government –starting with Dumbledore- was to be realized, he had to look the part.

Hadrian browsed through racks of robes and suits, selecting garments suitable for both formal events and everyday wear. The clothes had no tag, so he just grabbed whatever and hoped it was his size.

He chose elegant robes for possible school functions and galas, even though he had none in his immediate future. He was rich now, so price didn't really matter.

Oh Merlin he was starting to sound like Malfoy. What a nightmare…

Shaking the thought away, he continued picking things off the racks, moving on to more casual clothing. He didn't have anything, after all, and doing all his shopping at once seemed pragmatic.

He grabbed several shirts and vests, some trousers and socks, and a pair of leather boots. Hadrian looked around for someone he could purchase all this from. A cough sounded from beside the teen. ‘Ah, there he is.’ Hadrian thought. 

“Can I help you?” His voice reminded Hadrian of falling leaves in the wind, crackly and frail.

“Oh yes, I would like to purchase these.” Hadrian answered, following behind the old wizard as he led the way to a small counter Hadrian had missed before.

He took all his things to the middle-aged wizard in the back, who, to his credit, didn't glance twice at the amount of clothing on his arm.  

Hadrian was led to a small stand, much like the one Madame Malkin used to measure him for his school robes every year. He stepped up, and with a wave of the man's wand, tape measures flew up from a nearby shelf and coiled around him, numbers appearing next to whatever each one was measuring. 

The wizard barely glanced at him, writing down measurements on his arm as the tape measures worked. 

“First time?” 

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Hadrian replied. 

“Might want to charm some of this stuff, being as young as you are. Can't have you ruining acromantula silk, it's quite hard to come by.” the shopkeeper advised, pulling out a box of pins from Godric knows where. Hadrian, too occupied by flashbacks from second year, didn't respond, but the old wizard seemed to take that as a yes, and disappeared into a back room.

Hadrian took his time looking around the room, eyes catching on the witch who had been here when he had come in. Her back was to him, but something about her seemed awfully familiar. He shook off the feeling, distracted as the old man came back into the main shop with his clothes. As he began the transaction, the small hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up, and goosebumps formed beneath his shirt. He whirled around, but there was nothing behind him. The witch from before was gone, somehow leaving without triggering the bell. 

Hadrian frowned.

—//—

After paying a truly mind-boggling amount of galleons to the old man, Hadrian grabbed his bags and beat it out of the store. It was nearing midday, so the young wizard looked around for a place to eat as his stomach started to growl rather threateningly. At the end of the section of the alley, he spotted a small, cozy looking cafe, colorful smoke drifting out of the chimney in swirls. The cat shaped sign hanging in front of it identified it as ‘The Whisker Lounge’ in silver letters. Hadrian crossed the streets towards it almost in a daze, reaching the door before he realized he was moving.

He pushed his way in, and was immediately greeted by the strong smell of chocolate and tea. Soft murmurs and the clinking of china cups were mixed in with meows and purrs, as what looked like two dozen cats roamed the open space, jumping between cat trees and accepting chin scratches from the various patrons. 

To the side, a display of artesanal tarts and cakes were being sold, and a barista chugged away at an espresso machine in the corner.

He made his way to the till as the door closed behind him, a small tabby cat winding around his legs. He set down his bags to order as the barista turned around to face him, a fresh latte in his hands. Hadrian balked in shock. 

What in merlins balls was Blaise Zabini, slytherin royalty, doing at a place like this? Working, no less. It was no secret his family was as wealthy as they came, so why would he ever lower himself to work at a cafe during the summer? It almost made the Zabini heir look like a normal human. An apron was tied around his middle, and a beanie covered his head.

Just as Hadrian started to move away from the counter, Zabini’s eyes snapped to him as if he expected Hadrian to be there. Ah shit. Can't escape now…'' the teen lamented. The Slytherin smirked as if he could read Hadrian's thoughts, then in one fluid motion, jumped the counter with practiced ease, landing inches from Hadrian.

“Well well well, if it isn't Harry Potter, the golden boy. Don't you look… different.” Zabini’s baritone voice surprised Hadrian into reaction, and a sharp "don't call me that” was spat before he could stop himself. This was Malfoy's friend, and one could never be too careful.

Zabini looked nonplussed, but continued. “What are you doing here, Potter? Where is the band of ginger bloodtraitors you associate yourself with?” 

“Im here to eat, asshole, but I'll leave now.” Hadrian turned around, but before he could step away, a strong grip on his arm pulled him back to face the other teen. 

“Yeah, no, you're not. Why do you look like you overdosed on beauty potions? You weren't that pretty last year. My break is in five. Order something and sit down, we need to talk. Don't think I won't force you.”

Hadrian sighed. He was afraid this would happen. It was really too much to hope for no one would recognize him all day. But Zabini? His luck really was shit, huh? Wait… 

“Did… did you just call me pretty?” It was Hadrian's turn to smirk as the other boy looked up in shock. 

“Dont flatter yourself, Potter.” Zabini snarked. “Now go sit down, you lost your chance to order. I'm picking it for you.”

Hadrian smiled slightly. ‘Godric this is weird’ he thought, even as he dutifully went to sit down away from the window. Immediately, an absolute unit of a cat came over to him and planted its head on his lap, purring up a storm. Hadrian absentmindedly watched Zabini fight with the machine, petting the tabby menace on his lap.

—//—

A handful of minutes later, he looked up to find the slytherin boy staring down at him, a mug in each hand and a plate of steaming… something balancing on his arm.

Zabini placed down the food, swatting away a tabby paw as he sat opposite Hadrian.

“That's a croissant, a chocolate eclair, and tea. You looked pretty hungry.” The teen was saying. In his own mug, black coffee.

Wasting no time, Hadrian dug into the food, hoping to avoid questions for a little bit longer.

No such luck.

“So, what in Salazar's name is going on. And don't you bloody lie to me, Potter, I'll sic the cats on you.” 

Hadrian grimaced.