Chapter Text
The sun beat down on the cobbled stones, radiating heat from their surface. The heat wave that had hit London this week had not bypassed Diagon Alley. The robes worn today were of far lighter material than average, and many of the shoppers had forgone wearing robes at all.
Hadrian absent-mindedly followed his father as they weaved through the day’s shoppers. He pulled at the collar of his robes, the acromantula silk clinging to his body like a second skin. The cooling charms that had been woven into the fabric provided only the briefest bit of relief. He would love to lose the robes, but they were here on family business, and he must look the part.
As the pair neared the pearly steps of Gringotts, Hadrian spied their targets' platinum and red hair.
He had never actually met Muriel Prewett. Oh, he had heard stories from Neville of times when he was forced to entertain the woman with his grandmother, but Hadrian had never been forced into the same situations. Walburga had not taken a liking to the Prewett matriarch, and it seemed to be mutual.
Regardless, both families had attended the same holiday balls and pureblooded events but had always given each other a wide berth.
Until now.
Looking at the regal redhead before him, he felt his hackles rising. His brain instantly saw the resemblance to Molly Weasley. Or, what Molly Weasley would look like if she had access to a Ladyship vault instead of knitting needles.
While time and family stress had aged Molly Weasley, it appeared the lack of interest in family drama had preserved Muriel. Her hair was vivid red, with slight graying at the temples, pulled back into a tight chignon. Her face was smooth, with only a few aging spots across her forehead. There were no creases left behind from laughter and no crow’s feet from expressive eyes. No, this was the face of a woman who never portrayed her emotions, a face etched from stone.
Sirius reached the group first, “Good Morning Lady Prewett, Heiress Prewett.”
Muriel Prewett shrewdly examined his father first, and then her eyes flicked toward Hadrian, “Lord Black, Heir Black.”
Sirius grinned, “You’re looking as preserved as usual, Muriel.”
The woman stared at his father briefly before ignoring him and turning to Lucius, “Lord Malfoy, we have waited for your entourage. Are we to broker this agreement or not?”
Lucius nodded sagely, “Yes, Lady Prewett, we have a reserved room. Lord Black needed to be present as the Goblins would not allow us to use the room without him or Heir Black. Also, as Ginevra would marry into the Black family, I felt Lord Black should bear witness.”
Muriel stared at Lucius, “What makes the room so special that you need a Black entourage to use it? If your family’s goblin will not let you use their office, surely there are plenty of others to spare.”
Sirius cut in, “The room reserved is for clan use. A goblin would never loan his office to just any wizard or witch, nor should he.” Sirius’s eyes narrowed, “That is presumptuous thinking.”
Muriel hummed a short acknowledgment, “Very well, lead on Lord Black.”
Lucius gently waved Sirius on, and his father quickly ascended the steps, followed closely by Hadrian. Lucius and Draco fell into step behind him.
Muriel’s shrewd gaze had not missed the action. Hadrian almost shivered at her calculative stare.
He sighed as he fell into step behind his father, his thoughts drifting.
This summer promised to be long and ever so vanilla. No birthday trips were planned, no vacations abroad, and no fun whatsoever seemed to be on the agenda.
No, so far, this summer’s spare time had been entirely devoted to researching the upcoming tournament. There were no Wizengamot seats to fill as the adults had taken Lady Magic’s advice to heart, so there wasn’t even the monotony of the ministry to distract the children.
By now, Hadrian could recite the varying rules and regulations for every single Triwizard Tournament to date, which was an impressive feat. He knew that Hogwarts had sixty-three wins over the five centuries it had been held, a grand total of 174 tournaments thus far. Of course, the tournament was not held yearly; each contest had various year gaps. However, the tournaments were often enough that before the late 1700s, students could witness it at least once during their schooling career, twice if they were lucky.
The day they had come home from Hogwarts, Luna had confirmed the adults’ suspicions that the tournament would be unkind to the Black family. This had his father ranting and raving about the importance of keeping the House strong, kicking the adults into a flurry the past few weeks. Black Manor had more floo activity now than it did during the holidays. Even Grimmauld House had been put to use as a meeting spot and research hub as its library varied from the library at Black Manor.
Two weeks prior, just as Ginevra returned from Hogwarts, Muriel Prewett sent an owl that was persistent enough to deliver a message to Lucius at the otherwise warded Grimmauld House. This message was a request to discuss a betrothal agreement between their heirs, as Ginevra would soon turn thirteen. With Draco’s permission, Lucius immediately began drafting an agreement with Narcissa.
This agreement would be looked over and modified if needed, today.
The group of six momentarily stopped in the Gringott’s lobby while a Goblin guard announced their arrival into a glowing rune next to his head, “Heir Black.”
Many curious faces observed the three families with interest. Blacks and Malfoys were seen together on numerous occasions; however, both families in the presence of Lady Prewett was something new.
The rune flashed golden and melted away to form a descending tunnel, “Right, this way, Heir Black.”
Hadrian nodded to the Goblin guard, “Thank you, Sharpfang.”
He led the way down a set of stone steps to a hall carved of rough stone. Many Goblins and human curse breakers were meandering down the aisle, venturing into and out of offices and meeting rooms along the corridor. Some carried bags of gold, while others carried tomes and treasure.
As Sharpfang stopped and gestured to an open door, Ginevra gasped.
Hadrian turned, as did the others, to look at his friend, following her line of sight down the hall.
A redhead stared back at the group, holding a hefty tome to his chest. He was tall and lean, with shoulder-length red hair two shades darker than Ginevra’s tied messily at the nap of his neck. It was the same hue as Muriel’s. The man had forgone a robe in exchange for what appeared to be leather armor.
Before Hadrian could ask anything or observe anything else about the man, his father pushed him into the room, “In Hades.”
Unlike the family account offices above, the meeting room was comfortable. It was more of a lounge than a formal meeting room. There were numerous plush armchairs and a buffet table with afternoon tea being tended to by a neatly dressed house elf.
Muriel nodded in approval as Sharpfang left, “Impressive.”
Hadrian turned toward Ginevra to find Draco had already swooped in on her, “Evra? What’s wrong?”
Ginevra looked from her intended to her guardian, “Bill. What’s wrong with his aura?”
Muriel winced, “Nothing is wrong with his aura.”
Ginevra shook her head, “His aura extends from his chest, not his head. Why does he not have the Weasley aura?”
Muriel settled herself into one of the armchairs, “Because he’s not a Weasley.”
The Prewett matriarch sighed at the blank stares she was receiving, “Bill is a Prewett, through and through. I do not know which Prewett is his father; I can only assume it was either Fabian or Gideon.”
At Ginevra’s scandalized expression, Muriel continued, “Neither would have known. Molly was always rather gifted with a cauldron and lacked the morals of a rational lady. She wished to steal Arthur Weasley away from his intended, and the only way she could guarantee it would be with a child.
“She could not guarantee to become pregnant on a one-off fling with Arthur, so she needed to ensure she was pregnant before she initiated any contact with him. The only other redheaded families of the right age are the Bones family, and Edgar was already wed off. So she settled a little closer to home. Sometimes I am glad the boys are not here to learn of their sister’s deeds.”
Hadrian sat in shock as he absorbed the cauldron of information dumped on them.
His father was the first to break the silence, “So, she deliberately interfered with an engagement for her fancy?”
Muriel nodded, “She knew I would never pass the line on to her, so she went after someone who was said to be receiving their own Lordship.” Her lip twitched as if it had tried to smile, “Only old Septimus was just as disgusted with her as I am. Arthur won’t be able to gain his lordship with Molly’s claws in him. Now that Septimus has passed, I can only assume the wealth that should have been left to Arthur is being pilfered away by others.”
Sirius gaped, “That’s line theft.”
Muriel nodded, “It is. As well an interference with a betrothal contract.”
“Can we help him?” Ginevra’s voice cracked with emotion, her eyes large, “Bill? Can we bring him into the Prewett magic?”
The elderly red heads eyes softened, although it looked painful, “If you wish to do so, we can speak with him.”
It was some time before the adults looked over the betrothal agreement. This was far different from the agreement they devised at the holiday ball years prior. This was a binding betrothal. In the end, both Ginevra and Draco would benefit. Neither were tasked with outlandish demands outside the first male born would be the Malfoy heir and the first female born would be the Prewett heiress. They would, however, be required to have a traditional wizarding wedding. That is to say— they would be ritually binding themselves and their magic on the date they were to wed.
As the negotiations ended, the group sat enjoying their tea.
Muriel’s cup found its saucer as she fixed her gaze on Sirius, “I have to ask, what do you have against Dumbledore?”
Lucius sneered as Sirius scoffed, “What don’t I have against him?”
Muriel nodded slightly, “I have no love for the man. It is due to his order that my twins are dead.”
Sirius scowled, “It is due to him that my best friend, wife, and godson are dead.”
She hummed, “Yes. His exodus from the Chief Warlock’s seat still brings a smile to my face.”
Hadrian’s brow rose at that.
So Muriel was told as much as Sirius deemed safe to tell her. The woman then revealed as much as she felt like sharing of the secrets she had gathered regarding the headmaster. Rita would have loved to be a beetle on the walls for that conversation.
Finally, the adults had their fill, and it was time to leave. The Prewetts left first, disappearing from the bank's steps, leaving Hadrian and Draco staring longingly down the alley.
Sirius laughed, “All right, one hour. Lucius and I have to pick up some things on order and will meet both of you at the Leaky when we are through. I believe Severus is there meeting with his old potions master.”
Hadrian grinned as he flew down the steps, Draco on his heels.
None of the children of the House of Black ever needed to worry about their school supplies. Severus always came through with top-notch potion supplies and provided the book lists as early as possible. This allowed their parents to owl order their books promptly. In fact, the boys already had all of their textbooks for the following year, and their homework had already been completed. They all feared the wrath of Hermione and chose to finish everything before she was to return from the continent with Theo.
Hadrian spun to face his cousin, “Do you have anything you’d like to do?”
Draco glanced down the street, “Quality Quidditch?”
Hadrian nodded as they set off down the street, “I wonder if they’ve replenished their polishes.”
Draco scoffed, “Your broom is brand new. It still has the original polish.”
Hadrian smirked. While his birthday was still a week away, his father hadn’t been able to keep his present a secret. He had been presented with the newest broom on the market only a few short days after being home; a Firebolt. Draco and the twins had spent the prior two weeks drooling over it and offering various favors for the chance to ride it. Not that they had much time on the quidditch pitch with all the research they were being forced to do.
The boys spent half an hour in the aisles of Quality Quidditch before returning to the main street. Draco was frowning at the Firebolt display as they walked out, upset that his father still hadn’t given in to his wants.
Hadrian gestured toward the emporium ahead, “We can stock up on mice for the owls. Possibly ask about an order for Anithra.”
Draco laughed, “I don’t think mice will fill her.”
Hadrian grinned, “They may have some things we can special order.”
Draco nodded thoughtfully, “Cows. I think she’d enjoy a large raw steak.”
Hadrian rolled his eyes, “Prat.”
The boys sauntered into the store and glanced around for the nonexistent shopkeep. The only other person in the store was a boy in the reptile section, so it could be assumed the keep was in the back. Draco turned towards the cages beside the door and sneered at the first cat that hissed at him.
Hadrian sat against a window frame to wait out the shopkeep while Draco meandered away. Hadrian absently scratched a kitten’s nose as his eyes drifted to the glass cases in the back of the store where the other boy was standing. His eyes narrowed as he watched the blonde lean towards the glass.
A black snake was raised in front of the boy, rather attentive, hissing out to him.
The once cute kitten chose that moment to latch its teeth onto Hadrian’s finger. Hadrian glared at the beast before silently prowling closer to the terrariums, trying to make out what the serpent was saying. He quietly whispered Muffliato as he neared.
“§…are none of that speciesss here. You should try Knockturn Alley…§”
The blonde boy sighed, “§Thanks for the heads up. I assume the shopkeep knows this.§”
“§Yesss. But he can get whatever you ask for; for a priccce.§”
Hadrian smirked, “§Most would not be bold enough to speak openly on British soil.§"
The boy startled and turned. He was slightly taller than Hadrian and muscular for his height. His straw blonde hair was neatly coiffed to the right, and his blue eyes were calculative. And familiar.
The boy’s familiar blue eyes narrowed, "Pourquoi pas?"
Hadrian's brow rose, "French. Not many French speakers around here either."
The boy’s nose scrunched, and he spoke perfect English with a slight accent, "I'm a French wizard; of course, I'm bold enough to speak French."
Hadrian chuckled, pointing to the snake retreating to his warming rock, "You didn't speak Français to our little friend here."
The boy stiffened, "I made a hissing sound at a snake. Is that a crime?"
Hadrian’s smirk grew slowly, "Yet you understood my Parseltongue perfectly."
The boy frowned as he had been caught, his eyes flicked around the room, "it's a family gift."
"As is mine. It’s rather a rare talent.” Hadrian’s head tilted, “Are either of your parents English?"
The blonde boy’s roaming eyes still observed the otherwise empty shop; Hadrian had no idea where Draco had gone. He could only assume he was now upstairs looking at the stock of owls. Draco had always wanted his own eagle owl and routinely tried to persuade his parents to purchase one for him. Aunt Narcissa had stated they would only do so if he bonded with one. That left Draco on a mission.
The boy visibly sagged with relief when the door opened, "My mother."
Hadrian turned, and his eyes widened when they fell on the tall, slender woman in the doorway, his silencing charm falling around him like a tidal wave.
Hadrian took two steps back as he desperately looked around for Draco. He felt trapped.
He attempted to slow his breaths, breathing in and out, trying to settle his nerves, which seemed impossible. He was seconds away from a panic attack, and he knew it.
Petunia was here, in Diagon Alley.
Which meant the boy he had been talking to was none other than his cousin, Dudley. Well, Harry’s cousin. He hadn’t felt this caged in since he was a small child. Luckily, his uncle wasn’t in sight.
Only a few moments later did he remember that his uncle was gone. This thought let his brain register that he hadn’t been raised with the Dursleys for the past eight years and that Harry’s memories were not his own.
That thought helped more than any breathing exercise did.
He knew in this timeline that Vernon had gone to prison and died in prison. Severus had been diligent in keeping tabs on Harry’s world. But Hadrian also knew what Harry had gone through these past eight years. Harry’s home life had never been a highlight of the summer revision session Hadrian had with his family, going over Harry’s timeline. No, it hadn’t seemed necessary. This meant Hadrian was the only one to know that Harry’s Petunia and Dudley had not been innocent; they had contributed their fair share of Harry’s pain.
Only this Petunia and this Dudley were innocent, mostly. It wasn’t fair of him to lay Harry’s relatives’ crimes on the backs of the two before him.
The Dursleys eyed Hadrian with interest. He knew his reaction was abnormal.
As his breathing evened out, Hadrian called out in bas’tongue. Aureus slunk out of the shadows between the storeroom door and a large terrarium. His soft brown eyes roved over the room before he padded over to Hadrian, nuzzling into his side.
Both the woman and the boy stiffened at the sight of his father’s familiar appearing from the shadows.
Hadrian rubbed the grim between the eyes and croaked out in the language of Death, "¤Get Father and Severus. Tell them ‘Petunia’.¤" Aureus inclined his head and vanished into the shadow he had emerged from.
"C'était le Grim."
Hadrian chanced a glance up at his aunt, who was staring at the spot Aureus had been moments earlier. She was calm. No one ever responded calmly to meeting Aureus for the first time.
Finally getting a hold of himself, Hadrian pushed his anxiety behind his shields and blocked his emotions from openly portraying how he felt; occlusion had its benefits, after all.
Turning toward the blonde boy, Hadrian briefly nodded, "Dudley."
The boy stepped backward, pressing himself against the glass, his French-accented English wavering, "How do you know my name?"
Gaining courage from the look of fear on his cousin’s face, Hadrian smirked and turned toward the narrowed eyes of his aunt.
Petunia edged forward, her eyes roving over his face, as her hand dipped towards a pocket, "Do we know you?"
Hadrian nodded resolutely.
"Hadrian!"
All heads swiveled to the door, where Sirius stood with Severus, Aureus at their feet.
Severus stared openly at the woman, "Tuney?"
Aunt Petunia stiffened, "It’s Prunella now."
The storeroom door swung open with a loud creak, "I'm afraid I don't have that particular breed available, but I could owl order it if you are ‘kay with the wait."
While his words were directed at Dudley, his eyes had roamed the entire shop, lingering on Aureus.
Prunella held out a card, "That will be fine. Please owl us when it is available."
The clambering of footsteps on the stairs produced a frowning Draco with a bloodied finger held against his lips. His steps halted at the sight of the tense individuals in the room.
Severus sighed heavily, “Draco.”
Dudley paid no attention to the newcomer as he eyed the men in the door, "Mère, qui sont-ils."
Prunella smiled tightly at her son before locking eyes with Severus, "mon frère."
Sirius's eyes narrowed and swept towards the shopkeep.
The older man’s eyes caught the movement, and he raised a hand, “I’ve seen nothing, Lord Black. Nothing at all.”
His father’s silver eyes met Petunia’s calculative green, "Gringotts, now."
French translations (Per Google translate):
"Pourquoi pas?" — "Why not?"
"C'était le Grim." — "That was the Grim."
"Mère, qui sont-ils." — "Mother, who are they."
"mon frère." — “my brother.”