Chapter 1: Prologue: the letter
Chapter Text
The morning air was crisp, threaded with the scent of dew-dampened parchment and the faint aroma of coffee steeping in Severus Prince’s study. Hadrian sat at the long oak table in the manor’s breakfast room, fingers curled around a silver-rimmed teacup. He was dressed immaculately, as always—charcoal robes with emerald lining, dark curls brushed neatly back. Eleven years old, and already carrying himself like he belonged in a room of power.
The soft flutter of wings drew his eyes upward. A regal owl swooped in through the open window, landing with practiced grace on the arm of his chair. It extended one leg, bearing a letter sealed with a red wax crest.
Hadrian took the letter without surprise.
“Right on time,” he murmured, running a thumb over the Hogwarts seal.
Across the room, Severus Prince looked up from his newspaper, his dark eyes unreadable. “Open it.”
Hadrian broke the seal.
He read it silently, lips twitching just barely upward.
“I’m to be a student,” he said finally. “Sorted into one of the Houses, taught under your nose, and placed under Dumbledore’s watchful eye.” Severus rose from his seat, black robes rustling. “You will excel. And you will play your part—until we are ready.”
“And until then?” “You remain Hadrian Prince. My son. Not the boy they thought died. Not a pawn in Albus’s game.”
Hadrian folded the letter neatly. “Then I suppose we need robes. And a wand.”
⸻
Diagon Alley, a week later, was its usual chaos—a whirlwind of shouting street vendors, flapping robes, and gawking Muggleborns clutching parchment lists. Hadrian observed it all with detached amusement from beside his father, his fingers curled around the sleeve of Severus’s robe to avoid accidental brushing against the crowds.
“Try to look less disgusted,” Severus muttered. “You’ll be shopping here for the next seven years.”
“I’m only disgusted by the smell,” Hadrian said with a slight smirk. “Is that dragon dung or just poor hygiene?”
A polite cough behind them interrupted the exchange. “Severus. Hadrian.”
Lucius Malfoy approached with the grace of a man who’d never tripped in his life, Draco trailing beside him in robes already tailored and trimmed in Slytherin silver.
“Lucius,” Severus greeted with a nod. “Draco.”
“Are you ready to take Hogwarts by storm?” Lucius asked Hadrian with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Hadrian inclined his head. “I’m ready to observe. Then decide which part of it is worth burning down.”
Draco burst out laughing. Lucius blinked. “Charming,” he said carefully. “You’ll do well in Slytherin.”
“Thank you,” Hadrian said. “I intend to.”
⸻
At Madam Malkin’s, he and Draco were fitted side by side. Draco complained about the fabric; Hadrian adjusted his collar without a word. When Draco asked if he’d been to Knockturn Alley, Hadrian said, “I live with my father. Of course I have.” Draco’s eyes lit up like Christmas.
By the time they reached Ollivanders, Severus had discreetly charmed two nosy reporters into forgetting they’d ever seen them.
Inside, the wandmaker’s eyes widened slightly when Hadrian stepped forward. “Ah… yes,” Ollivander murmured. “You. I remember your mother’s wand. And your father’s.” He glanced at Severus. “Curious, very curious…”
Hadrian said nothing, only extended his hand.
The wand that chose him was 11¾ inches, yew, phoenix feather, rigid and cold in his grip—but it hummed with power when he lifted it.
Ollivander paled.
Severus narrowed his eyes. “Well?”
“The phoenix that gave this feather… gave one other,” Ollivander said quietly. “That wand… now rests in a museum. It once belonged to Gellert Grindelwald.”
Silence fell.
Then Hadrian smiled. “Fitting.”
Chapter Text
The steam billowed up from the scarlet engine, surrounding the platform in a mist that clung to the air like a secret. Students bustled past with trunks and owls, laughter echoing off the walls of Platform 9¾.
Among them, Hadrian Prince stood quietly, dressed in black with silver accents. His posture was confident but unassuming, dark hair falling neatly into place as though it obeyed his command. Beside him, Draco Malfoy looked far less subtle, already smirking like he owned the train.
“Come on,” Draco said, leading the way into one of the compartments near the back. “Before the blood traitors snatch the decent ones.”
Hadrian followed, sitting across from Draco and pulling a book from his satchel. Advanced Defensive Theory. A gift from his father, naturally.
They’d barely made it out of the station before the door to the compartment slid open.
“Excuse me,” said a girl’s voice, clipped and precise. “Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville’s lost one.”
Hadrian looked up.
She was bushy-haired, with a stern expression and a sense of urgency like she was on some great mission. She blinked when she met his gaze, as though momentarily thrown off by his calm stare.
“No toad here,” Hadrian said evenly. “Check the compartments three down. He might’ve wandered toward the food trolley.”
“Oh—thank you,” the girl said, but she lingered for just a second too long.
“You’re Hadrian Prince, aren’t you?”
Hadrian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes.”
“I read about you,” she said quickly. “Well, not you exactly, but the Prince family. Old pure-blood line, but not politically involved. Mostly academic. Is your father…?”
“Professor Prince,” Hadrian answered, tone cool but not unfriendly.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Are you going to quiz the whole train?”
The girl flushed. “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. Just trying to be helpful.”
She gave a tight smile and left.
Draco snorted. “Muggleborn, no question. Talks like a walking textbook.”
Hadrian didn’t respond. But he watched Hermione go, thoughtful.
⸻
The Great Hall – Sorting Ceremony
Candles floated in the enchanted air as first-years filed nervously toward the Sorting Hat. When Granger, Hermione was called, she practically sprinted to the stool.
“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted after only a moment, and Hermione smiled with satisfaction as she joined the red-and-gold table.
Then came the pause. Prince, Hadrian.
He moved with calm precision to the stool, ignoring the whispers that followed his name. Professor McGonagall gave him a look—not surprised, but acknowledging.
“I was wondering when I’d see you walk through these doors,” she said softly. “You have your mother’s eyes.”
Hadrian didn’t flinch, but he inclined his head.
“And your father’s spine,” she added, almost fondly.
He said nothing, only sat.
The Sorting Hat dropped onto his head and chuckled instantly.
“You again? Well, not you—you’re new. But there’s something familiar here. Ah… I see it. Yes. The discipline. The ambition. The buried temper. A Prince indeed. Let’s not waste time—SLYTHERIN!”
Cheers rose from the Slytherin table. Draco clapped him on the back as he slid into the seat beside him.
McGonagall watched him for a second longer than she had the others, her expression unreadable.
At the staff table, Professor Severus Prince inclined his head, his face unreadable. But Hadrian felt the faintest warmth in his chest at the look.
He had arrived.
Chapter Text
The first week at Hogwarts was chaos wrapped in candlelight and old stone. Lessons came fast, houses were divided, and rumors spread like wildfire.
Hadrian Prince didn’t need rumors.
Everyone already knew.
Professor Severus Prince, the cold, calculating Potions Master, had a son. And not just any son—Hadrian, elegant in posture, precise in speech, and already outperforming most of the upper years in subtle spell theory. There was no mystery in the bloodline. The resemblance was uncanny: same cutting stare, same controlled demeanor, same aura that warned people to stay out of reach unless they were ready to bleed.
But Hermione Granger didn’t take hints.
⸻
She found him in the library, seated at a table tucked into the far corner between the Potions section and the Ancient Runes shelf. He was alone, a chessboard set before him, playing both sides in silent calculation.
“Strategic thinking,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him uninvited.
He didn’t look up. “Persistent, aren’t you?”
She ignored the jab. “You know everyone’s talking about you, right? Not just because you’re brilliant, or terrifying, or weirdly quiet for a first-year—but because your father is the strictest professor in the castle.”
Hadrian raised an eyebrow, still not lifting his eyes from the board. “And you decided to add your voice to the noise?”
“No,” she said. “I wanted to see for myself.”
That earned her a look—curious, sharp, assessing.
“See what?”
“If the rumors are true. That you’re not just his son… but his heir.”
Hadrian actually laughed under his breath. It was dry and humorless. “Heir? We’re not some ancient dynasty. My father teaches Potions, not rules a kingdom.”
“Still,” Hermione said, eyes narrowed slightly, “you act like someone who’s been trained. Coached. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life to walk into this place and command it.”
Now he did look up, grey eyes meeting brown. Calm. Cold. “You see too much.”
She shrugged. “I read a lot.”
“Reading and understanding are not the same.”
“And yet here I am,” she shot back. “Understanding enough to know you’re playing chess alone. Why?”
He glanced at the board. “It’s easier when no one else makes mistakes.”
Hermione leaned forward slightly. “Afraid someone might surprise you?”
Hadrian smirked—barely. “Afraid someone might be worth the challenge.”
Hermione paused. “So challenge me.”
The silence that followed was not awkward—but weighted. Hadrian pushed the white pawn forward.
“Your move, Granger.”
Chapter Text
The dungeons of Hogwarts were always quiet after curfew, save for the occasional drip of water or the shuffle of house-elf feet. But tonight, as Hadrian stepped into his father’s office, the air was heavy with something else.
Professor Severus Prince stood behind his desk, tall and rigid, arms folded behind his back. The shelves were lined with bottles and books, every label handwritten, every surface spotless.
And seated in one of the two chairs opposite the desk—like she’d always belonged there—was Professor McGonagall.
Hadrian paused in the doorway. “You wanted to see me?”
Severus gestured silently. Hadrian entered, cloak brushing the floor, and took the remaining seat without hesitation.
McGonagall’s expression was the picture of calm authority, but her eyes flicked to Hadrian with something more complex. Respect. Curiosity. Maybe even concern.
“You’ve made quite an impression, Mr. Prince,” she said.
Hadrian inclined his head. “I assume that’s either a compliment or the beginning of a reprimand.”
A flicker of a smile touched her lips, quickly extinguished. “Neither. Though a few of your professors have noted your…advanced tendencies.”
“He was ready for them,” Severus said. His voice was smooth, but his eyes hadn’t left Hadrian. “He’s not the average first-year.”
“I’ve noticed,” she said mildly. Then, to Hadrian: “You’ve handled the attention well. Better than many adults would.”
“Let them talk,” Hadrian replied coolly. “They’ll tire of it.”
“They never do,” Severus murmured. He turned away, walking toward the shelves, his robes trailing like shadow. “Especially when you carry a name that invites questions.”
McGonagall’s gaze followed him. “You knew it would be like this. Bringing him here under your name, openly.”
“It was time,” Severus said sharply. “He is not a ghost. He is not a secret. He is my son.”
Hadrian remained still, listening.
McGonagall looked between them—two generations of precision and pride. “That doesn’t mean the road will be easy. You know how this castle eats the different ones alive.”
“He won’t be eaten,” Severus said. “He bites back.”
Hadrian smirked faintly at that.
McGonagall turned back to him. “And what about you, Hadrian? What is it you want from Hogwarts?”
A pause.
“Control,” Hadrian said.
That gave her pause.
“Over your future?” she asked.
“Over my name,” he said. “Over what people think they know about me.”
Silence fell like a dropped stone.
Then Severus stepped closer. His voice was quieter, almost—almost—gentle.
“You are not Harry Potter.”
“I know,” Hadrian said without missing a beat. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
McGonagall let out a slow breath, sitting back. “Well then. I expect I’ll be seeing more of you in my classroom.”
“You will,” Hadrian said. “And you’ll remember me for the right reasons.”
She stood, smoothing her robes, eyes glinting with something between warning and pride. “Let’s hope so, Mr. Prince.”
As she swept from the office, Severus finally allowed himself to lean against the desk. He didn’t speak for a long moment.
Then: “Minerva likes you.”
“I can tell,” Hadrian said. “She hides it terribly.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Severus’s mouth. “You’re still not to duel anyone until your second year.”
“No promises.”
They stood in silence together, shadows curling around them like old memories.
Chapter Text
The fire burned low in the hearth of the Headmaster’s office, casting long, flickering shadows across the stone floor. Bookshelves lined the walls, and silver instruments ticked and turned in slow, endless rhythms. It was a room made for secrets.
Professor McGonagall stood before the desk, hands clasped neatly in front of her. Her face was unreadable—calm, composed, and entirely within the boundaries of formality.
Across from her, Albus Dumbledore sat with his usual air of benevolent curiosity, eyes glinting faintly behind his spectacles.
“I wanted to ask your thoughts on young Mr. Prince,” he said gently, pouring himself another cup of tea. “He’s made quite the impression already.”
McGonagall didn’t blink. “He’s focused. Disciplined. Intelligent.”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said with a slight nod. “There’s a presence about him. More than just Severus’s influence. Don’t you think?”
She met his gaze evenly. “He is a first-year with considerable potential.”
Dumbledore studied her over the rim of his cup. “You’ve always had a good sense for these things, Minerva. Is there anything… else I should know about him?”
McGonagall paused just long enough to register the question—but not long enough to show it mattered.
“No,” she said simply. “Nothing you need concern yourself with.”
“Hmm.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “I must admit, I was surprised when Severus announced he had a son. He’s never been one to share.”
“People are allowed to keep parts of themselves private,” she replied. “Even from you.”
“Of course, of course,” he said mildly, but his tone held a note of disapproval, faint but deliberate. “I only worry when privacy might hide danger.”
McGonagall inclined her head. “He’s no danger to Hogwarts.”
Dumbledore tapped a finger against his cup. “Still. You’ll let me know if anything changes?”
“I will keep an eye on all my students,” she said. “As I always do.”
There was nothing more to read in her voice. No warmth. No warning. Just professional precision.
Dumbledore offered a faint smile. “Thank you, Minerva.”
She returned it with a slight nod and turned to go, her robes whispering across the stone.
Once the door closed behind her, Dumbledore sat alone in the firelight, staring into the flames.
He didn’t know it yet, but he’d just lost the trust of the one ally who had always stood beside him without question.
And Professor McGonagall?
She had never lied.
She simply chose not to tell him anything at all.
Chapter Text
The Great Hall was buzzing with midweek energy—students laughing, talking over one another, passing plates of food and parchment in equal measure. The ceiling above was clouded and dim, casting a cool grey tone over the long house tables.
Hadrian Prince sat at the Slytherin table, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable. He was reviewing a text on magical theory between bites of roast chicken—quiet, focused, untouched by the chatter around him.
Until a voice cut across the din, loud and graceless.
“Figures you’d be reading during lunch. Typical snake behavior.”
Hadrian didn’t look up immediately. He already knew the voice. The Gryffindor first-year with the loud mouth and little sense.
Ron Weasley.
He finally lifted his eyes. “Excuse me?”
Ron stood near the Slytherin table, hands on his hips, glaring as if Hadrian had insulted his family. “You lot always think you’re better than everyone else. Sitting there with your fancy books and smug faces.”
Hadrian raised a single eyebrow. “And you think yelling across the Hall makes you…what? The voice of the people?”
Ron bristled. “I think it makes me honest. At least I’m not hiding behind big words and black robes.”
Hadrian closed his book slowly. “I see. And what exactly do you think I’m hiding?”
Ron shrugged, but it was more bluster than certainty. “Don’t know. But there’s something off about you. You’re weird. Creepy, even.”
There was a subtle shift at the Slytherin table—Draco and a few others turning to listen. Hadrian’s eyes flicked to Ron with a cold, calculating precision.
“Is that your strategy, then?” Hadrian said calmly. “Announce your ignorance in public so no one else has to?”
A few chuckles from the Slytherins now.
Ron’s face turned red. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
“No,” Hadrian said smoothly. “I know I am. The fact that you don’t like it is irrelevant.”
“Whatever,” Ron muttered, turning to stalk back to the Gryffindor table.
Hadrian watched him go, then turned back to his book without another word.
Draco leaned in, smirking. “You didn’t even have to raise your voice.”
“I don’t need to,” Hadrian murmured. “Some people defeat themselves.”
After lunch—
The dungeons were damp and cold, the walls slick with centuries of condensation and silence. The only sound was the clink of glass and the low simmer of cauldrons warming to life.
Potions was never a quiet class. But today, there was an edge in the air.
Hadrian Prince sat at his workbench, neatly preparing the roots of asphodel with the kind of care that only came from long, quiet practice. His movements were fluid—elegant, almost—and entirely at odds with the restless noise of the other students.
Across the room, Ron Weasley was already huffing in frustration, a scorch mark on his table and powdered hellebore scattered across his notes.
“Are you blind or just incompetent?” Snape’s voice cut through the air like a knife, dark and measured.
Ron turned crimson. “It’s not my fault! The instructions are smudged—”
“The instructions,” Snape said coldly, “are on the board. If you bothered to read.”
A few students snickered. Hermione bit her lip, clearly torn between correcting Ron or staying silent.
Snape turned away, his robes billowing behind him as he passed by Hadrian’s station.
“Perfect consistency,” he said, voice quieter now. “As expected.”
A few Gryffindors scowled. Ron looked like he was going to choke on his own tongue.
“Oh, of course it’s perfect,” Ron muttered bitterly. “Wouldn’t dare criticize your own son, would you?”
The entire room froze.
Hadrian slowly looked up, expression still calm—but his eyes flashed, icy and sharp.
Professor Snape turned slowly, face like stone.
“What did you say, Weasley?”
Ron swallowed but stood his ground. “Everyone’s thinking it. He gets special treatment.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Detention. Tonight. And if you speak out of turn in my classroom again, I’ll make it a week.”
Ron looked ready to explode, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down before he could say another word.
Hadrian didn’t speak.
He didn’t have to.
He returned to his potion with unbothered grace, his voice just loud enough for those near him to hear:
“Some of us earn our marks, Weasley. Others just whine about them.”
A few of the Slytherins chuckled low under their breath.
Draco leaned in and whispered, smirking, “You really are your father’s son.”
Hadrian didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.
Ron’s cauldron bubbled violently—and promptly exploded.
Chapter Text
The dungeon corridors were quiet, echoing with the last footsteps of students heading back to their common rooms. Down at the far end, past a row of flickering torches, Hadrian reached an unmarked door—discreet and familiar.
He didn’t knock. He didn’t need to.
He stepped inside.
The warmth hit him first—low firelight, the smell of something herbal on the air. Books lined every inch of the walls. The deep green armchairs hadn’t changed. Neither had the man standing by the hearth.
Severus Snape looked up, and for the first time that day, his expression softened.
“You came.”
Hadrian nodded, closing the door behind him. “You asked.”
There was a pause, quiet and full of unspoken understanding.
Then Severus crossed the room in three steps and pulled him into a rare, tight embrace.
Hadrian didn’t hesitate—he leaned into it, closing his eyes, letting himself breathe properly for the first time all day.
“You were brilliant today,” Severus murmured into his hair. “Even if that idiot boy tried to get under your skin.”
“I didn’t let him,” Hadrian said, voice low against his father’s robes. “But it’s getting harder. He won’t stop.”
“I know,” Severus said quietly, arms still around him. “He won’t. But you’re stronger than him, and smarter. You always have been.”
They stood there for a few seconds longer—no masks, no roles, no need for them.
Finally, Severus pulled back just enough to meet his son’s eyes.
“You must keep control, Hadrian. For now.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.” His voice dropped. “You are everything they’re not ready for. Don’t give them a reason to fear you—yet.”
Hadrian gave a tired smile. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.” Severus reached up and brushed a lock of hair from his son’s face. “And because I know how hard you’ve worked for this. I won’t let anyone take it from you.”
Hadrian swallowed, something quiet and heavy in his chest. “I’m not afraid of them.”
“I know you’re not.” Severus looked at him with a rare softness, one few people ever saw. “But I worry. That’s my job.”
Hadrian smiled. “I thought your job was terrifying Gryffindors.”
“That’s a perk,” Severus said dryly.
They sat down near the fire, tea between them, silence settling in comfortably.
For the rest of the world, Severus Snape was cold, distant, untouchable.
But here, in this small, hidden room beneath Hogwarts, he was just a father.
And for Hadrian—this was the only place that ever truly felt like home.
Chapter Text
Defense Against the Dark Arts had always attracted a strange energy. Some students approached it like a game—dueling spells, flashy curses, dramatic stances. Others, like Hadrian, saw it for what it really was: survival.
Today’s class was focused on Shield Charms—simple in theory, difficult in practice.
The professor, a nervous man with a twitch in his wand hand, had split them into pairs.
Hadrian found himself standing beside someone quiet and visibly uncomfortable: Neville Longbottom.
He blinked in surprise, but said nothing.
Neville offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Everyone else grabbed a partner already.”
Hadrian studied him for a moment. Then gave a single nod. “That’s fine.”
Across the room, Draco raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Ron, however, was less subtle—he scoffed from a few feet away.
“You’ll be doing all the work, Prince,” he said. “Longbottom can barely hold a wand.”
Neville’s face flushed. He looked at the ground.
Hadrian’s voice came out cold and smooth. “Interesting, Weasley. And yet you’re not the one paired with me.”
The comment landed hard. Ron muttered something under his breath and turned away.
Hadrian turned to Neville. “Ignore him. He’s loud, not clever.”
Neville’s smile was small, but real.
They began working.
To Hadrian’s surprise, Neville wasn’t bad—his wand work was hesitant, but careful. Focused. And when he got frustrated, he didn’t complain. He just tried again.
Hadrian watched him block a small jinx on the third try. “You’re better than they say.”
Neville looked at him, startled. “You mean that?”
“I don’t waste words,” Hadrian said simply. “You’re not flashy. But you think. That’s more than I can say for most of them.”
Neville looked down at his wand, then back at Hadrian. “You’re not what they say, either.”
Hadrian tilted his head. “No?”
“They say you’re cold. Dangerous. That you think you’re above everyone.”
Hadrian’s expression didn’t shift. “And what do you think?”
Neville hesitated—then met his eyes. “I think you’re someone who doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean.”
Hadrian blinked.
Then nodded once. “You’re not wrong.”
By the end of the lesson, Neville’s Shield Charm held solid. The professor gave a startled, pleased nod.
“Excellent work, Mr. Longbottom. And… Mr. Prince.”
As the students filed out, Hadrian and Neville walked a few steps together.
“You don’t have to be on your own all the time, you know,” Neville said suddenly.
Hadrian looked sideways at him. “You offering company?”
Neville gave a slightly crooked smile. “I guess I am.”
Hadrian didn’t smile, not fully. But his voice softened.
“Then maybe you’re not as Gryffindor as you look.”
Neville laughed quietly. “Don’t let the others hear you say that.”
Chapter Text
Hadrian didn’t expect to notice her.
Not because she was forgettable—quite the opposite—but because she never gave anyone a reason to look twice.
Daphne Greengrass was quiet, poised, untouchable. Not in the way Pansy Parkinson was, loud and dramatic. Daphne moved like smoke: calm, cool, always a step out of reach. Most students couldn’t tell you what she sounded like when she laughed.
Which is probably why Hadrian noticed her first.
It was the library. Late evening. Students whispered between shelves, parchment rustling like restless leaves.
He sat alone at one of the side tables, a book on non-verbal countercurses open in front of him. He sensed her before he saw her—like an instinct.
When she stepped into his line of sight, she was scanning the top shelf for something. Her long fingers trailed along the spines, her brow furrowed.
She hadn’t noticed him.
And maybe he wouldn’t have said anything—maybe he would’ve just watched her walk away—
Except she muttered, “Who on earth re-shelves things by author instead of topic…”
His voice came without thinking.
“Madam Pince. She’s a sadist.”
She turned, eyebrows raised—surprised, not annoyed.
Hadrian held her gaze, expression unreadable. “Try the bottom shelf. Greengrass root theory is usually buried.”
She blinked. “You know what I’m looking for?”
“You’re holding a third-year Runes book,” he said. “Only three sections in it mention Greengrass root. And only one links it to spell degradation.”
A pause.
Then, a slow, amused smile. “You’re either very smart, or very nosy.”
He tilted his head slightly. “I prefer observant.”
She studied him for a moment, curiosity flickering in her eyes. Then she stepped closer and scanned the lower shelf—pulling out exactly what she needed.
“You were right.”
“Usually am.”
She glanced at him again—this time, really looked. “You’re Prince.”
“Hadrian,” he corrected. “If you’re going to judge me, might as well use my actual name.”
“I’m not judging,” Daphne said smoothly. “Just… collecting data.”
He smirked. “And what have you collected so far?”
She held his gaze. “You’re not like the others.”
“Neither are you.”
The corner of her mouth curved, just a little. “Maybe that’s why this is interesting.”
She didn’t say goodbye when she left, just gave him one last look over her shoulder—sharp, curious, lingering.
And Hadrian?
He stared after her a little longer than he meant to.
Chapter 10: Something that can’t be brewed away
Summary:
Hadrian speaks to his dad
Notes:
Idk once again
Chapter Text
It was late when Hadrian knocked on his father’s office door. Not the quarters. The office. He didn’t know why he chose this one—it just felt easier, somehow. Less… emotional.
Severus looked up from the stack of essays in front of him, one brow raised.
“You’re not in trouble, are you?” he said dryly.
Hadrian stepped inside and shut the door. “No. Not today.”
Severus gestured to the chair across from him, quill still in hand. “Then I assume this is either about homework, or something unpleasant.”
Hadrian hesitated.
“It’s… not unpleasant,” he said finally, settling into the seat. “Just… strange.”
Severus set the quill down. That got his attention.
Hadrian stared at the desk for a moment, then gave a low sigh. “There’s a girl.”
A beat of silence. Severus’s expression didn’t change—but his posture did. The slight shift that meant he was listening now. Carefully.
“Daphne Greengrass,” Hadrian added, like the name meant something that needed defending.
Severus nodded slowly. “A respectable family. Quiet girl. Intelligent.”
Hadrian nodded once. “She noticed something I was reading. Then we talked. It wasn’t—” He paused, frustrated. “It wasn’t anything major. But it stayed in my head. She stayed in my head.”
Severus’s gaze softened, just barely.
“She saw you,” he said after a moment. “Didn’t she?”
Hadrian glanced up. That struck closer than he expected.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Not the name. Not the rumors. Just… me.”
There was another pause—long, but not awkward. Severus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
“You’re allowed to feel things, Hadrian,” he said. “Even if they’re inconvenient.”
Hadrian smirked faintly. “You don’t.”
“I’ve made a career of not letting my feelings interfere,” Severus replied. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have them.”
That silenced Hadrian for a moment.
Severus added, more gently now, “You don’t have to understand it all right now. You don’t even have to act on it. But if she’s worth your time… pay attention. Real attention.”
“You mean, don’t treat it like a game.”
“I mean, don’t treat her like one.”
Hadrian nodded slowly. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Severus studied him for a long moment. Then—unexpectedly—his voice softened.
“Your mother would’ve liked her, I think.”
Hadrian blinked. He wasn’t sure why that hit so hard.
“Thanks,” he said, quietly.
Severus gave a small nod, then picked up his quill again. “Just don’t let Draco catch you writing poetry in your dorm. I won’t protect you from that.”
Hadrian snorted. “Noted.”
Chapter Text
Dinner was loud, even for Halloween.
Pumpkins floated lazily above the Great Hall, candles flickered in midair, and the tables were stacked high with sweets. Everyone was laughing, trading stories and sugar, lost in the warmth of it all.
Hadrian wasn’t.
He had a weird feeling in his chest—tight and restless. He hadn’t seen Daphne all day.
She wasn’t at the Slytherin table.
She wasn’t anywhere.
Then chaos struck.
“TROLL—IN THE DUNGEONS! Thought you ought to know!”
The doors flew open. Professor Quirrell burst in, pale and trembling. Gasps echoed across the room as teachers jumped to their feet.
For a split second, everyone was frozen.
Then panic.
Students screamed. Some stood, others ran. Professors shouted over the chaos, herding them back toward their common rooms.
Hadrian didn’t move.
His blood turned cold.
The dungeons.
Slytherins were already being pulled toward their entrance, but he wasn’t following.
“Where are you going?” Draco shouted, grabbing his sleeve as he pushed against the crowd.
Hadrian jerked free. “She wasn’t at dinner.”
“What—who—?”
“Daphne.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
He bolted from the Great Hall, slipping through gaps in the crowd like a shadow. The torches flickered wildly as he hit the stone staircase and took it down instead of up.
The deeper he went, the quieter it got. Everyone had evacuated. The dungeons were nearly empty.
Except—
A flicker of movement near one of the corridors. A shimmer of light.
He turned the corner, wand drawn—
And there she was.
Daphne. Standing near the wall, her wand lit, eyes sharp. Alone. Perfectly composed.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps, startled at first—but relaxed the moment she saw him.
“Hadrian?” she said, voice low.
He exhaled sharply. Slowed to a stop. “You’re alright.”
“You came looking for me.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Her expression shifted—something quiet and real passing through her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t see you at dinner,” he said, still catching his breath. “And when they said ‘troll in the dungeons’… I didn’t think. I just ran.”
She stepped forward, slowly. “I was in the library. Got caught up reading. I didn’t even know something was wrong until I felt the spells being thrown up in the halls.”
He nodded, still watching her carefully. “You should come with me. It’s not safe.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s not why I came.”
Daphne’s gaze flicked over him, like she was trying to read something between the lines. She smiled—small, but there.
“You’re not what I expected, Prince.”
“Neither are you.”
She took a step closer, brushing her shoulder lightly against his as they began to walk back toward the safe corridors.
“You know,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear, “if I were the dramatic type, I’d say you just saved me.”
He glanced at her sideways. “And if I were the dramatic type, I’d say I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t.”
She laughed under her breath. “Good thing we’re both terrifyingly composed.”
“For now.”
Chapter Text
The next morning, everything at breakfast was loud again.
Talk of the troll filled the Great Hall—exaggerated tales, frantic rumors, and dramatic retellings from students who hadn’t even been there.
Hadrian sat near the end of the Slytherin table, calmly buttering a piece of toast like nothing had happened.
But he felt her before he saw her.
Daphne slid onto the bench beside him without a word. A few nearby students blinked, surprised. She didn’t usually sit so close to anyone.
Hadrian glanced at her, quiet. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she replied, her voice low. She poured herself some tea, casually. Then—
“I thought about last night.”
He didn’t say anything.
She looked straight ahead as she continued, like she wasn’t really asking a question.
“You ran into the dungeons for me. No hesitation. Past teachers, past your housemates, past logic.”
Still, he stayed quiet.
She turned her head slightly toward him. “So I’m going to ask this once—and you can either lie, or not answer at all. Why?”
Hadrian froze for a moment, his knife pausing over the toast.
He didn’t look at her when he spoke.
“I didn’t think.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know,” he said. Then added, more quietly, “I just knew you weren’t at dinner. And when they said it was in the dungeons, my head went quiet and… everything pointed to you.”
Daphne tilted her head, watching him. “You don’t do things without a reason, Hadrian. You’re not reckless.”
“I wasn’t being reckless.”
“No,” she agreed. “You were being protective.”
That caught him off guard.
His fingers tightened slightly on the knife, and he finally looked at her. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“No,” she said softly. “Not at all. But it makes me wonder what else you’re not saying.”
He searched her face. “What do you think I’m not saying?”
She smiled—cool, sharp, intrigued. “I think you’re afraid to admit that someone got under your skin.”
A pause.
Then he smiled, just slightly. “I’m not afraid. Just… surprised.”
“Well,” she said, picking up her tea again, “I tend to have that effect.”
Their eyes met—and for a brief second, the din of the hall faded into nothing. Just two minds locked in mutual understanding, curiosity, and the quiet edge of something beginning to bloom.
Chapter Text
The Malfoy Christmas Ball was as extravagant as everyone expected.
Chandeliers of enchanted ice floated above the ballroom, casting a soft winter glow over the marble floor. Music from a self-playing quartet echoed through the air, and every guest sparkled in silk, velvet, and pride.
Hadrian stood near the edge of the ballroom, dressed in formal Slytherin green, black robes cut in sharp, tailored lines. His hair was neat for once—under duress from both Draco and his father—and a sleek black half-mask rested over his eyes.
He hated attention.
And yet, when the doors opened and Daphne Greengrass walked in, the entire room faded.
She wore deep blue robes that shimmered like a night sky, embroidered with tiny silver constellations. Her mask was delicate and crystalline, hiding just enough to leave mystery in her smile.
Draco let out a low whistle beside him. “Greengrass knows how to make an entrance.”
Hadrian didn’t reply.
She noticed him across the room almost immediately—and with her usual calm, unbothered grace, she made her way through the crowd.
When she reached him, she gave a slight, elegant tilt of her head. “Prince.”
“Greengrass.”
“You clean up well,” she said, teasing lacing her tone.
“You always look like that?” he countered.
She arched a brow. “Only when it matters.”
They stood there for a moment, in that space of almost-touching, not quite moving. Music rose again—slow and sweeping.
“Dance with me,” she said.
Hadrian blinked. “You’re asking?”
“I don’t do waiting,” she said, offering her hand.
He hesitated—but only for a second. Then he took it.
They stepped onto the dance floor. Eyes followed. Pureblood society watched, whispers rippling through the silver-draped crowd.
The boy raised by Severus Prince.
The Greengrass girl who never belonged to anyone’s script.
And yet, when they moved together—step for step, hand to waist, eye to eye—it was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“You don’t like this kind of attention,” Daphne said, voice low and private, just for him.
“No,” Hadrian replied. “But I don’t mind it with you.”
A beat passed. Her lips twitched into something just shy of a smirk.
“You know they’re going to talk,” she said.
“They already are.”
“What do you want them to say?”
He looked down at her—honest, serious.
“That you’re mine.”
Her breath caught, just briefly—but she didn’t look away.
“Then they’ll say I’m yours, too.”
And with that, they danced—perfect, poised, and untouchable.
But somewhere in that crowded ballroom, where silver masks hid judgment and envy alike, two sharp souls found something dangerously close to peace.
Chapter Text
The Great Hall sparkled with golden light, banners of red and gold draped from the ceiling. Gryffindors laughed, cheered, and raised goblets to the enchanted ceiling, already celebrating their victory before the numbers had even been read aloud.
Hadrian sat at the Slytherin table, calm as ever, between Draco and Daphne. He toyed with his spoon, eyes flicking to the front of the hall where the staff sat beneath their own silver-and-gold decorations.
Professor Snape nodded to him almost imperceptibly. Just once. Daphne leaned in slightly. “Do you think he’ll do it again?”
Hadrian’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “He’ll try.”
At the high table, Dumbledore stood. The hall quieted immediately.
“Another year come and gone,” he said, hands raised. “And as always, it’s time to announce the House Cup results.”
A flick of his hand, and golden numbers shimmered into the air.
Fourth place: Hufflepuff – 312 points.
Third place: Ravenclaw – 415 points.
Second place: Gryffindor – 472 points.
First place: Slytherin – 475 points.
The hall was silent for a second. The Slytherin table burst into cheers.
But Dumbledore didn’t sit down.
“However,” he said, “before we finalize our celebration, I believe there are some last-minute points to be awarded.”
Groans echoed from the Slytherin table. Daphne rolled her eyes.
“Here we go,” Draco muttered.
“To Miss Granger, for clever thinking under pressure—ten points. To Mr. Longbottom, for unexpected bravery—ten points. To Mr. Weasley—for loyalty to his friends—ten points.”
Dumbledore smiled that maddening, twinkling smile. “And to Mr. Potter—”
The Hall hushed.
Hadrian’s gaze narrowed.
“—Ah, forgive me,” Dumbledore said lightly. “To Mr. Prince—for displaying the true values of a Hogwarts student: intelligence, bravery, and heart… twenty points.”
There was an awkward pause. Some of the Gryffindors started to cheer—
But the new numbers appeared in the air.
Gryffindor – 502 points
Slytherin – 495 points
The Hall erupted with Gryffindor cheers.
Daphne stiffened beside Hadrian. Draco’s face darkened. Even a few Ravenclaws looked unimpressed.
But before Dumbledore could speak again, Professor McGonagall stood.
Her voice was sharp. Scottish steel under velvet.
“Headmaster,” she said, clear and precise. “I believe you’ve miscalculated.”
Dumbledore blinked, caught.
McGonagall flicked her wand, and a new figure shimmered into the air.
Slytherin – 507 points.
The Hall went silent again.
McGonagall folded her hands calmly. “You failed to count the twenty points awarded earlier this morning to Mr. Prince for solving the Vanishing Staircase mystery. It was entered by Professor Vector and approved by myself and the Deputy Headmistress.”
She looked down at Hadrian, expression unreadable—but proud.
“Slytherin wins the House Cup.”
The green and silver banners unfurled overhead.
For the first time in years, Slytherin roared in victory.
Hadrian didn’t smile wide. He didn’t need to. The satisfaction in his gaze said enough.
Beside him, Daphne leaned close and murmured, “History rewritten. With style.”
He met her eyes and said, “Let them watch.”
And oh—they did.
Chapter Text
The bells over the door to Flourish and Blotts jingled wildly as another family crammed into the already-too-full shop.
Hadrian stepped aside to avoid a flying stack of Break with a Banshee and shot a look at Daphne, who stood perfectly calm and poised despite the chaos around them.
“I hate crowds,” he muttered under his breath.
Daphne didn’t even look up from the book she was flipping through. “That makes two of us. But I suppose the Ministry wouldn’t approve of setting the place on fire, would they?”
“Tempting,” he said, dry.
In the center of the store, a golden velvet stage had been set up—glittering letters floating above it:
GILDEROY LOCKHART — Author, Adventurer, Icon.
And standing beneath the sign, positively preening, was Lockhart himself, teeth practically glowing, signing books with overly dramatic flair and tossing winks at the nearest cameras.
“Oh no,” Draco groaned from behind them, “he’s seen us.”
Too late.
“Ah! There he is!” Lockhart’s voice boomed over the crowd. “Young Mr. Prince! And Miss Greengrass! What an honor!”
Every head turned.
Hadrian’s jaw tightened. Daphne closed her book with deliberate slowness and handed it to a passing clerk.
“I swear to Merlin, if he tries to drag you onto that stage—” she began.
But Lockhart was already descending from his perch like a gilded falcon.
“Professor Snape’s son!” he said, sweeping Hadrian into an uninvited half-hug. “Brilliant young man. And quite the mystery last year, weren’t you? Top of your class in Potions and Defense—extraordinary!”
Hadrian resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.
“And Miss Greengrass, future star of the dueling circuit, no doubt! The two of you! Together—look at that!” Lockhart gestured dramatically, pulling them in closer as a photographer raised his camera. “Smile, now!”
The flash went off before either of them could move.
Daphne blinked once, then turned slowly toward Hadrian. “I’m going to kill him.”
“I’ll help.”
Lockhart finally let them go, beaming as he turned back to the crowd. “Look for their faces in the Daily Prophet! Rising stars of the next generation, ladies and gentlemen!”
They shoved their way out of the cluster of fans and ducked behind a stack of Transfiguration tomes.
“That man’s ego has its own gravitational field,” Hadrian muttered.
“He just used us for publicity,” Daphne added, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. “And I didn’t even get to hex him. Tragic.”
From nearby, Draco joined them, snorting. “At least he didn’t try to give you his hair care routine this time. Last year, I couldn’t get him to shut up about ’dragon-blessed volume.’”
“Are we done here?” Hadrian asked, exasperated.
“Almost,” Daphne said, suddenly smiling just a little too sweetly. “But before we go, I want to stop by the apothecary.”
“Why?”
“I need powdered bicorn horn,” she said, walking ahead.
“What for?”
“To enchant Lockhart’s quill to leak all over his robes next time he signs one of his masterpieces,” she said without turning around. “Obviously.”
Hadrian exchanged a look with Draco, and for the first time that afternoon, he grinned.
“Remind me never to get on her bad side,” Draco muttered.
Hadrian just said, “Too late.”
Chapter Text
The first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year was, as expected, a complete circus.
Lockhart had transformed the room into what felt more like a vanity museum than a classroom—walls lined with framed photos of his own face mid-wink, shelves stacked with pristine, untouched copies of his many books, and a chalkboard covered in glittering script that simply read:
“Gilderoy Lockhart—A Living Legend.”
Hadrian sat near the back beside Daphne, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He didn’t like Lockhart. He hadn’t from the moment the man dragged him into a photo op over the summer. And now, with the man’s attention fixed directly on him, that dislike had curdled into something heavier.
Lockhart swept into the room in his ridiculous aquamarine robes, hair slicked back like he was walking into a fashion show rather than a lesson.
“Ah, my young scholars! And of course… Hadrian Prince.”
Hadrian didn’t flinch, but he felt Daphne shift beside him.
Lockhart gave him a radiant smile. “I must say, it’s so good to have someone like you in my class. A natural prodigy, much like myself at your age!”
He walked toward Hadrian’s desk—closer than necessary—and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. “I expect great things from you this term. Perhaps you’ll even be a guest contributor in my upcoming memoir?”
Hadrian stiffened, his jaw tight. He shrugged subtly, enough to dislodge the hand.
Lockhart didn’t seem to notice—or pretended not to. “Now, now, don’t be shy,” he said, still smiling, still looking directly at him. “It’s important to shine when you’ve been gifted, Mr. Prince. And you’ve certainly inherited your father’s talents… though I daresay you’ve got more stage presence.”
A low murmur went through the classroom.
Daphne’s hand twitched beside her wand.
Draco, two rows over, frowned deeply.
Hadrian didn’t speak. His silence, his narrowed eyes, spoke volumes.
Lockhart finally turned away. “Now! Let’s test how well you’ve all studied my books! Who can tell me what I used to defeat the Wagga Wagga Werewolf?”
Hermione’s hand shot up—predictably.
Lockhart called on Hadrian instead.
“Mr. Prince?” He smiled with too many teeth. “Surely you know. Or perhaps you’d rather act it out for us? I could be the werewolf. You, the heroic young spellcaster—very photogenic, by the way—”
“Polyjuice Potion and a silver-threaded net,” Hadrian said flatly, cutting him off. “Page forty-three. Or page twenty-one, if you skip the self-inserted poetry.”
Several students laughed. Lockhart’s smile faltered.
Hadrian met his gaze with calm steel. “Are we here to learn Defense, or do you want us to memorize your fan mail?”
Silence stretched for a beat too long.
Then Lockhart laughed—far too loud. “Ah! Witty! Very witty! That Severus bite, yes! Well, I do admire a sharp tongue.”
Hadrian leaned back slowly in his chair, eyes still on Lockhart. “I admire an actual curriculum.”
The class exploded with suppressed laughter.
Lockhart turned, laughing stiffly, and moved to the board at last. “Yes, well! Let’s begin our quiz, shall we? Page 3 of your booklets—thirty questions, all about my published adventures!”
As Lockhart droned on, Daphne leaned in and whispered, “If he touches you again, I’m setting his robes on fire.”
Hadrian didn’t smile, but the tightness in his shoulders eased, just slightly.
“Promise?” he murmured.
Chapter Text
Hadrian didn’t wait for dinner.
He left the Great Hall early, appetite soured from Lockhart’s fawning—and something he couldn’t quite name sitting like ice in his gut. He didn’t like being touched without warning. He didn’t like being watched like that.
By the time he reached the entrance to the dungeons, his fists were clenched at his sides.
When the door to his father’s quarters opened, Severus Prince barely had time to look up before his son spoke.
“I need to talk to you.”
Severus stood, setting aside a parchment he’d been reviewing. The sharpness in his posture changed instantly—alert, coiled.
“What happened?”
Hadrian didn’t pace—he rarely did—but now he moved to the fireplace, jaw tight.
“Defense class.”
Severus’s eyes narrowed. “Lockhart.”
Hadrian nodded. “He kept singling me out. Talking about how I’ve got ‘presence’ and how he expects ‘great things.’ He called me photogenic. Touched my shoulder. Twice.”
Severus was silent for a long beat.
When he finally spoke, his voice was cold as potion steel.
“Where?”
Hadrian blinked. “What?”
“Where did he touch you? How long? Did he say anything else?”
Hadrian turned, caught off guard by the ice in his father’s voice. “Just—my shoulder. But the way he looked at me, the way he smiled… it was—”
“Wrong,” Severus finished, eyes darkening. “You’re not overreacting.”
That surprised Hadrian.
“I’m not?”
Severus moved around the desk, standing still, thoughtful—but not calm.
“I have spent enough years around men like Gilderoy Lockhart to recognize performance when I see it. But I’ve also spent enough time with dangerous egos to know the difference between arrogance and intent.”
He stepped closer.
“I want specifics, Hadrian. Every comment. Every gesture. If he so much as breathes near you inappropriately again, I’ll hex the vanity out of him.”
Hadrian smirked faintly—then looked down. “You think I’m safe?”
Severus didn’t answer with words.
He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his son, pulling him into a rare, grounding hug—tight and certain. Hadrian leaned into it, head against his father’s shoulder, tension bleeding away.
“You are mine,” Severus said softly. “And no one—no matter how famous or well-dressed or well-connected—has the right to make you feel unsafe. Do you understand?”
Hadrian nodded slowly.
“I’ll be watching him,” Severus said, voice lower now. “If anything changes—if he so much as lingers—I want to know.”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
They stood there a moment longer before Severus released him, but his hand lingered briefly on Hadrian’s shoulder—a real, protective gesture.
And Hadrian, for the first time that day, felt steady again.
Chapter 18: The line crossed
Summary:
Lockhart becomes a bigger creep
Notes:
There is inappropriate things going on between a teacher/student don’t like just skip
Chapter Text
Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn’t a class anymore—it was a performance.
Lockhart didn’t teach. He paraded.
He spoke in riddles of glory, flung around names of creatures he’d allegedly conquered, and tossed flirtatious smiles at anything that moved. Especially Hadrian.
Hadrian barely paid attention anymore. He sat stiffly in his seat, body tense, skin prickling every time the man’s voice dipped too low in his direction. He didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch. But the stillness? That said more than enough.
He dropped his quill.
It hit the floor with a soft clatter.
Hadrian leaned down, reaching for it, letting his fingers find the worn wood on autopilot.
And then—
Contact.
A hand. Palm low, warm, wrong. Too familiar.
And it didn’t move away.
Not right away.
One second.
Two.
Time fractured.
The classroom faded. Sound dulled. He was still half-bent, still frozen.
His lungs stalled.
He wasn’t in Hogwarts anymore. Not really.
Just somewhere far away in his own mind, where everything had turned to static.
And then it was over.
The hand disappeared like it had never been there. Lockhart’s steps continued on. The lesson carried on.
Hadrian straightened up slowly, his face unreadable—but his pupils were too wide. His breathing just a bit too shallow. His posture too careful, like he was forcing his limbs to work.
He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
But Daphne had seen.
She had seen everything.
Her blood was ice and fire all at once, her wand hand twitching with restraint she wasn’t sure she could hold much longer. But she didn’t speak. Not in front of everyone. Not yet.
She waited.
When the bell rang, Hadrian stood without a word.
She caught his arm gently. “You need to talk to your father. Now.”
His eyes flicked to hers. For just a second. And in that second, she saw it—
He hadn’t processed it.
Not really.
But something inside him had shattered anyway.
“Okay,” he said softly, and walked away without another word.
He didn’t remember leaving the classroom.
Hadrian’s legs moved, but the world was dimmed—muted, like sound underwater. Students passed him in the corridors, laughter and chatter bouncing off the stone, but it was all muffled. Unimportant. Distant.
The walls of the castle blurred past.
Left. Down. Left again.
Steps.
A door.
His hand lifted without thinking and knocked twice.
The sound was too sharp. Too real.
The door opened immediately, and there he was.
Severus Prince. Robes dark, hair shadowing his face, eyes immediately narrowing in concern.
“Hadrian.”
His voice sliced through the fog like sunlight through mist.
Hadrian blinked.
His knees gave out.
Severus caught him.
“What happened?”
The question floated in the air—but this time, Hadrian could hear it. The dam cracked. The numbness receded. And the pressure in his chest returned, vicious and real.
Hadrian’s voice came out hoarse. Barely there.
“In class… I dropped my quill…”
Severus helped him to the nearest chair, hands steady but urgent.
“Lockhart,” Hadrian said, louder now. “I bent down—and he—he touched me.”
Severus froze.
Hadrian pressed his palms to his face, as if trying to hold everything inside.
“Not like a mistake,” he said. “He meant it. He waited. His hand—stayed there. It wasn’t just a brush.”
His throat closed.
“I didn’t move. I didn’t do anything. I just—stood up. Like it was fine. I didn’t feel anything. And now I can’t stop feeling it—”
His voice cracked.
Severus was beside him in a heartbeat, kneeling, gripping Hadrian’s shoulders.
“Look at me.”
Hadrian did.
Severus’s expression was thunderous—not at him, never at him—but at the world. At the man who had dared touch his son. His voice was steady, but there was fury in every word.
“You did nothing wrong. Nothing. Do you understand me?”
Hadrian nodded slowly, trying to breathe past the shaking.
“I didn’t even realize it had happened. Not really. Until Daphne told me she saw. Then it was like it all… hit at once.”
Severus pulled him into a hug—tight, grounding.
“You are safe now,” he murmured. “And I will never let him near you again. This I swear to you, Hadrian.”
And Hadrian believed him.
For the first time since the fog rolled in, he felt like he could breathe again.
Chapter Text
Severus didn’t waste a second.
He told Hadrian to stay in his quarters, just for now, just to breathe. But Hadrian refused.
“I need to see it through,” he said quietly. “If I go back to pretending everything’s fine, I’ll lose it.”
So they went together.
Severus kept one hand lightly on Hadrian’s shoulder as they strode through the halls, his robes billowing with every furious step. They reached Professor McGonagall’s office quickly. She was still in her tartan, grading essays at her desk, but her eyes sharpened the moment she saw them.
“Severus?” she asked, then looked at Hadrian. Her voice softened. “Hadrian, dear—what’s wrong?”
Severus spoke first. “We need a moment. It concerns Lockhart.”
Her mouth tightened.
The door closed with a flick of her wand. She stood slowly, crossing to them with quiet authority.
Hadrian drew in a breath. And then—
“He touched me. Today. In class. When I bent to pick something up.”
McGonagall went still.
“Where?”
“My behind. It lingered. Daphne saw.”
McGonagall’s expression didn’t twist or flinch—but a chill fell over the room. A controlled, calculating silence.
“How long has this been happening?” she asked.
Severus’s voice was like ice. “Too long.”
McGonagall nodded once. “Then we will go to the Headmaster. Now.”
⸻
The walk to Dumbledore’s office was short, but every step pressed like a stone in Hadrian’s chest.
He stayed close to his father. McGonagall walked ahead of them, every movement clipped and precise. Her jaw was tight. Her wand was in her sleeve.
The gargoyle moved aside without challenge.
They ascended the stairs in silence.
“Ah—Minerva, Severus!” Dumbledore greeted brightly as they entered. “Hadrian, my boy, this is a surprise—”
“Save the pleasantries,” Severus said coldly. “This is not a social visit.”
Dumbledore blinked, gaze shifting between them. “Oh?”
McGonagall spoke crisply. “We’ve come to inform you that Professor Lockhart has been inappropriate with a student.”
There was a brief pause—just long enough to be noticed.
Dumbledore’s brows lifted, but his voice stayed smooth. “I… see. And the student?”
Hadrian stepped forward.
“Me.”
Dumbledore’s smile faltered. “Ah.”
Severus’s voice dropped to a near growl. “He touched my son today. In class. In a manner that was not accidental.”
“I witnessed the aftermath,” McGonagall said. “And Miss Greengrass confirmed it.”
Hadrian clenched his hands at his sides. “He’s been too close for weeks. This wasn’t new. It’s just the first time someone else saw it.”
There was a long silence.
Then Dumbledore sighed—quietly, sadly, like this was all just unfortunate. “This is, of course, deeply troubling,” he said. “But I must remind you that allegations of this nature require caution—”
Severus’s wand was in his hand.
McGonagall didn’t move to stop him.
Hadrian’s stomach turned.
“There is no allegation, Albus,” Severus said in a deadly voice. “There is proof. There are witnesses. And if you so much as consider shielding him behind his public persona—”
“You will lose more than your Potions Master,” McGonagall finished coldly.
Dumbledore looked at them, calculating.
Then he nodded, slowly.
“I will see that he is placed on immediate leave while the matter is reviewed.”
“That’s not enough,” Severus snapped. “You remove him. You do not shuffle him aside quietly.”
Dumbledore folded his hands. “I will… do what must be done. In time.”
Hadrian stared at the Headmaster then. And for the first time, he saw the cracks behind the twinkle—the man who measured lives like chess pieces.
And he hated it.
Chapter 20: The line that wasn’t redrawn
Summary:
Hadrian breaks down a price of one of his many many walls
Notes:
Emotional breakdown and dismal of serious stuff by dumbledore of course
Chapter Text
They reconvened in Professor McGonagall’s office that evening.
Hadrian sat stiffly in a conjured chair beside his father, who hadn’t let go of his arm since the meeting ended. McGonagall stood by the window, pacing, her lips a thin line of fury.
The fire crackled.
But the room was cold.
Dumbledore had made his decision.
“Professor Lockhart,” he had said gently, “has been informed of the new boundaries. He will remain no less than three feet from Mr. Prince at all times, and will not address him unless necessary for classroom instruction.”
That was it.
No dismissal.
No investigation.
Just boundaries. As if that would erase what happened.
As if it hadn’t already.
Severus hadn’t spoken since. Not one word. His silence was deafening.
McGonagall broke it first.
“This is unconscionable,” she snapped. “Three feet? He should be gone. Out of the castle. Out of the country.”
“Albus is protecting his own image,” Severus said flatly, voice like a blade. “Again.”
“He always does,” McGonagall murmured bitterly.
Hadrian stared at the rug. His fingers were locked together so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
He didn’t even know what emotion he was feeling anymore. Anger, maybe. Disgust. Confusion. Shame—though he knew it wasn’t his to carry.
And then, quietly, his voice cracked open the stillness:
“What was the point of telling the truth?”
Severus’s head snapped to him.
Hadrian didn’t look up.
“I did everything right. I said something. I came to you. I trusted—”
His breath caught.
“I told the truth,” he whispered, “and he still gets to be there.”
His father moved instantly, pulling him close. Hadrian didn’t fight it. Didn’t even try to hold it in this time. The grief came fast—hot, furious tears he hadn’t even realized were waiting. He pressed his face into Severus’s shoulder and sobbed, shuddering, unraveling completely.
McGonagall stood frozen for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she walked over.
She didn’t speak.
She just placed a hand on Hadrian’s back and stood beside them.
Steady. Silent. Present.
“I should have protected you from the start,” Severus said quietly, wrapping Hadrian tighter. “I will not fail you again.”
“I just wanted it to stop,” Hadrian choked out. “I didn’t want to make trouble. I just wanted to be safe.”
“You will be,” McGonagall said, voice hoarse. “I swear it, Hadrian.”
He believed her.
But in that moment, it didn’t make the betrayal sting any less.
Chapter Text
By breakfast the next morning, the entire castle knew something had happened.
Lockhart looked rattled.
Not disheveled exactly—but twitchy. Tighter in his smile. His usual flamboyant greetings had been replaced with clipped nods, and most notably, he didn’t walk through the corridors alone.
He had escort.
Filch shadowed him between classes now, hovering like a prison guard.
That was when the rumors started.
“Did you hear?” a Hufflepuff whispered to another as they passed through the courtyard. “He’s not allowed within three feet of one of the students. Some sort of… restriction.”
“Who?” someone else asked.
No one knew.
By dinner, the theories were flying.
“A parent found out he was giving too much attention to a girl—maybe someone from Beauxbatons,” one Ravenclaw said.
“No,” a Gryffindor muttered. “He probably made a pass at the wrong Pureblood heir. Bet it’s political.”
The Slytherin table was quieter than usual. The younger years weren’t talking much. And everyone kept stealing glances toward Hadrian.
They didn’t know—but Daphne hadn’t left his side once all day. Draco was quieter too, watchful. Protective.
It didn’t take a genius.
“Do you think they know?” Hadrian muttered to Daphne under his breath, keeping his head down.
“They don’t,” she said. “They’re guessing. No one knows for sure.”
“But they’re watching me.”
“Let them,” she said with quiet venom. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Hadrian stabbed at his potatoes. His appetite hadn’t returned.
“Still feels like I’m the one on trial.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But you’re not alone.”
At the staff table, Lockhart kept his gaze pointedly away from the Slytherin table. McGonagall looked ready to hex someone. Severus? He didn’t even eat—he just sat, watching the room, one hand wrapped tightly around a goblet that hadn’t been refilled.
Hadrian felt the pressure of it all pressing in—eyes, whispers, the growing awareness that a secret was trying to break its shell.
But for now, it held.
Barely.
Chapter 22: Too close for comfort
Summary:
Lockhart takes one wrong step
Chapter Text
It was a Ravenclaw who got too curious.
Terry Boot, third year, sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued. Always watching, always listening. He was one of the first to pick up on what the rest of the castle had missed:
Lockhart no longer called on Hadrian in class.
He didn’t even look at him.
But Hadrian’s table group had shifted. He sat further back now. Always near Daphne. Never without Draco hovering nearby. And Lockhart? He hovered near everyone else.
Terry mentioned it in the common room.
“Doesn’t it seem a bit… deliberate?” he asked, eyes flicking to Anthony Goldstein.
“What?”
“Lockhart avoiding Prince like the bloody plague.”
Anthony raised a brow. “So?”
“I dunno. Just—what if Prince is the one with the three-foot order?”
Anthony frowned. “You think?”
“I’m watching. I’ll figure it out.”
The next Defense Against the Dark Arts class only added fuel to Terry’s suspicion.
Because Lockhart made a mistake.
A big one.
⸻
Class was the usual farce. Lockhart dramatically read from Wandering with Werewolves while the students doodled or dozed.
Hadrian stayed quiet. Eyes on the page. Not really reading.
Daphne tapped his boot under the desk, once, in silent support.
Then it happened.
Lockhart moved through the rows, over-pronouncing some anecdote about a “blistering duel in Transylvania”—and he walked past Hadrian’s desk.
Too close.
Far too close.
Hadrian felt it before he saw it—Lockhart’s sleeve brushing the edge of his cloak. His hand briefly on the back of Hadrian’s chair. His voice dropping, “Ah, Prince, you would’ve appreciated the spellwork involved…”
Hadrian’s vision tunneled.
Daphne sat up straight, her hand twitching toward her wand. Her eyes locked on Lockhart like a hawk watching prey.
Lockhart didn’t touch him. Not directly.
But it was enough.
Hadrian’s breath shortened, quick and tight.
Three feet.
That was the rule.
Daphne stood up.
“Professor,” she said sharply, “you’re in violation of the Headmaster’s order.”
Lockhart blinked. “Pardon?”
“You’re within three feet of Hadrian. Step back. Now.”
The room fell quiet.
Terry Boot’s eyes widened—there it was.
Confirmation.
Hadrian’s hands shook under the desk, yet to the class he was as composed as ever.
Lockhart took a step back, chuckling nervously. “Ah, right you are. Quite right, Miss Greengrass. Slipped my mind.”
No one laughed.
The tension hung heavy. Awkward. Sour.
Class resumed—but no one was paying attention anymore.
And Hadrian?
Hadrian’s heart was still racing.
Chapter 23: Run to dad
Summary:
Hadrian runs to his dad
Chapter Text
He couldn’t breathe again.
The classroom faded into a smear of sound—quills scratching, murmured whispers, Lockhart’s voice still echoing in the back of his head. The chair. The voice. The touch.
Too close.
Too close.
Hadrian shoved his books into his bag with trembling hands, barely hearing Daphne’s worried voice behind him.
He didn’t answer.
He just ran.
Through the corridor. Down the stairs. Past startled portraits and confused ghosts.
One name, over and over in his mind:
Dad.
⸻
The door to the Potions classroom slammed open.
Seventh-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws turned in their seats, startled, wands half-raised—but Severus Prince only needed one look.
He was at Hadrian’s side in an instant.
“Out,” he barked at the class without looking back. “Now. All of you. Out.”
They didn’t argue.
Chairs scraped. Cauldrons hissed as students scrambled to pack up. No one dared say a word—not with that look on the professor’s face.
Hadrian was clutching the front of Severus’s robes, shaking.
“He got too close,” he gasped. “He—he—he brushed me, he touched my chair—he leaned in and I—”
His words dissolved into ragged sobs.
Severus wrapped both arms around him instantly, pulling him close and shielding him with his whole body.
“You’re safe,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re here. He can’t touch you here.”
“But he did,” Hadrian choked out. “He wasn’t supposed to. They said three feet—and he broke it—and I can’t do this again.”
Severus’s voice was low and deadly in his ear. “He’ll regret it.”
Hadrian gripped him harder, burying his face in his father’s chest.
“I’m trying to be strong,” he said. “I am. But it feels like I’m falling apart.”
“You don’t have to be strong alone,” Severus said, one hand cradling the back of Hadrian’s head. “Not with me. Not ever.”
The classroom was silent now. Empty. Just the low simmer of forgotten cauldrons and the sound of one boy breathing through the weight of survival in his father’s arms.
Chapter 24: To dumbledore’s office we go
Summary:
They bombard dumbledore
Chapter Text
The castle echoed with each step.
Severus walked like a thundercloud—Hadrian at his side, pressed close under one protective arm. His wand hand never left his robes. His face was carved from stone.
Professor McGonagall was waiting at the foot of the spiral staircase.
She didn’t speak.
She looked at Hadrian, at the blotchiness around his eyes, the tremble still lingering in his hands—and something in her face broke. She nodded once, curt and silent, and stepped into pace beside them.
They rose together.
The trio entered Dumbledore’s office without knocking.
Dumbledore looked up from his desk, the ever-present tea set in front of him. “Ah, Severus—Minerva. Hadrian. This is—”
“Enough,” Severus growled.
Dumbledore blinked.
Severus stepped forward, not bothering with restraint. “He broke the distance order. Today. In a full classroom. He touched Hadrian’s chair. Leaned in. Spoke to him. Again.”
Hadrian stayed still, chin lifted slightly—but his hands were fists at his sides.
Minerva folded her arms, her voice low and sharp. “This is no longer a whisper of impropriety. This is willful defiance.”
Dumbledore sighed, setting down his teacup. “Let us not be hasty—”
“Hasty?” Severus snarled. “You gave him a chance. A warning. You let a predator remain in this castle and trusted him to play by your rules like it was a game.”
Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. “I understand you are upset—”
“Upset?” Hadrian said, voice sharp and shaky. “He made me afraid to go to class. He made me feel helpless in front of my friends. I trusted you, and you gave him a line to toe instead of a door to leave through!”
McGonagall stepped forward.
“If he isn’t gone by nightfall,” she said coldly, “I will go to the Board of Governors myself.”
“You would undermine my—”
“Yes,” she said.
Dumbledore finally looked at Hadrian—really looked at him.
And for the first time, he saw something he couldn’t deflect or smile away: the raw, quiet wreckage in a boy who’d kept it together for too long.
Hadrian met his gaze.
Unflinching.
“He won’t touch me again,” Hadrian said. “Because if he does… you will be the one I hold responsible.”
The room fell silent.
Dumbledore looked away.
“I will… speak with Professor Lockhart.”
“No,” Severus said, voice like steel. “You will remove him.”
Chapter 25: A stage-like cage
Summary:
Lockhart has new rules to follow
Chapter Text
The change was announced without ceremony.
A short note posted to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom door the next morning, in Dumbledore’s elegant, infuriating script:
-Professor Lockhart is to conduct lessons from the front half of the classroom only. Students in rows five through ten will not be approached directly under any circumstance.-
This is non-negotiable.
Students clustered around it, whispering furiously.
“Why isn’t he gone?” Anthony Goldstein muttered. “Seriously, what did he do?”
“Nothing that matters to the Headmaster,” Daphne snapped, pulling Hadrian gently past the knot of bodies.
Hadrian said nothing.
He didn’t need to.
The eyes that turned to watch him as he walked to his desk—row nine—said enough.
Everyone had put the pieces together now.
But no one said it aloud.
⸻
Class was… strange.
Lockhart’s cheerfulness was louder than usual. Desperate. Forced. His robes were more flamboyant. His grin wider.
He never left the front half of the classroom.
Not once.
He didn’t even look back toward Hadrian’s row, even when he called on students near him.
“Ah—yes, Miss Greengrass!” he beamed, still facing the chalkboard. “Why don’t you read the next passage aloud? I’m sure your voice will carry marvelously to the rest of us.”
Daphne did. Ice in her tone.
Draco, sitting beside Hadrian, whispered under his breath, “If I ever see him try it again, I swear—”
Hadrian didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on Lockhart’s feet.
He never stepped past the midpoint tile.
Twelve feet.
That was the new rule.
An invisible cage. A stage he wasn’t allowed to leave.
Hadrian sat beyond it—silent, unmoving, watching.
And even though it was meant to be protection, it only reminded him that the man was still here.
Still allowed.
Still pretending.
Chapter 26: Staff room convos
Chapter Text
The staff room was unusually tense.
Hadrian sat in the corner of the room, reading.
Lockhart wasn’t there, of course. He’d stopped showing up after the restrictions were made public. Claimed he “preferred to take his tea privately.”
No one missed him.
Minerva sat stiff-backed in a winged chair by the fire, a tartan shawl across her shoulders. Her lips were drawn into a line so thin it could slice parchment.
Filius Flitwick sat on the arm of the opposite chair, fidgeting with his wand. “Twelve feet,” he muttered. “As though distance alone is a safeguard.”
Pomona Sprout shook her head. “I’d have had him gone the moment a student came forward.”
“He didn’t come forward,” Minerva said coldly. “He broke down. In my office.”
That silenced the room for a beat.
Severus leaned against the hearth, arms crossed, his usual sneer traded for something colder—quieter. Rage, distilled and bottled, but seeping through the cracks.
“Dumbledore claims we must maintain appearances,” he said flatly. “He’s more concerned with Lockhart’s image than my son’s safety.”
“You did the right thing,” Pomona said, nodding at him. “Dragging him straight there.”
“I shouldn’t have had to,” he growled. “It shouldn’t have come to that.”
“Does Hadrian know we’re behind him?” Filius asked.
Minerva’s expression softened. “I’ve made sure he does. Quietly. But he’s still… keeping distance.”
“Can you blame him?” Severus murmured.
The staff room door creaked, and Rolanda Hooch slipped in, still wind-flushed from practice.
“Word is, the students are starting to talk,” she said, dropping her gloves into her cloak pocket. “They don’t know, not exactly, but… they’re not stupid.”
“They shouldn’t have to protect each other from their professors,” Minerva said sharply. “That should be our job.”
The room fell into heavy silence again.
It was clear now: the staff was splintering.
There was Dumbledore, in his gilded tower of tolerance.
And then there was everyone else—watching, waiting, choosing their lines in the sand.
And for the first time, it was clear to Hadrian—he was not alone.
Chapter 27: Truth in the spread out word
Chapter Text
It was late in the afternoon. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows through the castle windows. The courtyard was quiet, but not for long.
Madame Hooch had just finished up with the last of the flying lessons for the day, and Professor Sprout was heading back toward the greenhouses. Their voices, usually brisk and clipped, were lowered now, as if they thought the empty hallways would keep their conversation private.
“I still don’t understand why Dumbledore didn’t remove him right away,” Hooch said, her voice tight with frustration. “The boy—he was practically shaking when he came to Minerva’s office. And after what Lockhart did—there’s no excuse.”
Professor Sprout, walking slightly ahead, shook her head. “No excuse, no. But Dumbledore’s more concerned with Lockhart’s reputation than the boy’s well-being. He told us it was ‘too late in the term’ to make a change. As if that somehow makes it better that Hadrian’s still forced to sit through his classes with that man.”
A long silence followed, broken only by the sound of their shoes on the stone floor.
“Do you know what he did, Pomona?” Hooch’s voice softened, a layer of anger still there but tinged with something else—concern, maybe. “That creep… he put his hand on the boy. Twice. Maybe more. The first time, Hadrian froze up—couldn’t even breathe. He looked like he was going to fall apart in front of the whole class. And the second time… do you know what he did? He lingered. He didn’t pull his hand back when Hadrian pulled away. Just stood there, looking at him, like—like Hadrian was some kind of object.”
Sprout’s face hardened. “It’s disgusting. I can’t believe that man was ever allowed near students. But what really breaks my heart is what happened after.”
“Minerva said Hadrian broke down in her office,” Hooch continued, her voice cracking slightly. “He didn’t even make it back to the Slytherin common room. He couldn’t. He ran straight to Severus. Poor boy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even speak. And Severus—he… he held him. I’ve never seen Severus like that. He looked like he was holding onto the last bit of something, like if he let go, Hadrian would vanish. All the pain, all that fear, just—right there.”
“I thought the war had broken him,” Sprout whispered, her eyes sad. “But this… this is different. His son is in pieces. I can’t even imagine what it’s doing to Severus, seeing him like this.”
There was a long, heavy pause.
“You know, I’ve been watching that boy in class. Hadrian’s still standing, but he’s not whole anymore. I think Severus is the only reason he’s still here—he’s the only reason Hadrian hasn’t completely lost himself.”
“I don’t think anyone knows what Severus is going through. He’s so used to keeping his feelings buried—he’s not one to show vulnerability. But I’ve seen it. Just the way he looks at the boy…” Hooch trailed off. “I think he’s scared to death of losing him.”
⸻
The courtyard was empty, save for two students.
Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.
They had been walking back from the greenhouses when they stumbled upon the conversation. Their footsteps faltered, both of them frozen in place, eyes wide as they took in every word.
Daphne’s stomach twisted. Tracey’s face paled.
Hadrian.
Their friend.
Hadrian Prince—the quiet boy in their house, who barely spoke, who kept his head down, who wore his strength like armor. He had been hiding this. He had been suffering in silence, and no one knew.
Their hearts ached.
They didn’t want to hear this. They didn’t want to know the truth.
But it was the truth. The one that had been hiding behind all those quiet glances from Severus. The truth that made Hadrian’s pale face even more haunting.
⸻
Later that evening, after the incident in the hallways had spread like wildfire, the Slytherin common room felt oppressive.
Hadrian sat at one of the tables, still as stone. He barely touched his food. The whispers—the knowing glances—were too much. He could hear them. They were always there now. His own housemates avoided his eyes. Some out of fear. Some out of pity. A few dared to look with newfound respect, but it didn’t make him feel better.
Then Severus entered the room. His presence alone quieted the murmurs, like the calm before a storm. His eyes locked on his son, and everything else disappeared.
Hadrian didn’t move when Severus approached him. He didn’t look up.
“Hadrian,” Severus said, his voice low, too calm. Too controlled. “Come with me.”
Hadrian didn’t argue. He stood, his legs trembling as he followed his father through the shadows of the common room.
They didn’t stop until they reached Severus’s quarters.
Inside, the door clicked shut.
Severus didn’t wait for Hadrian to speak.
“I should have done more,” Severus said, his voice cracking slightly as he took a step toward him. “I should have protected you better, sooner—”
Hadrian’s voice broke. “You did everything, Dad. I just… I didn’t want anyone to know. Not like this. I didn’t want to be weak.”
“You’re not weak,” Severus said, his voice raw. He stepped closer, reaching out. “You’re not weak, Hadrian. Not even close.”
Hadrian looked up, eyes filled with unshed tears. “Then why does it feel like I’m broken? Like everything’s just… falling apart?”
Severus knelt before him, hands trembling as they cupped his son’s face. “You’re not broken. You’re hurting, yes. And it’s going to take time. But we’ll get through this. Together.”
Hadrian choked on a sob, finally letting the tears fall. “I don’t know if I can.”
Severus’s heart shattered. He pulled Hadrian into his arms, holding him tightly, whispering words of comfort that didn’t seem to matter. Because in that moment, all Hadrian needed was to be held. To know that his father would never let go.
“I’ve got you,” Severus whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always have you.”
And for the first time in a long time, Hadrian believed it.
Chapter 28: The ripple effect
Chapter Text
The whispers were louder than ever after the truth about what happened in Defense Against the Dark Arts leaked. By the end of the day, it was impossible to walk through Hogwarts without hearing murmurs of Hadrian’s ordeal, and the stories changed with every passing minute, though the core truth remained: Hadrian Prince had been victimized, and it was now the entire school’s shame.
In the Gryffindor Common Room
Ron Weasley was pacing in front of the fire, fists clenched at his sides. His face was red, but it wasn’t from anger. It was from confusion and guilt—guilt that he hadn’t seen it. He had spent so long seeing Hadrian as his rival, a shadow to chase, someone to outdo, to make feel small. And now, to know that his “enemy” had been dealing with something so much darker? So much worse?
It made his stomach turn.
Hermione, sitting across from him, her expression troubled, glanced at him before speaking carefully. “Ron, you need to understand. It wasn’t just what happened to Hadrian—it’s the fact that it’s been hidden from us. The school was kept in the dark, and he… he suffered in silence for so long. And now?”
Ron nodded slowly, but his jaw was tight. “I just can’t believe it. That bloody idiot—Lockhart. He—he did that to Hadrian?”
Hermione’s eyes were soft, but firm. “Yes, Ron. He did. And Severus… he’s been through hell, trying to protect his son.” She paused, then added, her voice barely above a whisper, “We were all blind to it. To Hadrian’s pain.”
Ron looked down, gnawing at his lip, unable to meet Hermione’s gaze. “I never knew,” he murmured. “I never even thought… about what he was going through.”
“None of us did, Ron,” Hermione said gently. “But we know now. And we owe it to him—” she paused, lowering her voice. “We owe it to Hadrian—to do better.”
⸻
In the Slytherin Common Room
The atmosphere in Slytherin was equally strained. Most of the house was in disbelief, shocked by the truth they had learned. Hadrian wasn’t just the silent, often aloof Slytherin. He was vulnerable. He had been broken by someone they never thought could hurt him.
Blaise Zabini sat in the corner, his usual confident air now gone. He looked over at Hadrian, who sat quietly by the window, staring out at the lake. There were no more jabs or clever comments from the other Slytherins. They were all silently processing what had happened to their housemate—their friend.
Draco Malfoy, who had grown increasingly protective over Hadrian in recent weeks, stood by the doorway, arms crossed, watching Hadrian with a look that was hard to place. He still couldn’t fathom the thought of Lockhart doing something like that.
“He’s stronger than any of us gave him credit for,” Draco muttered, half to himself. “And that bastard Lockhart…”
Pansy Parkinson, sitting beside him, gave him a sidelong glance. “We can’t undo what happened,” she said, her voice much softer than usual. “But we can make sure no one else hurts him again.”
⸻
The Hallways of Hogwarts
The next morning, students walked the halls in tight clusters. There were no loud laughs or playful teasing today. The atmosphere was thick with the weight of knowledge and guilt. Even those who had once found Hadrian’s presence a nuisance, or felt joy in taunting him, now struggled with the uncomfortable truth.
Some students came up to him during lunch, their eyes downcast, offering awkward apologies or quiet words of comfort. Hadrian didn’t respond much. He sat at the Slytherin table, his hands folded neatly in front of him, staring down at his food. He had no appetite. But he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even surprised.
For the first time, he felt something that was almost like peace. It wasn’t everything—it wasn’t even close to being over—but it was the first real break from the weight he had carried for so long.
⸻
Ron Weasley’s Moment of Realization
The following evening, Ron caught sight of Hadrian in the corridor, walking alone. For a moment, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to say—how to say it. He wasn’t even sure if Hadrian would want to hear it.
But the sight of him, the pale skin, the slumped shoulders—those were things Ron could no longer ignore. Not after hearing the truth. Not after realizing that everything he had ever thought about Hadrian had been built on the wrong foundation.
“Hadrian?” Ron’s voice was tentative, unsure, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Hey, can we talk?”
Hadrian stopped walking, his back straightening slightly, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t speak at first.
“I don’t know if you’re even willing to listen to me,” Ron continued, his throat tight. “But I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I never should’ve treated you the way I did. I never should’ve made you out to be my enemy. I was wrong.”
Hadrian slowly turned around, his face still unreadable, but his eyes met Ron’s for the first time in a long while. His gaze was guarded, yet something about the way Ron spoke—without the usual bitterness or pride—made Hadrian’s chest ache in a way he didn’t expect.
“You’re not the only one who didn’t see it,” Hadrian said quietly. “I didn’t want to believe it either. But I couldn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t let them know…”
Ron swallowed. His eyes were glassy, filled with the hurt of realizing just how deeply he had misunderstood his fellow student. “No one should have had to go through that alone,” he muttered, guilt still heavy on his chest. “And I’m sorry it was you.”
Hadrian gave him a small nod. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it wasn’t rejection, either.
“I didn’t ask for it,” Hadrian said softly. “But… thank you. For saying something.”
Ron watched as Hadrian walked away, his steps slow, but somehow steadier than before. And for the first time, Ron Weasley realized that things had changed—completely. Hadrian Prince wasn’t just his rival anymore. He was someone who had been hurt, someone who needed kindness, not the spiteful games they’d been playing for years.
And that realization made Ron ache with guilt.
⸻
The Ripple Effect
The truth spread through the students faster than anything else had. Those who had once laughed at Hadrian’s quiet nature now saw him through a different lens. Some were ashamed of their past behavior. Some were angry at the injustice. And some were simply silent, unsure of how to make it right.
But one thing was certain: the students would never see Hadrian Prince the same way again. And, perhaps more importantly, he wouldn’t see himself the same way either.
Severus’s protective arms were always there to catch him—but now, even the students of Hogwarts knew the depths of Hadrian’s pain. And though they couldn’t fix it, they could stand beside him, with the understanding that there was strength in vulnerability—and healing in the truth.
Chapter 29: The final line crossed
Chapter Text
The classroom was unusually quiet that day.
Lockhart, beaming as always, stood at the front, giving another flamboyant retelling of one of his “heroic escapades”. Most students had long stopped listening, exchanging glances or doodling in their notebooks. But Hadrian sat stiffly in his usual seat at the back, eyes trained on the parchment in front of him, though he hadn’t written a single word.
The restriction was clear—twelve feet. Lockhart was never to pass the midpoint of the classroom. And yet…
Hadrian felt it before he saw it. A shift in the air. The weight of eyes where they shouldn’t be. A creeping sense of something wrong.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
Too close.
Hadrian didn’t dare look up.
But he didn’t have to.
Lockhart’s voice drifted toward him, unnaturally close.
“I must say, Mr. Prince, you’ve been so quiet lately,” he said, the tone falsely casual. “A bit shy for someone so gifted. I’m sure we could work on that, hm?”
A few students looked up in confusion. Lockhart wasn’t supposed to be that far down the aisle.
And then, it happened again.
A hand.
Too familiar.
Too intentional.
It brushed against Hadrian’s shoulder, but dipped lower—an unmistakable graze down his back.
This time, everyone saw it.
Gasps rang out from across the room. A few students pushed out of their chairs, mouths agape. The silence snapped like glass.
Hadrian jerked back so violently that his chair toppled. He stood, wide-eyed, chest heaving—then ran.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t explain.
He just ran.
⸻
Dungeon Corridor – Minutes Later
Severus’s classroom door burst open with such force that it slammed against the stone wall. Several seventh-year Slytherins jumped in their seats. The room turned to the door—and there stood Hadrian.
His face was pale. Ashen. Eyes wide and glistening with fear. His breathing came in sharp, shuddering gasps. He looked utterly wrecked.
Severus didn’t even have time to speak.
Hadrian stumbled forward—then collapsed into his father’s arms.
The quill Severus had been holding dropped to the floor.
His arms wrapped around Hadrian instinctively, protectively, pulling him close even as his brain tried to make sense of what was happening.
“Out,” he snapped to the class, voice cold as ice. “All of you. Now.”
There was no protest. No smug grins. Just silence—and hurried footsteps.
The door clicked shut behind the last student.
Hadrian was shaking.
“He—he did it again,” he whispered, his face pressed against Severus’s chest. “In front of everyone. They saw. He—he touched me.”
Severus closed his eyes, fury radiating through every inch of him.
“Where is he now?” he asked, voice lethal.
“In the classroom,” Hadrian whispered. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t—breathe.”
Severus gripped the boy tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing steady circles between his shoulder blades. “It’s over,” he said. “You did nothing wrong. He’s done. I swear it.”
But inside—Severus Prince was unraveling.
He had trusted the rules. He had trusted that distance would be enough. And now, in full view of the class, the boundary had been broken.
And that meant one thing:
War.
Chapter 30: The castle whispers
Chapter Text
The door to the Potions classroom clicked shut behind the last seventh-year student.
But none of them walked away.
They lingered in the corridor, faces pale, whispering among themselves like they’d just witnessed something they couldn’t unsee. Because they had.
No one had ever seen Hadrian Prince like that. Not the quiet, razor-smart Slytherin who carried himself with cool detachment and eyes too sharp for a twelve-year-old. Not the one who always seemed a step ahead, never shaken.
But just now—
He had burst into the room like something was chasing him. Like the walls were closing in. And the way he collapsed into Professor Prince’s arms—it hadn’t looked like panic.
It had looked like grief.
Fear.
Pain.
Isla Nott leaned into Theo’s side, her face stricken. “That wasn’t normal. He wasn’t just scared. He looked—shattered.”
Blaise Zabini, for once, wasn’t smirking. “It was Lockhart, wasn’t it? The way he ran in—he didn’t even say a word. But it’s him. It has to be.”
Tracey Davis’s voice trembled. “Do you think… do you think that’s why he’s never liked Lockhart? Why Professor Prince always looked like he was seconds from hexing him?”
“I think,” Theo said grimly, “we’ve only seen a piece of it.”
There was a heavy pause.
Then Daphne Greengrass, standing silently at the edge of the group, spoke—quietly, but with a fury that made the others fall still.
“I saw it,” she said. “Today. In Defense.”
They all turned to her, eyes wide.
“He wasn’t supposed to pass the midpoint. Lockhart. But he did. He walked right up behind Hadrian—touched him.”
Gasps.
A choking sound from Tracey.
“I didn’t want to believe what I was thinking,” Daphne whispered. “I wanted to believe it was just a misunderstanding. But Hadrian flinched like he was on fire. And now this—now that—”
Her hands balled into fists at her sides.
“I think something’s been happening this whole time. And none of us saw it.”
Nobody spoke for a long time.
Then Blaise murmured, “I think he tried to protect us from it. By not saying anything.”
“I think he tried to protect himself,” Theo corrected, his voice hollow.
They stood there a moment longer—then scattered, quiet and shaken, like the truth itself was something they couldn’t quite hold all at once.
But the silence that followed them back into the castle didn’t last long.
And by the time dinner came, everyone in the castle was whispering.
After dinner the doors to the Headmaster’s office burst open with a force that rattled the stone.
Albus Dumbledore looked up from his desk, quill poised mid-letter, as four professors swept into the room like a storm given human shape.
Severus was in the lead.
His black robes trailed behind him like wings of smoke, his face thunderous with a barely-contained fury. Behind him came Minerva McGonagall, her lips set in a grim line, eyes like sharpened steel. Professor Sprout followed, tight-jawed and red-eyed. Madame Hooch, last, wore a look of cold determination.
“Severus,” Dumbledore said calmly, setting his quill down. “To what do I owe the—”
“You know why we’re here,” Severus snapped, his voice a whipcrack of wrath. “You know exactly why.”
Minerva’s hands clenched at her sides. “It happened again, Albus. This time, in front of the entire Defense class. Lockhart touched Hadrian. Past the boundary. In front of students.”
“There is no more room for excuses,” Sprout said bitterly, her voice trembling with emotion. “You said the rules were enough. That restrictions would prevent further harm.”
Dumbledore raised a hand gently. “Let us remain calm. Gilderoy has denied any malicious intent. He insists—”
“Intent is irrelevant,” Severus growled. “Harm was done. Repeatedly. My son is traumatized—he collapsed into my arms in the middle of class. You know what that boy has been through. You know what he carries.”
“He is not just your student, Albus,” Minerva said, voice shaking with fury. “He is a child. He is a victim. And you’ve given his predator cover under the thin veil of school bureaucracy!”
Dumbledore’s face, once placid, grew troubled.
“I did what I believed would protect—”
“You did what would protect Lockhart,” Roared Hooch. “You gave him a second chance. You silenced us. You asked for patience. And all the while Hadrian was breaking in front of our eyes.”
Severus stepped forward, eyes burning like fire.
“He is my son, Albus. And I swear to you—if you do not remove that man from this castle tonight, I will. And I will not care what political mess you have to mop up afterward.”
Dumbledore’s shoulders dropped, the old weight of power and age pressing in on him like dust.
“I—” he hesitated. “If we remove him without cause that satisfies the Board, they may investigate. Hogwarts is already under scrutiny—”
“Then let them,” Minerva hissed. “Let them see what you’ve been sweeping under the rug.”
Dumbledore was silent.
Sprout’s voice came next—softer, but no less powerful.
“He cries for his father in nightmares now. You don’t see that. Severus does. We all do. You failed him. And if you do not act—then you will have failed all of us.”
Dumbledore slowly sat back in his chair, no longer the all-powerful headmaster, but a man looking at the wreckage his inaction had wrought.
Severus straightened. “I expect Lockhart gone by morning.”
And with that, he turned and left—his cloak snapping behind him like thunder.
Minerva followed, her silence far louder than words.
Sprout. Hooch.
All gone.
Dumbledore sat in the gathering dark, the soft scratching of Fawkes’ talons the only sound that remained.
Chapter 31: Justice is served on a silver platter
Summary:
Lockhart is arrested!!
Chapter Text
Dinner had barely begun.
The Great Hall was abuzz with the usual chatter—students laughing, passing plates, a few still whispering rumors from the day before. But there was a current in the air, sharp and strange, like a storm waiting to break. Word had spread. Whispers flitted like shadows between house tables.
Hadrian Prince hadn’t come to dinner.
Again.
And somehow, everyone knew something had shifted.
Then the doors opened.
No one noticed at first.
Until they saw who walked in.
A line of dark-robed Aurors, wands visible, expressions set. And behind them—several stern, stone-faced members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, robes embroidered with silver and gold, led by a furious-looking Lady Selwyn and a particularly cold-eyed Lucius Malfoy.
The chatter died instantly.
Even the ghosts froze mid-flight.
From the staff table, Lockhart—smiling, ever the oblivious showman—froze with a fork halfway to his mouth.
“Gilderoy Lockhart,” the lead Auror said, his voice booming through the silent hall. “By order of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and with full approval of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, you are hereby placed under arrest.”
Dead silence.
Lockhart blinked, his smile faltering. “I—I’m sorry? Is this… some kind of joke?”
“No joke,” Lucius said coldly. “Your crimes have been witnessed. Your misconduct documented. You violated protective boundaries. You touched a student inappropriately. More than once.”
Lockhart laughed, though it was thin, watery. “Surely there’s been a mistake. I’ve always encouraged my students—”
“That’s not encouragement,” Lady Selwyn said, her voice slicing through the hall. “That’s predation.”
All around, students stared, eyes wide, breath held.
Ron Weasley’s fork clattered to his plate. Hermione’s hand shot to her mouth. Draco looked like he’d just seen a basilisk.
The Auror stepped forward. “Wand. Now.”
Lockhart’s smile broke. “Albus—Albus, say something!”
But Dumbledore didn’t move.
He just stared, hollow and gray, as the man he’d protected for far too long was finally unmasked.
Lockhart turned in desperation to the staff table. “Severus, you can’t—!”
But Severus Prince didn’t say a word.
He stood slowly.
His gaze was glacial.
And in that silence, every student knew—he had made this happen.
For his son.
Lockhart tried to move—tried to run—but it was too late.
Wands flashed.
Bindings wrapped around his wrists like glowing iron.
The Aurors led him away.
As the doors slammed shut behind them, the Great Hall erupted—not into noise, but a strange, stunned kind of grief. No cheering. No gloating.
Just silence.
And then, from somewhere among the Slytherin table, a single girl whispered:
“He’s safe now.”
Chapter 32: The monsters gone your dad is here
Chapter Text
The fire in Severus’s quarters crackled softly, casting flickers of amber light against the stone walls. The room was quiet—almost unnaturally so. The clock ticked in the background, but Hadrian wasn’t listening.
He sat on the worn leather sofa, knees pulled to his chest, eyes staring blankly at the floor. A cup of untouched tea rested on the table beside him, long gone cold.
The only thing that felt warm was the blanket around his shoulders—one Severus had wrapped him in earlier, after he’d come back from his meeting with the Board and the Aurors. Hadrian hadn’t asked what happened.
He hadn’t been ready.
Until now.
The door creaked open.
Severus entered slowly, his robes whispering across the floor. He closed the door behind him, locking it with a quiet click. When he turned, his expression had softened—no fury, no coldness.
Just exhaustion.
And something else.
Something like relief.
Hadrian looked up. Their eyes met.
And he knew.
Before Severus even spoke, he knew.
But the words still made it real.
“He’s gone,” Severus said softly, his voice low and steady. “The Aurors took him. In the Great Hall. In front of the entire school.”
Hadrian blinked.
His chest hitched.
He said nothing.
“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Severus continued, kneeling in front of him. “He’ll never come near you again. It’s over, Hadrian.”
And that was the moment it cracked.
Hadrian’s breath left him in a quiet, shattered gasp. He brought a hand to his face, trying to hold it together—but it was already too late. Tears spilled over, hot and silent, dripping down his cheeks.
Severus didn’t hesitate.
He pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly, protectively—like he had the night everything broke.
Hadrian clung to him, hands fisting in the fabric of his father’s robes, sobbing soundlessly into his shoulder.
For everything he’d endured.
For everything he’d held inside.
For the weeks of fear, the nights he hadn’t slept, the moments he’d flinched without even knowing why.
And now—for the overwhelming relief of being safe.
“I’ve got you,” Severus whispered into his hair. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”
And in the quiet flicker of firelight, father and son held each other.
Together.
Unbroken.
Chapter 33: Weight of silence
Chapter Text
By morning, there were no more whispers.
The truth had broken across the castle like glass underfoot—sharp, sudden, and impossible to ignore.
It was Hadrian Prince.
He was the student Lockhart had hurt.
He was the one who ran out of class, who collapsed in Severus Snape’s arms, who hadn’t shown his face in the Great Hall for days.
And it changed everything.
Some students couldn’t even make eye contact with one another. Others openly cried when they thought no one was looking—especially the first-years who sat in stunned silence, staring at their plates with uneaten food growing cold.
The Gryffindor table was somber.
Hermione looked hollowed out, like something she couldn’t name had been yanked out of her. Dean Thomas whispered something to Seamus, who shook his head, pale and furious. Even Lavender and Parvati had fallen quiet.
And Ron Weasley—
He sat with his head down, cheeks blotchy and jaw tight. He hadn’t said a word all morning. When Hermione reached for his arm gently, he flinched but didn’t pull away.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
“No one did,” Hermione said quietly. “Not really.”
“But I hated him,” Ron said, voice cracking. “I—I called him names. I laughed when Lockhart embarrassed him. I thought he was just some spoiled Slytherin brat.”
She didn’t speak.
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jumper.
“I feel sick.”
Across the hall, the Slytherin table was a fortress of quiet resolve.
Draco Malfoy sat stone-still, fists clenched on the table, staring ahead like he might murder the next person who said a word against Hadrian. Daphne sat beside him, face unreadable but eyes glinting. Blaise and Theo flanked them both, backs straight, sending hard looks at anyone who stared too long.
Pansy Parkinson, surprisingly, had tears in her eyes.
“No one deserves that,” she muttered. “No one, especially one I consider a friend.”
In Hufflepuff, students comforted one another. Ernie Macmillan looked furious. Hannah Abbott had been crying quietly since breakfast started.
And the Ravenclaws?
They were processing in the way Ravenclaws do—with questions, theories, logic. But none of that made it easier. Luna Lovegood sat with her arms wrapped around herself, staring up at the enchanted ceiling, eyes far too old for her face.
“He was always kind to me,” she murmured. “Even when no one else was.”
By the time classes began, no one was joking anymore. No one was whispering in corners. No one was pretending this hadn’t happened.
Everyone was watching.
Waiting.
And feeling—for the boy they hadn’t truly seen before.
The boy who now carried every eye, every heart, and a silence too heavy for a child to bear.
Chapter 34: The quiet crown
Chapter Text
The doors to the Great Hall creaked open just as the students were settling into their seats for the End-of-Year Feast.
Heads turned instantly.
Hadrian Prince stood in the threshold.
His robes were immaculate, but his shoulders tense. His eyes were guarded, flicking over the hall like a soldier scanning a battlefield. Severus was behind him, a quiet, protective presence—not hovering, but there.
Every breath in the hall seemed to still.
Hadrian took a step in.
Then another.
And the silence—not mocking, not cruel, but reverent—followed him all the way to the Slytherin table, where Draco scooted over wordlessly to make room. Daphne’s hand found his under the table.
No one said a word.
Not a single whisper.
Not a single stare that lasted too long.
Only quiet.
And then—
“Let the End-of-Year Feast… begin,” Dumbledore said, his voice quieter than usual, and the golden plates filled in an instant.
But few students reached for food.
Even fewer spoke.
Hadrian picked at his plate without eating, too aware of everything. He could feel the energy around him like the tremor before thunder.
And then, after the meal, Dumbledore rose.
“As is tradition,” he began, “we award the House Cup to the House with the highest number of points.”
The banners above shimmered—red, gold, blue, yellow, and green.
“In fourth place… Gryffindor. With 327 points.”
Muted claps.
“In third… Hufflepuff. With 359 points.”
More claps, subdued.
“Second place… Ravenclaw, with 376.”
“And in first place…” Dumbledore paused. “Slytherin. With 412 points.”
There was a flicker of green light as the banners all shifted—silver and emerald unfurling from the high ceiling.
But the Slytherin table didn’t erupt in cheers.
No standing on benches.
No smug celebration.
Just stillness.
Respect.
Dumbledore’s voice softened.
“Additionally, one-hundred fifty points are awarded to Hadrian Prince. For courage, for honesty, and for enduring a burden no child should ever be asked to carry.”
Hadrian’s eyes widened slightly.
And for a moment, the silence was almost too much.
Until one person clapped.
Then another.
Slow.
Careful.
Then the entire hall rose—not in celebration, but in recognition.
A standing ovation not for the House Cup, not for points or prestige, but for him.
For surviving.
Hadrian sat frozen, overwhelmed.
Until Severus placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“You’ve earned this,” he said, low and firm.
Hadrian stood, trembling but upright.
And looked out over the hall full of students—not mocking, not laughing, not distant.
But with him.
For the first time.
Chapter 35: The snakes return
Chapter Text
The Hogwarts Express hissed as it slowed to a stop at Hogsmeade Station, clouds of steam curling like ghosts around the platform.
Inside the last compartment of the train, Hadrian Prince stood slowly, adjusting the collar of his dark green cloak. He was taller now. Paler. His features sharper, his eyes older. The haunted weight he carried in second year was still there—but buried deeper, beneath polished control.
He hadn’t been on this train in over a year.
After everything, he’d made the choice not to return for third year.
He’d studied under Severus’s watchful eye, taken lessons from trusted friends of the family, trained in silence, away from the castle that had once swallowed him whole.
He needed to breathe again before he could face these halls.
But now—
He was ready.
As he stepped off the train, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Eyes found him immediately.
Some widened.
Others dropped to the ground.
He saw familiar faces—Draco, Daphne, Theo, Blaise—all waiting just off the platform, standing apart from the crowd like shadows beneath the rising moon. They didn’t rush him. Didn’t smother him.
They waited.
Letting him choose the pace.
Hadrian crossed the space slowly, each step deliberate.
Daphne smiled softly. “Welcome back, in person I mean.”
He gave her a nod, eyes softer when they met hers. “Good to be back.”
Draco smirked faintly. “You look like you could hex someone just by blinking.”
“Wouldn’t be wrong,” Blaise added, and Theo chuckled.
They fell into step together, the quiet strength of old loyalty stitching around them.
When the carriages came, Hadrian paused for just a second before climbing in—remembering how different the world had looked last time.
This time, it didn’t feel like a trap.
It felt like a choice.
⸻
Inside the castle, whispers followed him—but not like before. There was no mockery now. No doubt.
Just awareness.
Recognition.
Respect.
And curiosity.
By the time the Sorting ended and the feast began, Dumbledore stood to address the school—eyes glinting as he scanned the student body.
But Hadrian didn’t look at him.
He didn’t need to anymore.
His eyes were focused elsewhere—on the people who mattered.
On the girl beside him, whose hand brushed against his under the table.
On the future.
Because this year wouldn’t break him.
This year… was his.
Chapter 36: Foreign eyes
Chapter Text
It started with the banners.
They appeared overnight—broad, waving streamers of deep red and blue, golds and silvers glinting in the torchlight. Hogwarts itself felt more alive than ever, magic humming in the stone beneath the students’ feet as whispers stirred the corridors once more.
But this time, it wasn’t about Hadrian.
This time, the castle buzzed with a different kind of electricity.
By the time everyone was seated in the Great Hall that evening, even the ghosts were watching with wide eyes. Dumbledore stood at the podium, arms raised to quiet the low roar of excited voices.
“Good evening, students,” he said, voice carrying. “Before we enjoy tonight’s feast, I have an announcement. Or rather… a celebration.”
He smiled—wider than he had in a long time.
“This year, Hogwarts has the honor of hosting a most prestigious and historic event: The Triwizard Tournament.”
Gasps rippled across the Hall. Hadrian’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing. He remembered it from his studies—a brutal competition that hadn’t been held in over a century. For good reason.
Dumbledore continued, “Two other great magical schools will join us here for the duration of the tournament. They will arrive this week. Three champions will be chosen—one from each school—to compete in three dangerous tasks designed to test magical ability, courage, and cleverness.”
Beside him, Professor McGonagall looked far more reserved.
“The Goblet of Fire will serve as the impartial judge,” Dumbledore went on. “It will be unveiled in the Entrance Hall, and from it, the names of the champions will be drawn.”
He paused, eyes twinkling—but to Hadrian, it felt calculated.
“I must remind you—only students who are seventeen or older may submit their names. There will be no exceptions.”
A low murmur followed, especially from the Gryffindor table.
Hadrian leaned slightly toward Daphne. “This is going to get messy.”
She smirked. “Isn’t it always when Dumbledore plans anything?”
⸻
Three Days Later — The Arrival
The front grounds of Hogwarts were packed. Every student, every professor stood beneath the pale gray sky, breath frosting as they waited. The air shimmered with anticipation.
Then—it began.
The massive Beauxbatons carriage descended from the clouds like a floating palace, drawn by twelve winged horses as large as elephants. The carriage hit the ground with a thud that shook the earth.
A hush fell.
From the door stepped Madame Maxime, towering and regal, followed by a line of elegant students in pale blue uniforms, their movements graceful and proud.
Not long after, the lake boiled.
Steam hissed from the water as a ship surfaced—an old, creaking vessel rising like a leviathan. It groaned into place at the edge of the shore. And from its deck descended the students of Durmstrang—tall, stoic, and darkly dressed.
At their front was a striking young man with sharp eyes and an air of cold control.
Hadrian narrowed his gaze slightly.
“Viktor Krum,” Draco muttered. “Quidditch prodigy.”
Hadrian’s eyes didn’t leave Krum’s face.
This year wasn’t just going to be magic and spectacle.
It was going to be war.
Chapter 37: The flames choose
Chapter Text
The Great Hall pulsed with tension. Every eye was on the enchanted Goblet of Fire, the blue flames flickering higher than usual, as if savoring the moment. The room was dim, lit mostly by torchlight and the fire itself, giving everything a golden, wavering sheen.
Hadrian stood with the rest of the Slytherins, arms folded, expression carefully neutral. His wand was tucked up his sleeve, his cloak crisp and freshly pressed, his presence quiet but unmistakable. His eyes—sharp, green, alert—never left the Goblet.
He hadn’t entered his name. He hadn’t dared.
Severus would’ve killed him. And more importantly, Hadrian trusted his instincts—and this whole thing felt… off.
Ancient magic didn’t like being disturbed. And this tournament had been buried for a reason.
A sudden flare of red from the Goblet drew a collective gasp. Sparks spat upward, and a slip of scorched parchment was ejected into the air. Dumbledore caught it midair with surprising grace.
“From Beauxbatons… Fleur Delacour.”
Polite applause, tinged with whispers. The tall, silver-blonde witch walked with poised confidence toward the front, her expression a portrait of pride and expectation.
The flames died down, only to ignite again seconds later.
Red sparks. Another name.
Dumbledore caught it. “From Durmstrang… Viktor Krum.”
Louder applause this time. The famous Seeker stood and strode forward, unsmiling, his presence magnetic and dangerous all at once.
Hadrian tilted his head slightly.
“Krum’s here to win,” Daphne muttered beside him. “Not to make friends.”
Hadrian’s lips twitched. “Sounds familiar.”
Then the Goblet went silent again.
Until it wasn’t.
It blazed once more, casting an eerie red glow across the Hall.
“From Hogwarts… Cedric Diggory.”
The Hufflepuff table erupted. Cedric stood, stunned, blinking at the parchment as if it were written in another language. Then, smiling sheepishly, he made his way to the front, surrounded by claps and cheers.
That was it.
No fourth name. No strange magic. No fire turning unnatural colors.
Just silence.
Relief surged through Hadrian’s chest, though he didn’t show it. His shoulders relaxed slightly. Daphne glanced at him, then down to where their hands were nearly touching under the table.
“I thought for sure the Goblet was going to pull something,” she whispered.
Hadrian nodded once, voice low. “So did I.”
But it didn’t.
And that scared him more than if it had.
Because that meant… someone’s plan hadn’t started yet.
But it would.
And when it did—Hadrian would be ready.
Chapter 38: Echos of the past
Chapter Text
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom felt colder than the rest of the castle.
Hadrian stepped through the threshold with Daphne beside him, but his movements slowed. Something about the space made his chest tighten—like invisible hands pressing into his ribs.
It looked different than it had in second year. The walls were bare now, the ridiculous paintings and self-portraits of Lockhart long gone, replaced with jagged scars in the stone and the scent of smoke and iron.
But Hadrian still felt it.
The weight. The fear. The wrongness.
He hadn’t set foot in this room since that day—when he’d bolted into the dungeons, chest heaving, his vision tunneling after Lockhart’s hand had lingered too long.
That moment. That look.
And now, this place.
It smelled like memory and panic.
“Hadrian?” Daphne’s voice, soft. Concerned.
He blinked and forced a breath, nodding once. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t.
At the front stood Alastor Moody, leaning on a gnarled staff, his magical eye swiveling freely in his scarred face. Everything about him screamed violence and control. The way he moved. The way he watched.
“Sit down,” Moody barked, gravel-voiced.
Hadrian’s steps were slower than usual as he made his way to a seat near the back, his skin itching under his collar. The closer he sat to the same spot where everything had unraveled last year, the tighter his throat felt.
Daphne didn’t let his hand go until the very last second.
“I’m here,” she mouthed.
Moody began without ceremony. “You’ve all been coddled. Soft. Sheltered.”
He slammed a thick book on the desk, making several students jump.
“Dark magic doesn’t wait for exams. It doesn’t wait until you’re ready.”
He opened a crate beside him, dragging out a large spider. “Today—Unforgivable Curses.”
Hadrian’s lungs felt too small.
The words washed over him: Imperius. Crucio. Avada Kedavra.
Moody’s voice became distant, the way Lockhart’s had when he’d leaned too close, when his hand had ghosted across Hadrian’s back like a stain he couldn’t wash off.
He watched the spider twist under Crucio, legs seizing like nerves aflame.
He heard Moody call the curses necessary knowledge.
Necessary.
Just like Lockhart had called his “lessons” normal.
Hadrian stared at the spider as it twitched—and suddenly it wasn’t a spider anymore. It was him. Struggling under pressure. Pinned by a system that looked the other way.
Just a boy.
“Hadrian?” Daphne’s voice again, quiet, sharp.
His fists were clenched. His heart thundered. There was sweat at his temples, though the room was cold.
He forced himself to breathe. In. Out.
Not now. Not here.
Moody cast the Killing Curse. The spider dropped. No pain. Just stillness.
Hadrian’s breath caught, and his eyes finally closed.
Not again. Not ever again.
Chapter 39: Breathing again
Chapter Text
The dungeon corridor was quiet, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the stone walls. Hadrian moved down it in near silence, only the soft hiss of his robes brushing the floor echoing in the space.
His knuckles were white where they clutched the strap of his satchel. His breathing had evened out on the surface—but inside, something churned. Restless. Heavy.
He reached the familiar black door.
Didn’t knock.
He didn’t have to.
It opened before he could lift his hand, and there stood Severus—still in his teaching robes, his expression sharpening the moment he saw Hadrian.
“Close the door,” Severus said softly.
Hadrian obeyed.
The moment it shut, he stood still in the quiet room. He hadn’t meant to say anything at all. He just needed to be there.
Severus stepped closer, searching his son’s face. “What happened?”
Hadrian’s lips parted—but nothing came out. His eyes flicked away. His throat was tight again, like something unseen was coiled around it.
“I—I didn’t expect it to feel like that,” he finally said, voice hoarse. “The classroom. That desk. I thought it was behind me.”
Severus’s expression twisted. He placed a steady hand on Hadrian’s shoulder and gently guided him to the worn leather sofa. They sat.
“What did he do?” he asked carefully, but there was a warning in his voice—quiet, dangerous.
Hadrian shook his head. “Nothing. Not—not like Lockhart. Just… the way he talked. The curses. The way he looked at us like we were already corpses he’d seen before. And I sat there, right where it happened, and—I couldn’t breathe.”
His voice cracked. “I was right back there, Dad. Second year. I could feel his hand again. Hear him. I could smell that classroom.”
Severus’s hand moved to the back of Hadrian’s neck, grounding him, pulling him in.
And Hadrian let go.
He leaned forward, face pressed against his father’s chest, hands curled into his robes like he was afraid the world would spin out from under him if he didn’t hold tight.
Severus said nothing at first. He just wrapped his arms around his son—fierce and firm—and held him like a dam against the tide.
“You are safe,” he whispered, barely audible. “You are not there anymore. And no one—no one—will ever touch you again without consequence.”
Hadrian trembled.
“I hate that it still lives in me,” he admitted. “Like some ghost that won’t leave. I thought I was stronger than this.”
Severus pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. His voice was sharp but gentle.
“Strength isn’t the absence of fear or pain, Hadrian. It’s surviving despite it. It’s walking into that room. Sitting at that desk. Staying when everything in you screamed to run.”
Hadrian blinked, eyes glassy. “I did run.”
“No,” Severus said firmly. “You came here. And that is strength, too.”
For a moment, the silence between them wasn’t heavy—but healing. A pocket of safety inside the cold stone of the dungeons.
“Thank you,” Hadrian said softly.
Severus smoothed a hand over his hair. “Always.”
Chapter 40: A butterbeer invitation
Notes:
Some fluff to break it up
Chapter Text
The air outside the Great Hall was crisp with the coming chill of autumn. Students filtered out from dinner in lazy groups, the low hum of chatter blending with the distant hoot of an owl heading toward the Owlery.
Hadrian waited by the corridor near the stairs, fingers playing absently with the sleeve of his robe. His heart beat faster than it should for something so simple.
But this wasn’t just something simple.
Daphne emerged with her usual quiet confidence, long dark hair brushing her shoulders, a slight smile tugging at her lips when she saw him.
“You look like you’re either about to confess a murder or ask for help on a Potions essay,” she said as she stopped in front of him.
Hadrian smirked, but it didn’t quite mask the nerves. “Would you believe me if I said it was neither?”
“Not even for a second.”
He exhaled through his nose, and for a moment, all his practiced words disappeared. Gone with the wind that fluttered through the open hallway arch.
“I was wondering…” he started, and paused to scratch lightly at the back of his neck—classic self-betrayal, as Severus would call it.
Daphne’s eyes narrowed with faint amusement. “Are you asking me to duel?”
He laughed once. “No. I—next Hogsmeade weekend…”
Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t speak, letting him find his way.
“…Would you maybe want to go for a butterbeer? With me?”
There was a beat of silence.
Then her expression softened.
“I’d like that.”
Something in Hadrian’s chest eased, like a knot loosening.
“You would?” he asked, a bit surprised by how much hope cracked into his voice.
Daphne stepped a little closer, lowering her voice. “You’ve faced down warlocks, dementors, and whatever the hell Moody is. I was starting to think you’d never ask.”
Hadrian chuckled, looking at her more openly now. “I wanted to. I just… didn’t want to ruin anything.”
“You haven’t,” she said. “You won’t.”
They stood there for a moment, a little closer than before, as the bustle of students faded behind them.
Just the two of them.
Butterbeer plans, and something new blooming between the cracks of old scars.
Severus’s quarters were dimly lit, the usual scent of cloves and aged parchment lingering in the air. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows along the stone walls.
Hadrian sat curled into the armchair near the fire, a book open but forgotten in his lap. He’d been flipping the same page for fifteen minutes without reading a word.
Severus, seated across from him with a stack of essays and a red quill in hand, was the first to speak.
“You’ve stared at that page so long I’m convinced you’ve memorized it or you’ve forgotten how to read. Neither option inspires confidence.”
Hadrian looked up, smirking. “I’ve been thinking.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”
Hadrian rolled his eyes. “I asked someone to Hogsmeade.”
That earned a pause. Severus set the quill down with a faint click against the desk.
“Oh?” he said, tone deceptively neutral—but his eyes gleamed with interest.
Hadrian looked back down at the book. “Daphne.”
Severus didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back slightly, studying his son.
“You’ve grown close to her,” he said after a moment. “I’m not surprised.”
Hadrian nodded once. “She’s… easy to be around. She doesn’t push, but she’s there. Always seems to know when I need space and when I don’t.”
Severus’s voice softened, just slightly. “And she said yes?”
“She did.”
Something like a smile tugged at the edge of Severus’s mouth. “Well. I suppose I should prepare myself for the charming ritual of watching my son fumble through awkward attempts at romantic conversation.”
Hadrian laughed. “Wow. Such confidence in me.”
“Oh, I have confidence,” Severus said, waving a hand. “Just not in your ability to avoid knocking over mugs of butterbeer while you’re trying to impress a girl.”
“That’s a very specific insult.”
“Experience-based,” Severus said dryly.
Hadrian shook his head, but his smile was wide, bright in a way it hadn’t been in a long time.
“She makes me feel… lighter. After everything. Like I’m not carrying it alone anymore.”
Severus’s expression shifted then—his sharpness gentled, pride mingling with something deeper, something paternal and fierce.
“I’m glad, Hadrian,” he said quietly. “You deserve that kind of peace. And if she helps you find it… hold onto her.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the fire popping gently in the background.
Then—
“You’re not going to give me an intimidating father speech, are you?” Hadrian teased.
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Would it be effective if I did?”
“…Probably not.”
“Then I’ll save it for when it matters,” Severus said. “But if she hurts you, I will brew something unpleasant.”
Hadrian laughed, warmth blooming in his chest. “Noted.”
Chapter 41: Quiet smiles
Chapter Text
Hogsmeade weekends were usually full of noise—laughing students, clinking mugs, the hum of magic in the air. But for Hadrian and Daphne, this one was different.
Because they weren’t going into the village.
They were staying behind.
It had started with a joke, really. Something Daphne had said in passing—“I bet you make better butterbeer than the Three Broomsticks”—and Hadrian, with a sudden rush of confidence and Gryffindor impulse buried deep under his Slytherin cool, had replied, “Then let me prove it.”
Now they were in one of the small, unused rooms off the Slytherin common room—quiet, warm, private.
Hadrian had found an old kettle, borrowed a few key ingredients from the kitchens (with a little help from a smirking house-elf), and transfigured an empty cauldron into a makeshift kettle. It was bubbling softly now, filling the space with a rich, spiced scent.
Daphne sat cross-legged on a conjured blanket on the floor, her sleeves rolled up and her hair loosely tied back. There was a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there in classes or common room banter—a calmness he knew she didn’t show to just anyone.
“I have to admit,” she said, watching him stir the concoction with an almost amused expression, “I wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t going to explode.”
Hadrian shot her a grin over his shoulder. “Where’s the trust?”
“Somewhere between your exploded cauldron in September and the time you mistook salt for sugar in that calming draught.”
“That was one time—”
“Twice.”
Hadrian rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. He poured the rich, foaming butterbeer into two mugs he’d charmed to keep warm, and handed one to her. Their fingers brushed—warm skin to skin—and the little jolt it gave him was sharper than he expected.
They sat on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, sipping in the quiet.
It was warm. Not just the butterbeer, but the moment itself.
Daphne tilted her head toward him. “This is really good.”
“Better than the Three Broomsticks?”
She leaned in slightly, like she was sharing a secret. “Much better. But don’t tell Madam Rosmerta. She might hex you.”
Hadrian chuckled, watching the way the firelight flickered across her face. “Thanks for doing this with me. For staying behind.”
Daphne shrugged, but her smile was small and real. “I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”
A silence settled between them—comfortable, like worn-in robes or an old melody.
Then, in a quiet voice, Hadrian said, “I think about 2nd year sometimes. The worst parts. And when I do… it’s strange, but you’re always there too. Not in the fear, but in the after. The part where I’m breathing again.”
Daphne looked at him, all the teasing faded from her eyes. She set her mug down, then reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his.
“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” she whispered. “Not with me.”
Hadrian swallowed, throat tight, and nodded once.
“I know.”
And for the rest of the evening, they didn’t need words.
Just butterbeer, soft laughter, and the quiet knowledge that something was blooming between them—something real.
Chapter 42: The Yule ball question
Chapter Text
The fire crackled softly in the corner of Severus’s quarters, casting long shadows across the walls. Hadrian stood by the hearth, running his fingers over the edge of a book that he wasn’t really reading. His thoughts kept drifting—too many thoughts—and none of them seemed to settle long enough for him to focus on anything else.
Severus was sitting at his desk, reading through a stack of student essays. The flickering torchlight highlighted the sharp angles of his face as he scribbled a correction on the paper in front of him.
Hadrian’s pulse thudded a little faster, like he was on the edge of doing something big. Something important.
Finally, he exhaled and turned to his father.
“I need your advice,” he said, trying to keep his tone steady, but there was a slight edge to it. The words had come out too quickly, and they sounded awkward in the air between them.
Severus didn’t look up immediately, but he paused long enough for Hadrian to know he’d heard. His hand was still poised over the ink, but his dark eyes flicked to his son.
“On what?” he asked, his voice still sharp, though there was no impatience in it. More like curiosity.
Hadrian shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “The Yule Ball,” he said, the words stumbling out more easily than he’d expected. “I want to ask Daphne to go with me.”
Severus raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment immediately. He placed the quill down and folded his hands together, clearly waiting for the rest.
“I don’t know how to do it. I don’t want to make it weird. I just—” Hadrian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like her, Dad. And I’m terrified I’ll mess it up.”
Severus didn’t smile. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes softened just enough to show he was listening closely. After a moment, he gave a barely perceptible nod.
“You’ve asked her to Hogsmeade, yes?”
Hadrian flushed slightly. “Yeah.”
Severus’s lips twitched, just the slightest hint of a smile. “Well, then, you’ve already done the difficult part.”
Hadrian blinked, confusion creeping into his voice. “That was the difficult part?”
“Yes,” Severus replied dryly. “Asking someone to a ball is hardly different. The only thing you need to ensure is that you ask her in a way that reflects your true intentions, not in some over-the-top, theatrical manner that will make you appear like a fumbling idiot.”
Hadrian frowned. “I’m not going to—”
“Good. Then keep it simple,” Severus interrupted. “Don’t try to overthink it. Just ask. If she cares about you as you care about her, she’ll say yes.”
Hadrian hesitated. “But what if she doesn’t? What if I’m just… too much of a mess? What if she—”
“Hadrian,” Severus cut in, his tone hardening just a bit, “you are not a mess. And if she cannot see that, then she is not someone worth your time. Understand?”
Hadrian nodded, a little shaken by the fierceness in his father’s voice. It was a tone he’d heard more times than he could count in their years together, but this time, it held something else—something reassuring. Something proud.
Severus sighed, a slow exhale that softened his usual sharp edges. “I’ll say it again—ask her simply. And if she says yes, you’ll have the night of your life. If not, then you’ll move on and you’ll be fine.”
Hadrian leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. “I don’t know if I can just ‘move on,’ Dad. She means a lot to me.”
Severus’s gaze softened, and his voice lowered, becoming almost gentle. “She does, doesn’t she? In that case, you’ll make it clear. You’ll ask with the same sincerity you’ve always shown her. And no matter her answer, you’ll respect it. That’s the most important part.”
There was a long pause before Hadrian spoke again.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, his words thick with unspoken emotions. “I needed to hear that.”
Severus gave a brief nod. “Go to her, Hadrian. You’ll do just fine.”
Hadrian hesitated for only a moment longer, then straightened up and turned toward the door. Just before he left, he glanced back at his father.
“You know, you might actually give decent advice once in a while.”
Severus smirked but didn’t look up from the essay in front of him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Hadrian smirked back, stepping out into the hall with a newfound sense of calm settling over him. As he moved toward the common room, he was still a little nervous—okay, a lot nervous—but something inside him felt steadier.
He knew exactly how to ask her now.
The Slytherin common room was quiet that evening, a soft hum of muffled conversations and crackling firelight. Most students were still out, enjoying the last of the Hogsmeade weekend or tucked away in their dorms, but Hadrian found himself drawn to a corner of the room, near the window where the pale winter moonlight spilled across the stone floor.
He hadn’t told anyone what he planned to do—he’d hardly dared to voice it aloud. But now, with the ball only a few days away, he had no more excuses. He needed to ask.
He turned the small silver box he’d brought in his hands, his fingers trailing over the delicate engraving on the lid. It was a simple box, nothing extravagant—but inside, he’d tucked a single, tiny flower—a forget-me-not, to remind her of all the quiet, small moments they shared.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
Daphne appeared at the entrance, her eyes lighting up when she saw him standing there.
“Did you need something?” she asked, voice light and teasing, but there was warmth in her gaze.
Hadrian smiled faintly, his pulse quickening again. “Yeah. I—actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’re being mysterious. I’m intrigued.”
Hadrian exhaled slowly. This was it. No turning back now.
He stepped forward, holding the box out to her, the gesture simple but earnest.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he began, his voice steady despite the fluttering in his chest. “And, well… I know we’re not exactly the most traditional couple, but I wanted to ask you…”
Daphne’s gaze softened as she reached for the box, her fingers brushing against his. She opened it slowly, and her eyes fell to the flower inside—her breath catching in surprise.
“A forget-me-not?” she murmured, a smile playing at her lips. She looked up at him, her expression warm but unreadable. “Are you asking me to the Yule Ball, Hadrian?”
He nodded, the words finally finding their place. “Yeah. I am.”
For a long moment, Daphne didn’t say anything. She simply studied him, her eyes not judging, just watching—as if searching for something he couldn’t quite place.
Finally, she stepped closer, closing the space between them until they were standing just inches apart. She let out a soft laugh, a mixture of relief and amusement. “You really did need a lot of courage for that, didn’t you?”
Hadrian blinked, surprised at the teasing edge in her voice, but he felt a weight lift from his chest.
“Maybe,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go with me.”
Daphne’s smile softened even further, her fingers gently touching the flower in the box. She gave him a small nod.
“I’d like to go with you. But only if you promise not to spill butterbeer on my shoes.”
Hadrian’s eyes widened slightly, the air of nervousness vanishing entirely as he laughed. “Deal. I promise not to spill anything on your shoes.”
Daphne grinned, closing the box gently and tucking it into the folds of her cloak. “Then it’s a yes.”
Hadrian’s heart fluttered, the relief nearly overwhelming. He stepped closer, almost without thinking, and looked down at her. “I’m glad.”
Daphne’s smile held an unspoken depth in it, something that felt both familiar and new. “Me too.”
They stood there for a moment, a quiet understanding between them, before Hadrian’s gaze shifted to the door.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I need to calm down after all that.”
“Sure,” Daphne said, her eyes gleaming with something soft and private. “But only if you promise not to trip over your own feet.”
Hadrian rolled his eyes, but there was no mistaking the warmth in his voice. “I promise. For you, I’ll keep it together.”
As they walked out into the dimly lit corridors of the castle, side by side, Hadrian couldn’t help but think that he had just taken a step forward—one more step into something that felt real, something that could be good.
And, for once, he didn’t mind taking the leap.
Chapter 43: The Yule kiss
Chapter Text
The Great Hall was nothing short of magnificent that evening. The usual enchanted ceiling had transformed into a canvas of stars, glittering brightly against the dark, wintry sky. The long house tables had been replaced with circular ones draped in gold and red, each one surrounded by candles that flickered like tiny flames of warmth against the cold. The scent of roses and pine filled the air, mixing with the soft hum of conversation and laughter.
Hadrian stood by the entrance, his heart thudding in his chest as he took in the scene before him. He’d never really been the type to get excited about the fanfare of the Yule Ball, but tonight was different. Tonight, he was here with Daphne.
She had agreed to come with him—had smiled when he’d asked, and agreed in a way that made his heart settle easier. But now, standing there in his black dress robes, he felt an unfamiliar nervousness bubbling in his chest. What if he messed this up? What if she didn’t have a good time?
He turned his head slightly, catching sight of Daphne as she entered, her eyes immediately finding his in the crowd. She was wearing a deep green gown that shimmered like starlight, her hair woven into intricate braids that framed her face with soft elegance. She looked even more stunning than he could have imagined.
“Ready to face the madness?” Daphne asked with a smile that was half teasing, half warm, as she approached him.
Hadrian grinned, his nerves easing just a little. “I think so, though I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this.”
Daphne laughed lightly, her eyes sparkling in the soft light of the candles. “It’s just one night. We can make it through.”
They moved into the crowd together, joining the swirl of students from all the houses as they mingled, laughing and talking. Hadrian kept stealing glances at Daphne, unable to stop the way his chest tightened every time their eyes met. She was easy to talk to, but there was still something about this moment that felt different—special.
After a while, the music changed, soft waltz melodies filling the air, and students began to pair off, the floor opening up for dancing. Hadrian hesitated, glancing at Daphne.
“Would you…?” He cleared his throat, trying not to let the nerves overwhelm him. “Would you like to dance?”
Daphne’s eyes softened, and her lips curled into a smile. “I’d love to.”
He offered his hand, and she took it, their fingers brushing as they made their way to the center of the room. As they danced, the music seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the feeling of her hand resting in his, the gentle movement of their steps, and the soft beat of their hearts. For a moment, everything else in the world felt distant—nothing but the two of them, spinning slowly under the stars.
Hadrian couldn’t help but smile as he looked at her. “You’re… incredible, you know that?”
Daphne’s smile widened, a hint of warmth in her eyes. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
They moved in sync, the laughter and chatter of their peers fading into the background as they shared the moment. Hadrian’s pulse quickened again, not from nerves this time, but from the way everything between them felt like it was shifting. This wasn’t just the Yule Ball. This was them, together, and everything felt so right.
When the song ended, they stepped back from the dance floor, a little out of breath, but grinning. Hadrian’s heart was still racing, but in the best way. He was standing with Daphne—her, of all people—looking up at him with that smile that always made him feel like he was standing on solid ground.
There was a long, quiet moment between them. Hadrian’s heart thudded against his chest again, but this time, it wasn’t out of uncertainty. This was something else—something more.
Slowly, he reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her skin in the process. Daphne’s breath hitched ever so slightly at the touch, her eyes locking with his, the space between them shrinking with every passing second.
Hadrian leaned in just a little closer, heart hammering now, but the uncertainty was gone. He could feel the warmth of her, the softness of her presence, and before he knew it, his lips were brushing against hers.
It was gentle at first, just a tentative meeting of lips, but then Daphne leaned into him, her hands resting on his shoulders, and the kiss deepened, slow and careful, like they were both testing something new, something fragile but important.
When they pulled apart, they both smiled, breathless.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Hadrian confessed, his voice low and a little raspier than usual.
Daphne laughed softly, her fingers tracing the collar of his robes. “Me too.”
They stood there, their foreheads gently resting against each other for a moment, the music still playing softly in the background, but nothing else mattered. In that quiet space between them, Hadrian felt more at peace than he had in a long time.
For the first time, he wasn’t worried about the past, or what had happened in the last few years. All that mattered was right here, right now—with Daphne by his side.
And for the first time in a long while, Hadrian truly believed that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.
Chapter 44: The trigger
Chapter Text
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was full of chatter as the students settled into their seats, the cold winter air of Hogwarts brushing in through the open windows. The fire crackled in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. It was the middle of third year now, and the atmosphere in the classroom was a little more relaxed than it had been when Moody first arrived, but Hadrian still felt that subtle tension in the air every time he stepped foot in the room.
He had gotten used to the lessons with the former Auror, but every now and then, something would remind him of the past. It wasn’t just the subject matter—he knew it was necessary to learn about dark magic, especially after everything that had happened. It was who was teaching it.
Today, Moody seemed particularly energized. He was pacing in front of the class, one glassy eye scanning the students, his magical eye rotating in wild circles.
“Right, today we’re going to talk about the Imperius Curse,” Moody said, his voice gruff and harsh. “I’m sure most of you are familiar with it, but we’ll take a deep dive into how to resist it.”
Hadrian listened, but his thoughts kept drifting. There was something about the way Moody spoke that unsettled him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it until—
“Now, you’ll notice, I don’t go around waving my wand and spouting off nonsense about how I’m the expert,” Moody continued, his mouth twisting into something between a grimace and a smile. “That’s a mistake a lot of people make. They think it’s all about grand speeches, but when it comes down to it, it’s about action. The important thing is to feel what’s happening, not just repeat some flowery speech that sounds impressive.”
The words were sharp and authoritative, and for a moment, Hadrian’s blood ran cold. He froze in his seat, his breath catching in his throat. He had heard these words before. Exactly these words.
It wasn’t just the speech itself, but the tone—the arrogance. The way Moody spoke so casually about “action,” like a man who knew what was best. It reminded Hadrian far too much of the way Lockhart had spoken, especially when he was trying to cover up his own inadequacies with a big show of confidence.
A wave of nausea hit Hadrian suddenly. He felt his hands begin to tremble, and he could barely breathe. No, not again…
He clenched his fists tightly, trying to ground himself, but all he could hear was Lockhart’s voice echoing in his mind: “I’m the expert, Hadrian. Don’t you forget it. I know best. Always.”
The room seemed to grow smaller, the edges of his vision blurring. Hadrian, get it together. Focus. You’re fine.
But he wasn’t fine. His stomach twisted into tight knots, and he felt the room begin to spin as memories of second year came rushing back—Lockhart’s condescending words, his inappropriate actions, the way Hadrian had felt so utterly trapped, unable to escape.
Hadrian’s breath came in shallow bursts. His chest tightened, and he could barely hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears. He needed to leave—he needed air. Now.
Suddenly, the classroom felt suffocating. The sound of Moody’s voice, the way he was pacing, talking about curses with a detached ease—it was too much.
“Professor,” Hadrian’s voice came out strangled, barely above a whisper. “I… I need to—”
But before he could finish his sentence, his hand shot out to grip the desk beside him, his vision fading to the edges of darkness. He couldn’t breathe. He had to get out of there.
Severus had always told him it would get easier, that the memories would fade. But in that moment, the weight of everything came crashing down, and Hadrian wasn’t sure he could handle it.
“Hadrian?” a soft voice called out to him. It was Daphne, sitting across the aisle. Her eyes were wide, filled with concern. “Are you okay?”
He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even form words. He could only feel the heat rising in his face, his panic spiraling out of control.
“Professor Moody, please,” Daphne’s voice was urgent now. “He’s not alright.”
Moody’s voice, still booming and confident, faltered just a bit when he saw Hadrian’s wide eyes and trembling hands. He took a step forward, his magic eye zooming in on Hadrian with an unsettling focus.
“Mr. Prince? What’s going on? Do you need assistance?” Moody’s gruff voice was laced with concern, but there was a harshness to it, like a challenge.
Hadrian’s heart raced in his chest. He couldn’t form the words. His legs felt weak, his head spinning. He barely registered Daphne’s hand on his arm, guiding him gently out of his chair.
“Severus…” was all Hadrian managed to whisper before his vision blurred completely.
Daphne quickly turned to Moody. “He needs his dad. Now.”
Without another word, she helped Hadrian to his feet, supporting him as they made their way out of the classroom. The other students were staring, whispers starting to spread through the room, but Hadrian didn’t care. He just needed to escape. He needed his dad.
⸻
The moment the door to the Potions classroom burst open, Severus’ head snapped up. He was in the middle of explaining a tricky potion to a group of 7th-year students, but the sight of Hadrian’s pale face, his normally composed demeanor shattered, immediately shifted his focus.
Without a word, Severus stood, motioning for the students to quiet down, and quickly crossed the room.
“Hadrian, what happened?” he asked, his voice low and tight with concern.
Hadrian’s lips parted, but no words came out. He was shaking, his breath quick and shallow. Daphne stood beside him, her face pale, her eyes wide with concern.
“Professor, something happened with Moody,” she explained quickly. “Hadrian got triggered. He couldn’t breathe. I think it’s because of the way Moody was speaking.”
Severus’ jaw tightened. He turned his piercing gaze back to Hadrian, his heart aching at the sight of his son so clearly distressed. Without hesitation, he moved to Hadrian’s side, guiding him toward the door.
“We’re leaving, Hadrian. Now,” Severus said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Daphne, thank you. You did well.”
Daphne gave him a small nod, but Severus was already ushering Hadrian out of the classroom and down the hallway. He didn’t care about what the students thought. All that mattered now was getting Hadrian somewhere safe, somewhere he could calm down.
“You’re safe now, Hadrian,” Severus murmured as they walked, his voice gentle, the usual sharpness replaced with deep concern. “Just breathe. Everything will be alright.”
Hadrian nodded weakly, clutching onto Severus as though he were the only anchor in a storm.
Chapter 45: The conversation
Chapter Text
Severus ushered Hadrian into his private quarters with a wave of his wand, the door sealing shut behind them as soon as they stepped inside. The comforting scent of herbs and potion ingredients drifted through the air—familiar, grounding.
Hadrian’s breathing was still shallow, his eyes unfocused as Severus guided him to sit on the small sofa near the fire.
“Focus on your breathing,” Severus said gently, kneeling in front of him. “In through your nose… out through your mouth. I’m right here.”
Hadrian tried. He really did. But his hands were still trembling, and his chest felt like it had been crushed under a weight too heavy to bear. “I… I thought I was fine,” he whispered. “I thought it was over.”
“I know,” Severus said softly, placing a steadying hand on Hadrian’s shoulder. “But healing isn’t a straight path. Triggers happen. What matters is that you recognized it—and you came to me.”
Hadrian’s eyes welled with tears. “He sounded just like Lockhart. Not the words… not exactly. But the way he spoke, like he knew everything and— and—”
Severus leaned in, his voice low, careful. “And it pulled you back to that place.”
Hadrian gave a shaky nod.
“I should’ve walked out earlier,” he said bitterly. “I froze. I— I couldn’t even move.”
“You did nothing wrong.” Severus moved up beside him now, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders and drawing him in. “You didn’t freeze. You survived. And you came to me. That is strength, Hadrian. Do not let anyone, including yourself, diminish that.”
Hadrian turned into his father’s shoulder, letting the tears fall freely now, muffled against the familiar black of Severus’ robes.
Severus held him tightly, one hand running through his son’s hair, grounding him, anchoring him. His own heart ached—furious that even echoes of Lockhart could still hold such power over Hadrian. But mostly, he just held him, refusing to let the boy who had endured so much alone.
—
Some time later, once Hadrian had calmed and the worst of the panic had passed, they sat quietly by the fire, a warm cup of tea in Hadrian’s hands.
“I thought I’d buried it,” Hadrian admitted, his voice still hoarse. “I didn’t think just… words would bring it back like that.”
Severus nodded. “That’s how trauma works. It waits in the shadows, sometimes. Then the smallest thing—a phrase, a look, a smell—can drag it all back.” He paused, then added, “But that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
Hadrian glanced down into his tea. “Do you think Moody noticed?”
“I doubt it,” Severus replied. “But I will speak with him.”
“No—no, it’s not his fault. He didn’t know. He wasn’t trying to be—” Hadrian’s breath hitched again.
Severus placed a hand over Hadrian’s. “This isn’t about blame. It’s about making sure this doesn’t happen again.”
Hadrian gave a weak nod, but something in him still felt raw, exposed.
“I hate that he still has this kind of power over me,” he said bitterly. “He’s gone. Lockhart’s gone. And I’m still stuck.”
“You are not stuck,” Severus said quietly. “You are healing. And sometimes, healing hurts more than the wound did.”
For a moment, they sat in silence. Then, Hadrian leaned into his father’s side again, eyes closed.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmured.
Severus’s arm tightened around him. “You’ll never have to find out.”
Chapter 46: Warning signs
Chapter Text
Alastor Moody was halfway down the corridor from the Great Hall when he heard the unmistakable sharp tread of Severus Snape’s boots behind him. He didn’t need his magical eye to know who it was.
“Moody,” Severus called, his voice taut with a dangerous edge.
Moody turned slowly. “Snape.”
Severus didn’t waste time. “You triggered Hadrian today.”
Moody blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“In your lesson,” Severus said, striding closer until they were barely a foot apart. “The tone, the phrasing. Too close to Lockhart. It set him off—badly.”
Moody’s features darkened. “I didn’t touch him. I didn’t raise my voice.”
“You didn’t have to,” Severus said, voice low but seething. “You reminded him of a man who violated his safety and trust. You said it with the same smug confidence, the same flair. You didn’t mean it. But that doesn’t matter.”
Moody exhaled through his nose. “How bad?”
Severus’ jaw clenched. “He came to me in full panic. Hyperventilating. Could barely speak. I haven’t seen him like that in a long time.”
The former Auror’s eye twitched. “I’m sorry. Genuinely.”
Severus nodded once, curt and sharp. “Then you’ll come to the staff meeting. We’re going to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”
⸻
Later that evening, the fire in McGonagall’s office glowed with a soft, flickering light. The professors had gathered quietly, tension humming through the room like a brewing storm.
Severus stood near the fireplace, arms folded tightly across his chest. Moody was seated off to the side, his expression grim and unreadable.
Minerva began, “Severus, you called this meeting.”
Severus nodded once. “Hadrian had a severe panic response during Moody’s Defense class.”
Gasps and concerned murmurs rippled around the room.
“I didn’t mean to,” Moody said, voice gravel-rough. “But I see it now. The tone. The posture. I sounded too much like Lockhart.”
“Too much?” Severus snapped. “He couldn’t breathe.”
“I know,” Moody growled. “I know. I would never—”
“That’s not the point,” Poppy Pomfrey said gently but firmly. “It’s not about intent. It’s about what the child experienced.”
“He’s not just another student,” Minerva added softly. “And we cannot forget that.”
“We won’t,” Flitwick said. “So what do we do?”
Severus’s voice softened, but the ache behind it was unmistakable. “I’ll handle his Defense education personally—at least for now. We need consistency, safety.”
“We need to be watching,” Sprout said. “All of us.”
Moody spoke up again. “You have my word. I’ll watch every word. I’ll keep my distance. I’ll even leave the room if necessary.”
“And if it happens again?” Severus asked coldly.
“Then I’ll resign,” Moody said.
Silence. Then Minerva nodded. “Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.”
Chapter 47: The friends who stayed
Chapter Text
Hadrian was curled up in the armchair in his father’s quarters, a worn blanket over his shoulders and a book he hadn’t touched in his lap. The fire crackled low. He was calm now—mostly. But there was still a weight on his chest that hadn’t lifted.
A soft knock at the door broke the silence.
Severus looked up from his desk. “Stay here,” he said gently, then moved to open it.
Hadrian expected a professor. What he didn’t expect was the small group waiting just beyond the threshold: Daphne, Draco, Theo Nott, and Neville Longbottom, of all people.
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Daphne stepped forward. “We’d like to see Hadrian, sir. If… if that’s all right.”
Severus looked back at his son, who gave a small, surprised nod. “Let them in.”
They entered quietly, one by one. Daphne came last, and her eyes found Hadrian’s immediately. There was no pity there—just concern, steady and warm.
Draco was the first to speak. “You scared the hell out of us, you know.”
Hadrian let out a weak breath of a laugh. “Didn’t mean to.”
“We know,” Theo said, easing down onto the arm of the sofa. “You never do.”
Neville sat on the floor beside the fire, his voice soft. “It was Moody, wasn’t it?”
“Not him,” Hadrian said. “Just… how he sounded.”
They nodded. No one pressed him further.
Daphne knelt in front of his chair. “I saw the moment it happened,” she said gently. “The way you froze. I should have said something sooner.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Hadrian said. “None of you did.”
She reached for his hand. “That doesn’t mean we won’t be here now.”
He looked around the room, at all of them—Draco awkwardly leaning on the wall trying not to look worried, Theo quietly watchful, Neville drawing tiny patterns into the rug with his fingertip just to stay grounded.
And Daphne, steady and unflinching, holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Thanks,” Hadrian said finally, voice quiet but certain. “Really.”
Draco cleared his throat. “Well, we’re Slytherins, aren’t we? We look after our own. Even the half-blood heroes pretending to be mysterious and brooding.”
Hadrian cracked a grin despite himself.
“And me,” Neville added softly, with the ghost of a smile. “I may be a Gryffindor, but… you helped me once. I won’t forget that.”
Hadrian swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You’re all insane.”
“Probably,” Daphne said with a small smirk. “But we’re yours.”
Chapter 48: The quiet hours
Chapter Text
The last few weeks of term always felt heavier—not just because of exams, but because everyone knew things were about to change. The castle, so full of secrets and shifting shadows, seemed to hold its breath as the year wound down.
Hadrian sat with Daphne beneath the same tree by the Black Lake where they’d first shared something real. The sunlight stretched long across the water, casting golden reflections that danced along her face. He couldn’t stop looking at her.
“Stop staring,” she murmured, nudging him with her shoulder.
“Can’t help it,” he said, smiling. “You’re distracting.”
Daphne rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of his hand. “You’re going soft on me.”
“Only for you.”
She blushed, and he felt his chest warm at the sight of it.
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the distant laughter of students and the gentle rustle of the trees. It was peaceful. A kind of peace Hadrian rarely let himself have.
“You’ve changed,” she said softly, eyes on the water.
Hadrian turned to her. “How so?”
“You don’t flinch when people touch you anymore. You smile more. You let yourself be… here.”
He swallowed, her words settling in his chest. “I’m still figuring it out. But I think—” He looked at her, serious now. “I think you helped.”
Daphne squeezed his hand. “And you helped me. I used to think I had to be cold to be strong. But you… you’re proof that softness can survive fire.”
He smiled faintly. “I don’t feel soft.”
“No,” she said. “But you let yourself be kind. That’s rarer than anything.”
He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, lingering for a second longer than necessary.
“Promise we won’t let the summer change this?” he asked.
“I promise,” she said. “But I want something in return.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Name it.”
“Write me letters. Actual letters. Not just owl scribbles.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
Chapter 49: Wins and losses
Chapter Text
The Great Hall had never been so still.
Gone were the enchanted banners and cheerful decorations. In their place, tall black drapes hung between the house tables, and the usual magical ceiling was a muted gray, as though the sky itself mourned. The air was thick with sorrow and unease.
Cedric Diggory was dead.
Though the tournament had ended, the school felt as if it had aged years in the span of a single night.
Hadrian sat between Daphne and Draco at the Slytherin table, his posture straighter than usual, his face carefully unreadable. His father’s sharp eyes had barely left him all day. He wasn’t fragile—not anymore—but the old cracks still ached.
At the head table, Dumbledore stood and waited until the murmuring died down. His eyes were tired.
“This year has ended not with celebration, but with loss. Cedric Diggory was a fine student, a good friend, and a loyal Hufflepuff. His memory will be honored, and we must carry it forward with purpose.”
There was no applause. Just silence.
“And yet,” he continued, “there are things we must still acknowledge. The Triwizard Tournament has concluded, and Hogwarts must carry on.”
With a wave of his hand, the four house hourglasses filled behind him. To no one’s surprise—though some Ravenclaws looked shocked—Slytherin’s emeralds overflowed first.
“Slytherin House has won the House Cup.”
There was no thunderous cheer, no confetti. The Slytherins applauded politely, but subdued. Not out of shame—out of respect.
Hadrian allowed himself a quiet breath. Beside him, Daphne leaned just enough for their shoulders to touch.
After the meal, the visiting students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang said their goodbyes. Fleur passed by Hadrian and gave him a solemn nod; Krum nodded as well, grim and thoughtful.
As the Beauxbatons carriage lifted into the sky and the Durmstrang ship slipped beneath the lake’s surface, Hogwarts felt both emptier and heavier.
Draco murmured, “We won. But it doesn’t feel like winning.”
Hadrian nodded. “No. But it’s still something. Something to hold on to.”
He looked toward the staff table, where his father sat with his hands folded, watching him. Minerva next to him, eyes clouded with something between pride and grief.
And deep down, Hadrian knew—this was only the beginning.
Chapter 50: Summer shadows
Chapter Text
Spinner’s End looked different in the summer.
The trees were fuller, the light warmer. The small garden Severus had once insisted was “only practical for potions ingredients” now bloomed with soft herbs and a few stubborn wildflowers Daphne had spotted the moment she stepped into the yard.
The house was still dark and too full of quiet, but Hadrian liked it that way. It felt private. Safe.
He watched from the sitting room window as Draco Malfoy arrived first, flanked by a house-elf who deposited his trunks with an unimpressed sniff before vanishing.
“Tell me that’s not all clothes,” Hadrian said as Draco entered.
“It’s not,” Draco said primly, brushing dust from his sleeves. “One trunk is just hair products. The other is books. And then the third—”
“Unbelievable,” Hadrian muttered, grinning despite himself.
Daphne arrived a few hours later, her hair swept into a loose braid and her wand tucked behind her ear. She hugged Hadrian at the door before slipping inside like she’d always belonged.
Severus watched the chaos unfold from the threshold of his study, arms crossed and expression unreadable. But he didn’t stop any of it.
“Three Slytherins under one roof,” he said dryly. “I should start warding the pantry now.”
Draco made himself right at home, complaining about the lack of silk pillowcases while secretly enjoying the small, quiet comforts the house offered. Daphne sat in the kitchen with Severus for nearly an hour, asking detailed questions about potion theory while Hadrian listened nearby, warmth blooming in his chest at the rare sound of his father being both respected and… liked.
That night, the three of them sat in the backyard under a sky so clear you could see the Milky Way stretching like spilled stardust overhead.
Draco laid back in the grass. “This is the most peaceful I’ve felt in months.”
“You could just say thank you,” Hadrian said, tossing a pebble at him.
“I could. But then you’d get smug.”
Daphne laughed softly, her hand brushing against Hadrian’s. She didn’t pull away.
He turned toward her. “Thanks for coming. Both of you.”
“You needed it,” she said simply.
Draco made a dramatic sigh. “I did it for the peace and quiet.”
“You’ve been talking since you got here.”
“Exactly. Peace and quiet for me.”
Hadrian grinned and looked up at the stars again. It wasn’t Hogwarts. It wasn’t perfect. But for the first time in a long while, it felt like something close to home.
Inside, Severus sat at the window, watching them. His expression softened—just a bit—before he turned away and lit a lantern with a whisper of flame.
Chapter 51: Meet the parents
Chapter Text
The Greengrass Manor was the kind of place that looked like it had never known dust.
Polished marble floors, sprawling gardens charmed to bloom year-round, and sweeping staircases that whispered old magic and older bloodlines. Hadrian adjusted his collar as the butler led him through the grand entrance.
“They don’t bite,” Daphne had whispered before he’d stepped into the Floo.
Easy for her to say. She was a Greengrass.
As the doors to the drawing room opened, Hadrian stood a little straighter. The woman seated at the far end of the room looked up from a porcelain teacup. She was elegance wrapped in frost—Lady Selene Greengrass—but her eyes, like Daphne’s, held more depth than first glance allowed.
Beside her stood a tall, sharp-featured man with neatly combed dark hair and a look of silent calculation—Lord Cyrus Greengrass.
“Mr. Prince,” Selene greeted, rising with graceful ease. “A pleasure.”
Hadrian nodded and bowed slightly. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Cyrus looked him over like an old spell he was still deciding whether to trust. “So. You’re the one who’s managed to turn my daughter’s letters into poetry.”
Hadrian blinked. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
“Relax,” Cyrus said, lips twitching at the corners. “She speaks highly of you.”
Daphne stepped into the room then, her presence immediately softening the space. “You’re not intimidating him, are you?”
“Only slightly,” Hadrian muttered, earning a quiet chuckle from Selene.
The next hour was surprisingly easy. Conversation drifted from school to future ambitions, to what Hadrian thought of Defense professors these days (“Don’t get me started,” he’d said, making all three laugh), and even to potions—where he and Cyrus found a comfortable, if unexpected, common ground.
After dinner in the Greengrass conservatory, Daphne walked Hadrian out through the garden paths, fireflies flickering between their footsteps.
“Well?” she asked.
“Your dad terrifies me slightly less now,” he said. “And your mum might be scarier than him.”
“She’s scarier than most.”
He looked at her, fingers brushing hers before taking her hand fully. “But they’re kind. And… they like you. A lot.”
She smiled. “And they’ll come to like you too.”
Hadrian raised a brow. “So they don’t yet?”
She laughed and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You did great. Really.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“Thanks for being brave enough to come.”
The carriage ride back to Hogsmeade was silent except for the soft clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. Daphne sat beside Hadrian, her fingers curled around his. The moment felt suspended—too private for words, yet too charged to remain quiet.
When the lamps of the village came into view, she cleared her throat. “There’s something I didn’t tell you before.”
Hadrian turned to her, concern shading his features. “What is it?”
She drew in a breath. “My parents… they’re difficult to impress. They respect tradition and caution above all.” She paused, then continued softly, “When I told them I wanted you to join us tonight, they were… hesitant.”
His heart thudded. “Hesitant?”
Daphne nodded, eyes earnest in the lantern light. “Mother worried that—given everything that’s happened to you—you’d walked into a world too dangerous. She asked if I truly believed you’d be safe under our roof.”
Hadrian’s chest tightened with unease.
“Father,” she went on, “he wanted to know if you’d stay true to yourself. Not just conform to what a ‘proper suitor’ should be, but whether you’d let your kindness and your honesty shine, even among our… expectations.”
She reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his brow. “After you left the dining room, they spoke in whispers. Mother said you handled yourself with grace; she was impressed by your composure. My father admitted, quietly, that he thought you showed more courage tonight than most adults he knows.”
Hadrian exhaled, relief flooding him. “They… they approved?”
Daphne smiled, warmth returning to her gaze. “They do. They like you very much. But—” Her voice softened further. “They like you for you, not for what they hoped you’d be.”
He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Thank you for telling me.”
She tucked her hand in his. “You deserve to know—and you deserve every bit of their approval.”
In the glow of the lanterns, with the Greengrass estate fading behind them, Hadrian felt something he hadn’t in a long time: truly seen, and truly welcomed.
Chapter Text
The morning air on the first day of fifth year bit colder than usual, but Hadrian welcomed the sting. He woke before dawn in Severus’s quarters, the familiar weight of summer books replaced by the flutter of nerves in his chest. For months, he’d skirted Defense Against the Dark Arts—opting for private lessons or extra Potions—but today he would sit at a desk in Moody’s classroom once more. He’d spent the summer rehearsing his courage in the mirror, practicing slow breaths beneath the rising sun. This morning, he felt both fragile and determined in equal measure.
Over a sparse breakfast of toast and strong tea, Hadrian confessed his plan to Severus. The older man listened without surprise. When Hadrian finished, Severus set down his cup and met his son’s eyes. “You know I’ll be back in that room if you need me,” he said, voice low but steady. “Use the runes on the corners of the doorframe. One look, and I’ll know you need me.” Hadrian nodded, gratitude and resolve warring behind his gaze. The last vestiges of doubt drained away in the warmth of his father’s reassurance.
On the platform, Daphne and Draco found him just as the early-morning mist curled around the tracks. Daphne slipped her hand into his as he climbed into the compartment. “You’ll be fine,” she said softly, her own smile a promise. Draco gave him a brief, approving nod.
The classroom felt impossibly small when Dolores Umbridge swept through the door on the first morning of fifth year. Gone was the battered look of Moody’s defenses; in its place was cheerful pink banners, fluffy carpet, and a gigantic picture of the Minister herself beaming from the front wall.
Students murmured as she perched behind her leopard-print lectern. Umbridge’s voice was saccharine as she introduced herself as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, lauding the “positive disciplinary methods” mandated by the Ministry. She passed out neatly typed decree slips about tone, uniform, and permissible vocabulary—each stamped with the Ministry seal.
Hadrian felt the old tug of panic, but this time he leaned on the runes carved into his desk leg, remnants of his father’s wards. He wouldn’t be driven out. When Umbridge offered dainty, condescending lessons in theory (“After all, why learn the Unforgivable Curses when you can simply refuse to think about them?”), he kept his jaw set, his quill poised.
Around him, fellow students—eager to please or too frightened to speak—nodded obediently. Daphne shot him a tight, knowing look; Draco clenched his fists under the desk. Hadrian inhaled slowly, reminding himself that knowledge was power, that this classroom belonged to them as much as to her. As Umbridge began her first “practical demonstration” of the Disarming Charm, Hadrian lifted his wand, ready not just to defend against dark forces, but against the insidious control of the new regime. He would not run. He would stand and fight—quietly, ferociously, and on his own terms.
Chapter 53: Fathers fury and detention
Chapter Text
The moment Hadrian reached the dungeons, he headed straight for his father’s office. His robes whispered against the stone floor, heart pounding with every step.
He knocked once, voice low. “Dad?”
The door swung open. Severus looked up from a stack of parchments, his expression sharpening instantly. “What is it?”
Hadrian stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He pulled the folded detention slip from his robes and dropped it on the desk.
Severus’s eyes flicked to the Ministry seal and back to his son’s face. “Umbridge?”
Hadrian nodded. “For using my own notes during practice. She says I ‘defy Ministry instruction’ by not relying solely on her textbook.”
Severus’s jaw clenched. He picked up the parchment and read it in a single glance: Friday, 7 to 9. Fifty lines of Ministry doctrine. Supervised Expelliarmus practice.
“Detention with Dolores Umbridge,” Severus said, voice low and cold. “She’ll use it to humiliate you.”
Hadrian’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t just not practice.”
Severus set the slip aside and stood, pacing once before turning to face him. “You will attend. But you will not suffer in silence.”
He moved to the corner of the room and spoke a quiet spell. A pale rune glowed on the doorframe. “If you feel threatened, trace this. I will be there at once.”
Hadrian touched the rune, feeling its warmth. “Thank you.”
Severus’s eyes softened, then hardened. “I’ll speak to Minerva tomorrow. And to the Headmaster if I must. Umbridge will learn that Hogwarts does not belong to the Ministry alone.”
Hadrian swallowed. “I just… I don’t want to make things worse.”
“You make nothing worse,” Severus said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You stand up for what’s right. I’m proud of you.”
Hadrian gave a small, grateful nod. “I’ll be careful.”
Severus pulled him into a brief, fierce hug. “You are not alone.”
And for the first time since Umbridge’s decree, Hadrian felt ready to face Friday night.
Friday evening found Hadrian trudging down the corridors toward Umbridge’s office, cloak drawn tight against the chill. The dungeon door was already open when he arrived; inside, every trace of his father’s wards had been carefully removed.
The room was bathed in sickly lamplight. Soft pink carpet lined the floor; lace-trimmed doilies covered the desk. At the far end sat Dolores Umbridge, her cheeks flushed with triumph, quill poised above a stack of fresh parchment.
“Mr. Prince,” she purred, standing to greet him. “I trust you know why you’re here.”
Hadrian gave a tight nod.
She motioned to the far wall. Four practice targets—wooden posts with painted shields—had been set in a semicircle. “You will spend the next two hours practicing Expelliarmus under my supervision,” she instructed. “Afterward, fifty lines. Quill and parchment are here.”
She tapped a polished, silver inkpot stamped with the Ministry seal. Hadrian steeled himself and took up his wand.
“Shall we begin?” Umbridge said, arms folded in front of her, a sugary smile stretched too wide.
Hadrian moved to the center target, feet squared. He raised his wand. The first Expelliarmus was crisp and true—he disarmed the wooden shield of its painted sword.
Umbridge clapped softly. “Excellent form, Mr. Prince. But remember to visualize your intention: it must be proven faithful to the Ministry’s ideals.”
Her words grated; her correction implied he lacked loyalty. He tightened his grip, breath steady.
One by one, the targets fell to his practiced spells. Each time, Umbridge offered a tiny, measured praise: “Simply marvelous,” “Most precise,” “Such obedience to the charm.”
Hadrian felt each compliment as a weight, reminding him who truly commanded this exercise.
At precisely twenty minutes before nine, Umbridge swept forward. “That will do. Now, your lines.”
She produced a scroll of pre-written sentences—Ministry slogans about harmony and compliance. Hadrian selected a quill, dipped it in ink, and began:
“I will support the Ministry at all times.”
“I will report any inappropriate behavior.”
…forty-seven more times…
He wrote each line in neat, precise script. His hand burned; his mind replayed Severus’s warning. Still, he refused to let his pen tremble.
Finally, at the stroke of nine, Umbridge tapped her watch. “And… that will be sufficient for tonight. Remember your duty, Mr. Prince.”
Hadrian closed his notebook. He looked at her, calm but resolute. “Thank you, Professor.”
She offered one last tight smile. “Good night, Mr. Prince. I trust our next lesson will prove even more enlightening.”
Hadrian rose, slipped the parchments into his robes, and left without another word—his chin held high, mind already planning what he would say to his father.
Chapter 54: The bloody hand
Chapter Text
Hadrian’s footsteps were heavy as he reached the door to Severus’s office. He paused only a moment, then knocked once.
“Enter.”
He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The firelight painted dancing shadows across Severus’s face as the older wizard looked up from his Potions notes.
Hadrian held out his right hand, palm upward. Ink stains marred his skin, a dozen tiny blots scattered across the calloused lines of his palm—and the joints of his fingers were red and stiff from gripping the quill so tightly.
Severus’s eyes flicked to the hand, then to the folded parchment Hadrian still clutched in his other hand.
Without a word, Hadrian opened his palm wide. “It’s… worse than I thought,” he whispered. “My hand burns.”
Severus pushed back his chair and crossed the desk in two long strides. He took the injured hand gently in his own—an anchor of warmth in the chill of the dungeon.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmured, concern sharpening his tone. He pressed lightly at one ink-blotted knuckle; a small bead of blood welled beneath the skin.
Hadrian flinched but didn’t pull away. “I—didn’t notice until after I left. She made me write them so fast… I’m sorry.”
Severus’s jaw tightened. He produced a folded handkerchief and dabbed at the bleeding knuckle, then traced a quick healing charm over each blot and abrasion. The ink dissolved, the burn stung, and the redness faded.
When he was done, Severus cradled Hadrian’s hand in both of his. “No apologies,” he said softly. “No child should endure that.”
Hadrian closed his eyes at the touch. “I thought I could handle it.”
Severus’s voice wavered for the first time in years. “You handled it better than most adults I know.” He squeezed Hadrian’s hand. “I’ll speak with Minerva in the morning—and Dumbledore if I must. Umbridge crossed a line tonight.”
Hadrian nodded, relief and fatigue mingling in his chest. “Thank you.”
Severus tucked the parchment into a drawer. “Go rest. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Hadrian offered a small, grateful smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Severus reached out and ruffled his son’s hair once—tenderly. “You never have to find out.”
Chapter 55: The boards decree
Chapter Text
The door to Dumbledore’s office opened quietly, and in stepped Minerva McGonagall, followed closely by Severus Snape, their faces set with the solemn determination of those who carry news not lightly borne. In Minerva’s hand was a sealed envelope bearing the crest of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.
Dumbledore looked up from his desk, frown creasing his brow. “Minerva? Severus? You wished to speak?”
Minerva set the envelope on his desk. “Headmaster, we’ve returned from the Board meeting.” Her voice was measured, but held an unmistakable edge. “They have issued a mandate concerning Professor Umbridge’s position here.”
Severus laid a folded parchment beside it—Hadrian’s detention slip with its stained ink and the note from Poppy Pomfrey detailing his injuries. “They’ve reviewed the evidence: the punitive detentions, the emotional harm, the blatant disregard for student welfare.”
Dumbledore exchanged a look with Minerva, then carefully broke the Board’s seal. He unfolded their decree:
“By unanimous vote, the Board of Governors hereby orders that Dolores J. Umbridge be relieved of all duties at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, effective immediately. This action follows substantial evidence of misconduct and harm to students.”
Dumbledore’s eyes flicked up, shadowed with regret. “They have… spoken with authority.”
Minerva squared her shoulders. “We must act on it immediately.” She slid Hadrian’s parchment forward. “This is but one example. We have similar testimony from Professors Sprout and Hooch, and documentation from Pomfrey. It cannot stand.”
Severus’s expression was bleak. “Healed wards will not remove the scars this year has inflicted. But we can prevent further injury.”
Dumbledore folded the decree thoughtfully and laid it atop Hadrian’s slip. “You have done what I could not—pressured the Board into action.” He rose, pushing back his chair. “Very well. I will see that Professor Umbridge is dismissed at once and arrangements made for her replacement.”
Minerva allowed herself the faintest nod of relief. “Thank you, Headmaster.”
Severus exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “And if any further measures are required—”
Dumbledore’s gaze was firm. “I will not stand in the way. Hogwarts must remain a refuge for its students first.” He paused, meeting both their eyes. “Thank you for your persistence—and for reminding me of my responsibility.”
Minerva offered a small, appreciative smile. “We are all guardians of this place, Albus.”
Severus inclined his head. “Then let us begin repairs.”
Dumbledore gently refolded the Board’s decree. “Indeed. The sooner this ends, the sooner our students can heal.”
They filed out together, united in purpose: Hogwarts would no longer be subject to the dictates of a single, cruel regime, and every child within its walls would be safer for it.
The corridors outside Dolores Umbridge’s office were unnaturally silent. Normally, students scurried past, anxious to avoid her notice; tonight, the only sound was the echo of two pairs of purposeful footsteps.
Professor McGonagall hovered at the door, wand in hand. Severus Snape stood just behind her, the parchment bearing the Board’s seal clenched in his fist.
McGonagall pressed a fingertip to her lips. Snape tapped twice with his wand, and the door clicked open without a sound.
Inside, Umbridge raised her painted-on smile as soon as she saw them. “Minerva, Severus—what an unexpected—”
“Sit down, Dolores,” McGonagall said, voice low and firm. She swept into the plush pink armchair meant for unruly students and gestured to the one opposite. “We have a Board decree to deliver.”
Umbridge blinked, settling her lace-gloved hands in her lap. “A decree?”
Snape crossed the threshold, placing the signed parchment on the small table between them. The Ministry seal glinted menacingly in the lantern light.
McGonagall studied Umbridge’s face. “By unanimous vote, the Board of Governors has ordered your immediate relief from duty at Hogwarts.” She tapped the parchment. “Effective tonight.”
Umbridge’s smile faltered. “There must be some mistake. The Headmaster and I—”
“You will not argue,” Snape interrupted, stepping forward so that his black robes nearly swallowed the pink décor. “You have been found to have caused harm to students. Detentions that broke Hogwarts policy. Emotional distress. You are no longer welcome here.”
Umbridge’s lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced at McGonagall, then at Snape’s implacable face. Her voice trembled only slightly. “Surely the Board will reconsider once they see my report—”
“No,” McGonagall said quietly. “They will not. Your report was part of the evidence against you.”
A single breath escaped Umbridge before she rose, swaying on dainty heels. “You can’t do this to me—”
“We can, and we have,” Snape said softly, stepping aside. “The carriage to the Ministry awaits. You are to depart now.”
Umbridge’s painted smile snapped into a scowl. She clutched the arms of her chair. “Don’t think this is the end,” she hissed. “The Ministry will hear—”
McGonagall stood, wand at the ready. “You will leave in silence,” she said. “No further disruption. We owe your successor no chaos.”
For a heartbeat, Umbridge glared at them both—her empire of pink lace unraveling in her eyes. Then she gathered her skirts, swept past Snape’s shoulder without another word, and vanished down the corridor.
Snape lowered his wand, turning to McGonagall with a curt nod. “It is done.”
McGonagall exhaled, relief and regret mingling in her gaze. “Let us hope the castle can breathe again.”
Together, they tucked the Board’s decree into McGonagall’s robes and left the empty office—its walls awash in the dying glow of a tyranny ended.
Chapter 56: The headmasters lesson
Chapter Text
The Defense classroom was uncomfortably quiet as students settled into their seats. Gone were the pink drapes and perfumed doilies; in their place hung Hogwarts banners and a simple blackboard. At the front, Albus Dumbledore stood—robes gleaming silver in the torchlight, half-moon spectacles perched on his nose, wand in hand.
He offered a warm smile. “Good afternoon, young defenders. You may have heard that Professor Umbridge will no longer be conducting our lessons. Until we find a new instructor, I have the honor of stepping in.”
A ripple of relieved whispers passed through the room. Hadrian, seated near the back with Daphne at his side, gripped his wand with renewed purpose.
Dumbledore tapped the chalk against the board and began to write two words:
“Protego Maxima.”
“I wish to begin with the Shield Charm,” he said, voice gentle but carrying authority. “This enchantment is not merely a barrier—it is a statement of intent. When you say the incantation, you declare your right to stand, unbowed by darkness.”
He gestured to four enchanted practice dummies arranged in a semicircle. “First, observe.”
With a graceful flick, he cast Protego Maxima. A dome of pale blue light blossomed, rippling out to encompass the dummies. When Professor Sprout lobbed a Conjunctivitis Curse from the doorway, the spell rebounded harmlessly.
“Notice how the shield responds to your focus,” Dumbledore continued. “Fear will weaken it. Confidence in your own strength—your self-worth—will fortify it.”
He turned, gaze sweeping the room. “Now, your turn.”
Hadrian rose, steadying his breath. He remembered Severus’s wards… the runes on the doorframe… and he dipped his wand in confidence rather than dread.
“Protego,” he intoned. A shimmering barrier sprang to life, just past his desk, flickering but true. Across the room, his classmates—Neville, Theo,† and even Draco—all managed their own shields.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Excellent. Remember: true defense is as much about protecting others as it is about protecting yourself. In times of adversity, we stand together, shielding one another.”
He dismissed the dummies with a gentle wave. “Practice well, and practice often. I will be observing—and learning from you—in the weeks to come.”
As the bell rang, students filed out—lighter, hopeful. Hadrian slipped past Dumbledore, who placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Well done, Hadrian,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Your strength gives others courage.”
Hadrian nodded, heart steady. For the first time since the term began, Defense Against the Dark Arts felt like the right lesson in the right hands.
Chapter 57: The minds shield
Chapter Text
Hadrian stepped into Severus’s office just as the late-afternoon light waned. His father—his teacher—stood beside the hearth, robes catching the glow of embers. The room was bare tonight except for a single stool in the center and a small silver mirror on the desk.
Severus turned, eyes softening for a heartbeat. “You asked for this,” he said quietly, then straightened into the dual posture of professor and parent. “Sit.”
Hadrian took the stool, heart thudding. His hand trembled as he set his wand aside.
Severus retrieved the mirror and laid it on the floor, its rim etched with protective runes. “This will be our focal point,” he explained. “A new Occlumency tool—reflecting intrusion back to its source.” His tone was instructional, precise.
Hadrian stared at the mirror. “Why me, Dad? I’m not your best student…”
Severus’s gaze flicked to his son, warmer than usual. “Because you must be,” he said, voice fatherly. “You’ve faced worse. Now you’ll learn to guard against every blade—physical or mental.”
He moved to stand behind Hadrian, one hand resting gently on his shoulder. “Empty your mind,” he instructed as teacher. “Let go of all thought. Draw only on that which is steady.”
Hadrian closed his eyes. Memories rose like smoke—the feel of Lockhart’s hand, Umbridge’s sneer—threatening to overwhelm him.
Severus’s voice softened, loving but firm: “Not the past. Not now. A blank slate, Hadrian. A still pool reflecting nothing but your will.”
He guided Hadrian’s breath: “In… two… three. Out… four… five.” Each count measured, deliberate—both lesson and lullaby.
Hadrian thought of the rune on the doorframe, glowing faintly in his mind. He envisioned its lines, its promise of safety. Gradually, the tormenting memories recoiled.
Severus stepped forward. “Open your eyes.”
Hadrian obeyed. The mirror lay untouched, the room calm.
Severus’s expression shifted between pride and protective relief. “Good,” he said softly. Then, as professor: “Again. And tomorrow.” As father: “I’m proud of you. But this is only the beginning.”
Hadrian rose, steadier than when he entered. “Thank you,” he whispered—both student to teacher, and son to father.
Severus merely nodded, placing a firm hand on Hadrian’s shoulder. “Rest now. Tomorrow, we build the next layer of your defenses.”
Chapter 58: Hogsmeade stroll
Summary:
Double date with Hadrian/daphne and Draco/pansy idk if I’ll make them endgame like Hadrian and Daphne but for now they’re dating
Chapter Text
The snow-dusted rooftops of Hogsmeade gleamed under a pale winter sun as Hadrian and Daphne stepped off the train platform, bundled in emerald and silver scarves. Across from them, Draco Malfoy offered a mock bow to his own reflection in the station window, while Pansy Parkinson adjusted her fur-lined cloak with a self-satisfied smile.
“Welcome to paradise,” Draco announced, gesturing at the quaint confectioner’s shops. “Where the hot chocolate flows like—”
“—lava,” Pansy finished, looping her arm through his. “Let’s start with the Three Broomsticks. I want something that tastes like Christmas in a mug.”
Daphne laughed softly as Hadrian fell into step beside her. “Sounds perfect.”
⸻
Three Broomsticks
They settled into a corner table. Daphne warmed her hands around a frothy butterbeer; Hadrian chose a mint-tinged hot cocoa. Draco ordered a spiced mead, and Pansy insisted on a peppermint-peppercorn brew that made them all raise curious eyebrows.
Conversation crackled like the hearth. Draco regaled them with exaggerated tales of his father’s winter hunts; Pansy rolled her eyes, but Draco caught her gaze and winked anyway.
Hadrian recounted his latest Defense lesson—with Dumbledore temporarily teaching—instead of Moody. “The Headmaster actually encouraged us to practice murmuration shields,” he said, sipping cocoa. “Imagine a thousand tiny mirrors of light, deflecting hexes.”
Daphne’s eyes glinted. “Show me sometime.” She reached across and brushed her fingers over his knuckles; Hadrian’s smile was brighter than any fire.
⸻
Honeydukes Stroll
Refreshed, the four strolled toward Honeydukes, weaving through clusters of students. Outside, the air smelled of sugar and pine. In the window, rainbow-swirled Fizzing Whizzbees and Chocolate Frogs beckoned.
Pansy paused at a display of Ice Mice—tiny blue marshmallow creatures. “We must try these,” she declared, grabbing a box. Draco groaned. “Must we?”
“Absolutely.” Pansy handed a mouse to Draco, who nibbled it and blinked in surprise. “See? Bliss.”
Hadrian and Daphne shared a look, then dotted their own tongues with sugary dust. Daphne laughed. “That is good.”
⸻
A Walk by the Lake
They ended their outing at the edge of the frozen Black Lake. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in rose and lavender. Draco tossed a snowball at Pansy; she retaliated by flicking a handful of powdery snow at his hood. Their laughter echoed across the water.
Hadrian caught Daphne’s hand. “I’m glad we did this,” he said, voice low.
Daphne laced her fingers through his. “Me too. It feels… right.”
Draco cleared his throat, pouting slightly. “Don’t leave me out of the romance.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “If you behave, maybe we’ll let you join the next date.”
Draco pretended to clutch his heart. “Such cruelty.”
They all laughed, warmed by friendship and comfort against the chill. As the sun set, they headed back through the snow-silken village—four friends, closer than ever, ready for whatever the term would bring.
Chapter 59: OWL week
Chapter Text
The last weeks of term arrived like a crash of storm clouds—dark, urgent, irrevocable. OWL exams loomed; every corridor buzzed with whispered study tips and last-minute cramming. Hadrian, Daphne, Draco, and Pansy faced the greatest tests of their school careers… together.
⸻
Day One: Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL
The exam room was cold, hushed. Practice dummies waited at intervals, each with a placard naming a curse. Madam Bones watched from the side as Professor Dumbledore offered a brief nod.
Hadrian’s heart pounded in his ears as he stepped to the first station: Impedimentia. He raised his wand, focused on Dumbledore’s teaching: “Intent guides the charm.” The curse struck; his shield flared true.
Behind him, Draco and Pansy traded anxious glances. At the next station—Expelliarmus—Draco’s wand lilted with practiced ease, but he caught Hadrian’s eye and gave a tense thumbs-up. Pansy, perfectly composed, blasted her dummy’s sword away with pin-point precision.
When the final station arrived—Rictusempra—Hadrian felt a spark of confidence. His strike was clean; the dummy convulsed in a shower of harmless sparks. He exhaled, shoulders relaxing for the first time. Daphne, watching from the gallery, mouthed, “Well done.”
⸻
Day Two: Potions OWL
The dungeons smelled of thyme and stewing root. Madam Pomfrey presided over cauldrons filled with humming draughts. Hadrian approached the Amortentia station. He recalled Severus’s warning: “Precision before passion.” His potion glowed pale—and held.
Pansy’s concoction shimmered too—her brow furrowed in concentration. “Less sugar next time,” she muttered to herself, correcting the consistency.
Draco’s potion bubbled violet, a wisp of confidence in his hesitant smile. When all three turned in their bottles, Madam Pomfrey nodded. “Well brewed,” she announced.
⸻
Day Three: Charms and Transfiguration
Charms demanded delicate finesse. Carpe Retractum had them fling silver cords that snared floating hoops. Hadrian’s cord wound true; the hoop swung back into his hand like a loyal friend. Daphne’s then soared past, snagging a distant target in one graceful arc.
Transfiguration required nerve. Turning beetles into buttons, frogs into goblets—the slightest mispronunciation could leave a toad-cup. Draco’s final “Anapneo” misfire caused a floral centerpiece to sprout wings, prompting startled giggles… and a relieved smile from him when he righted it.
⸻
The Final Hour: O.W.L. Results
A week later, the Great Hall filled one last time. Dumbledore’s gaze was tender as he announced results:
• Hadrian Prince:
DADA—Outstanding
Potions—Outstanding
Charms—Exceeds Expectations
Transfiguration—Exceeds Expectations
Herbology—Acceptable
Beside him, Daphne Greengrass earned Outstanding in Charms and Exceeds Expectations across her other subjects. Draco Malfoy stood proud with Exceeds in Defense and Potions, and Pansy Parkinson beamed with her own high scores.
Students cheered—not the boisterous clamor of house rivalry, but the warm applause of survivors. The four friends exchanged triumphant grins and relieved hugs, the weight of fear finally lifting.
As the sun set on their fifth-year OWLs, Hadrian felt the bonds around him—fatherly pride waiting in Severus’s eyes, Dumbledore’s approving nod, and above all, the steady support of Daphne, Draco, and Pansy. Together, they had faced the darkest lessons and emerged—stronger, wiser, and ever ready for whatever challenges lay beyond.
Chapter 60: Fifth year gone
Chapter Text
The Great Hall glittered under a riot of green and silver as the final feast of fifth year began. Enchanted lanterns cast shifting emerald light across house banners, and the air hummed with excitement rather than the tense undercurrent of earlier months.
Dumbledore rose from the High Table, his eyes twinkling. “Another year draws to a close—and once more, the House Cup is at stake!” Plates floated up, laden with roast pheasant, crisp turnips, and glimmering treacle tarts. Silence fell as the four hourglasses behind him shimmered with incoming points.
“One final round of awards,” he announced, pausing for dramatic effect. “Twenty points to Slytherin House—for excellence in Defense Against the Dark Arts, exceptional performance on this year’s OWLs, and… an unwavering spirit in trying times.”
The Slytherin hourglass spilled over first.
A roar of green-and-silver erupted. Hadrian, seated between Draco and Daphne, felt the ground shift beneath him with elation. Pansy leapt to her feet, wands and goblets clinking as the table erupted in cheers.
Across the Hall, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students applauded—some grudgingly, some admiringly—while Hufflepuffs smiled fondly at Cedric’s empty place. Dumbledore let the applause die down, folding his hands. “Congratulations, Slytherin. Well earned.”
Severus Snape stood at the staff table, expression inscrutable, but his eyes found Hadrian’s. There was a flicker of pride there larger than any word could hold. Minerva McGonagall offered a rare, warm smile, and even Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on the Prince table with quiet approval.
As green-and-silver confetti drifted down, Hadrian caught Daphne’s hand beneath the table. Draco threw an arm around Pansy’s shoulders. And for one shining moment, the bonds they’d forged—through fear, through fire, through every dark lesson—felt stronger than any House rivalry.
Together, they stood triumphant. Slytherin had won the Cup once more—but more importantly, they had all proven what it meant to defend, endure, and belong.
Chapter 61: Shifting shadows
Chapter Text
The afternoon light slanted through the narrow dungeon windows of Spinner’s End, painting Severus Snape’s quarters in pale gold. Hadrian sat by the hearth, polishing his black school robes for the first time in months—sixth year awaited, and with it, the threats and expectations that never truly faded.
Severus watched him from across the room, stirring a simmering potion in a battered crucible. The air smelled of nightshade and juniper—comforting in its familiarity. Finally, Severus set aside his stirring rod and met his son’s eyes.
“I have news,” he said quietly.
Hadrian’s heart stuttered. “Good news or… more of the Ministry variety?”
Severus permitted a faint, wry smile. “Neither, exactly.” He crossed to the mantel and removed a folded parchment edged in emerald. “I have accepted the Headmaster’s request: I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year.”
Time paused in the hush. Hadrian’s fingers stilled on the seam of his robe. “You’re… teaching D.A.D.A.?”
His father nodded. “I promised I would protect you. Now I will teach you—and everyone else—how to defend themselves properly.”
Hadrian exhaled, relief and something else—pride—rippling through him. “That’s… incredible.”
Severus placed the letter atop a stack of textbooks. “There is more. Horace Slughorn has returned as Potions Master.” He paused, gauging Hadrian’s expression. “He asked for the post back. Dumbledore agreed.”
Hadrian laughed, a short, incredulous sound. “Slughorn? Back here?”
“Indeed,” Severus said, in that soft tone that often heralded something serious. “He’ll be looking for promising students to fill his famous Slug Club. I trust you’ll make your own choices about which invitations to accept.”
The corners of Hadrian’s mouth turned up. “Sounds like my second father’s coming back too.”
Severus allowed himself a small nod. “He has talents you can learn from—provided you remain cautious.”
Hadrian stood and crossed the room, slipping an arm around his father’s shoulders. “I’ve already learned from the best.”
Severus stiffened, then relaxed under his son’s gesture—father and student, guardian and protégé, standing at the threshold of a year that would test them both more than any before.
Outside, the wind rustled through the iron bars of the window. Inside, they shared a silent promise: this year, they would face darkness together—teacher, scholar, and son—united in purpose and unbreakable in resolve.
Chapter 62: The start of 6th year
Chapter Text
The scarlet steam of the Hogwarts Express billowed around the platform, mixing with the brisk September air. Sixth-year students bustled by—new robes, new confidence—while first-years clung to parents’ knees. Hadrian stood near the carriage door, cloak drawn tight, anticipation fluttering in his chest.
A familiar, measured footstep approached. Severus Snape appeared, black robes impeccable. He offered no smile, but his stern gaze softened just enough.
“Board,” Severus said quietly.
Hadrian nodded and climbed aboard. Inside the compartment, Daphne Greengrass, Draco Malfoy, and Pansy Parkinson were already settled, trunks piled high beside the window.
“About time,” Draco drawled, closing a book with a snap. “We were forced to choose who gets the seat next to Pansy.”
Pansy patted the space beside her. “Naturally, Draco—” she smirked, “—but I’ve made room for the rest of you.”
Daphne rose to hug Hadrian quickly. “Ready for your first term with your Dad as DADA professor?”
Hadrian leveled his shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.”
Severus cleared his throat, drawing their attention at once. “You may have heard that Horace Slughorn has returned as Potions Master.” His voice was quiet, but each word landed like a deliberate reminder. “Exercise caution with any invitations to his… Slug Club.”
At the mention of Slughorn, a rustle went through the students boarding the train. Hadrian spotted the rotund figure in emerald robes at the buffet car door, gold-trimmed waistcoat glinting. Slughorn waved a pudgy hand, his smile broad and welcoming.
“Good afternoon!” Slughorn called, voice rich and suave. “Sixth years—delighted to see you all back! I look forward to our lessons together.”
A murmur of excitement rippled through the compartment. Daphne smiled but raised an eyebrow at Hadrian. Draco rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Pansy tugged at her cloak, already plotting her best effort to charm the new Potions Master.
Severus inclined his head to Hadrian. “Lessons begin Friday,” he said, tone softening into something almost fatherly. “Be prepared.”
Hadrian met his father’s gaze. “I will be.”
The train lurched forward, the station receding into mist and noise. As they sped toward Hogwarts, Hadrian leaned back against the compartment wall, watching Slughorn through the window—already plotting how to stay true to himself under his old mentor’s gilded influence, while looking forward to what his own father might teach him in the days ahead.
Chapter 63: Shield and snape and slughorn’s return
Chapter Text
The Defense classroom was unrecognizable from the mess of Umbridge’s pink tyranny. Black drapes had been rolled away; desks were neatly aligned; practice dummies stood ready in a semicircle. At the front stood Professor Severus Snape, dark robes impeccably pressed, expression unreadable.
“Good afternoon,” he snapped as students filed in. His gaze swept the room—severe, assessing. “I am your Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor this year. You all know who I am as I have taught every one of you potions.”
At his short announcement, a hush fell. Hadrian felt the familiar tightness in his chest give way to resolve.
Snape drew his wand, pointing toward the first dummy. “Lesson one: the Shield Charm—Protego.” He tapped the dummy’s staff. “A shield is more than a barrier. It is your will made manifest.”
He demonstrated: “Protego!” A rippling dome of pale blue light sprang into being, surrounding the dummy as an unblockable hex clanged harmlessly away.
“Now you,” Snape commanded.
Hadrian stood, wand at the ready. He recalled Dumbledore’s words and Severus’s runic exercises. Stepping forward, he pronounced clearly, “Protego!” A modest shield burst to life, quivering but true. The class turned—some impressed; others envious.
Daphne’s dark eyes shone as she nodded. Draco leaned forward, jaw set, and Pansy bit her lip in concentration.
Snape moved down the line, correcting posture and wand angle with clipped instructions. At each success, his praise was blunt but genuine: “Good form, Prince. Less hesitation.”
When he returned to the front, the room was charged with quiet confidence. “Remember,” he said, voice softer but steel beneath, “true defense comes from clarity of mind and certainty of purpose. Practice this daily.”
He turned his cloak as the bell rang. “Next class: Muggle-Repelling Charms. Read chapter four of Defensive Magical Theory—and do not be late.”
Hadrian gathered his things, shoulders braced. As he left, Snape’s single nod was all the approval he needed—both father and professor showing he belonged behind that
—
The Potions dungeon glittered with polished copper cauldrons and rows of exotic ingredients. At the front, Professor Horace Slughorn reclined in a velvet armchair, beaming like a well-fed toad. A crystal bowl of bonbons sat on his desk, and invitations for the “Slug Club” lay temptingly beneath them.
“Ah, my dear sixth years!” Slughorn called cheerfully. “Welcome back! I trust your summer was… stimulating?” He winked, eyeing Hadrian and the others. “I have missed your bright talents.”
He rose, brushing invisible dust from his emerald waistcoat. “Today, we begin with the Pepperup Potion—a restorative brew perfect for chilly evenings and sniffles.”
He moved to a cauldron. “Six crushed peppercorns, one sprig of rosemary, a spoonful of honey, and lavender oil—stirred clockwise twenty times.” His voice danced, each instruction punctuated with a fond glance at his students.
Slughorn ladled in the ingredients as the students watched eagerly. “And now, you!” he exclaimed. “Work in pairs.”
Hadrian paired with Daphne; Draco teamed with Pansy. Laughter and tentative conversation bubbled up as they chopped, measured, and stirred. Slughorn flitted between tables, tasting droplets with his pinkie raised. “Marvelous spice balance, Prince!” he praised, sipping from Hadrian’s cauldron. “You have a gift.”
Across the room, Pansy beamed as Draco’s potion shimmered. Slughorn clapped his hands. “Excellent work, my dears! I see Slug Club invitations in your futures—provided you maintain such standards.”
At the bell, Slughorn sank back into his chair, offering each student a bonbon. “Remember, I am always on the lookout for promising talent. My door is open—especially to those with a refined palate and… discretion.”
Hadrian accepted his candy, heart light. As they filed out, he caught Slughorn’s eye and gave a small nod of thanks. The old Potions Master returned to his cauldron with a contented sigh—sixth-year Potions promised to be far sweeter than he’d left them.
Chapter 64: The invite
Chapter Text
It was a week into the term when the invitation arrived—folded parchment with the unmistakable shimmer of emerald ink, sealed with a slug-shaped wax stamp. It lay on Hadrian’s dinner plate at the Slytherin table during a quiet Thursday supper.
Draco leaned over, eyes glinting. “Looks like you’ve caught Slughorn’s eye. Welcome to the club.”
Pansy made an exaggerated swoon. “Oh, imagine the pressure. All those important names… and your father being so unimpressed.”
Hadrian broke the seal carefully, Daphne reading over his shoulder.
Young Mr. Prince,
I would be delighted if you joined me this Saturday evening for a small gathering in my office—just a few students I feel show exceptional promise. Refreshments will be provided. Do bring your appetite for stories and intellect alike.
Warmest regards,
Professor H. E. F. Slughorn
Hadrian folded the parchment, brow furrowed. “Should I go?”
Daphne looked thoughtful. “You don’t have to play his games, but it doesn’t hurt to know what he’s offering.”
Draco nodded. “Take it from someone who’s been schmoozed by family friends since I was six—just smile, be polite, and don’t agree to anything.”
Hadrian smirked. “So basically: be Slytherin.”
Later that evening, he knocked on the door to his father’s office, the letter still in hand.
Severus looked up from grading. “You received it, then?”
“I did,” Hadrian said. “You knew it was coming?”
“I expected as much,” Severus replied, setting his quill down. “Slughorn likes to collect names, and yours… holds a certain mystique.”
“Should I go?”
There was a pause. “That decision is yours. But remember—if you walk through that door, you’re walking into a web. Be sure you know where the threads lead before you tug.”
Hadrian gave a slow nod. “Got it.”
Severus studied him for a long moment. “Still,” he added quietly, “you’ve earned this. You’re not just my son—you’re a scholar in your own right. Don’t forget that.”
Hadrian left with the letter tucked inside his robe—and a sense of quiet, steady pride burning in his chest.
Chapter 65: The slug club soirée
Chapter Text
Saturday evening arrived wrapped in crisp autumn air and the scent of roasted pumpkin drifting from the kitchens. Hadrian adjusted the collar of his deep green dress robes, eyeing his reflection with mild suspicion. “I look like a formal owl.”
Draco, already preening beside him in sleek black, snorted. “You look like someone who’s about to be offered a Ministry internship before he’s legally allowed to drink.”
They met Daphne and Pansy briefly in the corridor before parting ways—“Good luck charming the ancient rich,” Daphne teased, brushing Hadrian’s hand with hers. He offered her a smirk and a wink before she and Pansy disappeared up the stairs.
Slughorn’s office was warm and richly lit by floating candles and a small crackling fireplace. The walls were lined with portraits of famous witches and wizards Slughorn had “helped along,” and a buffet table groaned with treats: crystallized pineapple, honeyed ham, treacle tart, and goblets of pumpkin fizz.
“Ah! Mr. Prince, Mr. Malfoy!” Slughorn beamed as they entered, his arms opening like a stage curtain. “Two of my most anticipated guests! Come in, come in!”
Hadrian and Draco exchanged a glance before stepping inside. A small circle of students and a few alumni had already gathered. Blaise Zabini lounged near the fireplace, a smirk playing on his lips. To the side, Ginny Weasley stood stiffly, clearly out of place, accompanied by a flushed and overeager Colin Creevey, who had somehow charmed his way in.
Slughorn swept in front of them, already launching into introductions. “Hadrian Prince—top marks in Potions, excellent control in Defense, son of our very own Professor Snape. A mind I expect we’ll be seeing published before graduation!”
Hadrian smiled politely, ignoring the slight flush rising in his cheeks. Slughorn turned with equal enthusiasm. “And young Mr. Malfoy—legacy, of course, but not without substance. I hear you’ve taken a special interest in Arithmancy this year, yes? Brilliant field!”
Draco nodded smoothly, “Just enough to calculate the precise amount of nonsense people say at events like these.”
That earned a rich belly-laugh from Slughorn and a round of impressed chuckles from the students nearby. Slughorn herded them toward the center of the room with glasses of fizz in hand.
The next hour passed in a flurry of polite conversation, name-dropping, and subtle competition. Slughorn held court like an aging monarch, regaling the group with tales of the “good old days” when he taught Lily Evans and “dear young Regulus.”
Hadrian found himself nodding through most of it, his eyes occasionally flicking toward Draco, who—ever the politician’s son—was playing the room with ease. At one point, Blaise sidled over.
“Your father knows you’re here?”
“Of course,” Hadrian replied.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “And approved?”
Hadrian tilted his head, cool smile returning. “With sufficient warnings about Slughorn’s taste for influence.”
Blaise grinned, clinking his glass lightly against Hadrian’s. “Good. You’re fun when you’re cautious.”
As the evening wore down, and Slughorn began offering crystal sweets in little silver boxes, Hadrian stepped back beside Draco, both of them sipping the last of their fizz in relative silence.
Draco leaned close. “Well?”
“Not horrible,” Hadrian said. “But definitely a snake pit.”
“Exactly,” Draco murmured with a smirk. “And we just learned where the sharpest fangs are.”
They left the party as the clock struck ten, walking back toward the dungeons under the faint flicker of torchlight. Hadrian tucked the silver box into his robes, and though his mind felt stretched, he also felt oddly… confident.
The game had begun—and he was ready to play.
Chapter 66: A ministry gala
Chapter Text
The Ministry of Magic’s gala was held beneath a canopy of floating silver starlight in the Grand Atrium, transfigured for the evening into a palace of glass and gold. Music flowed like water from an enchanted harp quartet, and the scent of spiced mead mingled with cinnamon and lilac from conjured floral arrangements.
Hadrian Prince stood near the edge of the crowd, flanked by Daphne Greengrass in flowing sapphire silk and his father, Professor Severus Snape, who—despite the formality of the occasion—remained draped in tailored black robes that billowed with every sharp turn of his head. His arms were folded, expression carved in ice.
“I didn’t think I’d be attending one of these again so soon,” Hadrian murmured, adjusting the collar of his dress robes.
“You are not attending,” Severus replied coolly. “You are surviving.”
Daphne gave a quiet laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you both from excessive mingling.”
They didn’t get far before a familiar drawl interrupted the polished din of conversation.
“Hadrian, my boy!”
Horace Slughorn bustled over, glass of elderflower wine in hand, his face ruddy with cheer and indulgence. “Marvelous to see you—and with young Miss Greengrass! And of course, Severus, I see you’ve dusted off your social robes for the evening.”
“I wasn’t aware this event had devolved into a recruitment fair for gossip columnists,” Severus deadpanned, eyes narrowing slightly.
Slughorn chuckled, unaffected. “Always with the wit! Hadrian, you’ve been the talk of the department ever since your potions essay was passed around the Guild last month. Minister Gagnon was beside herself—‘a prodigy with a pen,’ she said!”
Hadrian gave a practiced, tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, sir. That’s kind of her.”
Daphne tilted her head slightly. “You always seem to be in the right place to hear the right praise, Professor.”
Slughorn puffed up like a pleased toad. “Ah, just well connected, my dear. And how about the pair of you? A lovely couple, yes? I daresay this generation of Slytherins has real promise.”
From the corner of the hall, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy approached with Draco just behind. Lucius’s pale eyes settled on Hadrian, then flicked to Severus with a subtle nod of approval.
“Hadrian,” Lucius said smoothly. “Daphne. Severus.”
“Lucius,” Severus replied, equally formal. “I see we’ve all had the misfortune of being summoned to the same pageant.”
Narcissa’s lips twitched faintly. “It does seem the Ministry believes spectacle equals stability.”
Slughorn, beaming at the reunion of Slytherin prestige, launched into another long story about a failed Ministerial candidate and a disastrous potion once served at a wedding. Hadrian listened with half an ear, eyes scanning the ballroom’s glittering crowd.
Daphne leaned close. “I think your father might cast a Silencing Charm on Slughorn if this goes on much longer.”
“He’d never,” Hadrian said with a smirk. “Too merciful.”
As the night wore on, Severus eventually guided them away from the crowd with a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder, his voice low. “You were composed. Measured.”
“I was waiting to see if Slughorn would start pitching me to the Minister of Magical Transportation,” Hadrian said. “Maybe next time.”
Severus gave a rare, brief smirk. “I would sooner let you duel a Hungarian Horntail.”
Daphne laughed, slipping her hand into Hadrian’s as they left the gala’s gleaming halls behind. “Well, if he does, I’m claiming the first article in Witch Weekly.”
As they vanished into the night, the stars above the Ministry glimmered on—never knowing which of the young and dangerous guests beneath them would shape the future.
Chapter 67: The real invitation
Chapter Text
The dungeons were quiet late that Friday evening, with only the sound of Severus’s quill scratching across parchment filling the room. Hadrian sat across from his father’s desk, flipping absently through an old Defense textbook, occasionally glancing toward the softly flickering fire.
Severus looked up from his grading with a sharp breath, pausing. “You’re distracted.”
Hadrian arched a brow. “Only a bit. Trying to decide if I’d rather revise another counter-curse essay or get cursed just to avoid it.”
The corner of Severus’s mouth twitched with something dangerously close to amusement. “You may yet get both.”
A quiet knock on the door interrupted them. When Severus flicked his wand to open it, a school owl swept in, dropping a thick cream envelope on the desk in front of Hadrian before disappearing again into the shadows.
Hadrian raised an eyebrow and broke the wax seal, revealing elegant handwriting in a now-familiar shade of emerald green.
Young Mr. Prince,
You are cordially invited to a private Slug Club dinner this coming Thursday evening. It will be a gathering of a few select students—current and former—just those I feel show promise in leadership, magical talent, and… pedigree.
Your companions, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Greengrass, and Miss Parkinson have also been extended the invitation. I do hope you’ll attend. I would be delighted to speak further about your future…
Cordially,
Professor Horace E. F. Slughorn
Hadrian exhaled slowly and glanced up at his father.
Severus had already scanned the note from across the desk. His voice was mild—dangerously so. “It seems you’ve graduated from collector’s piece to centerpiece.”
Hadrian set the letter down carefully. “You think I should go?”
Severus steepled his fingers, dark eyes unreadable. “I think you already know how to play the game. Just remember, Horace Slughorn is not offering you power—he’s offering you association. That is a very different thing.”
“I won’t let him turn me into a pawn,” Hadrian said quietly.
Severus’s expression softened for a moment. “I know you won’t. But I’m your father. It’s my duty to remind you that charm is most dangerous when disguised as opportunity.”
Hadrian nodded slowly. “Draco and Daphne were invited, too.”
“That makes it marginally more tolerable,” Severus replied dryly. “At least you won’t be trapped alone with Slughorn’s pudding and self-congratulations.”
Hadrian folded the letter and tucked it into his robe pocket, feeling the weight of it settle against his side.
He wasn’t sure if the dinner would lead to anything important. But for the first time, the invitation didn’t feel like pressure. It felt like a choice.
And he was ready to make it.
Chapter 68: The dinner among the chosen
Chapter Text
The private dining chamber Slughorn used for his gatherings was awash in warm candlelight and lined with shelves displaying peculiar magical oddities: crystalized bowtruckles, potion vials from centuries past, and framed photographs of former students—many now high-ranking Ministry officials, professional Quidditch players, or famed inventors.
Hadrian adjusted the collar of his dress robes, dark green with silver trim, as he stepped into the room with Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson beside him. The four of them had arrived together, escorted by a quietly grumbling Severus Snape, who had promptly vanished once they were handed over to Professor Slughorn’s care.
“Ah, Hadrian!” Slughorn greeted, sweeping forward with a flourish and an oddly theatrical bow. “So very pleased you could join us. Come in, come in! I’ve saved you a seat near the center—you’ll be in most esteemed company tonight.”
The dining table was a grand U-shape, set with gold-trimmed china and floating candles. Already seated were several older witches and wizards—former Slug Club members, their proud smiles and well-tailored robes marking them as influential alumni.
“Allow me to introduce you,” Slughorn said, guiding Hadrian and his group in. “This fine gentleman is Barnabas Cuffe, editor of The Daily Prophet. Next to him is Melinda Bobbin, CEO of Bobbin’s Apothecaries. And this,” he said with particular pride, “is Tilly Gladrag, who runs Gladrag’s Wizardwear—you’ve heard of the Yule Ball collection, yes?”
Hadrian gave polite nods, shaking hands when offered, his posture calm and confident even as his stomach twisted slightly.
Daphne leaned in beside him as they took their seats. “So, who do you think Slughorn wants you to impress—Cuffe or Bobbin?”
Hadrian muttered under his breath, “He probably wants to auction me off to both.”
Draco snorted into his drink, while Pansy rolled her eyes with a smirk.
As the dinner unfolded, Slughorn made sure Hadrian was pulled into every conversation: discussing advanced potioneering techniques with Melinda Bobbin, recounting a defense theory essay he’d written that had impressed Professor McGonagall, and—unfortunately—being asked by Barnabas Cuffe if he’d ever considered a future in politics.
“Not exactly,” Hadrian replied with a tight smile. “But I do understand the importance of choosing who speaks for you.”
Seated further down the table, Draco chimed in with a perfectly Slytherin chuckle. “He’s polite enough to talk to the press, but smart enough not to trust them.”
The adults laughed, but there was a spark of real admiration in their eyes. Slughorn beamed.
As the meal came to a close and dessert—enchanted cream puffs shaped like dragons—appeared with a puff of spice-scented smoke, Hadrian caught Daphne’s eye. She gave him a small, proud smile that settled something nervous in his chest.
Later, as the guests began to filter out, Slughorn clapped a hand to Hadrian’s shoulder. “You did splendidly, my boy. Just splendid. Mark my words—you’re destined for great things.”
Hadrian offered a nod of thanks but didn’t reply. He’d learned long ago not to let others define his path.
As they stepped back into the cool air of the corridor, Draco elbowed him lightly. “You survived.”
“I survived Slughorn’s matchmaking and five recruitment pitches,” Hadrian replied. “That counts as a win.”
Daphne laced her fingers with his as they walked. “You were brilliant.”
And in the quiet between them, that meant far more than any compliment spoken over gold-trimmed china.
Chapter 69: The ice has cracked
Chapter Text
Snow blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts in thick, untouched drifts, and warm candlelight glowed from every window in the castle. The atmosphere was festive—enchanted mistletoe, crackling fireplaces, and garlands of holly winding up every banister.
Hadrian, Draco, Daphne, and Pansy had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays again, and while things had been peaceful, something had been simmering beneath the surface between Draco and Pansy for days.
It finally came to a head during a quiet evening in the Slytherin common room.
The four of them were seated by the fire. Hadrian and Daphne were curled up on one couch, quietly reading, while Pansy and Draco sat across from each other at a chessboard. The tension was thick, like a storm waiting to break.
“You always think you’re right,” Pansy snapped suddenly, knocking one of Draco’s pieces off the board with unnecessary force.
Draco’s brow furrowed. “That’s because I usually am. Honestly, Pansy, you’re making a scene over a game.”
“This isn’t about the game, and you know it!” Pansy stood up, arms crossed. “You’ve been distant for weeks—barely speaking, constantly brushing me off like I’m a burden.”
Draco stood too, his voice tight. “Because every time we talk, it turns into a row like this. Merlin, Pansy, you’re exhausting.”
Hadrian and Daphne sat up straighter, their eyes flicking between their friends.
“I’m exhausting?” she echoed, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re the one who doesn’t know what he wants half the time. You act like you’re above everyone, like you’re entitled to be cold and cruel.”
“That’s rich coming from someone who throws a fit whenever I’m not feeding your ego,” Draco said flatly, his face shuttered.
Pansy’s jaw tightened, and for a moment she looked like she might cry—but she didn’t. Instead, she turned on her heel.
“Well, then don’t worry about it anymore. We’re done.”
She stormed off, leaving silence in her wake.
Hadrian let out a slow breath. “That… was intense.”
Draco sank back down into the armchair, staring into the fire. “It was coming. She just got there first.”
Daphne reached over and squeezed Hadrian’s hand. No words were needed. In Slytherin House, relationships were complicated, fragile, and often caught between expectations and pride. But sometimes, when they shattered, it was the only way forward.
And in that moment, Hadrian saw something else in Draco’s expression—not regret, but a strange sense of relief.
Chapter 70: A chance encounter
Summary:
My first oc!
Chapter Text
It was a few days after the Draco–Pansy breakup, and the tension in the Slytherin common room had finally begun to ease. Still, Draco had been unusually quiet, keeping mostly to himself except for the occasional sarcastic remark or half-hearted smirk.
Hadrian had suggested some time in the library to escape the walls of the dungeons, and Draco, surprisingly, hadn’t argued. While Hadrian wandered off to find Daphne, Draco lingered near the Charms section, halfheartedly flipping through a book on wandless magic.
That’s when he heard a soft voice behind him.
“Excuse me—could you pass me that copy of Magical Theory Through the Ages?”
Draco turned, expecting a nervous second-year or an overeager Hufflepuff, and instead came face to face with a girl around fifteen, her dark hair pinned back in a neat twist, Ravenclaw crest gleaming on her robes. Her eyes were sharp—a striking shade of deep violet—and her posture was calm, composed… but not unkind.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me for help with theory?”
She gave him a measured smile. “You’re taller than me, and it’s on the top shelf. It’s practical, not academic.”
Draco blinked, then huffed a faint laugh and handed her the book.
“Hyacinth Yaxley,” she said, tucking it under her arm. “Fifth year.”
“Draco Malfoy,” he replied automatically. “You’re a Yaxley?”
“On my father’s side. But don’t worry,” she added wryly, “I haven’t inherited the more… brutish tendencies.”
Draco couldn’t help the amused curve of his lips. “And yet you’re in Ravenclaw.”
“I like control through knowledge,” she said simply. “It’s quieter. More efficient.”
There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“Your friends have been whispering about you,” Hyacinth said after a beat. “The breakup.”
Draco’s smirk faded slightly. “Let them whisper.”
“I think you’re better off,” she added, tilting her head. “You seem like someone who values sharp minds more than sharp tongues.”
He looked at her closely then, intrigued. “You might be right.”
She smiled again, smaller this time. “Well. If you ever want a conversation that doesn’t involve rumors, you know where to find me.”
And just like that, she walked off with her book in hand and a quiet grace that left Draco watching after her longer than he intended.
He didn’t say it out loud, but for the first time in weeks, the chill in his chest began to thaw.
Chapter 71: The raven meets the serpents
Chapter Text
It was a crisp winter afternoon, the kind where the air had just enough bite to make scarves feel necessary, but not quite enough snow to keep students indoors. Hadrian, Daphne, and Blaise had claimed a spot beneath the frost-covered tree near the edge of the courtyard—a usual haunt when they wanted a bit of peace without full isolation.
Hadrian leaned against Daphne, who was thumbing through a book, while Blaise lounged nearby, tossing bits of parchment at a particularly smug crow that kept stealing student notes.
The mood was calm… until Blaise suddenly straightened. “Incoming,” he murmured with a smirk. “Malfoy, twelve o’clock—and he’s not alone.”
Hadrian looked up just as Draco stepped through the arch, and walking beside him, book in hand and posture still impeccably composed, was Hyacinth Yaxley.
Daphne’s eyebrow arched. “That’s the Ravenclaw girl, isn’t it? Yaxley’s daughter.”
“She looks like she’s walking straight out of a pureblood painting,” Blaise said with casual interest.
“She’s the one Draco met in the library,” Hadrian added, watching closely.
The four didn’t call out—but Draco spotted them immediately. His step faltered for a split second before he regained his usual cool swagger and headed in their direction. Hyacinth followed without hesitation.
“Didn’t expect an audience,” Draco drawled as he approached.
“We didn’t expect a Ravenclaw,” Daphne said smoothly, closing her book. “But here we are.”
Hyacinth met her gaze evenly. “You must be Daphne Greengrass. And I assume you’re Blaise Zabini?”
Blaise gave a short nod. “And you’re Yaxley’s heir.”
“On parchment, yes,” she replied dryly, “but I tend to make my own introductions.”
Hadrian’s lips twitched at that. “Hyacinth, was it?”
“Hadrian Prince,” she said, giving him a polite nod. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Hopefully not all of it,” Hadrian quipped, earning a light laugh from Daphne and even a smirk from Hyacinth.
Draco settled beside Blaise, arms crossed as he watched the interplay with a slight, unreadable expression. Hyacinth remained standing, content to let the silence stretch for just a moment.
“I like them,” she said quietly, almost thoughtfully. “They’re sharper than they look.”
That, more than anything, made Draco grin.
“Well,” Daphne said, exchanging a glance with Hadrian, “if she’s going to hang around, she might as well sit.”
Hyacinth did—smoothly, neatly, never once losing her composed edge. But when her shoulder brushed lightly against Draco’s as she did, the subtle glance they shared didn’t go unnoticed by any of them.
And from the knowing look Daphne gave Hadrian seconds later, it was clear that everyone was watching now.
Chapter 72: A winter courting and a word with the malfoys
Chapter Text
Late January had blanketed the castle in a deep hush—snow drifting gently from the sky, the fireplaces burning low and steady in every common room. It was the kind of stillness that made the walls of Hogwarts feel older, steeped in something timeless.
Draco had always believed in tradition—perhaps not always in the reasons behind them, but in the way rituals gave structure to the chaos of life. And a pureblood courtship gift, carefully chosen and presented, was something he refused to take lightly.
He paced outside the library, one hand in his coat pocket, fingers curled tightly around the small, velvet-wrapped box. Inside, nestled carefully, was a silver hairpin shaped like a crescent moon, adorned with tiny, deep blue sapphires—Ravenclaw colors. Elegant. Subtle. And unmistakably personal.
When Hyacinth Yaxley emerged, her steps were as measured as ever, her hands tucked into a book-length cloak of navy wool. She tilted her head slightly at the sight of him.
“You’re lurking,” she observed.
“I’m waiting,” Draco corrected smoothly, falling into step beside her.
“For?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he led her to a quieter alcove in the corridor just off the main staircase, where light from a stained-glass window painted the stone floor in fractured hues. He turned to face her fully.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice more serious than she’d expected. “About you. About us.”
Her expression didn’t change, but her posture shifted slightly—curious. Waiting.
“I know this isn’t… casual, not for people like us,” he continued. “And I’m not looking for something frivolous, Hyacinth.”
He held out the box.
She took it slowly, her fingers brushing his—deliberate and feather-light. When she opened it, her eyes flicked over the piece, and for the first time in their acquaintance, she looked genuinely surprised.
“It’s… beautiful,” she said softly. “And precisely my taste.”
“I noticed,” Draco said, his voice quieter now. “I notice a lot when it comes to you.”
Hyacinth closed the box gently, meeting his gaze.
“You’re asking for something serious.”
“I am,” he confirmed. “Will you allow me to court you, officially? To be your… boyfriend, in modern terms.”
A pause. Long enough that his heart almost stuttered.
Then:
“Yes,” she said simply, and smiled—genuine, warm, but still with that graceful control that made her unmistakably her. “I was wondering when you’d get around to it.”
Draco couldn’t stop the slight laugh that escaped him, and for the first time in a long time, it reached all the way to his eyes.
When they returned to the common areas that evening—shoulders slightly closer than usual—those who paid attention noticed. And in Slytherin, and beyond, word traveled fast.
Draco Malfoy was courting Hyacinth Yaxley. And from the quiet glances, the shared smiles, and the mutual strength in their presence… it wasn’t just for show.
—
The next Hogsmeade weekend was crisp and bright, the sun shining weakly through the winter sky. But instead of heading to the Three Broomsticks with Hadrian and Daphne, Draco took the floo directly from the village to Malfoy Manor—an elegant deviation from his usual weekend plans.
He was greeted in the drawing room by Narcissa, poised as ever with a tea cup in hand, and Lucius, seated beside her with the Daily Prophet half-folded in his lap. They looked up in tandem when their son stepped through the emerald flames, his winter cloak still buttoned up, his expression determined.
“Draco,” Narcissa said with a smile that was equal parts warmth and curiosity. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“I know,” Draco said, brushing soot from his sleeve. “I needed to speak with you—both of you. Privately.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow but set the paper aside. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Draco said quickly. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
That earned him a matching look of intrigue from both parents.
He stood straighter, clearing his throat. “I’ve entered into an official courtship.”
Narcissa blinked. “A courtship?”
“With who?” Lucius asked, his voice even, though his eyes had narrowed slightly in that sharply calculating way of his.
Draco met their gazes evenly. “Hyacinth Yaxley.”
A pause. Not one of shock—but one of assessment.
Narcissa’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “Yaxley’s daughter. The Ravenclaw.”
“She’s brilliant,” Draco added, his tone firm but not defensive. “Sharp. Composed. She understands the world we move in—but she’s not… bound by it.”
Lucius’s eyes remained unreadable. “And you initiated this?”
“Yes,” Draco answered. “Properly. I gave her a gift, with intent. She accepted.”
Silence hung in the air for another moment before Narcissa’s expression softened, her lips tugging into a slight smile.
“I’ve met her, briefly. At the Ministry gala. She carries herself well. Graceful. Measured.”
“She reminds me a bit of you,” Draco said honestly, and that—more than anything—earned him a proud little spark in Narcissa’s eye.
Lucius leaned back, thoughtful. “Yaxley has been… less vocal in recent years, since the shift in the Ministry. But his lineage remains strong. If his daughter is anything like what you describe, she will reflect that strength.”
He looked to his wife, who gave a soft nod.
Lucius turned his gaze back to Draco. “We trust your judgment.”
Draco gave a quiet exhale of relief.
“We’ll extend a formal invitation for her to dine with us over the summer,” Narcissa added smoothly, already mentally drafting the seating arrangements.
Draco inclined his head. “Thank you. Both of you.”
As the fire flared green again and Draco stepped back into Hogsmeade, he felt lighter than he had in months.
For the first time in a long time, his choices felt entirely his own—and they were being respected.
Chapter 73: Summer introductions
Chapter Text
The summer sun bathed Malfoy Manor in warm gold, filtering through the tall windows and glinting off polished marble floors. The gardens were trimmed to precise perfection, the air thick with the scent of lavender and roses. Inside, everything was calm, elegant, and expectant.
Hadrian, Severus, and Daphne had arrived earlier that day, greeted with the usual composed warmth from Narcissa and the courteous, scrutinizing nod of Lucius. Severus and Lucius had retreated to the study for their usual quiet debate over politics and potions, while Narcissa, always the graceful hostess, had invited Daphne and Hadrian for tea in the drawing room.
But now the energy in the manor shifted—just slightly—as the doors opened again and Hyacinth Yaxley stepped inside.
She was dressed with effortless elegance, a pale grey robe embroidered subtly in silver thread, her hair pulled back into a sleek twist. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it.
Draco moved to meet her with a small, rare smile. “Hyacinth.”
“Draco.” Her tone was even, but there was a soft warmth in her eyes.
Behind them, Narcissa Malfoy approached with the smooth grace of a queen in her court.
“You must be Miss Yaxley,” she said, extending a hand.
Hyacinth offered a perfect bow of her head. “Lady Malfoy. It’s a pleasure.”
Lucius appeared just behind his wife, silent and observing. When Hyacinth turned to him and offered a respectful nod, he responded with a slight incline of his own. “Miss Yaxley. You’ve made quite the impression already.”
“I only hope to continue doing so, sir,” she said with composed grace.
Off to the side, Hadrian nudged Daphne, who was watching the exchange with a small, satisfied smile.
“He likes her,” Daphne whispered.
“Not just likes her,” Hadrian murmured. “He looks at her like she’s a puzzle he’s finally solving.”
The group was soon seated on the back terrace where a spread of chilled fruit, delicate pastries, and fresh tea had been arranged beneath a white canopy.
Narcissa steered the conversation with practiced ease—asking Hyacinth about her studies, her interests, her thoughts on magical law and academic pursuits. Lucius watched more than he spoke, but his questions were deliberate when they came, and Hyacinth answered with poise and subtle confidence.
At one point, when Draco stepped away to fetch a second cup of tea for her, Hyacinth’s eyes followed him with a softness so unguarded it caught Hadrian off-guard.
“I think he’s happy,” Hadrian said later to Daphne, as they wandered toward the rose garden. “Actually happy. Not proud, or smug, or just keeping up appearances—just… settled.”
Daphne slipped her hand into his. “Hyacinth is good for him. She doesn’t fall for his dramatics, but she respects his pride. That’s rare.”
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the laughter from the terrace behind them told a new story—one of unexpected warmth, of chosen futures, of old families shifting into something more.
For the first time in years, Malfoy Manor didn’t feel like a monument to pressure or expectation.
It felt, strangely enough, like a home.
Chapter 74: The last first
Chapter Text
The Hogwarts Express let out a familiar whistle as steam billowed across Platform 9¾, swirling around trunks, owls in cages, and the hum of excited chatter. There was a strange stillness beneath it all—a kind of reverence, as though even the train knew this was their last ride.
Hadrian stood beside Severus, his trunk already loaded, and Daphne tucked against his side with her hand in his. Nearby, Draco was helping Hyacinth with her bag, his usual sarcasm softened by the smallest of smiles she always seemed to draw out of him.
“Seventh year,” Hadrian muttered. “Feels… surreal.”
“You’re telling me,” Daphne murmured. “Didn’t we just meet on the train?”
“Feels like a lifetime ago.”
Severus cleared his throat, and the four turned toward him. His expression was as composed as ever, but Hadrian caught the flicker of emotion in his eyes.
“You all know what to expect,” he said evenly, though his gaze lingered on his son. “But don’t forget to enjoy what’s left.”
Draco gave a dry snort. “Somehow I doubt NEWTs and Ministry recruiters hovering in the shadows will allow that.”
Severus arched a brow. “You’ve always been dramatic, Draco. Perhaps don’t start the year by proving me right.”
Hadrian stepped forward, hugging his father tightly, and—for once—Severus didn’t hesitate. His hand curled protectively around the back of Hadrian’s neck.
“Be safe,” he said low. “And if anything feels off—anything—you come straight to me.”
“I always do.”
They boarded shortly after, slipping into their usual compartment near the back. The sliding door shut behind them with a soft click, muffling the outside world.
Draco sprawled into one seat, tugging Hyacinth down beside him with a self-satisfied smirk. She rolled her eyes but leaned her head briefly on his shoulder, allowing the rare moment of affection.
Daphne took her place across from them, curling up beside Hadrian, who watched his friends with a calm sort of fondness. There was no hesitation between any of them now—no awkward pauses or sharp tension that once defined their early years.
They were a unit, and they knew it.
“Last first train ride,” Hyacinth said softly, glancing around.
“Don’t remind me,” Draco groaned, although the corner of his mouth twitched. “Do we feel old yet?”
“Speak for yourself,” Daphne replied airily. “I’m going to pretend I’m still sixteen until the very last day of NEWTs.”
Hadrian chuckled, resting his head lightly against Daphne’s. “Here’s to one more year, then.”
“And the best one yet,” Draco added, lifting an imaginary toast.
Steam curled past the windows as the train began to move, the platform falling away behind them.
And so, with laughter echoing quietly in the compartment and hearts both heavy and light, they rolled forward into the final chapter of their Hogwarts story—together.
Chapter Text
The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall shimmered with soft golden light, mirroring the late summer sky outside. The long tables were lined with eager faces, old and new, but at the far end of the Slytherin table, a certain group of seventh years sat together in quiet understanding.
This was it—their last welcome feast.
Hadrian, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, sat between Daphne and Draco, with Hyacinth on Draco’s other side. The four of them exchanged knowing glances as they watched the new first-years filter in, their eyes wide and overwhelmed, whispering behind their hands.
“Was I ever that small?” Draco asked under his breath, watching the tiny new students approach the Sorting Hat with trepidation.
“You were worse,” Daphne replied sweetly, sipping her goblet of pumpkin juice. “You kept muttering about bloodlines.”
Draco smirked. “And look how far I’ve come.”
“You’re still muttering,” Hadrian added dryly. “Just less audibly.”
Hyacinth leaned toward him, lips twitching. “Only because we glare him into silence now.”
The Sorting began with the usual song, and though none of them could deny the nostalgia that tugged at their hearts, there was a deeper shift beneath the surface this year—something heavier. The world beyond Hogwarts had grown darker again. Tensions simmered at the edges of magical society, and even the Great Hall’s warm glow couldn’t mask it completely.
Still, Professor Dumbledore—now slower in his step, more cautious in his words—rose at the end of the Sorting and welcomed everyone with his usual theatrical flair, his eyes scanning the room. They lingered a fraction longer on Hadrian, but no words were said. No explanations offered. Just a small nod that Hadrian didn’t return.
Professor Snape, seated to Dumbledore’s left now, his dark robes as severe as ever, had his gaze fixed firmly on his son’s end of the table. There was no smile, but Hadrian could feel the weight of the silent support radiating from him.
“And now,” Dumbledore finished, “let the feast—begin!”
The golden plates filled instantly, and chatter erupted across the hall. Food passed hand to hand, and laughter rose in bursts, especially among the younger years. But at the Slytherin end, the conversation was quieter, older. Reflective.
“I can’t believe it’s our last year,” Daphne said softly, twirling her fork through the mashed potatoes without eating. “Everything’s going to change soon.”
Hadrian touched her hand beneath the table. “We’ll face it together. Like always.”
Draco nodded. “We’ve already made it through more than most people ever do. We’ve earned the right to make the last chapter count.”
“And we will,” Hyacinth added. “We’re not the children who came here seven years ago. We know who we are now.”
They all looked toward the enchanted ceiling for a moment, the stars beginning to twinkle high above, and for a second—even just one—it felt like Hogwarts was wrapping around them like a memory, preparing to say goodbye.
But not yet.
Not tonight.
Chapter 76: A Malfoy Christmas
Chapter Text
Malfoy Manor shimmered beneath a blanket of frost, its tall windows aglow with golden light and enchanted snow drifting gently through the high-vaulted halls. The air inside carried the scent of pine, cloves, and something undeniably old—like memory wrapped in elegance.
Christmas at the Manor was always a grand affair, but this year it felt… warmer. The usual chill of pureblood decorum had been softened by familiar presence and laughter echoing from rooms that had once been silent.
Hadrian arrived with Severus and Daphne, their coats swept from their shoulders by attentive house-elves. Lucius and Narcissa welcomed them with polite smiles, though Narcissa’s greeting to Hadrian was softer, warmer than expected. She’d long since taken to him with a motherly sort of grace—more so after everything.
Draco, waiting by the drawing room doors, raised his brows at the trio.
“You’re late,” he said dryly.
Hadrian smirked. “You’re just early.”
Draco snorted and nodded toward the roaring hearth. “Hyacinth’s inside. And Blaise just arrived—prepare for champagne and smug commentary.”
They moved into the room, and Hadrian’s eyes instantly found Daphne, slipping her hand from his and twirling slowly in place to admire the glittering tree Narcissa had enchanted. Her dress—deep emerald velvet—seemed to glow in the firelight.
“You’re staring,” she teased, catching his gaze.
“I’m admiring,” he corrected, stepping beside her and brushing a kiss to her temple.
Across the room, Hyacinth Yaxley was sitting beside Draco on the loveseat, her fingers laced with his. Her hair was pinned with silver ornaments, and Draco had the look of someone too pleased with himself to speak. Blaise, as promised, was holding a glass of champagne and smirking at everyone like he knew all their secrets.
Dinner was elegant, as expected. The long table glittered with silver and crystal, the courses never-ending, and the conversation a smooth mix of current affairs, playful mockery, and future plans. Even Lucius seemed more at ease this year, taking Hyacinth’s presence in stride, offering her a quiet nod of approval when Draco mentioned her work with the Ravenclaw academic society.
After dinner, they gathered in the music room—another Malfoy tradition. Daphne played a soft carol on the enchanted piano, her fingers delicate on the keys, while Hyacinth and Blaise debated magical theory in hushed tones.
Hadrian stood near the window, sipping mulled wine and watching snow gather on the manicured garden hedges outside. Severus joined him quietly, handing him a fresh glass.
“This is a good night,” Severus said.
“It is.”
“I don’t say it enough, but… I’m proud of you.”
Hadrian looked over, surprised by the softness in his father’s voice. “Even with everything that happened?”
“Especially because of everything that happened.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Daphne crossed the room, slipping her arms around Hadrian from behind. He smiled, pulling her into his side, and together they looked back at the family they’d built—strange and stitched together though it might be.
It wasn’t a perfect Christmas.
But it was theirs.
Chapter 77: The final tests
Notes:
Might turn this into a maybe 2-3 part series idk yet. But it’s the end of this particular story anyway.
Chapter Text
The air in the Great Hall was thick with nerves. Long tables had been replaced by evenly spaced desks, each separated by spells to prevent cheating. At the front of the room, a large enchanted hourglass ticked away silently, its golden sand counting down each three-hour block of agony.
It was N.E.W.T. week, and the seventh years were on edge.
Hadrian sat near the middle of the hall, quill poised, dark curls slightly tousled from how many times he’d run his hand through them. His expression was calm—outwardly—but his fingers tapped lightly against the table. To his right, Daphne sat upright, elegant and focused, her ink flowing as fast as her mind. To his left, Draco was already halfway through his Arithmancy paper, his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. Hyacinth sat in the front row, posture impeccable, quill practically gliding over the parchment.
The first exam—Transfiguration—had been brutal. Professor McGonagall, while fair, held extremely high expectations. Hadrian had managed the requested trans-species transformation with minimal error, but he still left the room with his jaw tense.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, under Severus’ watchful gaze, had been both the most intimidating and oddly reassuring. The practical portion involved dueling, wandless defense maneuvers, and a short verbal examination on counter-curse theory. Hadrian had excelled—partially because he had to, and partially because Severus had taught him for years at this point. Still, standing in front of his father and three other examiners had made his palms sweat.
In the evening hours, the Slytherin common room became a quiet, study-laden sanctuary. Books piled around every surface. Daphne’s shoes were kicked off beneath the couch. Blaise sprawled upside-down in a velvet chair reading aloud revision notes in a lazy voice.
“Why do we need to know the nine uses of Mandrake root if they all come down to ‘revive nearly-dead people’?” he groaned.
Hyacinth, without looking up from her Herbology notes, replied, “Because only two uses actually revive. The rest are variants for magical stasis or poison extraction. Pay attention.”
Draco muttered, “I regret every life choice that led me to taking Potions N.E.W.T.”
Hadrian and Daphne, curled up side by side, exchanged quiet smiles.
“You’re ready for this,” she whispered to him one night before the Potions exam, running her fingers gently along the edge of his sleeve. “You’ve studied harder than anyone here.”
Hadrian leaned in and kissed her brow. “I just want it to be over.”
The week passed in a haze of ink, spellcasting, whispered revision spells, and sleepless nights. The final exam—Charms—left everyone reeling. Even the most confident students walked out looking dazed.
When the last hourglass ran out, signaling the end of the final N.E.W.T., the silence that fell over the hall was deafening.
Then—
Blaise whispered, “It’s over.”
Someone—probably a Hufflepuff—let out a sob of relief. Laughter followed. Then applause. Even the professors at the front allowed themselves a faint smile.
Hadrian looked around at his friends. Exhausted. Elated. Finished.
They had made it.
No matter what their scores said when the envelopes came in July, they were done.
And the future? It was finally beginning.
The warm weight of summer hung over the Manor gardens, where birds chirped lazily in the hedges and dragonflies hovered over the small fountain near the wrought iron bench. The sun filtered through the tall trees in gold-tinted beams, and yet, all of that was drowned out by the four parchment envelopes sitting unopened on the tea table.
Four envelopes.
Four futures.
Hadrian stared at them alongside Daphne, Draco, and Hyacinth, each of them silent for once—an unspoken agreement to wait until they were all together.
“Alright,” Draco finally said, straightening his spine. “We open them on three. No drama. No theatrics. Just—open.”
“Sure,” Hyacinth muttered. “No theatrics, says the dramatist.”
“One,” Daphne said, lips twitching into a faint smirk.
“Two,” Hadrian added, though his fingers were clenched a little too tightly around the edge of the envelope.
“Three,” they all breathed—and tore the seals.
The rustle of parchment followed, and then:
“Oh,” Daphne said, voice nearly cracking as she stared. “I… I got all Os. Even in Arithmancy.”
Draco let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. “Merlin, so did I. Even in Transfiguration, and McGonagall had it out for me.”
Hyacinth blinked, expression unreadable, then slowly smiled. “I passed every subject. Top marks in History and Runes. A bloody O in Defense.”
And Hadrian—
He exhaled, finally letting the air from his lungs as he read the neat print on his own results:
• Defense Against the Dark Arts – O
• Potions – O
• Charms – O
• Transfiguration – E
• Herbology – E
• Astronomy – A
A slow, stunned smile spread across his face.
“I did it,” he said softly, almost to himself.
Daphne leaned over to peek. “You did do it. Hadrian, these are incredible!”
Draco clapped him on the back, grinning. “Top of the bloody year in Defense, no doubt. Your dad’s going to lose it.”
“Proudly,” Hyacinth added, folding her parchment with elegance. “These are more than grades. They’re proof we survived. And we thrived.”
⸻
Later that week, Hadrian walked through the gates of Hogwarts one final time. The castle looked the same—imposing and magnificent—but this time it didn’t feel like school. It felt like a chapter already closing.
He climbed the familiar steps to Professor McGonagall’s office, where she had invited him for a final meeting before he and Severus made decisions about his post-school path.
She greeted him at the door herself.
“Mr. Prince,” she said, voice warm but sharp as ever. “Or perhaps… just Hadrian now.”
He smiled. “Hello, Professor.”
She gestured for him to sit. Her tartan robe was as crisp as ever, and a steaming cup of tea sat waiting for him on the desk.
“I’ve read your results,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “You’ve done exceedingly well. I hope you’re proud.”
“I am,” Hadrian said honestly. “It feels… final. In a good way.”
“Finality has its own grace.” She leaned back slightly. “But you’ve always been more than a student to us. To me. I want you to know, Hadrian, that I’ve watched you grow from a quiet, sharp boy into a young man I would be honored to call colleague—if you ever choose that path.”
Hadrian blinked. “You mean… teaching?”
“If it ever interests you,” she said gently. “You have the aptitude for Defense. And the heart.”
He swallowed thickly. “Thank you, Professor.”
McGonagall gave a rare, proud smile. “You’ve earned this peace, Hadrian. I hope you take it. And I hope you build something beautiful from it.”
He nodded, standing. “I will.”
“You know, even if people find out, you will never be Harry Potter, you never were Hadrian.” Minerva said to him. “I think know that now. I didn’t before, but I do now.” Hadrian told her
As he left her office, the castle felt different. Not a home he was leaving behind—but one that would always be there, should he choose to return.
And Hadrian Prince walked down the corridor not as a student, but as someone who had endured, who had triumphed—
And who was finally, finally free to choose his own future.
Hecate1412 on Chapter 1 Fri 09 May 2025 03:17PM UTC
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