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Chapter Text

One top secret and meticulously planned scheme later, Remus helps sneak Harry to London to meet Sirius outside Gringotts. What no one had the heart to tell Sirius is that everyone but Dumbledore and Snape were in on the scheme following days of begging on Remus’ behalf because both Harry and Sirius needed the fresh air and be around family.

Harry especially, after what had happened in the tournament.

Not that any of them actually knew, Harry could barely get a whole sentence out to explain what he had seen and experienced. His shaking had been the only thing that clued in Pomfrey to the liberal crucio Voldemort had held him under. The witch had fretted so much over the fact Harry could barely speak.

The Dursleys, unsurprisingly, didn’t care at all that Harry was still in shock and definitely didn’t care that he’d rocked up from school littered with cuts and bruises. Petunia had simply frowned and tutted over what the neighbours would think if they saw him gardening like that.

The plan goes into action two weeks before his birthday where Harry walks into the bank with his pet dog Snuffles and Remus waits on one of the rather uncomfortable benches insisting this was private.

The goblins aren’t all that amused with them. One look at the shaggy grim otherwise known as Sirius and the goblins quickly find a private room to put them in. “You’ll both need to complete a blood test to prove you are who you say you are. Once that’s done we can move on with the heirship and discuss the blood adoption.” The goblin, Ironclaw, informs them.

Harry considers just gesturing to his scar but he’s far too busy staring at Sirius.

“Surprise, pup! None of it’s if you don’t want it – the heirship will make sure if anything happens to me then none of that side of the family can use the Black name for you-know-who. And the blood adoption…” Sirius grins, just as cocky as usual, but Harry sees the vulnerable edge.

It was the same way he smiled when he thought Harry wouldn’t want to stay with him. “Yes,” he says before his godfather can try to explain. Why would he ever say no? “I – yes.” Sirius reaches over to squeeze his hand, maybe understanding what Harry can’t quite put into words.

Ironclaw coughs impatiently. Sirius rolls his eyes, making sure to exaggerate for Harry’s sake, before taking a dagger from the table and pricking his finger. The drop of blood soaks into offered parchment and the goblin draws it back across the table to inspect it. “Very good, Lord Black. Would you care to take a look, or can we move on?” Ironclaw nods but Sirius waves him off.

Harry freezes for a moment with the dagger in his hand. He looks at the blade and thinks of Pettigrew slicing his arm open in the graveyard and he thinks of Cedric’s body and watching something inhuman rise out of magic itself. Then he forces himself to prick his finger and follow Sirius’s lead.

Unlike with Sirius, Ironclaw frowns at the parchment. “You will need to do a full test, Mr Potter, while I fetch the Potter accountant.” Ironclaw slides forward a new piece of parchment and Harry squeezes his finger to get the necessary amount of blood out.

The goblin takes the parchment with him when he leaves.

“It’ll be nothing to worry about, pup, probably just some title business.” Sirius assures him but Harry has a feeling, like his skin is trying to crawl away from his body, and it tells him nothing is going to be okay.

After all, nothing in his life went his way.

Ironclaw returns with two more goblins and Harry knows, by the quickly hidden surprise on Sirius’s face, that this is not normal either.

“It seems that, by some mistake, the Potter will was sealed by the minister and chief warlock which has lead to our current problem.” One of the new goblins says and Harry assumes he’s in charge of the Potter account.

Harry exchanges an uneasy look with his godfather.

“I suggest you read over the results of the blood test first, Mr Potter.” Ironclaw slides the result across the desk. Harry feels his heart jump into his throat.

Name:   Hydrus Marvolo Black.   (Birth.)
             Harry James Potter.       (Adopted.)

 

The words sit there so innocuously, like they don’t turn his world upside down five times over, and Harry keeps staring even when Sirius lightly shakes him. Then he’s not staring, because he’s laughing. It sounds hysterical even to his own ears. Sirius snatches up the parchment and Harry keeps laughing because he doesn’t know what else to do. “This is a joke, right?” He asks with a voice turned rough from the lump in his throat. “I’ve got plenty of proof of my parents on my face.”

Maybe he was a little too harsh there because the goblins eye him warily.

“Pup,” Sirius says gently but he puts the parchment down on the desk like he’s nailing the final hammer in this coffin. Harry looks at him rather like he has grown a second head in the time it took him to read because surely Sirius wouldn’t believe this. “Read it through…just read it.”

Grudgingly, Harry takes it up again to read.

It’s hard to take it seriously when not even his birthday shows the same, landing slap bang in the middle of August instead. Slowly he looks down to the parental section and grits his teeth so hard he wonders if there are spells for this.

Mother:     Alya Dorea Black.  (Birth.)
                Lily Evans Potter.   (Adopted, Deceased.)

Father:    Unnamed.                      (Birth.)
              James Fleamont Potter.  (Adopted, Deceased.)

 

Harry, still on the edge of hysterical, grips the parchment so hard the edges crinkle. “I didn’t know you could refuse to be named.” He comments like it is at all important compared to everything else.

“It’s extremely rare these days, but a mother can refuse to name a father. The father can later come forward and name himself so long as he’s been magically recognised and there are blood spells available regardless. For obvious reasons, few witches employ the option now for the matter of heirships and status.” A goblin explains but Harry doesn’t pay attention to which.

The list of heirships and titles are so long he could laugh, including the conquest rights to the Slytherin one. Having the rights to the Slytherin heirship really feels like some act of divine intervention designed to give someone a right laugh at both his and Tom Riddle’s expense. But then his eyes finally land on what Sirius must have wanted him to see.

Active Spells:

Blood Glamour, tied to the Potter bloodline.
Magical block on elemental abilities.                 (Performed by Alya Black and Lily Potter.)
Restriction on magical core.                              (Performed by Alya Black and Lily Potter.)
Block on blood tracking rituals.                        (Performed by Alya Black.)

 

Harry feels vaguely sick and only distantly hears Sirius mutter about how they never told him but slides the parchment back.

“If you would allow us, Lord Black, we could actually open the Potter’s will.” Ironclaw snaps, something that had probably been building since he found a fugitive animagus entering his bank, and Sirius shuts his mouth with an audible click.

No one protests so the goblin taps a rolled-up piece of parchment which readily snaps open.

“I, Lord James Fleamont Potter, swear this has been made of my own free will.”

Harry startles at the realisation this was his fathers voice absent of the ghostly quality in the graveyard. This was the voice of James Potter in life, coloured with amusement and just as well spoken as Malfoy of all people.

“I, Lady Lily Evans Potter, swear this has been made of my own free will.”

Follows quickly after and Sirius looks far paler than usual. Harry supposes if he heard Cedric’s voice tomorrow, he might get shaken up too.

“In terms of possessions, we leave the marauders flat in London to Remus Lupin. This includes the basement unit we purchased in the building which has been magically reinforced to hold even a dragon.” James Potter says and Sirius snorts, silver eyes incredibly bright with unshed tears, and Harry wishes he didn’t feel quite so detached so he could actually feel this.

“The couch is to go to Sirius Black and I can only hope he comes to his senses and burns the monstrosity.” Lily Potter adds sternly and Sirius bites back what might be a sob or a laugh or maybe even both. “In the event of our death, a fund should be set up to donate to Hogwarts a total of 22,000 galleons every year. I formally request Minerva McGonagall take charge of how the fund is spent but hope that some is put towards helping students with their school supplies. All of my potions journals and notes should be forced into the hands of Severus Snape under threat from my ghost should he refuse them.”

Harry, very confused over why his deceased mother wanted to leave anything to the dour professor and why she thought threatening him would even work, watches a goblin note it down.

“Finally, we leave all other assets to our son to do with as he chooses. If we haven’t had the chance to magically finalise the adoption then I formally leave the heirship of House Potter to Harry. Upon our death, we ask all active spells be removed.” James Potter picks up and Harry clutches the arm of his chair so tightly his muscles cramp. “Assuming we met death before we could share the truth with our friends, it should be known we happily took in our son and would do so again.”

Distantly, he recognises that Sirius covers his hand with his own larger one. “I suffered a miscarriage midway in my pregnancy and we weren’t able to share news of Charlus’s death before James’s mother, Dorea, asked a favour of us. Her cousin, Alya, had found herself pregnant but unable to continue her courtship while visiting the country and, for reasons she would not share, she feared the father finding out. Initially we planned on just looking after them until it was safe for her to return to India, however she asked us to formally take Harry in for his own safety. We agreed to her requests to hide the truth until the war was over and insisted on spells that would stop the father from finding him.” Lily Potter explains with a voice far too light to carry news that makes his stomach churn in dull horror.

“In the event of our death, our plan to choose a less obvious secret keeper failed and Peter has either betrayed us or been tortured into giving up our location. Harry should go to his godfather, Sirius Black, his godmother Alice and the Longbottoms, or our dear friend Remus Lupin. Should none of them be able to take him in, Alya would happily care for him. But under no circumstances should he live with my sister Petunia.”

The voices stop, will evidently read, and Harry finds himself doubled over with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. “Sirius,” He begins though he doesn’t try to move. “Did I imagine it, or did it sound like…like my birth father was a death eater?” He whispers the question because he’s not actually sure he wants an answer. No, he definitely doesn’t want Sirius to agree with his fears and help him imagine a man who contributed to his DNA cheering on his death in the graveyard. Why else, he considers, would Alya Black have gone to such lengths to hide her son during the war.

Sirius rubs his back until Harry can stomach sitting up again.

The goblins look neither patient nor amused.

His godfather settles in his chair, readjusting it to better look at Harry. “It’s time for some family history, pup.” Sirius sighs and Harry looks at him blankly because if this is a distraction tactic a lesson wasn’t going to help much. “Alya is my little cousin, though really distant. Us Blacks have branches around the world, see, we sent the extra kids to different countries to set up deals. The Blacks in Britain may be few and far between, but we grow like weeds in the rest of the world. Dorea, James’s mother, was a Black and she was born outta a match the Patils set up with their business partners for Cygnus after he was widowed. And Dorea used her mother’s connections to set up one of her nephews with a partner of the Puthers, the cousins of the Potters, but she got smart and made sure that branch of the family remained in the South Asian Empire. His son broke the naming conventions to honour Dorea in Alya’s name – that happened when I was about two and the family talked about it for years – so Alya was really close with Dorea.”

Harry attempts to ask what any of this has to do with his question, but Sirius hushes him dramatically before carrying on. “Alya even owled with me and James and few times. She’s a fiery woman, absolutely terrifying, so she probably got on great with Lily. The only time she came here though…Dorea was getting on a bit and the war didn’t help so Alya insisted on coming to see her before it was too late. She stayed for a while, but I never realised she was courting anyone, I didn’t even realise she was staying with them while she was…but what you need to know, Harry, is that Alya and Dorea? They’re good Blacks. Asia’s less backwards with blood purity and magic so even if my mother, the right harpy that she was, tried to match Alya with a death eater, Alya doesn’t believe in any of that. She never would have agreed. I got a terrible letter from her, y’know, in Azkaban. She was spitting mad that she thought I was a death eater…she was probably worried about you, looking back on it, but Alya is so good Harry.”

The family tree proves a little confusing and he wants to ask for a physical diagram to even try to understand but he nods anyway. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t.” Harry also wants to tear his own hair out because he wonders if many death eaters shared Voldemort’s middle name. He promptly shuts down that train of thought and places it in a box alongside the many sources of trauma in the wizarding world he refused to think about, sitting it right between Quirrell dying in front of him and spending most of third year in a state of depression because of dementors.

“If you’re done,” Ironclaw says pointedly, “We should remove these spells on Mr Potter. This is healer Vrikt, we’ve already removed the necessary galleons from your vault.”

The third goblin steps forward and Harry looks between goblin and Sirius in a panic. “Why? Why do I need them removed?” He blurts out and Ironclaw seems to have run out of any patience for the wixen taking up his time.  

“Your parents requested them removed because spells like these are dangerous, Mr Potter.” Vrikt explains with far more patience. “No one has maintained them for years and they’re surely poisoning you. But for five galleons we can copy the glamour to a ring. The magic will only last for one year however when you wear it, you will look as you do now.”

Harry eagerly agrees.

“Lord Black, you will need to wait here. While we wait you can always fetch Mr Lupin to go over your inheritance.” The Potter accountant says when Sirius tries to stand, and Harry isn’t sure how he feels at having to do this alone. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to face his own nightmare alone, but he really would have preferred the company.

Sirius grabs him in a tight hug that practically swallows him up. “It’s okay, pup. This doesn’t change who you are, yeah, you raise just as much hell as James ever did. You’re still their boy, you’re still my godson, this changes none of it.” Harry nods into Sirius’s chest even if he’s not completely sure he agrees but the goblins impatience causes it to end sooner than he’d like.

Harry follows Vrikt through an absolute labyrinth until he is led into a room completely empty apart from a bench and a plain looking door. “You will need to remove your clothes in here. Beyond that door is a waterfall charmed to remove all spells on anyone who enters.” Vrikt tells him and Harry hesitates before he starts to remove Dudley’s hand-me-downs.

If nothing else, a goblin wouldn’t care about the scars hidden by the too big clothes.

Beyond the door his skin tingles with the magic in the air, so much so that he almost feels drunk on it, but just like the goblin said the cavern holds a waterfall and small lake. Harry is slow to enter because his entire life will fall apart when he does.

The water is strangely lukewarm but even stranger is how it drags him under and keeps dragging him down and sets his skin aflame.

The world is dark and directionless, and he almost wonders if this might have all been an elaborate trick to kill him. Most things, in his experience, tried to kill him.

“I was wondering if I would ever see you.” A warm voice says behind him, or at least he thinks that’s behind, and Harry can suddenly find ground under his feet to turn.

A figure stands there with features that constantly change. “Who are you?” Harry asks and feels stupid for even needing to ask because Hermione would probably know.

The stranger chuckles at him. “A friend. That is all you need to know for now. The water can give a glimpse beyond, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity.”

Harry doesn’t think they’re lying, but Harry has also been deceived by Tom Riddle and his followers for three of his four years in the wizarding world, so he’s not sure if he trusts his own instincts anymore.

“You shouldn’t be so apprehensive about this Hydrus,” The figure tuts and is suddenly so close that Harry almost stumbles back. The shock distracts him for only a few seconds before he actually processes the words and scowls. “My names Harry.”

The stranger looks at him like he’s a particularly interesting specimen to pull apart. “Is it? Out of habit, maybe, but who is Harry? Are you Harry Potter or is Harry Potter a creation of the wizarding world they all feel entitled to?”

For a minute Harry almost finds himself nodding but instead narrows his eyes at the being. “You’re looking inside my head!” He accuses because he’s spent so many nights thinking just that while wallowing in his own bitterness.

There is no shame on the stranger’s face, instead they smile wide at him with too many teeth. “Maybe. Or maybe I know you. Maybe I know you better than you know yourself. What you see, Hydrus, is your world being torn apart. But you’re missing the opportunity this is. Hydrus Black is whoever you want to be. Hydrus Black doesn’t need to live with the Dursleys because there are no blood wards. And Hydrus Black wouldn’t be recognised if he slipped out of Surrey.”

Harry bites his tongue because it’s true. The magical world barely even recognised him by scar most days because, around the time wizards started making money by creating false stories about him, some asshole had claimed his scar was more like a cartoon lightning bolt rather than the sharp thin branches of lightning that take up the left side of his face. No one would recognise him, not if they hadn’t met him yet, and maybe even not then.

“How do you know I’ll look all that different?” Harry counters instead because he is feeling a little spiteful and doesn’t want to agree with someone that won’t even use his name.

The stranger tilts their head. “Think about what I’ve said, Hydrus. I hope it’s some time until we speak again but I look forward to it.”

Bright light assaults his eyes when he opens them, but he prefers it to the white noise in his ears. The magic he had gotten so used to feels like it’s buzzing through him like a giant warm of bees. He feels sick with it and yet he feels better than he has in his entire life. His clothes sit next to him and he’s slow to put them on because his head feels too light.

Still his hands, he thinks, but his skin seems a little darker when he looks closely. The cuts and scars are the same, unchanged, though the clothes don’t feel quite as loose on him now, but he realises why when he finds a waiting mirror.

Harry is small because of the Dursley’s and years of cupboards and only eating scraps, but rather than being scrawny his build is lither now. Shoulders a little broader, natural muscle boosting what he earned through quidditch and manual labour around Privet Drive.

His hairs the same inky black most of the way though it lightens to a dark brown at the ends, it’s even still curly but it’s far from the untameable mess it had been that morning. The curls are closer to the waves of Sirius’s hair than the wild mess in photos of James Potter.

The real change is his face, so dramatic that he pokes himself just to make sure it’s really him. Harry’s really glad Ron wasn’t here to watch him hiss as he pokes himself in the cheek, but he’s also rather sure Ron might have joined in with the poking. His face is sharp with pronounced cheekbones and an even sharper jaw where his face had been rounder before. The same scar cuts down, but it doesn’t seem to take away from his face anymore, adding to the sharpness of his appearance, and he’s thankful he has the same broad nose Petunia hated so much. Harry realises, belatedly, that his glasses aren’t on his face and yet his eyesight is fine.

Had it been the spells? Was that what the goblins meant when they called them poisonous?

The slow realisation might have been because Harry doesn’t want to take in the change of his eyes. He starts slow in taking in the change there, knowing if he rushes in he might be sick, so he takes in how they’re narrower now and angular in a way he assumes must have come from his birth father because he’s reminded of Cho and the Greengrass’s. Definitely the Greengrass’s, he reflects, because he’s sure he heard someone talk about their mother being from Korea while their father was a British pureblood.

Most of all, his eyes are no longer green. That was expected, he knew he probably wouldn’t share Lily Potter’s eyes, but it still startles him most. His right eye is silver, the same kind of silver as Sirius, but lighter in the same way as when the light caught a brand-new sickle. On the left the iris is dark, so dark he’s scared to look closer, and for a moment he thinks it’s as black as a pupil. But no, he couldn’t get that lucky, instead his left eye is burgundy and Harry refuses to think of red eyes looking down on him in the dim light of the graveyard.

Harry refuses to think about it much at all.

The door opens to show an expectant Vrikt and Harry nods, assuming the goblin was just impatient and checking if he was ready. He follows the goblin out. “You were unconscious for rather longer than usual. Did you see anything?” The goblin questions as they walk and Harry coughs in surprise. “You did then. Strange but not surprising considering who you are,” Vrikt considers.

He feels terribly slow but would like to think it’s been because the year has kicked his ass so many times over it was more trouble than it was worth to keep up. “How did you know?” Harry decides to ask.

Vrikt looks at him like they’re not sure he’s worth the time. “The waters properties allow higher beings to connect with us mortals, Mr Potter. There are all manner of higher beings; gods, the pillars of magic, they can all reach out if they choose. It is simply rare they decide anyone is worth their attention. Do you know who you connected with?”

Harry thinks it over but really doesn’t have a clue. “No, but they said we would see each other again.” He doesn’t mention that the being called themselves a friend and claimed to know him, he thinks that should probably stay between them.

A shiver runs through him, goosebumps rising at the back of his neck, when it feels like someone was breathing right behind him. Like someone had chuckled and their cold breath had washed over his skin.

“Strange, but you are far from usual Mr Potter.”

Harry, in a moment of childish spite, pulls a face at the goblins back.

The sound of Remus and Sirius arguing inside drifts into the hallway and they’re so locked into it that they don’t notice the door open. “– Will you two stop arguing if you kiss already?” Harry asks earnestly and Sirius snaps his mouth shut while Remus, ears bright red, genuinely seems to consider the suggestion. Their surprise only lasts a minute because both men stare at him blankly. “Do I have something on my face?” He jokes weakly.

It must snap Sirius out of his daze because his godfather lunges forward to hug him again. “Oh, Harry, you look like a right Black, you know.” Sirius tells him when he finally releases him, though his hands remain on his shoulders, and Harry tries for a grin.

“Heterochromia is even rarer in wizards than it is in muggles.” Remus says with a note of curiosity which makes Harry wonder if his eyes were as striking as his scar.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, he’s trying to insist he can’t take the flat.”

That is exactly the kind of distraction Harry needs so he raises an eyebrow. “So, we’re definitely gonna find a way to make him, right? If we decorate it then he’ll have to accept it so our hard work doesn’t go to waste.” Sirius laughs so hard he throws his head back.

Remus is far less amused, huffing and crossing his arms. “You’re a terrible influence on him.”

Harry considers telling Remus that he gets it. He hates accepting anything after so many years of being denied everything by the Dursleys, if he can’t get it himself it feels awkward to accept and some days he doubts he deserves anything at all, but he doesn’t think it would help if he admitted that.

“Seeing as we are going to be dealing with the glamour ring today, it would be a suitable time to deal with Mr Potter’s heirship rings.” Ironclaw says though he verges on murderous and Harry feels a wave of sympathy for the goblin if he’d had to sit through Sirius and Remus bickering the entire time.

Keeping in mind the goblin seemed ready to face the consequences of killing his clients, Harry shrugs and quickly finds a seat. Three ring boxes sit on the table. “This is the Potter heir ring; I assume that will be your primacy preference. This will go on your right index finger. The next is the Black heir ring now that Lord Black has formalised his request. That will go on your right middle finger. The glamour ring, finally, will go on your left index finger and will be invisible whilst you wear it.”

Harry admires both heirship rings before slipping them on, the metal heating up before shrinking to fit, and hurries to slip on the glamour ring. When it slides on his finger, he feels the magic wash over him, the image of the ring seeming to ripple before vanishing from sight despite still feeling heavy on his hand.

“Will you still be going ahead with the blood adoption today or shall we conclude our business?”

“As long as you want to, Harry. I told you, this doesn’t change anything. You’re my family, still my pup.” Sirius encourages him, not even pausing in his offer, and Harry’s eyes sting a little.

“He’s right, you’re still our pup.” Remus adds pointedly, making Sirius stick out his tongue childishly in response, and Harry’s smile feels real for the first time all day at the glimpse of how carefree the two friends used to be. If they could still be here, able to joke and smile, then there was hope for him too despite everything going on.

Chapter Text

Little over a week before what was meant to be his fifteenth birthday, Harry finally decides he’s had enough. His shock, the numbness of the school year and Gringotts, had given way to anger.

Anger at the idea his birth father was most likely a death eater.

Anger at himself for not hoping the man was very much dead.

Anger at the idea he might just be betraying the Potter’s, the wonderful, adopted parents who took him in and refused to regret it no matter the outcome.

Anger at the fact Voldemort was out there again while Dumbledore ignored him even more than usual.

Anger, especially, at the Dursleys and the way Petunia had gotten angry at the sight of his heir rings and tried to take them away only to find magic wouldn’t let her. Vernon had been even worse than usual after that, leaving fresh bruises up Harry’s arms.

Maybe anger was too mild a word when Harry had issues with most of the world.

But he has simply had enough because Lily Potter, the woman who took him in and sacrificed her life for him, had demanded Harry not live with Petunia. The only reason he had ever had to live with the Dursley’s instead of Sirius, the only reason Sirius had ever been blamed, was because the minister and Dumbledore sealed the will.

Harry had suffered for years because they decided the Potter’s last wishes didn’t matter.

So, a little over a week before his supposed birthday, Harry decides to steal back his trunk and leave. He has no plan on where to go but he can slip off his ring and go anywhere, he could find a magical inn and owl Hermione because she would know what to do next.

He could…he could find Alya Black. She was alive and out there and he could find her. He could ask her why she was so scared she blocked his magic, and he could ask why she didn’t come back for him after the Potters were dead.

Harry decides to steal his trunk back and run in the early afternoon of a day that wasn’t really significant at all. It wouldn’t be hard; they were ignoring them most of the time these days if they weren’t spitting insults at him for his nightmares.

Dudley sees Harry picking the lock, and Harry can’t shut his not-cousin up before he shouts for Vernon.

Harry gets a beating, the kind he hasn’t seen since he was eleven and Vernon got too scared that wizards would notice. It had always made Harry secretly laugh because no one had brought up the bars on his window and no one ever asked about just how skinny he was every September.

This one goes on until Harry can barely breathe and for a moment he’s sure Vernon wasn’t going to stop at all. He gasps for breath and he grits his teeth but even with pain wracking his body he still refuses to cry. He started refusing to cry for the Dursleys when he was four years old and they’ve barely gotten a tear from him since.

Vernon wrestles him by his collar when Harry can barely stand and unlocks the cupboard. “Were you planning on stealing from us boy!” Vernon yells, face purple as a plum. Harry gasps back a no but Vernon shakes him by the neck again, “You were, weren’t you? A delinquent like you – I told Tuney the day we found you, I told her, a freak like you was going to ruin us! Scrounge our money then the taxpayer, stealing from good folk your whole life just like your father.” Vernon shoves him into the cupboard. “If you want your freak things so badly, then you can stay with them.”

The door slams shut, locking loudly, and leaves Harry in the dark. He can hardly move with the pain freezing up his joints, and in the dark he can only hear his own laboured breaths.

Harry doesn’t know how long he stays there trying to simply focus on staying alive when it would really cause an inconvenience for Vernon if he died. As always, it becomes a competition of who he wants to piss off more; if he died then Vernon would have hell to pay but, if he lived, then that would really piss off Voldemort.

He doesn’t know at what point he starts to feel angry again, the same anger that got him here, but slowly it even overpowers the pain because he starts to wonder why.

Why he ever had to stay here and why Dumbledore never noticed a thing. Why Hagrid didn’t say anything about Harry being left on a dirty floor without even a blanket and why he returned to Hogwarts every year with dark bruises no one ever questioned.

The first person who ever made comment on it, Harry thinks somewhat hysterically, was Tom fucking Riddle. The same ghost of the man who wanted Harry dead and he had said more than a school of teachers and a legion of adults.

Harry is simply done. He wants out, he wants to never see this house again, he wants to see it collapse brick by brick with the rest of Privet Drive.

The cupboard door is blown to pieces.

He stares at the empty space confused for a moment. Oh, Sue Li had told him about this once. Back in first year the muggle-raised had tried meeting up a few times and Sue had been a fellow half-blood raised by muggles. More importantly, she hated her muggles as much as he hated his and every year they found time to check in on each other now and then.

Sue had told him, back in third year, that accidental magic didn’t just stop. Hogwarts just taught you to control it through a wand and spells, but you could control it all on your own, if you tried hard enough, and the ministry would never notice. She had smiled at him wickedly without offering to explain just how she discovered that little fact and Harry never asked because some things didn’t need to be said.

Harry unlocks his trunk and only takes his wand and the worn-down holster he purchased on a whim, the map and cloak, and his Gringotts account book. The rest can stay, he doesn’t care for it enough to be recognised, and Hedwig was already out to stretch her wings. On second thought, he takes the winter cloak he purchased at Yule because it would help hide the blood on his shirt.

Shaky legs carry him out and when he looks back, he realises a small fire is burning up the cupboard. Harry decides to let it burn and slips the glamour ring into his too big pocket before heading out the back door.

.

No one will tell Sirius what is going on when half the order is called out. He’s left alone at Grimmauld Place utterly helpless because the only thing that could require this much attention was Voldemort or Harry. Sirius doesn’t like either option.

He’s pacing the kitchen when Snape comes back with an almost feral Remus. “Control your fucking Wolf, Mutt.” The potions master spits.

Sirius grabs Remus just before he can lunge for Snape’s neck. “You’re his teacher – how didn’t you know!” Remus snarls, and confirms to Sirius this is about Harry.

“I’m far from the first person he’s likely to confide in, Lupin. You were his teacher too, were you not?” Snape sneers back. It seems desperate, like he might not believe it himself, and Sirius holds Remus tighter.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on!” Sirius shouts, bringing the two men to silence. “What happened to Harry?” He’s had enough of being in the dark, of being left to worry for his pup, while they shout at each other. Remus stills suddenly, turning heavy in Sirius’ arms, like his attentions been dragged back to something he wanted to avoid. “…Is he okay? Where is he?” Sirius asks suddenly and his blood runs cold, but his lord ring is still cold too isn’t it? It would burn hot if Harry were in danger, wouldn’t it?

“We presume he’s alive.” Snape drawls.

Sirius is nearly knocked off balance when Remus lunges again. “The Dursleys…the house was on fire. Magically caused. It wasn’t death eaters –” The wolf explains stiffly.

“Why would Harry set it?” Sirius asks. He thinks about watching his godson sat at the side of the road looking so small and he thinks about how quiet he was at Gringotts. He thinks about how that wasn’t like Harry at all because he was so full of energy at Hogwarts and Harry didn’t even look small when facing a dragon, but he looked tiny in Gringotts.

Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted. “The Dursleys weren’t there yet when we were putting it out…we were trying to work out if it was death eaters, so we looked for the origin.”

“It was a cupboard under the stairs.” Snape interrupts coldly. “Potter’s trunk was also located there. We found rather a lot of blood and evidence someone had been living in there for some time. When the Dursleys returned, your wolf decided to take a look in his mind after he accused Potter of causing the fire.”

“I know you did too,” Remus spits and Sirius wonders what he might have done if he wasn’t restrained. Snape sneers back, raising his hooked nose high, “I did, but I wasn’t so stupid as to try and kill him in the street.”

Sirius still holds onto Remus but, now, it’s mostly for his own support because if he lets go his knees might give way.

“They nearly killed him. Dursley beat him and left him in a cupboard and they left, and they treat him like a fucking house elf – they always have – and none of you noticed! You were meant to watch him and protect him, and you didn’t even notice what they were doing to him! He could have died there five times over and where were you?” Remus explodes, very suddenly, but he doesn’t fight to get free. Remus holds onto Sirius’ arms around him tightly and Sirius lets his own head drop to the other man’s shoulder.

“It was never my job to watch him you – I could ask you where you were just the same.” Snape snaps back but Sirius isn’t so sure their old rival believes it himself.

He lets go of Remus but only so he can grab the table instead, feeling both incredibly sick and crushing down that rage that sent him after Pettigrew fourteen years ago instead of looking after his godson.

“Do you think I wanted that? He’s arrogant, lazy, I’d happily never see him again. But he’s Lily’s son and I never thought…” Snape continues talking, more subdued now, and for his own benefit rather than theirs.

Sirius resists snarling that Harry wasn’t Lily’s son at all, not in the way Snape meant it, and would the potions master care then. “He’s too small. That’s what I thought – when I found him after Azkaban. I thought he needed a lotta meals because a quidditch player shouldn’t be so small, not even a seeker. But he didn’t say anything. I knew he hated it there, but he didn’t say they were like that. I should have figured he was too proud to try.” He admits, barely more than a whisper, and both men finally shut up. “He could be out there, dying, because I never asked.”

Remus’ hand is heavy on his shoulder and Sirius covers it with his own. “Half the orders still there, looking for him nearby. His wand was gone so he has it, and ministry officials know now too. The Dursley’s are going to be…they’re going to Azkaban.” Remus tells him like it’s any comfort at all. Sirius wasn’t the type to wish Azkaban on anyone anymore, not after his years trapped there, but the idea of the Dursley’s going there offers him just a little satisfaction.

“Potter had the odd luck of coming out of these things alive. I imagine there is little chance of this killing him if a Basilisk couldn’t.” Snape comments. Sirius blinks up at him in stunned silence for a few seconds, “…were you trying to be comforting?”

Snape looks outright insulted. “I believe you, by the way. You and Lily being…well, if anyone knew what a cow Petunia was, you would.” This, apparently, is one step too far for Snape who sweeps out of the room with a rather pronounced scowl.

They wait in silence as his steps trail away. “Do we tell them? That he might have taken the ring off?” Remus asks quietly when it seems safe.

Sirius turns to look at him properly because he’s not quite sure himself before shaking his head. “We Blacks are a paranoid bunch. The Lord and Heir rings are linked, if the heir is close to death then the ring turns itself into a portkey, so he’s safe for now. If we don’t hear from him soon or the ring tells us he’s in trouble, then we tell them.” He plays with the lord ring on his finger, just to remind himself it’s still simply cold steel.

.

Harry finds an inn near the coast, similar enough to his original plan, after an unpleasant trip on the Knight Bus. No one on the bus looks too closely at his scar but the real test of whether anyone would use it to connect him to Harry Potter would be checking in up close.

He draws the cloak tighter before he enters The Stone Sphinx which is a rather small inn, a lot smaller than the Leaky Cauldron and probably as dodgy as The Hogs Head, but he doubts anyone will come looking for him here. This, also, doesn’t have a pub but that suits Harry fine too. Less people to sneak by.

The old man behind the desk eyes him carefully, and Harry desperately tries to think up some excuses for his scar to throw the man off, but he’s just asked for a name and room preference. The innkeeper gives him a funny look when he gives the name Hydrus Black so Harry shrugs and shares, truthfully, that he’s from a lesser branch of the Black family.

Through some miracle nothing else goes wrong and he gets a fairly decent room, secure in the knowledge that the goblins wouldn’t be telling Dumbledore or the ministry about any funds coming out of his account.

Harry spends the rest of the night trying to direct his magic and heal himself without any spells, concentrating on what Sue once told him and how it felt to blow up the door. There was a small market nearby, according to a helpful enough Stan Shunpike, and he makes plans to go there the next morning to buy anything he might need.

If Dumbledore wanted to leave him in the dark after he was the one to see Cedric die and Voldemort return, then the old man could deal with Harry leaving the country and doing something for himself.

Harry simply refuses to feel guilty after four years of trying to earn the headmaster’s approval no matter the danger.

The market is far smaller than Diagon, maybe even smaller than Knockturn, but it’s there for people travelling light so it has everything he needs. A new bag, some healing potions, and clean clothes. There are also numerous copies of the Daily Prophet on show claiming Harry Potter had been kidnapped after years being abused under Dumbledores watch. Harry resists the urge to burn them all and ignores the headline despite the looks he gets for not caring about the wizarding worlds saviour.

Better strangers think bad about him than he actually has to think about the fact everyone knew about the Dursleys.

Hedwig finds him and lands on his window just after dinner. She nips at his fingers when he approaches but settles down when she connects the feel of his magic to her wizard, though Harry assumes if she could speak then his familiar would refer to him far less kindly.

Harry immediately sets to work writing a letter for Sirius and Remus, but it also takes five attempts to get something decent and he carefully marks the front with H. M. B so only they will recognise who it’s from.

Dear Sirius and Remus,

Please don’t worry too much, I’m alright and I’m safe. I won’t be recognised either so there’s no danger.

I don’t want anyone else to know just yet.

Hope you’re both okay.

It’s exactly the kind of thing Hermione would yell at him for, but he thinks it says enough so sends Hedwig off with the promise she doesn’t let anyone else see her. He doesn’t want to get this far only for Dumbledore to catch him out with a tracking spell, after all.

It takes two hours to get a letter back, barely any time at all, and he makes sure to give his familiar extra treats for all the hassle. Upon opening the letter, he’s surprised it wasn’t a howler because the scrawl is so rushed he can barely read it and it screams of Sirius’ panic.

Write back as soon as you get this, Pup.

I should have asked you why you were so eager to stop living with them back in your third year. We knew Petunia was rotten when she refused to go to Lily and James’ wedding but we both thought she wouldn’t be so foul to her own nephew.

It is understandable if you cannot forgive us for leaving you there but, if it helps, Moony punched Vernon in the middle of the street. I’ve been begging Arthur to share the memory, but I think he’s sour he lost the chance. Apparently, it was unfair for them to line up and hit him.

Dumbledores got the order scouring Surrey for you and we won’t tell him just yet but please tell us where you are so we can come get you. You shouldn’t be out there alone right now, and your friend Ron’s been throwing a fit since they’re not letting him help out with the search. The twins keep trying to distract him, but they’re worried too, not even apparating around the place is helping cheer them up.

Hermione’s terrifying, by the way.

You’re like your dad that way – Marlene could be terrifying when we were in school. Not even Lily could make him shut up the way she could. She was still his favourite friend after me.

If you take too long then Moony is gonna be as grey as Dumbledore.

Sirius.

Harry isn’t sure he can imagine Remus hitting anyone so he might just need to see that memory himself. He’s mostly just glad that they gave him the curtesy of not putting a spell on Hedwig.

Ignoring the fact that everyone knows about the Dursleys once again, Harry puts his quill to parchment to try and explain his plans without cringing at how selfish he feels for leaving them all so worried. He rips up four different drafts while Hedwig judges him before he can settle on one.

Sirius,

I’m sorry for worrying you all. Please tell the order to stop searching Surrey because I’m not there and they’re just putting themselves in danger by looking. I meant it when I said I’m safe, I’m even in a nice little inn right now.

But I can’t come back or tell you where I am.

Dumbledore won’t let me help fight Voldemort and I’m tired of being kept in the dark, if you found me then he would probably send me off to the Burrow and refuse to tell me anything there either. I want to find Alya. I’ve bought a portkey so I can start looking and I’ll be careful, but I have so much I need to ask her.

I think I need to do this, even if it’s just to find out why.

There is nothing to forgive, and I’m well aware of how scary Hermione is. She once threatened me into doing my potions essay when even Snape didn’t scare me enough.

Harry.

P.S. Who is Marlene?

.

Harry is packing up his things the next day, ready to check out and take the portkey to France, when Hedwig returns with both a letter and a parcel. He’s cautious, again, just in case anyone had noticed the letters going back and forth but he sits on the bed and opens it anyway.

Pup,

We won’t tell the order or Dumbledore, but we have conditions. We both refuse to spend the next few weeks worried about you attracting a natural disaster.

One owl a week, sent to the flat, so we know you’re actually alive and updating us. Fire calls whenever we can schedule them. Moony’s accepting the flat so we have an excuse to get away. Keep your head down because you never know where a death eater might be, even in Europe, and they might take an interest in your scar.

Moony is worried you’re going to backpack through Europe, meet a hippie, and come back engaged so please don’t do that. I would say don’t do anything I wouldn’t do but he pointed out that’s not a big list so try not to do anything Moony wouldn’t do.

Coincidentally, Moony didn’t specify that it’s anything he wouldn’t do now, and he was pretty wild when we were in school so do with that what you will.

There is a lot to forgive, even if you’re too kind to admit it pup.

Last I heard, Alya lived in New Delhi. She might have moved but someone there will recognise the family name. Us Black like to leave a mark. We’ve enclosed a gift that should help. One drop of blood and it will point you in the right direction.

Sirius.

P.S. Remind me to tell you about Marlene and Dorcas sometime.

The gift in question is a small compass encased in gold with a sharp point in the middle Harry assumes he’s meant to prick his finger on. Two needlepoints sit completely still in black and red, both facing north, and when he stabs his finger on it, they spin wildly. The red one stills pointing east across the channel and the black one points south east, and Harry knows, without needing to ask, that they each point in the direction of one of his birth parents.

Maybe, if he’s really lucky, the black one is just pointing to a grave.

Harry sends back three letters. One for Sirius and Remus to agree to the terms and express his gratitude for the gift. One for Hermione and one for Ron with similar messages asking them both to calm down and relax because he will see them at Hogwarts.

He also tells Hedwig to stay with Sirius and Remus this time because she won’t be able to follow him halfway across the world. She nips his fingers in protest, feathers ruffled at the idea she couldn’t make the trip, but he watches her fly away before he grabs his things and leaves.

Chapter Text

Gathered in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, to one side Molly frets and fumes in equal measure over Harry and why she hadn’t tried harder to question him at the end of every summer. On the other side, Hermione was very close to deciding to ignore the limits of magic and invent a way to portkey directly to Harry for the sole purpose of yelling at him.

Harry’s letters, unsurprisingly, hadn’t been much comfort at all when they were the equivalent to a ‘see you later’ and ‘trust me’.

The trust me might have been comforting or helpful if he didn’t have a terrible habit of attracting natural disasters and catastrophes.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore begins in the same way he has every day for a week. The old man’s patience was beginning to wear thin. “Do you have any idea where Harry might be? It’s unusual he hasn’t come looking for you or gone to the Burrow or even been seen in Diagon. You were both the last ones to see him, are you sure he didn’t mention anything?”

Sirius meets Remus’ eyes over the table and pretends to think. He would call the performance Oscar worthy, carried out with a certain flair as he studies his drink and leans back in his chair, and might have demanded an award at the end of all this. If he tried, however, Remus would certainly burst his bubble and claim not a single person believed it. Sirius Orion Black has dignity, pride, and acting talents wasted outside of the theatre, so he will not open himself up to such an unfair critic.

“I don’t, Albus, his letter with Hedwig was just to tell us he was fine and not to look for him.” Sirius shakes his head, “Then it burst into flames. If it hadn’t then I would’ve given it to you to try and track him.” A blatant lie, he had set all the letters on fire immediately after reading just to keep that from happening.

“He’s probably embarrassed, Dumbledore. Harry’s a proud boy, he’ll know by now that we all know about the Dursleys, he won’t want to deal with the attention.” Remus adds as if it’s the most reasonable thing and it’s Dumbledore’s fault for not thinking of it himself. He’s also not technically wrong because Harry hadn’t wanted to talk about the Dursleys at all in his letters.

Another letter was due soon. Remus had been marking down the days.

Ron frowns down at the old wooden table. “Lupin’s right, headmaster – Harry hates all that stuff. He doesn’t even like fuss when he’s hurt, he got mad at Hermione for fluffing his pillow after the bludger incident.”

Dumbledore looks like he’s sucked a lemon. “Well, if he owls any of you again then you need to come straight to me. He’s in danger out there alone.” Sirius nods and averts his eyes because he doesn’t consider agreeing for even a second. “Severus, do you have any news?”

The potions master lets out a long-suffering sigh, but no one present pays it any mind. Snape tended to give Sirius a run for his money when it came to dramatics with how often he let them all know he hated being there. “The Dark Lord has no more idea where the boy is than we do, Albus.” Sirius hides a smirk at the simple knowledge the three of them were tricking the two most powerful men in Britain. “And, frankly, I don’t think he cares. He has a few death eaters looking through the country but hasn’t devoted any considerable resources to the search. The only new development he appears to care about is the news someone on the continent has been asking about elementals.”

Probably a little too fast, Sirius looks to Remus again and clamps down on the urge to fidget. That must be Harry, it was too much of a coincidence not to be, and he was going to catch their attention all over again.

Dumbledore shakes his head slowly, seemingly a little alarmed about the type of magic. “Tom is a paranoid man; he keeps ears to the ground for talk of the olde magics. I doubt there’s anything to worry about.”

Oddly enough, Sirius doesn’t believe him for a moment.

.

The fire call connects instantly to show Harry sitting glamourless and cross-legged on a hotel room floor.

“Never do that to us again.” Remus says as soon as they both know he’s fine. Harry looks between them for help and Sirius offers a simple shrug. “An entire day before you told us you were okay – and now your letter was a day late as well.” Remus continues with such a note of disappointment that even Sirius cringes.

Harry grimaces, nervously running a hand through his messy hair. “Well – Hedwig had to find me first. I owled as soon as she did! And I really didn’t realise international owls took so long to travel because I sent one yesterday!” He protests childishly, and with no effect on Remus’ frown. Then, Harry looks back to Sirius with a sly little grin that just screams trouble. “I told you we’d get him to accept the flat.”

It’s a good job they were using the flat instead of trying to sneak these calls in at Grimmauld because Sirius cackles loudly and falls off his chair in the process.

“The two of you are going to be the death of me,” Remus sighs, ever so mournful, and slumps down in his chair.

Sirius shoves his legs lightly. “You’ve been saying that since we were first years, Moony.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true!”

Harry grins at the banter and it’s the same reckless flash of teeth even without the glamour. Sirius would know that smile anywhere by now because he had made it his mission to see it as often as possible two years earlier.

“You’re doing okay so far then? Where have you got to know.” Sirius asks, jumping back into his chair, and trying to ease his nerves.

“Oh, I’m in a hotel in Lyon right now. They have a really small magical district but it’s not too bad and I’ve made a plan of how I’m gonna get to India. Spent a full day planning a route and everything. I’m taking a train to Milan tomorrow so I can miss Germany altogether and I’ll head to Croatia from there.” Harry ducks his head, shrinking just a little. “Uh, actually, I’m going to Annecy tomorrow ‘cause I was told they have really good magical bookstores there with specialties. I was going to stop in Italy a few times too – I hate that you’re stuck there and you’re fighting Voldemort and I’m taking a trip across Europe when I could get there so much faster otherwise.”

Remus looks at him with the same frustration he feels. “Harry.” Sirius cuts in to stop his godson beating himself up for daring to be a teenager. “It’s okay. You are allowed to actually enjoy yourself and there’s more to your life than this war. Let yourself breathe.”

What he doesn’t say is that he wants Harry to enjoy this. Sirius wants Harry to take as many stops as he wants and make memories and find some joy in this world after everything it had put him through. Sirius wants Harry to just be a normal teenager so badly he will look Dumbledore in the eye and lie before he lets any of them drag his godson back before he’s ready.

“Harry, after everything you’ve been through – not just with them but at Hogwarts too – you deserve to do something for yourself. If you want to take the whole summer then you’re allowed to do that, and if you want to spend even more time after you find Alya then we’ll sure as hell make Dumbledore leave you alone.” Remus says in what Sirius likes to think of as his teacher voice. The werewolf had used it on he and James even when they were kids, and it was equal parts stern and warm but almost definitely fashioned after McGonagall.

From the look on Harry’s face, it had also been used on him plenty back in third year.

“Actually, you really need to be careful too. You-Know-Who has informants everywhere and one of them told him there was someone asking about elementals.” Sirius jumps in before Harry can try and protest the assertation he was allowed to just be a child.

Harry looks absolutely outraged. “But I didn’t even ask anyone! I bought a book – I didn’t even ask where to find the books!” His godson cries first, jumping forward onto his knees to protest the injustice. Then Harry deflates like a burst balloon, “Well, I can’t even ask for help with translation spells then, can I? I didn’t realise most of it was in French when I bought it.”

Sirius snorts, unable to help himself, but Remus outright groans into his hands. “No one told him. Oh, Harry, you know the trace doesn’t work like that right? The ministry set up wards in muggle areas, they can’t just tell you’re doing magic. Otherwise, they could use the trace to find you right now.”

Clearly, no one had by the mix of devastation and outrage on Harry’s face.

Sirius bursts into laughter again. “It’s not funny Sirius! It’s bloody cold here – I couldn’t even do a warming spell all day an’ you know how funny people look at you when you say you can’t do a spell.” Harry complains, but it only serves to make him laugh harder.

The boy looks utterly stricken by the time he finally sobers. “So, pup, what are your plans tomorrow? I expect you to buy yourself a cake and pig out since you’ve denied us the pleasure of stealing any.” He asks expectantly and Harry pulls a face back.

“I’m going for the train; I’ll be travelling most of the day Sirius. Buy yourself a cake.”

He clutches his heart in horror, looking to his oldest friend for backup. “Then eat it for breakfast!”

His oldest friend shoves him off his chair. “Don’t listen to this child –”

“Absolutely listen to this child, I’m giving you an order as your blood adopted father!” Sirius immediately counters.

“Don’t be scared to revoke that Harry!”

Harry laughs at the two of them. “Can you two get a room already? No wonder dad left you both the flat.”

They both immediately separate themselves, quit all bickering, and pretend like they know nothing at all. If you were to ask McGonagall, she would say they perfected that routine in fourth year.

“He didn’t leave us both –” Sirius argues quickly.

One loud snort cuts him off. “Yes, he did! They left you the couch in the flat and I bet you haven’t even moved it out from sheer stubbornness. It’s basically giving you somewhere to stay while you’re there unless you two wanna start –”

“The couch is going next week.” Remus cuts in quickly.

Harry, the little shit that he is, doesn’t even do them the courtesy of nodding and pretending to believe them. “What day, ‘cause I want to fire-call and see proof it’s gone.”

Remus glares in the couches general direction like it might do the responsible thing and burst into flames immediately.

“Wednesday. We’re moving it to Grimmauld to horrify my mother’s portrait.” Sirius declares, and Harry raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think there was anywhere to put it there. Is there a secret undecorated living room or something?”

“We’re magically resizing it into an armchair.” Remus replies stubbornly.

The little shit smirks at them. “Are you going to create that spell?” Harry asks innocently, as if he wasn’t torturing them on his parent’s behalf. Sirius is sure that, wherever he was in the afterlife, James was enjoying this immensely.

“This has been a great call, happy birthday Harry, I think someone’s coming. Talk to you next week. Love you.” Sirius rushes out as Harry cackles on the other end and disconnects the call.

.

Harry stays up until midnight to wish himself a happy birthday on a day that isn’t technically his birthday and proceeds to nearly miss his train. As a reward for making it in time after a mad dash through the city, upon his arrival to Annecy he goes straight to the magical shopping district to utilise the new magical trunk he purchased in Lyon.

The new trunk is marked with a small H. M. B on the front and he had spent an hour trying not to overthink it. It was recommended to wixen who liked to travel with a library compartment, a sitting room, wardrobe, and kitchen. Most importantly, it had a built-in timer to tell you how long was left before your next stop and it was immovable whilst someone was inside. He could easily spend most of his time on the train in there reading or napping without any worries.

Vault 687 probably hadn’t seen so much use in decades with the way Harry had been filling the library and wardrobe of his new trunk. He spends three hours on his not-birthday simply buying new clothes as well as any book that catches his interest now that he knows he’s free to use translation spells as he pleases.

Harry also buys a cake to eat for dinner, just as Sirius encouraged, as soon as he reaches his hotel and promptly passes out once again after stuffing himself full. He’s not actually sure why he celebrates his not-birthday though he suspects it’s a mix of habit and lingering denial, but he has few positive associations with the day and decides to himself this will be the last one.

Next year he will celebrate in August.

Coincidentally, next year he won’t have a glamour ring and will have had to tell everyone back home the truth. That is a problem for later.

What Harry hadn’t told Sirius and Remus during their call was that, despite all his previous objections, he’s starting to feel more comfortable with the name Hydrus. Just like the being told him, Harry Potter belonged to everyone but himself.

Harry Potter was all over the front page of the Daily Prophet because they were tearing his name in every direction, claiming he might have been kidnapped and he might have run away in shame for falsely claiming Voldemort was back. The name Harry Potter was on the lips of wizarding society because the Dursleys were being trialled for what they did to him.

Harry adamantly pretends he doesn’t care about that at all.

Hydrus Black belongs to himself only.

Hydrus is travelling France and Europe and he is flirting with a French boy on the train because the Dursleys weren’t there to spit insults at him and this stranger isn’t just in awe of Harry Potter. Hydrus is learning French and magic Dumbledore would rather he never touch.

(Hydrus is running the other way and nearly falling over his own feet when he sees Fleur Delacour in public because if she sees his heir rings then she might recognise them and him. He runs even faster because if he talks to his fellow champion then he might think of Cedric and if he thinks of Cedric he must think of secret touches and a crush he could never speak out loud and a flash of green light.)

Most importantly, Hydrus is able to buy himself clothes that fit and the things he wants without feeling guilty Ron wouldn’t accept his help or feeling scared the Dursleys would take it away. Hydrus Black doesn’t hate his own skin or agree with Vernon that he shouldn’t have been born when the night seems to go on for too long.

.

The book on Elementals Harry picked up when he first got to France proves incredibly useful and absolutely worth the risk of getting caught. He realises this on the train to Milan after three attempts at a translation spell before he can even start to read it.

Elementals, as he discovers, are a very old form of magic that could only be inherited, passed down in blood only and rarely shared outside families. A child’s element would often be a counter to the parents, though all the elements could counter each other in some way, and there was a ritual to confirm which way you leaned.

The book, an inspired purchase really, details that ritual.

Harry decides to do it at the next hotel because it would be too late to enjoy the young wizarding scene in the city anyway. The guides said Milan was full of new experimental magic and a history that Harry really wants to explore.

Given Elemental magic was passed down by blood, he’s almost certain that his ability came from his father because surely Sirius would have known if it came from Alya. Harry truly cannot think of a death eater that might be that powerful and there are no lists of families with the ability so he’s no closer to knowing their identity but that’s not a terrible thing. It’s better, probably, to not have a face to put to the father who wants him dead.

It is with perverse pleasure that Harry thinks Voldemort can’t be an Elemental because the monster would have flaunted it in the same way he boasted being a Parselmouth. The name Marvolo, he reasons, must just be more common in the wizarding world than he thought. Harry has something Voldemort doesn’t and the knowledge makes him grin like a madman out of pure childish spite.

He might have had the misfortune to share plenty with the man, but this is his and his alone. Harry looks forward to laughing about that with Sirius and Remus on their next call because he’s sure Sirius would be just as petty as him.

So, at the next hotel, which costs a good few galleons and nearly makes him wince at the price despite not even denting his vault, Harry eats one meal he can’t pronounce and climbs into his trunk.

It would probably be safer to carry out the ritual in absolute privacy.

Harry changes his clothes into something he wouldn’t mind damaging, seals the sitting room door, and moves all the furniture to the side before spelling it for extra safety. Once all of that is done, he cuts his palm and draws the ritual circle on the wooden floor. Harry kneels in the centre before he uses his own blood to draw the runes he spent all day studying.

Absently, he wonders if it’s too late to take a runes OWL when he goes back. Claim he was too stressed to take the actual classes, but he’d privately self-studied them the last two years. Two shelves of his library are packed full of books on warding and runes, and he’ll probably pick up more over the rest of his travels, and he feels surprisingly confident about being able to pass an OWL on the subjects.

Seeing as he doesn’t even have his school supplies yet, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Then he takes the four bowls he requested at reception and places each on a rune. One holds water, one ash (Harry had burnt some paper), the next mud and finally a single leaf.

The poor receptionist had looked helpless and confused but, upon seeing two heir rings, had quickly obliged.

He dribbles his blood into each bowl and forces his voice to remain steady. “Sanguis sanguinem in potestatem et virtutem.”

The water turns thick and red, grass grows over the mud, a branch starts to form rapidly at the end of the leaf stem, and the ashes reform into a small, contained flame.

“Ego offerre mea, et detraxi in magica vires meum rogare et ostende mihi.”

His world goes black, much like when the water dragged him under at Gringotts, and for that reason he doesn’t feel quite so confused this time.

“What a strange boy you are.” Not the same voice as last time – it’s his voice. A double of himself sits at a table in the middle of the darkness and Harry hesitantly takes the other seat. His double is not quite identical, they seem taller and their hair is longer and they’re not quite as thin as he is. That burgundy left eye is a brighter red too and he looks away because the sight makes him uncomfortable. “I give you a glimpse of an idealised you, the one you could be,” His double says patiently.

Harry blinks. “Are you Lady Magic?” He asks bluntly and immediately winces. “Sorry, I mean, may I ask if you are? It’s just that the book didn’t mention anyone being here and I know you’re not the same person – entity – as last time this happened, and I was asking Lady Magic for help.” He explains in one breath.

His double laughs freely. “Yes, I am. I’m pleased you asked. I appeared to your father too, but you are far more pleasant to talk to.” Lady Magic says and Harry bites his tongue hard because he does not want to ask about that. “I thought you hated dark magic. Elementals are classed as dark and old.” Lady Magic points out, sounding just a bit curious in a way he can only identify through knowing his own voice.

This was all probably some grand metaphor for knowing yourself but, Harry thinks, jokes on magic because he has spent five years refusing to self-reflect. He’s dodged all of Hermione’s attempts to psychoanalyse him so he feels pretty confident he can ignore Lady Magic herself staring him in the face and trying.

Harry shakes his head. “I thought I did, until last year. Barty was a terrible person but he taught us a lot. I hate people using magic for bad things, but dark magic isn’t that.” He feels his cheeks heat up as soon as he remembers just who he is talking to. “I mean – obviously, you know that. Being Lady Magic. But we hadn’t been taught that before, and I read more on it after that to make sure it was true.”

Lady Magic smiles at him indulgently. “You’re both strange and a pleasure to talk to, Hydrus. It’s not often wixen catch my attention.” He’s not sure if she’s insulting him and he wonders, even more, if he’s caught her attention in a good or bad way. “But to why you’ve called. What do you think your element is, Hydrus?” Lady Magic asks.

He barely needs to consider it. “Fire. I know I accidentally set the house on fire and…I’ve always been kinda better at spells linked to fire anyway. Well, besides warming charms.” He grins sheepishly.

“You are hopeless with them from what I’ve seen.” Lady Magic agrees, “I do worry for you, Hydrus, and this path you’re choosing. I worry what you might do when you get what you’re looking for.” She shakes his head.

Harry looks at the delicate oak table and the winding patterns in the wood. “I just want to talk to her, that’s it. I’ve already come to terms with the fact that, whoever my birth father was, he was a death eater. Or is, I guess.” He insists on it because he’s turned it over a hundred times already and moved on.

“No, you haven’t Hydrus. I suspect you also already know the truth and are doing everything possible to prove you don’t.” Lady Magic counters plainly. Harry decides he really doesn’t like being told off in his own voice – maybe if Hermione polyjuiced herself into him then he would actually listen to her telling him to study. Lady Magic sighs, “Your fathers’ element, by the way, is water. With all the fighting you’re intent on doing then you should start learning to combat it.”

Harry opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling of the sitting room compartment which now has a strangely shaped burn. “If I keep being magically kidnapped, I’m not paying for these attempts at therapy.” It’s like a draft washes over him, cold air brushing against his cheek, but this time Harry knows this isn’t a draft at all.

One visit from Death, one from Lady Magic herself, and Harry wonders if he will get called on by Fate next. He frowns. “Have you all seen a Christmas Carol in that other plane?” He asks loudly and hears the ghost of his own laughter in response.  

Chapter Text

There are things, as loathe as he was to admit it, that even Voldemort didn’t understand about magic. Things like the lightest of pulls on the olde Gaunt family magic that hadn’t been there fourteen years prior and shouldn’t be there now because he is the last living Gaunt.

Voldemort made sure of that.

Something was wrong with the family magic but that wasn’t too pressing an issue because he has a half century of knowledge and vast resources to turn on it. Some force of nature had seen fit to divide his attention all at once because someone was asking about Elementals.

He hadn’t told anyone that he was having that same person loosely tailed across Europe. It was out of curiosity more than anything, he stopped desiring to find people like him years ago, so no one needed to know. Maybe it was one of Dumbledore’s recruits collecting information against him and maybe it was an unsure young Elemental in need of guidance.

Experience has taught Voldemort that if something was wrong then it was usually down to Dumbledore.

The spy closely tracked a path across the magical sites of Italy into Croatia and Montenegro and, admittedly, Voldemort had spent more than a few hours trying to find a pattern.

It was a problem, this curiosity, but it was better to obsess over a new pawn on the chessboard than keep indulging in the exhausting mania that accompanied regaining a body. This was just as all-consuming, even he could admit, but his Death Eaters seemed better for it. Bartemius didn’t twitch so much around him and that alone was an incentive because it was tempting to return the man to the dementors when he got nervous of a Crucio.

The curiosity was so distracting that he barely paid any attention to the fact Potter was somewhere in Britain utterly vulnerable. Voldemort had been, very briefly, disturbed by revelation of the similarity in their upbringings and, despite their position on opposite sides of the board, he had even felt some hint of pity. Only a hint though, when reading over the details of the trial, because this was just another of Dumbledore’s failings and the boy had already chosen his side.

It was a shame regardless. Potter was stronger than he ever assumed for the simple act of not letting himself slip into an Obscurus through his relatives attempts to force the magic out of him, and it was a true shame that Potter would have to die. Merlin knew some of his Death Eaters lacked even half the spine the boy had.

When his new interest goes to Albania in the second week of August, however, Voldemort must get more involved. Albania was one of the few holdouts on the continent that still remembered the olde magics and it’s a country that every dark wixen should try to visit once and he wonders just what his interest wants there.

So, Voldemort decides to take a short trip and have a look himself. Better to find out if they were one of Dumbledore’s recruits to dispatch them quickly, after all. His spies insisted that the stranger didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular, rarely staying one city for more than a few days, but he also sends one international owl a week like clockwork.

Voldemort drops his blood glamour and, for the first time, appreciates that Wormtail ruined the ritual somehow because if he hadn’t then Voldemort never would have been able to blend in among the general population. The desire to be rid of the part of him still able to feel something akin to love, and to be rid of the face she fell in love with in return, was a ridiculous one really because he’s already above that.

Tom Riddle cast off his humanity before he even turned sixteen and Voldemort doesn’t need help to cast of the scraps that remained.

There’s not much to the area his spies direct him to but there is an inn so Voldemort goes there first to look for anyone who might fit. It takes time, plenty of it, but his eyes finally land on sometime trying far too hard to hide in the crowds.

A hat obscures most of his face but not once does he look away from a small fireplace across the room even when he drinks. Voldemort smirks. A fire Elemental based on the way the flames shape themselves so imperceptibly no one else seems to notice. A boy, he is sure, and probably not all that old if he’s only now asking about their history so almost definitely brand new to the game.

The flames are put out and Voldemort watches the boys confused reaction because, unless he put them out himself, that shouldn’t have happened. Voldemort refuses himself the indulgence, the sheer recklessness, of approaching this new Elemental and just keeps watching instead. The boy all but makes a run for it with little subtlety.

Voldemort waits a few moments more before leaving himself to meet his spy. “Watch him closely from now on. I want to know every stop he makes, every person he talks to, and every question he asks.”

.

“I know you’ve been talking to Harry.” Hermione says flatly.

Sirius chokes on air.

She ignores him completely. “You get an international owl every week. Specifically, every Wednesday.”

“We’re talking to a lawyer about Sirius’s case, so we can overturn it and get custody of Harry when we find him.” Remus says without looking up but his grip on the newspaper is so tight the paper wrinkles.

Hermione sits down with her right eyebrow inching higher every second.

“You’ve got us. Have you told anyone?” Sirius breaks, not at all ashamed to admit the muggleborn teenager scares him, and ignores the naked betrayal on Remus’ face.

“No. Is he okay? I know he told us he was and that he’d be back but we’re so close to term! No one’s even spotted him.” She admits and her voice cracks in a way that makes Sirius wince.

(Had Ron or Harry been there, they both could have told the remaining Marauders that she was simply playing it up to emotionally destroy them.)

Remus sighs, putting his paper down and rubbing his temples. “We’re floo calling him tonight. We’ll make an excuse to take you with us.”

The muggleborn’s smile both lights up the roon and tells them they’ve been scammed.

.

The excuse ends up being remarkably flimsy even for them, claiming that Hermione really needs to call her parents and Grimmauld was too magical for that.

The floo call connects as usual.

“Bloody hell!” Harry cries in fright, as anyone should when faced with an unexpected and angry Hermione Granger.

“She rumbled us pup.” Sirius says solemnly.

Remus immediately refuses the blame. “She rumbled you.”

Harry rolls his eyes at the both of them. “How did you two ever get the marauders map done?”

Remus barks a laugh, all involved ignoring the spluttered protests from Sirius. “Your dad kept us on task when he wasn’t busy staring after Lily.” He offers up.

Sirius grumbles louder.

“Harry?” Hermione says unsurely, the first thing she’s been able to say, and Harry takes in her confusion before sprawling to the floor ever so dramatically.

Sirius is a touch proud.

“You didn’t even tell her?” Comes an incredulous cry a moment later but it’s muffled by the fact his face is pressed into hotel carpet.

“We were busy!”

Harry groans wordlessly in response. They may have been forced to miss a decade of annoying their pup but, Sirius is glad to say, they were making up for lost time with these floo calls. Sirius isn’t so glad to see Harry sit up a few seconds later with a grin that was, in his humble opinion, suspicious. “I have something cool to try. It’ll be awkward but it should work. Light something on fire and put it in a jar where I can see.”

Remus shrugs and finds a jar, setting it on the coffee table, before conjuring a flame. Sirius watches the floo, waiting for something to happen on the other end, especially when Harry goes oddly still with a flame sitting in his open palm.

“Boo!”

Sirius screams, falling out of his chair, and he’s glad to see Remus looks similarly shocked. Harry bends over, hands on his knees, cackling something fierce and gasping for breath.

“Harry – you little Bastard!” Sirius cries, lying on his back and trying to catch his own breath, but his godson keeps wheezing.

Hermione stands up abruptly and marches right over to Harry before attempting to punch him in the shoulder. Her fist goes right through, but it catches his attention enough to calm down. “Woah! ‘Mione!” He complains, “That would have bruised.”

She tries to hit him again. “You – Harry Potter, what the hell do you think you’re doing! I’ve been worried sick!” Hermione yells, still trying to hit him without success.

The concern in her voice sobers him quickly. “Can you let me explain ‘Mione. Please?” He asks, somehow pulling off the exact same puppy eyes as he had with the glamour. Harry squirms under her glare but, slowly, she stops trying to hit him.

Sirius decides to address the elephant in the room. “How are you doing this pup?”

“I found another book on Elementals in Croatia. There’s this way of – well – projecting you an illusion of yourself, when there was more of us they would each have a representation of their element and of the person they wanted to talk to. Then they would connect the representations and create a shared mental space to talk. I think, anyway, because half of it wasn’t translatable. But I figured I could apply the concept if I could see a flame on this end.” Harry explains brightly, before sighing. “I’ve been on trains non-stop for four days now, so I’ve had a lot of time to read and practice.”

It was very good their pup was finding things that interested him and enjoying learning, but Sirius smirks at Remus. “Oh, Moony, the horror! Our pup’s a nerd now.” Someone, most likely Hermione, kicks his leg and Remus throws something at him. He’s pretty sure he sees the two teens high five, or as close as they can right now.

“I’m portkeying to Turkey tomorrow and I only have a few hours to look at the markets before I have two days of trains through Iraq and Iran. It’s awful! The compartments are tiny.”

Sirius barks a laugh and even Remus joins him. “Or, maybe, you’re just having a growth spurt.” Remus points out, sounding very reasonable probably because Harry had definitely grown a few inches since Gringotts. When Remus had a similar growth spurt in sixth year Lily had described him as a baby giraffe, and Sirius thinks that applies the same to Harry who doesn’t seem to know what to do with his limbs.

“You have gotten a lot taller.” Hermione agrees with a tone so icy that even they wince.

Harry holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I know I should’ve owled you, but we’ve been keeping it secret from everyone. Honest! Otherwise, Dumbledore is going to swoop in and steal me off to some tower.” Harry protests.

Sirius nods gravely, but the effect is somewhat lessoned when he’s still lying on the ground. “It’s been a very careful operation.” He agrees.

Remus breaks solidarity with a pointed snort.

Hermione folds her arms across her chest, trying to make herself seem a bit taller, before sighing. “What is all this, Harry?”

The master of understatement and obliviousness that their pup is, Harry just shrugs. “You know how we went to Gringotts? Well, uh, when we were there it came out my parents will was sealed by the old minister and Dumbledore. I’m adopted, surprise!”

Hermione is very silent.

Remus drops his head into his hands. “Lily and James adopted him from Sirius’s cousin, but they didn’t tell anyone. They had spells on Harry, dangerous ones, like a blood glamour. Hence, that.”

Sirius decides to step in and be helpful whilst lifting himself back into his chair. “Alya was scared of his birth dad, we think, because she used spells to hide him.”

Hermione looks between the three of them with wide eyes.

“They copied the glamour onto a ring for me, but stuff like my eyesight got instantly better. In the will they said to remove the spells and that my birth mum would take me in if they died, so I’m trying to find her.” Harry says nonchalantly, gesturing to his own face, and Sirius might have to admit that Remus was right and their pup wasn’t coping well. Harry being this casual about anything was a little bit of a warning sign.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione says, voice wavering, and eyes watery.

“It’s all fine, ‘Mione, I’ve sorted all my feelings about it.” Harry denies, seemingly a little worried she might cry. “The Potters are still my mum and dad, and my birth dad is probably a piece of shit Death Eater. Seeing as he must be a water Elemental, I’m working on strategies to beat his ass.”

The boy glares at them when they look at each other with equal scepticism. “Anyway, there’s other stuff too, I guess. Alya named me Hydrus and I’m kind of warming up to it, and my birthday isn’t even the same which I nearly forgot about altogether. But I don’t want the order to know yet because Dumbledore is going to lose it and they’ll start scouting for me across Europe.” No one had the heart to admit just yet that the order probably doesn’t have enough people to do that anyway. “Elementals are dark magic too, and you know how Dumbledore feels about that. Plus, Ron.”

Harry and Hermione both share a grimace.

“I know I’ll have to tell everyone eventually, ‘cause this glamour ring only works for a year, but right now it’s really handy no one can recognise me. Voldemort included.” Harry adds even quicker before Hermione can so much as open her mouth.

“Shut up you idiot! Honestly, Harry, I was going to agree with you.” Hermione huffs. Harry stares at her like he’s expecting a trap to spring on him any second. “All this reading…I’ve spent four years telling you to read!” She complains childishly, this being the most pressing issue apparently, and Harry ducks his head like it’ll help hide his grin. “Have you even thought about your school supplies?” She demands suddenly, almost horrified at the idea he wasn’t prepped for term at all.

Remus chuckles. “We’re passing letters to McGonagall for him, actually. Harry’s begging her to let him do the Ancient Runes and Warding OWL’s as a self-study.”

Harry actually jumps away when Hermione shrieks, and Sirius is too amused to remind his godson that he’s not actually there so running away from her does nothing.

“Since when!” Hermione demands, practically vibrating in place.

“‘Mione,” Harry whines. “They’re both really involved with Elementals and I thought they were interesting, so I’ve been reading a lot of NEWT level stuff. McGonagall said I have to take a test at the start of term to prove I’m on par, so if I pass then she’ll let me drop divination for them. She doesn’t believe I’ve been studying for them but wished me good luck.” Hermione bounces on her feet and Harry eyes her warily. “You are not getting me to join any of your other torture lessons.” He tells her flatly.

Sirius doesn’t think the girl cares, but she does smirk. “What’s that on your shoulder, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes widen dramatically but, now she’s brought attention to it, Sirius looks closer at what’s poking out from his godson’s collar. “I gotta go –” Harry claims, voice faint.

“Harry.” Sirius says very slowly, watching his godson freeze in place. “What is on your shoulder?”

The boy in question stares at the jar of flames like he hopes it’ll swallow him up. “I did a stupid thing you won’t approve of.” Harry admits, as if that didn’t describe the vast majority of his adventures. “I was in Croatia and…well…laws are slightly more lax in the magical community there. I was talking – flirting – with this guy and…he dared me to…” He trails off but Sirius waits patiently. “His older brother is a tattoo artist and pretended to believe me when I said I was sixteen and now I have a tattoo.” Harry rushes out in one breath.

Hermione hides her grin behind one hand.

Sirius stares at Remus for help because, really, he’s the sensible adult here and should have advice on how Sirius should react.

Remus shrugs, and his face practically screams ‘You’re the one who fought me to be his godfather, this is your job.’

“You encouraged me to have fun and make memories!” Harry claims loudly and immediately ducks behind Hermione when Sirius whips his head round to stare at him in disbelief.

“I meant – I didn’t mean get a tattoo!”

The traitor otherwise known as Remus laughs.

“You only just turned fifteen,” Sirius points out, thinking about how Lily was going to destroy him in the afterlife for letting this happen. Then he pauses, his horror and fear for his soul growing. “You hadn’t even turned fifteen when you were Croatia!” He realises, voice rising sharply.

“I was in spirit?” Harry suggests weakly, but he still tries and fails to hide behind the much smaller Hermione.

Sirius slumps into his seat. “Merlin’s balls. You go backpacking through Europe, get a tattoo – next you’re going to have a guitar and get engaged!” He cries and clutches his heart.

Remus turns to Harry very seriously. “Ask him when he got his first tattoo.”

Harry looks to him very expectantly, popping up behind Hermione like a whack-a-mole, and Sirius shakes his head. “No! No, I got mine as part of an old Black tradition. It’s not the same.” He argues.

“I got a map of the constellations of the northern hemisphere.” Harry tells him cheerfully.

Sirius sniffs, raising his nose in the air. “I hope the dog star takes centre place!”

Harry laughs but, since he doesn’t say no, Sirius will take it.

“Are you preparing for OWL’s at all? Between all this…stupid fraternising.” Hermione demands but a smile pulls at her lips anyway.

Forgetting once again that he’s not actually there, Harry attempts to throw an arm around her shoulders. Upon the inevitable failure he settles for just rolling his eyes. “All you’ve done this call is be mean to me, ‘Mione. Really hurts my feelings, I feel positively bullied.”

Hermione tries to hit his shoulder again. “And you would absolutely deserve it. You’re off on this adventure across Europe and you don’t even tell me you’re trying to join my classes.” She shakes her head so hard her hair bounces along.

“Oh, uh, there’s another very bad thing.” Harry adds very suddenly. Remus looks at him cautiously because the ballpark of ‘bad things’ when it came to Harry was the side of the quidditch pitch. “I’m probably, definitely, being followed. That’s why I’m barely stopping at hotels anymore.” He shrugs.

Sirius drops his head into his hands.

“That’s something you lead with Harry!” Hermione beats them to it.

“Well, I think they’ve followed me since Venice, but they got way more overt in Albania, so now I switch trains all the time and spend the journey in my trunk.” Harry explains. Remus pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not hostile following! They’re not dangerous, but it’s a little weird so I wear a hat and charm my trunk different colours. They lose me all the time too, so they probably won’t catch up with me by the time I reach New Delhi.”

Sirius makes a point of sprawling out over his chair. “I suppose it was too much to ask he be a genius, Moony. Our pup’s clearly just another jock.” He sighs dramatically.

Harry makes a choked off sound of protest. “You don’t even know what a jock is!”

At the same time, Hermione nods vigorously. “You’re absolutely right.” She doesn’t even blink when Harry looks to her in betrayal. “Harry, if you could then you would ask Parvati for help with your Divination homework. That is literally just looking for omens and making dream journals.”

There’s no denying it, Harry outright pouts. “I do other stuff – I didn’t even play quidditch last year!”

Remus nods, almost seeming sympathetic. “That’s because you were illegally entered into a death tournament.”

Hermione giggles.

“You guys are nicer when I floo you!”

.

No one had to tell Harry that his best friend was downright terrifying, he’s known that since he met her really, but she reminds him of this fact once again when she orders him into getting a phone. Harry quickly realises that she expects him to pull the same projection trick regularly using video calls but, grudgingly, he appreciates her constantly texting him.

He’s also absolutely sure that half of the residents of Grimmauld know he’s in contact with the trio because Hermione keeps texting him at all hours of the day.

Their third call takes place on his nine-hour train ride through Pakistan after only the briefest pitstop, and Harry sleepily projects himself like she demands.

“I’m here for the cult stuff.” Harry says, running a hand through his hair, but then nearly jumps out of his skin and is promptly woken up. “Holy shit!” He yelps upon seeing Ron sat on the bed.

Ron scowls at them both but it holds no heat. “Stop using your muggle codes!”

Hermione bursts into laughter. “You look terrible.” She says bluntly.

Harry looks himself over, frowning as he pushes his hair out of his face again because it curls past the nape of his neck now. “It’s nearly midnight and I haven’t slept in a bed for three days.” He points out, just a little offended.

“Nah, mate, she’s right.” Ron puts in and Hermione nods smugly.

“Are you gonna blab to the whole order before term starts? No offence Ron.”

Hermione shrugs, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “He deserved to know. I made him make a magical oath, so he’ll be Slytherin green if he tells anyone.” She explains proudly.

Ron shudders. “For a whole month mate, and with no cure.”

“Wow, smart. So, is this why I’m awake at this fine hour?” He bites out irritably.

Hermione’s face twists into a frown. “You really are tired. Weren’t you stopping for a break after Iran?” She questions.

Ron raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Put that bed to good use?”

Harry rolls his eyes, crossing his arms when Hermione starts giggling at the hickeys on his neck. “Ugh, you’re the worst.” He moans.

“Absolutely.” His best friends agree at once.

“Who was the lucky wizard and what did they think of your new tattoo?” Hermione demands, clearly expecting every little detail.

Ron throws himself face down on the bed. “I can’t believe you’re getting tattoos while we’re cleaning Grimmauld!”

“Trust me, Sirius moaned for ages.” Harry shrugs, still finding it a little weird he can’t even sit down like this. “But the lucky fella was just another passer through. Did you know there’s loads of parselmouths in Asia? It’s not considered dark here, ‘cause it’s used in healing, and he was a parselmouth so we got talking about it. Then…well, he gave me details to floo call him if I want.” He explains and ignores the way his cheeks heat up.

Hermione throws a pillow right through him and he stares at his own chest in alarm. “Harry! Useless idiot! This is worse than the Yule ball!” He looks to Ron for help, but the redhead shakes his head too. “He wants you to call him. It’s clearly not a passing through thing to him – tell me you at least remember his name.” Harry awkwardly swipes a hand through his hair.

Another pillow sails through his stomach this time.

“We weren’t doing much talking after that!” He protests.

Ron laughs into the bedsheets.

She keeps glaring between them. “You are such a boy Harry. You’re awful.” She declares.

“Don’t worry, I don’t get it either.” Ron raises his head and gets smacked in the arm for the trouble.

Hermione glares at them for a full minute more before they all dissolve into laughter. “When do you think you’ll find her?” She asks when they all sober, voice quiet.

Harry gnaws at his lip and wishes they could go back to talking about boys. “I’ll be in New Delhi soon and someone there should be able to point me her way. So, either I have no time at all, or I miss the first week of term, I guess. It’s…it’ll depend on if she wants to talk to me.” He admits because, funnily enough, when you’re trapped on trains you start to think obsessively.

“You said she was happy to take you in, of course she’s going to speak to you.” Hermione points out gently and Ron gestures to her in agreement.

He really wishes he could sit down. “That’s the thing – what if it was just obligation? She was the last resort, bottom of the list, so what if she only said that because she didn’t think it’d ever happen?” Harry takes a deep breath, shaking his head, not quite able to stop himself talking. “I’ve been thinking about it, see, since all I can do is think. And Alya was young – she was maybe eighteen? And it’s more than likely whoever my father is, he’s a Death Eater. Or a supporter at least. So maybe she wants to forget that and…”

Ron’s eyes are like dinner plates and Harry trails off. “You didn’t tell him that bit?” He guesses quietly.

Hermione nods. “It didn’t feel like my place.”

He turns back to Ron. “You think you birth dad is…” The redhead whispers.

Harry shrugs. “She was scared of him, I think. Scared he would come find me or her, at least, and she even put spells on me to block my magic. Who would scare her that much during the war? He must be.” He forces himself to forget the worst option again. “Whoever the piece of shit is, I don’t want to know. I’ll find out when he tries to drown me or something.” He scoffs.

“Elementals are blood inherited. It means his birth dad must be a water one if Harry’s fire.” Hermione explains, passing on the simplified version he gave her because he thinks even his friends might struggle with the idea he talked to Lady Magic.

Ron, very slowly, nods. “Well, we should start practicing how you’re going to punch your father.” His friend offers weakly but it’s good enough for Harry to grin at him. “Don’t worry, I’ve been studying ways to overpower him elementally. We’re gonna kick ass.”

Ron grins back and Hermione mutters some complaints about their emotional range as usual.

“What are you doing in here –”

Harry ends the projection before Molly Weasley can even get the door open.

.

Hydrus arrives in New Delhi absolutely exhausted but full of so much anxious energy he couldn’t even try to sleep. At least Ron’s attempts to understand Hermione’s phone helped distract him for a while. He goes straight to the magical district and looks for signs that might indicate anyone who’s been here for a while. Hydrus finds a pet shop.

‘Do you have a parselmouth?’ He hisses to a man behind the counter and the old man yells something he can’t even attempt to understand. A young man, probably around Bill’s age, runs out from the back of the shop and, if he wasn’t so tired, he might have cared more about the state he looked in front of a decently attractive stranger. ‘I only speak English, sorry.’

The stranger smiles toothily at him. ‘We don’t get many tourists. How can we help you?’ The stranger asks.

Hydrus bites his tongue and tries to figure out what to say. ‘I’m trying to find a member of the Black family. Your shops been here a long time – I can play you for any help.’

The other parselmouth pauses, looking to the old man and talking to him for a moment. ‘Why do you want to find them?’ He asks suspiciously, and Hydrus thinks that’s fair, he would hope people in Diagon Alley wouldn’t just hand over information about him.

(Hydrus, unfortunately, knows most of them would do exactly that.)

He holds up his hand bearing his heirship rings. ‘I don’t mean no harm. I’m looking for family.’

Both men look at the rings closely and talk quietly. ‘Which Black are you looking for?’

Hydrus pulls his hand back and lets out a sigh of relief. ‘Alya Black. She must be in her thirties by now, I’m not really sure what she looks like.’ He admits, a little nervous, but they don’t question it.

The old man keeps looking him over and Hydrus tries not to seem too nervous. ‘She moved down to Surat now. There’s an all-magic area, Ditari, down there.’ Hydrus offers a handful of galleons, leaving them on the counter and nodding his thanks, in his hurry to go book a train.

.

“My lord.” His spy bows.

Voldemort barely looks at him. “I assume you finally have news of the boy now he’s stopped tricking you?” He questions, rather enjoying the way the man cowers before him. Maybe if he hadn’t been continuously outsmarted then Voldemort might have more patience for him.

The spy flinches. “You…you asked me to tell you if he was asking about anything and – he arrived in New Delhi this afternoon.” The man stumbles over his own words, stuttering, eyes cast down. “He speaks parseltongue, my lord. He was asking a shopkeeper about someone called Alya Black and they directed him to Surat –”

He doesn’t finish, brought to his knees by a merciless Crucio. Voldemort ignores the way the man writhes and spills his own blood at his feet because all of it is unimportant.

Except that name.

That name makes his blood run as cold as the rest of him.

Voldemort thinks about the pull on the family magic, and about the new Elemental who was somehow also a parselmouth.

He thinks about Alya Black.

It fits together perfectly.

He makes his own way to Surat, most likely hours ahead of the boy, and now that he understands it he reverses the pull on the family magic to follow it to the source. Voldemort hides himself from sight completely, finds the residence of Miss Black by himself, and waits because her wards won’t let him in, and she would never welcome him inside.

Voldemort waits and he watches the boy approach in the same way he watched him walk in circles from the train station, and he even watches the boy hesitate before knocking.

Alya is obscured, partially, but he knows she’s still as beautiful as she was back then. He could never hate himself, but he does hate the fact he could still appreciate her beauty even now he knows what she’s done.

“Hi – uh – I’m sorry for – for showing up like this. It’s just…I think I’m –” The boy blurts out in a voice that’s strangely familiar.

“Hydrus.”  Alya cuts in, one hand reaching up to touch the boy’s face, “You need to come inside, quickly.”

Too late, Voldemort thinks viciously, too late because you’ve already been found. Voldemort has already lain his own spells on the boy, and he’ll even claim him soon enough, and there’s no escape this time.

No escape, no lies, no running away.

(Hydrus, he supposes, is as good a name as any for his heir.)

Chapter Text

The house is nice. Simple, a little big for only one person, but far more welcoming than Privet Drive. Not welcoming enough to get rid of the lump in Hydrus’ throat or to help him relax because getting past the first hurdle, being invited in, didn’t mean anything. Maybe Alya just didn’t want anyone to see him on her doorstep. It means nothing that she tells him to leave his trunk by the door and leads him into a sitting room and gestures for him to sit on an elegant couch because she might just be letting him down easy.

Alya Black is beautiful but that’s not a surprise, Hydrus imagined her that way anyway. Her face is a soft heart, a little rounder than his, and her long hair is a warm brown. She has the same silver eyes as Sirius, but she has the same dark skin and broad nose as him. There’s also something hard about her, almost intimidating, but her eyes are too soft for him to take much notice.

“I’m sorry,” Hydrus blurts out. “I – I don’t know why I –” He shakes his head, wishing he could get a complete sentence out, but any plan for when he found her flew out of his mind as soon as he got off the train.

Her hand rests on his cheek again with a featherlight touch. “I assumed you didn’t want anything to do with me.” Alya says, lips quirking up, and eyes never leaving his face.

Hydrus is confused for just a moment before his mouth turns dry. “No! The – I didn’t know about you, not until a few weeks ago. Their will was sealed by…it was a mess but the glamour and everything never got taken off and they never had time to tell anyone before it was too late.” His scar burns and he hopes she puts his wince down to anything else.

It’s a little too early to tell Alya that a lunatic kidnapped him at the end of the school year, stole his blood, and since then his scar hurts at random. Hydrus is pretty sure it’s somehow down to Voldemort, so he pushes through it because it was just like that bastard to try and ruin anything important to him.

“Me and Sirius went to Gringotts for an heir ring – well, he surprised me with a blood adoption too ‘cause he’s an idiot – and the goblins nearly threw a fit when I did the blood test.” He laughs weakly.

Alya’s face twists, something dark in her eyes. “Sirius?” She repeats, with a hint of venom.

Hydrus realises his mistake immediately. “No – No, Sirius is good. He’s really good. Honestly! It wasn’t him. He got set up by their friend – Pettigrew – and I met the rat, but Sirius is good. Really good. A child but good. He was too scared to write to you in case you turned him in” He rushes out because Sirius might be a continent away but, looking at her, he thinks Alya might be able to hurt his godfather anyway.

It takes a few seconds for Alya to laugh, head turned down and the sound breathless. “Sirius was always a child. I should have known he wouldn’t betray his friends.” She shakes her head before taking his hand in both of hers. “It never should have been kept from you for so long. It wasn’t the plan, Lily and James just promised to keep it a secret until you were older. Until you could understand. And I tried to come back after they died but no one would tell me anything so I had to assume you were with one of their friends…I thought that you must think I abandoned you when the years went by.”

He bites his tongue and reminds himself about Hermione’s favourite mantra (‘Oh, Harry, do you ever think before you speak?’) because he’s spent at least a week convinced Alya didn’t want him. But that’s not the same as thinking he was abandoned, he’s pretty sure, so he’s never assumed that. “…They said you were scared in the will. Scared of…of whoever he is, and I got that it was bigger than that. And, even if you had, it was with two people who gave their lives for me, so it wasn’t like I was just dumped.”

Hydrus is very sure he’s not said the right thing and that, regardless of the time or where she is, Hermione is complaining about his emotional range. She always had a sixth sense for when he and Ron did something she wouldn’t approve of.

Despite the fact he’s definitely put his foot in his mouth, Alya squeezes his hand gently. “That’s kind of you to say, Hydrus…Sorry, I didn’t even think to ask. Which do you prefer – Hydrus or Harry?” There is a frown on her lips that doesn’t look accustomed to her face.

“Hydrus is growing on me a bit. A lot. It’s all I’ve really been using for the last month.” He admits with a sheepish grin. “I’m kind of on the run from Dumbledore, since he helped seal the will and…I can’t trust him, so Sirius and Remus have been pretending to not know where I am. They supposedly get letters from a judicial wizard every Wednesday and have to privately floo him the next day most weeks. Dumbledore probably knows they’re lying but he can’t say that, so Sirius is having the time of his life.”

He laughs, unable to help himself, thinking about how much better Sirius seemed during their floo calls. “Worst thing is my friend Hermione, who’s not much more than five foot and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, cornered Sirius and made him fold in about two seconds flat.  She’s absolutely brilliant but terrifying. She also immediately told our friend Ron, so now Order of Merlin holder Dumbledore is being outsmarted by three and a half kids and one adult.” Hydrus adds, and then wonders if Remus could actually be firmly placed in the adult camp. He mentally revises it to four kids and one adult, with Sirius and Remus forming one child and McGonagall being the only adult for her help.

Alya smiles back even though she probably doesn’t understand much at all. “I…I delayed on the way here, I guess. I know…well I, figured, that whoever he was must have been terrible. Or a Death Eater. Or both. Hermione kept telling me to take my head outta my ass.” Hydrus admits then, voice quiet with his own nerves.

She chuckles, one of her hands leaving his just to swipe at the hair falling in his face. “Your Hermione has a special way with words, but she was right.” Alya tells him plainly.

Hydrus snorts. “She’s not my Hermione – she’s like an annoying sister. She dragged me to the library by my ear once and glared at me until I did my charms essay, but she decided she hated it so tried to throw it at my head. I have better reflexes, so I threw it back and we nearly got banned from the library. But she’s not my Hermione, I honestly think she’d kill me on the spot if she heard me say she was.” He protests partly because, at the very least, she would probably hex him and throw him to the mercies of the Slytherins.

But mostly because this isn’t the first time someone’s made Hermione and him sound romantic. It’s a little offensive, he thinks, because no one has ever said the same about his friendship with Ron despite the fact Hydrus had thoroughly embarrassed himself by staring after Cedric for most of the year.

“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t yours. You’re probably hers in much the same way.” Alya tells him, sounding vaguely amused, but he still flushes. She must take pity on him, shaking her head, before changing the subject. “The matter of your father is…complicated. I didn’t believe Aunt Dorea that so many Death Eaters resided across Britain in the open. I courted a very interesting man and he even proposed marriage but then I finally realised what he was. A high-ranking Death Eater, certainly, but he didn’t have a mark, so it took me time to connect his disappearances with attacks. I also realised I was pregnant and decided to leave.”

Its okay, Hydrus reminds himself, this is just confirming what he already knew.

“But I was never afraid for my safety, and not for yours either. He was a powerful man with powerful friends and dangerous opinions. He fancied himself a revolutionary, I always thought. If he knew about you then I’m sure he would have wanted to take you and…and I couldn’t let you be raised in that world. A world of blood supremacy and hatred of muggles.” Alya continues, voice firm yet strangely nostalgic. “I think Lily guessed more than I ever told her because she helped work out the spells we would need, and I knew that if I stayed with you in Britain then he would find us. If I brought you here, then the news would travel, and he was too smart to not make a connection. He was little like a dog with a bone, you see. Lily and James still hadn’t broken the news of their miscarriage and they volunteered themselves to help me in any way they could. I’ve never met kinder souls.”

Hydrus isn’t sure how she can talk so fondly of a Death Eater and maybe it shows on his face because she sighs and rests a hand on his cheek again. “I did love him, regardless of everything else. I think, in his own strange way, he even loved me. Like I said, he was an interesting man, but he was terribly strange too. But loving someone does not mean you love what they do, as much as I did love him, I couldn’t stand by him. Love doesn’t mean acceptance or forgiveness, Hydrus.” She tells him, voice ever so soft.

He bites his lip. He wouldn’t know because the list of people he loved was a foot long, if that, and none of them had done anything so serious it was hard to forgive. Hydrus never loved the Dursley’s, not even in his earliest memories, and while he once thought Dumbledore cared for him it never meant he loved the old man. His friends had never hurt him terribly, even if Ron had been a prat last year. Well…maybe Hagrid. He loved the man like family despite the giant’s ignorance to his situation.

“No more of that,” Alya tuts. “Tell me about yourself and about these friends of yours.”

So, they talk. Hydrus doesn’t know for how long, but it feels like a weight has been taken off of his chest as he tells her about his friends, and she tells him about her family but always makes sure to remind him that they are his family too.

The door knocks and startles them out of their conversation.

“Were you followed?” Alya asks, head darting up to look to the doorway and the front door past it.

Hydrus shakes his head a little too quickly because it makes him dizzy against the pain in his scar. “I changed trains twice and I looped at least five streets to catch anyone.” He felt a little paranoid in the process, but Remus and Hermione had put their heads together and forced some simple survival instincts into him.

“I have someone who comes by with potion ingredients once a week.” She tells him with a sigh, maybe feeling as paranoid as he did. “Mr Kohli?” Alya calls.

There’s a moment of silence. “Yes, Miss Black?” Comes a faint reply, probably muffled by the door, and Alya sags in relief.

“Come in, you worried me.” She rises, shaking her head, going to greet Mr Kohli but stops still in the doorway. “Hydrus, run.” She stands in front of him, just enough to try and block the door.

Hydrus sees anyway and he sees why she wants him to run when a body drops to the floor. He knows how dead bodies look now, and even if he hadn’t then the growing pool of blood would have been a big enough hint. He draws his wand.

“Now, now, I was simply feeling left out.” Hydrus watches the man that walks in, seeming awfully familiar, and then he sees crimson red eyes and he knows. He should have known immediately because Tom Riddle hadn’t changed much with age even if he looked like a monster from a child’s nightmare only a few months ago.

“Hydrus, you need to run.” Alya grits out, stood stock still, but Hydrus thinks about a dark graveyard and the cooling body of his schoolmate and red eyes ordering him to beg for death under a crucio that made him shake for days.

Hydrus pushes forward, his wand raised, refusing to back down this time when he can feel the fire under his skin. Not again, he’s not leaving her to die, not when it was his fault this monster was here. “No.” He shakes his head because no one else was going to recognise Voldemort like this, “You need to go. That’s Voldemort.”

Alya inhales sharply. “Marvolo?” She says, and Hydrus snaps his head around to look at her.

Voldemort chuckles, but Hydrus ignores him. Lady Magic was right, he’s known the truth from the moment he looked in the mirror, but he still tries to deny it because otherwise he might just be sick.

“I thought this was a family reunion. Did my invitation get lost?” Hydrus shoots balls of fire at him rapidly but Voldemort raises an almost lazy shield to deflect them. “I think you’re overdue for a timeout.” Voldemort shakes his head and Hydrus can’t deflect the bolt of magic that hits him and sends him flying back.

.

Voldemort’s magic could conjure up a storm and he’s tempted to let his control slip and allow it. The final piece of a puzzle that hadn’t quite made sense otherwise and he doesn’t know why he’s surprised because everything always connected to Potter somehow.

The pull on the family magic had only come after Potter went missing, and no one had seen the boy at all. But, even more so, the way the ritual went wrong. Voldemort had blamed Wormtail, an accusation he still feels is somewhat fair, but it hadn’t gone wrong really. The plan to make his glamour permanent had failed and Potter’s blood had been the only true variable. Voldemort had returned in his glamour from that night in Godric’s Hollow but with his true face and body intact.

The ritual changed because instead of the blood of the enemy, it took the blood of his heir. Bone of the father and blood of the son had combined.

The spells that would allow him to track the boy no matter where he went, that would let him get past Alya’s wards and listen to them so she couldn’t lie to him again, barely remain in place because his fury is so volatile it’s hard to keep his focus. Blood roars in his ears and he can barely hear the soft tones of Alya’s voice and the lower sound of Potter.

It might speak of his mental state, too, that he hardly cares about the divide between Potter and Dumbledore or the way Alya speaks of him so gently. She has no right to, not after the way she abandoned him in the night like he hadn’t offered her his ruined heart.

His razor-sharp mind turns over the events of a decade and change ago from every angle because he doesn’t understand how he missed it. He thinks of the way Alya seemed so delicate in those last few days before her quiet joy turned to ash when he left for that last raid.

If he hadn’t gone, would she have told him then?

Instead, she left him a letter and her ring, taking hardly anything with her besides the ruins of his heart. It had taken her a year more to return to India and he had never been sure of what kept her, even if some nights he hoped she might be thinking of returning to him, but instead she was hiding a child.

(His child.)

Then on that doomed night at Godric’s Hollow…no matter what side they were on, everyone seemed to agree Lily Evans’ had a sharp mind and unrivalled talent. Voldemort finally understands what they all meant. The muggleborn had worked it out herself, somehow, or something very close to the truth because she had tried to tell him. Lily Evans refused to move aside and instead told him he was wrong, her voice unwavering, and that he couldn’t kill this child.

Voldemort had killed her before she wasted his time again, but maybe if he had employed his dearly valued patience then this all could have been different. A decade not lost as a wraith, his heir not under the thumb of his oldest enemy.

Someone approaches the door and, for once not happy to be alone with his thoughts, Voldemort seizes an opportunity. The opportunity being taking the old man hostage to gain entry past the wards and killing the old man simply because he should get his violent impulses out of the way now. Killing Kohli sates him just enough that he does little more than stun Hydrus despite the boy attacking him unprovoked.

Alya glares at him all the same but, seeing as he has the upper hand here, she reluctantly sits down. She also refuses to speak to him, settling for trying to set him on fire with her will and ire after he confiscates all wands present, and Voldemort picks out a pleasant enough armchair to wait in.

Hydrus grimaces as he opens his eyes, but Voldemort remains silent to allow him to come back in his own time. He can only imagine how much time the boy spent trying to deny their likeness because Hydrus resembles him almost uncannily. If Voldemort only saw his face properly in Albania then he would have known instantly the boy was his blood.

Absently, he wonders if Hydrus knows his left eye becomes a more vivid red when he gets angry because burgundy had flared into blood red when the boy saw him. No wonder no one considered he might be Harry Potter when Hydrus had taken to the Riddle features so dramatically. It’s his skin and nose only that come from Alya. Maybe his mouth too, but it was hard to tell on a sharp face.

That scar on the face of Harry Potter took over, becoming the first feature you noticed, but it refines Hydrus instead. He’s jumped in height too, too fast to be natural in such a short space of time, but that will be removing whatever spells they used to hide him.

Voldemort crosses one leg at the knee, jaw in hand, glancing over at Alya who only stops glaring at him every now and again to check on Hydrus. “This all would have been easier if you hadn’t tried to deceive me, my dearest.” He points out.

Alya sneers at him. “Try? It’s been sixteen years Marvolo, I did deceive you. You got lucky.”

Damn her, she was right. “And you will be punished accordingly.” He replies with a flash of teeth.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Hydrus spits but Voldemort is sure he’s just mad that he can’t escape the chair he’s magically bound to.

“Do I need to put you back in timeout? I do have years of parental discipline to catch up on.” He looks back to the boy and ignores the noise of disgust Alya makes.

It’s not Voldemort’s fault that she ever assumed he was better than he is. Maybe he wouldn’t have harmed her or Hydrus back then, but that was before they both found ways to wrong him. He’s not got so much mercy these days.

Hydrus glares at him. “Oh, you’ve done plenty of that or is a crucio not good enough?” The boy sneers and his left eye is as bright a red as Voldemort’s.

“Crucio’s are for special occasions.” He replies easily.

“Leave him alone, Marvolo.” Alya snaps, bolting up with narrowed eyes. It’s almost touching that the two keep volleying his attention and ire between them. “I thought you couldn’t be any lower, finally knowing who you are, but to torture your own blood even now you know?”

Voldemort raises an eyebrow. “Who said I’m torturing the boy?” He asks and ignores the way Hydrus laughs unkindly. “This changes quite a bit, obviously. I wanted you dead because of a prophecy Dumbledore claimed would defeat me, but that was about a boy born in July. His prophecy may as well be void now since we’ve effectively gutted it.” Interestingly, Hydrus looks more shocked at this than finding out they’re related. “No, this is simply because I’m very much aware he’s as insolent as he is reckless and may set the house aflame to spite me.” He waves his hand dismissively.

The look on Hydrus’ face proves him right. “That implies being a mass murdering psycho deserves any respect.”

He looks to Alya.

“You walked in here after murdering a local potions master. He hit the nail on the head.” Alya says simply.

There’s a smug tilt to Hydrus’ lips.

“Go fetch your things dearest.” He orders rather than attempting to fight this battle. Alya doesn’t move. “We can’t stay here forever, especially now that poor Mr Kohli was murdered on your doorstep. Thankfully, I have more than enough space at Riddle manor.”

Hydrus laughs again. “There are not enough words in any language to describe just how much you need a therapist.”

Voldemort elects to ignore that altogether. “Hurry now. You won’t need much; I’ll send for anything you find lacking.” He urges.

Alya clenches her jaw. “What do you think will happen, Marvolo? Are you going to lock us in your manor under guard? Trap us there just to punish us? How long will that last when Hydrus’s friends realise he has not checked in?” She’s vicious, silver eyes alight, fiery in the way that drew him to her when they first met.

Hydrus’s eyes widen at the very possibility.

“Am I meant to allow my heir to just run free now?” No, he can’t let either of them remain free to oppose him. He can’t let his heir run back to the order and whatever fate would wait there. “We are simply overdue for some family time. You’ll both have watchers, of course, because I simply cannot trust you to not run away. The Malfoy boy spends enough time around the manor these days, I imagine he could watch Hydrus.”

Hydrus pulls quite the face at the very idea of being forced to spend time with the Malfoy heir. “I’m sure he’ll feel similarly about the prospect of spending your time together.” Voldemort smirks, finding a little joy at the very idea of putting the two in a room and seeing what happened.

Lucius probably wouldn’t be too happy about it but that hardly matters.

“I don’t think your little minion would like it when his son doesn’t walk back out at the end of the day.” Hydrus snaps.

Voldemort chuckles at the sad attempt to sound threatening because it resembles Nagini when she was too small to eat someone whole yet made that threat anyway. They can work on that later. “I, of course, encourage casual homicide but do leave my followers children alone, Hydrus.”  The boy flinches. “You can’t deny you’ve accepted the name when you’ve already told your mother she can use it.” He argues.

Mother and son both wear identical scowls. “She didn’t hit me with an Avada Kedavra to the face as a baby.”

Voldemort waves it off. “A case of mistaken identity. Ancient history now.”

He pointedly ignores the way Hydrus looks at him like he’s grown another head. “You crucio’d me for, say, five minutes give or take and tried to kill me two months ago. You did kill my…Cedric.”

Alya looks at him with raised eyebrows and a more than a hint of murder in her eyes. “If I had my wand,” She murmurs, and it wouldn’t surprise him if she could destroy this body with her anger alone.

He bares gleaming teeth. “Ah, but you don’t. You’ll both get your wands back once you prove you can be trusted.” He can almost hear the way the boy’s teeth grind, eyes not just rebellious but with the same murderous light as Alya. There was hope for his heir yet. “Now fetch your things, dearest.”

This time, possibly just to escape his presence for the moment, she leaves. Voldemort waits to hear her steps upstairs.

“The Prophet,” He begins, inspecting the sitting room once again. “Would love this. Your other name has rarely left their pages this last month.”

Hydrus looks at him, strangely absent of rage, before scoffing. “Oh, please. We both know neither of us are going to announce any of this. With all your grandstanding to your minions, you won’t even tell them you’re a half-blood, let alone announce this.”

All amusement bleeds away, leaving only the cold and the anger Voldemort was forged in. “How do you know that.” He hisses.

Hydrus grins, as defiant as it is vicious. “Malfoy senior slipped your little journal of teenage angst bullshit into my friend’s little sister’s books second year. Didn’t he share that his plan to kill an eleven-year-old and some muggleborns failed spectacularly?”

Voldemort truly hopes that Lucius is finding out just how much pain his mark can cause right now.

Hydrus, rather like a shark scenting blood in the water, must discern his rage because he grins even wider. “You can guess who stopped it. Out of five direct attempts on my life, you are zero for five. I, however, am three for four on halting your nefarious plans.”

He glares at his utterly frustrating heir but also, absently, considers that the boy would work well if he turned that spite on Dumbledore instead. Mostly, Voldemort focuses on reaching out soul deep. He searches for the part of his soul held in the diary, for the pain that would signal its loss or the distant warmth that meant it was still there.

It’s not gone, despite what the boy seems to think, but it also feels loose. Unanchored. Close.

Voldemort puts on a disdainful sneer and looks at Hydrus again. “Do share how you, all of twelve years old and without your full magic, stopped his plan.”

At least Hydrus has the sense to look suspicious of his motives but, as Voldemort wagered, the spite and desire to piss him off wins out. Voldemort supposes he had been equally spiteful in his youth.

“While everyone was spending all year accusing me of being an attempted serial killer and the Heir of Slytherin –” Hydrus cuts himself off with the horrified realisation they hadn’t been completely wrong. “– Your bloody diary was possessing Ginny and no one was looking at her. It didn’t help that when she tried to throw it away, I found it which – y’know, you were less psychopathic then – meant the attacks very briefly stopped just as I was under increased watch. She stole it back and got walked down to the chamber to die, so me and Ron followed.”

Voldemort wonders if Hydrus ever actually studies during the school year. “Naturally.” He says instead of voicing this thought.

Hydrus grimaces before continuing. “But then we’d taken Gilderoy Lockhart with us ‘cause he was the most useless DADA teacher in history, and you had Quirrell stuttering over the same word for five minutes a lesson in first year. ‘Mione’s still furious about that since she had to self-teach.”

The mudblood again. He’d have to work on separating them because Hydrus was far too affectionate towards her. “Pass on my sincerest apologies,” Voldemort drawls, a touch impatient.

“But he gave us pop quizzes on his favourite colour and winning smile and claimed he could kill the monster single handed and find the chamber. We went to help since we already found the chamber with Myrtles help, but he was packing to leave so we decided to take him with us. To throw in front of the Basilisk mainly, which is a long way of saying he tried to obliviate us with Ron’s wand. But Ron’s wand broke when we crashed the car into the Whomping Willow and it tried to kill us, so the spell backfired and brought part of the ceiling down and meant I had to go on alone.”

Voldemort asks Lady Magic for patience because Hydrus has spent more time complaining about Lockhart than explaining how he crashed a car into the old tree.

Hydrus shakes his head and Voldemort wonders if this is some elaborate reversed torture. “Oh, the car. The Malfoy’s house elf, Dobby, had been trying to secretly save me all summer but he got closer to killing me than you ever have. He spelled a bludger to attack me in quidditch and broke my arm. But he also spelled the barrier shut on me and Ron so we couldn’t catch the train but the Weasley’s had an enchanted flying car. Ron and his brothers used it to come get me in the summer when Vernon put bars on my window and like seven locks on the door, so we figured we had enough experience to drive to school.”

He’s not sure which part he wants to address first, if any, because stealing a car is a little too much of an overreaction for him to understand.

“We figured it out too. I mean, we nearly got hit by the train and like twenty muggles saw us before we got the invisibility charm working. But then we crashed it into the Whomping Willow and Snape wanted to do us a violence right there since he’s an ass. Pretty sure the cars still in the forest too, it gained sentience somehow since it came and rescued us when we nearly got eaten by Aragog. The acromantula you let off into the forest.”

Voldemort runs through the facts again but still comes up on short because what was anyone meant to say? He’s almost certain Hydrus has never studied a day in his life.

“Long story short, I managed to trick Malfoy into freeing Dobby, which was really good work on my part. Flash of genius, absolute brilliance. Then he tried to expire me right outside the headmaster’s office, so I really don’t know why you keep him around.” Hydrus adds cheekily.

He sighs. “Neither do I.”

Hydrus snorts. “I forgot about the chamber.” Voldemort, too, had forgotten about the chamber somewhere along the way. “Well, I found Ginny having her lifeforce drained and then your ghost-diary-thing monologued about getting Dumbledore out of the castle and killing muggleborns and showed off plenty ‘cause some things clearly never change. Then he ordered the Basilisk to kill me since I must have pissed him off enough. Seeing as the Basilisk wouldn’t listen to me, Fawkes came with the sorting hat and blinded it. About half an hour of running around the pipes later I pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the hat and killed it.”

Voldemort rests his jaw in his hand again, equally as disturbed by the fact his heir pulled out the bloody Sword of Gryffindor as he is by the news the Basilisk was dead.

“I also got bit though, so I have a pretty big scar where the fang was lodged in my damn arm. I figured it would be a shame to go out alone and stabbed your evil diary with it, so your sixteen-year-old ghost died begging for mercy from a twelve-year-old. Then Fawkes cried on my arm, and it all gives me enough of a kick to remember that it could probably fuel its own patronus.”

He grinds his teeth and plans all manner of suffering upon Lucius Malfoy, because Basilisk venom certainly could have destroyed the horcrux. Also, because he can’t use direct that same suffering on his heir. Voldemort can still feel that horcrux, however, alive but weak, and if the diary was gone then there must have been another container nearby. The diadem was too far, he’s sure.

Voldemort narrows his eyes at Hydrus and plunges into his mind.

How foolish of Dumbledore to never teach the boy occlumency. He takes more care than he usually would simply for the fact this is his heir, but it’s still too easy for him to slip in. The memory of the chamber is easy to find due to their conversation bringing it to the forefront of his mind, and Voldemort catches something Hydrus was ignorant to.

His diary hadn’t wanted the boy dead. The diary wanted him distracted and out of the way but not dead, chased away long enough for the girl to be drained. It couldn’t have known who Hydrus was but…something Hydrus hadn’t noticed when he was busy vindictively tearing at the diary was how the light had fled into him.

Voldemort searches deeper, not for memories, and he finds a piece of his very being. That night in Godric’s Hollow he had accidentally created a horcrux, a piece of his soul tearing free and grabbing onto his blood and the traces of familiar magic. Lily Evans’ protection kept that soul shard separate, having little more than a bleed through on the boy, but the Goblins accidentally stripped that away judging by how the shard has sown itself into the boy.

Someone else might have been taken over or torn apart, but their shared blood offered a modicum of protection. The diary must have recognised the connection when it pulled Hydrus in and grabbed onto the other horcrux like a life raft before it could be destroyed.

Voldemort pulls out of the boy’s mind, marvelling at the first human horcrux in history, but more importantly it all makes sense. He had thought, on more than one occasion, that the wizarding world’s protection of their saviour was abysmal. He wondered how the boy could simply go missing, and how he had ever been left to live like that, and why the boy had never been trained to survive.

That’s just it, he knows now, Dumbledore didn’t want the boy to survive. Hydrus had been steered to die by Voldemort’s hand, a lamb to the slaughter, and an ironic defeat.

He’ll need to gather the rest of his horcruxes now, if Dumbledore knows about them, and maybe this revelation would be the final straw to turn Hydrus on the old man completely. But he can’t trust his heir to know about horcruxes when he might run into death out of foolish spite.

Hydrus eyes him cautiously in his silence so Voldemort bares too white teeth. “I would wager you didn’t find that diary by accident. You probably felt the familiarity of the magic. Even with magical blocks, direct contact with family magic is different.” He remarks, as if that were what he was thinking of all along, and the boy pulls a face. “Thankfully, despite your Gryffindor posturing, there are Basilisk eggs hidden in the chamber under stasis. It will take time, but our ancestors wish for the chamber to hold a Basilisk will be restored. Although I don’t know how a descendent of Slytherin was put into Gryffindor.” He shakes his head with the smallest of shudders.

“I yelled at the hat until it put me there.” Hydrus responds dryly.

Voldemort understands very suddenly why Severus found the boy so exhausting. “You ordered the hat to put you in Gryffindor?” He says slowly.

Hydrus nods cheerily. “Well, I yelled at it not to put me in Slytherin. It went with it is second choice. Its not my biggest fan since I’ve refused to listen to it twice.”

Voldemort doesn’t say it, but he immediately makes plans on how to correct that if Hydrus was ever to return to Hogwarts.

“I suppose it’s a good thing that you are both not actively cursing each other.” Alya comments, pulling a trunk behind her.

He rises, crossing over to her quickly. “Allow me.” He offers.

Alya glares at him and grips the handle so tightly her knuckles pale. “Don’t pretend to have manners when this is a hostage situation Marvolo.” She snaps at him.

He steps back to give her some space. “It wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t decided I couldn’t be trusted with my own flesh and blood.” He counters, voice low, and thankfully Hydrus chooses not to speak because he might not have controlled himself.

(In the past few hours, Voldemort has not truly considered how he feels about being a father. He was never parent material but especially not now and it had never been a part of his plan to pass on his genes. Maybe if Alya had told him then he would have been happy and maybe he would have led raids for a week. But now he’s locked into a war with his son known to the world by another name, and he can only seem to refer to Hydrus as his heir because he’s sure fathers and sons were meant to feel differently about each other.)

(Voldemort doesn’t know how to be a father but he thinks Hydrus doesn’t know what it’s like to be a son either.)

“Then tell me, Marvolo, what would you have done if I did? Would you have groomed him to be your successor, raised on the hatred of muggles, unable to live a normal life?” Alya challenges, chin raised, venom dripping from every word. “Would he have been able to live any kind of life for fear of all your enemies? Be honest, would you have been raising a child or a soldier?”

The urge to reach out and wrap a hand around her slim throat is strong but, even with this betrayal, he can’t bring himself to actively harm her. He couldn’t do it then either, as much as he hates himself for it. His fangs bite into his tongue instead because he doesn’t actually know.

Voldemort doesn’t know if he could have shown affection to a small child even if that child was born of his own blood and he doesn’t know if he is capable of engaging in anything but a battlefield with that child now. He doesn’t know because he looks at Hydrus and sees his own history in repeat.

The brilliant boy punished for existing by muggles, finding a home in Hogwarts and only there, Dumbledore looming in the background already planning his future.

The difference was Hydrus actually found solace in others rather than retreating into himself only. Maybe that was because Voldemort had been shunned by children and adults alike, leaving him to view everyone as the enemy, while Hydrus had been harmed by those he thought of as family.

Alya must take his silence for an answer.

He pulls Hydrus’ trunk closer with magic and lets the boy free. “It’s time to go.” He says and grabs Alya’s wrist, careful to barely touch her.

Hydrus must be unwilling to leave her because he doesn’t even try to run. Voldemort ignores the way the boy flinches at his touch and apparates them all away.

.

Voldemort allocates two rooms in his private wing of Riddle Manor, both reasonably close together, and then has Hydrus write a letter telling Sirius that he was spending two weeks more with Alya and might not be able to floo. It’s sent off with a questionably acquisitioned international owl in order to throw them off until another plan can be made.

Hydrus isn’t allowed to keep his trunk, forced to empty out his belongings which are still sparse compared to the very large room. The Death Eater in charge of watching him unpack, thankfully not Pettigrew or Crouch, confiscates the map and his cloak and Hydrus gets the distinct urge to tear the mans throat out.

He focuses on angrily shoving his books onto the shelves of the antique bookshelf in the room because he has to put them somewhere. Just to be spiteful, he dumps all the clothes he’s picked up across his travels in a messy pile on the floor of the wardrobe.

It was probably childish, but Hydrus has been engaged in silent warfare with the Dursley’s his entire life so it’s nothing he doesn’t have experience with. He will take his victories where he can get them. The Death Eater doesn’t seem to enjoy his job either so, the moment he’s satisfied, he leaves Hydrus alone to his new prison cell.

Refusing to show any weakness, as soon as he’s left alone, Hydrus cuts into his palm with one of his own fangs and uses the blood to draw a silencing rune on the bed. His newfound interest in runes had a few uses.

Then he sits cross-legged on the bed with one of his books on the new types of runes being originated in Egypt and buries his head in it in an attempt to keep himself awake.

.

The wards alert him immediately to the attempted use of blood magic. It took months to build the wards so that they would trick anyone not permitted to use magic on the grounds into believing their spells worked.

Voldemort doesn’t go immediately, instead inspecting the confiscated items Yaxley took from Hydrus and even calling in Wormtail to explain the map.

What a shame Dumbledore had gotten to the marauders first and that Dorea Black was a terrifyingly stubborn woman. James Potter had been a remarkably talented pureblood, a descendent of the Peverells, and the map of Hogwarts is a testament to that. The wolf and rogue Black too, despite Severus’s bias, because they were deceiving Dumbledore with no reservations.

Maybe if the two knew the old goat’s true plans they would ally with him for Hydrus, seeing as they had decided to claim his heir as their own. He keeps his thoughts from straying to the fact the traitorous Black had blood adopted his heir and the streak of rage it ignites in him. It was good, he reminds himself, that Hydrus was heir to three powerful houses and someday would be lord to two of them because that gives Voldemort more strength too.

If he can ever drag the boy to the right side of the war, that is.

It is dark outside when he finally goes to Hydrus’s room, expecting the boy to still be awake, to question why he ever thought the use of blood magic would be missed in his headquarters. But no, Hydrus must have fallen asleep reading, probably attempting to force himself to remain awake.

Considering his spies had reported the boy was travelling for nearly two days straight, it’s not that much of a surprise he lost the battle.

The boy has one leg hanging off the bed, a book next to him, still fully clothed. One look at the frame of the bed tells Voldemort that he’d attempted a silencing ward. No one had told Hydrus that all of the bedrooms had silencing wards following Bellatrix and Rodolphus’s happy union in the first war.

Voldemort looks at his heir who whispers in broken parseltongue and trembles and wonders who was more responsible – the muggles still under trial, Dumbledore, or Voldemort himself.

He considers leaving, pretending he was never there to see it at all, but he still walks around and plucks up the book anyway. No one said Hydrus had an interest in runes. Voldemort takes the book back to the impressively filled bookshelf, considering all the books must have been purchased in the last month, and glances over the other titles.

Nearly all of them pertain to warding, runes, parseltongue and Elementals. There are two exceptions, both on animagi, and there’s a variety in magical bias to them all. Voldemort is reluctant to admit to himself that he had been the same in his youth, purchasing any book with information about his inherited magicks and favourite subjects.

He puts the book back and turns to leave, but he hears that broken parseltongue again and pauses. Then he grits his teeth, walks back to the bed, and resists the urge to peer into Hydrus’s mind. Instead, he lightly traces the boys scar, absent of the pain it caused in the graveyard, and uses their soul connection to soothe his dreams.

The effect isn’t quite immediate but soon enough Hydrus stops trembling and his breathing evens out and Voldemort can’t quite stand to be there any longer.

Chapter Text

His body is a traitor.

It’s an undeniable fact, his body has conspired against him once again and left him completely vulnerable to a manor of Death Eaters. Hydrus hoped it might finally get with the programme and understand sleep wasn’t as important as staying on guard.

Alas, it had betrayed him as usual and left him asleep even when someone came in during the night. Hydrus is sure he isn’t paranoid because he knows he didn’t choose to give in and put the book back, sleep deprived as he is, he isn’t quite delusional.

A horrible thought. Maybe he was prone to delusion if Voldemort is his father. Hydrus has never met someone more prone to delusions of grandeur than the psychopath that contributed to his DNA.

(Thank you, Hermione, for teaching him that phrase, he’ll make sure to pull it out on Voldemort the next time he’s in a room with the bastard. His best friend was useful for more than holding him down to pour sleeping draughts down his throat.)

(Hydrus is still a little bitter the witch conspired with McGonagall and Pomfrey all because she didn’t approve of his mission to ascend to another plane of existence. Hermione was the one who insisted he couldn’t keep skipping his homework, how else was he going to turn them all in without abandoning the need to sleep?)

Out of sheer frustration, Hydrus picks at the breakfast left by a house elf and wonders if Alya is faring any better. Those thoughts are accompanied by a pang of regret for dragging her into all this and all he can do is hope she doesn’t hate him for bringing Voldemort back into her life.

It would help if he knew how he drew Voldemort there in the first place, but it’s his fault all the same.

Deciding he’s not all that hungry but his hair is getting greasy, he takes advantage of the en suite room and hates that it’s too nice to consider destroying. Hydrus is spiteful but not enough to trash his own prison cell. Anyway, he never gets to enjoy hot water without either his dormmates waiting impatiently or the Dursleys yelling, so even trapped in a house of Death Eaters he is determined to appreciate a hot shower.

Hydrus throws on pants because he’s pretty sure house elves and Death Eaters don’t knock, planning on finding something comfortable that won’t rub against the sorer than usual scars on his back. The discomfort is something he got used to years ago, coming with the harsh winters at Hogwarts, and he’s sure this is because of the rapid change in climate.

Maybe it was a little selfish, but he had really been looking forward to enjoying the warm weather.

Hydrus walks out of the bathroom to find Draco Malfoy sat in a chair complaining like there might be a prize.

“You get yourself into the most ridiculous situations and drag the rest of us along with you! It wasn’t enough to bring a criminal to school –” Draco looks up and audibly snaps his mouth shut, grey eyes startlingly wide.

Seeing as Draco spent most of their fourth year complaining over the fact Hydrus was being allowed to breath, he just rolls his eyes. “Oh, great, the Death Eater allocated babysitter arrived.” Hydrus cheers sarcastically and heads for the wardrobe.

“You got a tattoo.” Draco says after a moment, voice rising in pitch and sounding rather strangled.

Hydrus grins to himself because he is definitely going to commit this to memory. The blonde isn’t going to get mercy from him just because he’s a prisoner, if anything Hydrus is going to ramp up their bickering.

Plus, if he ever gets out of here then Ron would love to hear about Malfoy losing his composure.

“Tattoos. Met a guy in Croatia, we made some dares over firewhisky, it was a long night.” Hydrus isn’t planning on letting Sirius know that one exists ever. He can only take so much of the dramatics and he wouldn’t want Remus to kick his godfather out. He throws Draco a smirk. “You don’t want me to show you the other one.”

He takes victory in the prat’s ears turning red paired with the frustration in his eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you, Scarhead.”

Hydrus has to give it to him, at least Draco was still brave enough to insult him to his face. He also resists the urge to suggest Scarface as a better insult because he tried that in third year only to be faced with cluelessness.

The muggle-raised of Hogwarts had taken to calling him Scarface for the rest of the year simply for the fact they found it hilarious when none of the purebloods understood.

“Believe me, I protested. Being stuck here at all is not my idea of a good time, Malfoy. The vibes in this place? Lacking.”

Draco stares at him like he’s grown another head.

If nothing else, at least he can verbally torture the pureblood. That puts a little smile on his face.

Finally, he finds a shirt that shouldn’t aggravate his back anymore. The fact the short sleeves expose the stars weaving their way around his bicep is just an added bonus so he can think back to better times.

One side glance at Draco as he pulls it on makes him clamp down on a smirk. “Outta interest, were you and Parkinson dating last year? I’m pretty sure Seamus and Dean made a bet around the time you wouldn’t separate at the hip.”

On cue, Draco splutters in a mix of surprise and horror. “That’s disgusting! She’s like my sister – what is wrong with you Gryffindors.”

Hydrus laughs. “You fly for another team, but you still play quidditch, don’t you Malfoy?”

The blond blinks for a second before he finally understands, looking at Hydrus flatly. “You’re actually a terrible person, aren’t you Scarhead.”

It’s not a question.

Oddly, Ron had said the same when Hydrus collapsed laughing over one of his many failed attempts at finding a Yule date.

Hydrus shrugs. “It keeps me awake at night.”

He finally, reluctantly, sits down in an armchair across the room. It puts a decent amount of distance between them, and Hydrus gets to sit by a window where Death Eaters cannot sneak up on him. Contrary to what Voldemort thought, his trauma with Death Eaters cheering for his death was not wiped away just because the psychopath had moved on.

His reactions to trauma may never have been consistent, he had put everything about third year into a box and thrown it away, but he’s a little determined to remain angry over the events of the last decade and change.

Taking a seat still proves a little awkward when he doesn’t know what to do with longer limbs without resembling Bambi.

“You’re hopeless Scarhead.”

“Is that just my name now?”

Draco glares his way. “I don’t know what else to call you; it’s bad enough we’re distantly related now.” Hydrus can’t help his snort, it’s not like he asked to be born. He would ask Alya for a receipt if he thought it’d go well. In all fairness, Hermione would probably smack him for joking about that. “My mother is with your…well, she’s positively devastated she was denied a distant cousin to spoil.”

Hydrus leans back in his seat and hopes he scuffs the floor. “What do you actually know?” He asks because he’s on the backfoot and refuses to accidentally get in trouble for saying something he shouldn’t.

If he’s going to piss of Voldemort, then he’s going to do it wilfully and cause as much damage as possible.

Draco squirms in place. “We got told more than anyone else because of how often we’re here and my father’s position – besides Crouch, he probably got given a full timeline. But I know your real mother is Alya Black and your father…you’re the Dark Lord’s heir.”

Hydrus glares at the wall for the reminder. “You’re right. It is a ridiculous situation.”

There’s a small laugh from the blond that makes him jerk in surprise. Hydrus isn’t sure he’s ever heard the other boy laugh outside of picking on first years and sabotaging potions.

“So, you found out and what? Ran off to Europe. ‘Cause the ministry still has you down as a missing person. We were betting that Dumbledore was hiding you somewhere.”

For once, there’s no heat behind it. No rivalry. Hydrus still grits his teeth because it was Dumbledore’s fault he didn’t know Alya, and now the entire country knows about the secrets of Privet Drive.

“No.” He says, nails cutting crescents into his palm. “Alya didn’t name a father so I didn’t know. But the Potter will didn’t explain everything so I decided to go looking for her, then the same day I found her I got taken hostage. And by that, I mean yesterday.” Draco coughs awkwardly. Hydrus shakes his head, forcing his own bitterness to flee. “Dumbledore doesn’t know anything. Sirius and Remus –”

“Escaped convict Sirius Black and fired-for-being-a-werewolf Professor Lupin?”

“Yeah. Sirius blood adopted me, and Remus is just nice.” Hydrus replies slowly before continuing. “They’ve been lying to Dumbledore for me. We usually talk once a week in secret and they’ve been having a load of fun coming up with terrible lies. Then Hermione figured it out and joined in, then she told Ron, so the headmaster might be at break point.”

Even surrounded by Death Eaters, sat talking to his long-time rival, it brings a smile to his face.

“But your Dumbledore’s favourite students! Aren’t you meant to defend him?”

“Maybe if he stanned Loona.”

“What is stanning and why would he stan Luna Lovegood?”

“Who’s Luna Lovegood?”

They both stare at each other in silence.

“Anyway! Even McGonagall is lying to him now. Remus started passing her letters for me asking if I could take the Warding and Runes OWL’s and she promised not to tell.” Hydrus finishes when it’s clear neither of them are going to answer.

Hydrus would have started talking to the more tolerable Slytherins years ago if he knew it was this easy to confuse them. Ron just shrugged and went with it after the first time Hermione got the muggle-raised on the quidditch team to sing ‘Get’cha Head in the Game’ before a game against Slytherin.

Their pureblooded friend was under the mistaken impression that if he didn’t react, they’d stop trying to confuse him.

Instead, the twins had asked to join in just to make Ron think he was alone in being clueless. Ginny didn’t even ask; she would just run with it and pretend she knew what they were talking about.

Maybe Hydrus is a terrible person.

Draco laughs again, even if his eyebrows are creased. “Since when do you even study runes?”

Hydrus watches him cautiously in case the boy was going to insult his abysmal study habits. “Since last month, but I’ve already moved onto the NEWT level stuff. I didn’t have much to do between all the trains.”

Draco groans so dramatically that Hydrus wonders if it’s just a trait of the Blacks. He promptly dismisses it because he’s not that dramatic.

(All of Gryffindor would disagree. Luckily, they’re not here.)

“You were travelling Europe! An entire continent. There’s so many historic sites there.”

Hydrus blinks. “I wasn’t interested in those kinds of sights though.”

A silence falls between them, born of Draco’s exasperation and their bad blood.

“I meant it, Scarhead. I thought you were Dumbledore’s golden boy.” Draco finally breaks it.

He wishes Draco hadn’t but can’t help his sneer. “I guess in public. He only really takes an interest in me once a year when things are going wrong. And then I found out he sealed the Potter’s will, which would have stopped me ever…He was my magical guardian. I didn’t know that before. But that meant he was supposed to check on me.” He sucks in air through his teeth, not daring to look at his rival. “My Hogwarts letter was addressed to a cupboard. I never thought about it before, y’know? But there were hundreds of them sent. So, in fourteen years the options are: he never checked on me and was illiterate, or he just didn’t care. Even when I begged him not to send me back.”

Hydrus is used to anger; he’s been carrying it around for as long as he can remember. There was always something to be angry about, whether it was the Dursleys or the teachers or the entire world. Once upon a time, he was even angry at the Potters for daring to die, for not caring they had a son and drinking their lives away.

Hydrus had nearly been consumed by his own guilt when he found out they died for him.

It’s the bitterness that’s new. It was hard to be disappointed at Privet Drive because he’d never known another kind of life or had a chance for escape. More than once this summer, the acidic thoughts he struggled to acknowledge as his own had startled him.

“I didn’t know.” Draco says suddenly. “That you lived with muggles. Everyone said you were being trained by wizards in Europe somewhere, so I thought you were aware of pureblood customs and just spurned them. I thought you were actively trying to offend me.”

Hydrus looks to Draco and laughs. “Malfoy, I can honestly tell you I don’t know shit about pureblood customs. Sirius tried to teach me some stuff about being an heir, ‘cause he made me his, but he doesn’t care about high society either.” More importantly, Sirius was teaching him so he could break those customs. “I can’t say I don’t try to piss you off though.”

Draco throws him a half-hearted glare.

Maybe his priorities are all wrong, because he’s more distantly horrified to find he’s bantering with Malfoy than he was about Voldemort being his father. His life was a cosmic joke, of course something like that would happen, but this is just unprecedented.

“You’ll have to learn them better, especially now you’re the heir to three bloody houses.” The boy shakes his head, eyes drifting to Hydrus’s heir rings.

Hydrus tries not to shudder at the idea of officially being the Slytherin heir. No, he decides, he refuses to take it. He will stand a crucio until his brain bleeds out his ears before he wears that ring. If his silent vow shows on his face, then Draco doesn’t mention it.

(Being as stubborn and spiteful as he is, it will be time still until he even realises what he’s done.)

Hydrus sighs and walks over to the bookshelf, carefully looking over the titles to find the one he wants. He doesn’t even have a wand to read the ones he hadn’t finished yet.

“Are we just going to ignore each other until I go back to school?” Draco complains, sounding rather like he’s pouting.

He doesn’t respond, instead picking up a book on Animagi he found in Albania, and he whispers the parseltongue password as he runs a finger over the spine. When he opens it, there’s a hollow to retrieve the silver hip flask he hid in there at least a week ago.

“Is that –”

“Yep.”

Hydrus sips the Albanian moonshine before offering it out.

“You smuggled alcohol in a book.” Draco stares at it. “Is that a wise decision in your current state?” For all his protests, the blond still takes it.

“Throw it out the window and I’ll punt you out.” Hydrus warns, bone dry and completely serious. Then he snorts. “I’ve been in a vague sense of dissociation for a good couple months and firewhisky is all that’s kept me sane. A year, maybe, since I was just along for the ride with the whole tournament. Actually, possibly, it might be since I killed our DADA professor and Dumbledore gave me house points.”

Draco chokes mid sip, gasping for air. “What!” The boy yelps.

Hydrus snatches the flask back before he can spill it. He didn’t trick a Death Eater only for Malfoy to ruin his awful coping mechanism, thank you very much.

(In your face Hermione, Hydrus knows full well his coping mechanisms are self-destructive, he just doesn’t care.)

“What were you all told about Quirrell?” He frowns because it’s never occurred to him to ask.

“Do you not talk to anyone outside Gryffindor?” Draco rubs his face. A bit rude, Hydrus talks to plenty of people outside Gryffindor. He just doesn’t talk about school. “We were told he was possessed by an evil spirit and succumbed to it.”

Hydrus laughs so hard he doubles over from the pain. “Oh, no, I killed him. He succumbed to my murder hands.” Draco looks at him like he’s a madman. Sue would have laughed at that and probably high fived him for good measure. He needs a better audience. “I turned him to actual dust because of protection magic. I can’t say it was a fun end of year adventure, the three of us nearly died, but it was better than exams.”

Draco blinks twice and seems to consider something. “How many of our DADA professors have you personally packed up?” He doesn’t sound like he actually wants an answer.

Clearly, Hydrus must consider it for a moment too long because Draco walks over to snatch the flask back.

“You could argue all of them.” He shrugs.

Draco groans and drinks.

“Me and Ron took Lockhart with us to the chamber when we caught him on being a fraud. He was going to be our useless shield so it’s technically our fault he obliviated himself. And part of Remus being exposed as a werewolf was ‘cause he followed us to the Shrieking Shack thinking we were going to get murdered only to nearly kill us himself. Full moon.” Hydrus definitely packed third year away too fast. “Barty wasn’t my fault at all! He’s the one who decided to try and take the initiative to murder me in school.”

Draco looks paler than usual which is really saying something. “I’m going to keep this a while.” The blond declares, voice faint, waving the flask. “I’m so bloody glad you rejected my friendship first year.”

Hydrus laughs so hard his stupid long limbs drag him out the chair.

After the success of not murdering each other on day one, day two goes a little better. Better than having a junior Death Eater as a babysitter could have gone. Hydrus is sure it was the moonshine that helped, despite having to ration it.

Hydrus doesn’t even cause much trouble.

Besides Barty Crouch Jr walking in and rumbling their new secret right as Draco was passing the flask back.

Simply because it is Barty and Hydrus is a little mad the man spent all year tricking him, he chugs the rest of the flask before the Death Eater can take it away. If Hydrus is going to lose then he is going to lose in style.

(Style, in this case, means clinging on tight so magic can’t take it away and jumping over the bed to finish it in a mad chase. If he accidentally kicks Barty right in the stomach as he falls, then that’s just the price of trying to take away his smuggled luxury.)

Draco returned the next day asking if he had any other books with secret stashes and Hydrus had refused to tell him because he was not letting Draco snitch on him to the Dark Lord, thank you very much. If Lord bloody Voldemort wanted to draw the line at underage drinking, then he could come try to find it himself.

So, Hydrus’s captivity goes better than planned, even if he’s stuck with Draco Malfoy for the majority of the day.

Except no one tells him if Alya’s okay besides the fact she spends her days with Narcissa Malfoy.

He really hopes she’s okay.

He hopes, more, that she doesn’t hate him for upending her life like this.

Chapter Text

If anyone told Hydrus he wouldn’t cause as much trouble as humanly possible for Voldemort a week ago, he would have laughed in their face. In theory it sounded great, but Hydrus doesn’t much want to spend his time destroying his own cell and glaring at Draco.

Voldemort was certainly petty enough to refuse to fix it.

Not that he’s nice to the pureblood, he summons all of his pop culture knowledge to confuse the other boy and spends more time planning ways to piss him off than he spent picking his electives. Hydrus suspects that Voldemort approves simply because it’s Voldemort. Good is bad and bad is good and a crucio is a family bonding activity.

Probably.

(Hydrus will get over the crucio the day Dumbledore learns how to dress in a way that won’t offend everyone’s eyes.)

The good behaviour pays off, clearly, because Alya steps into his room at exactly eight in the morning. Hydrus, expecting the same house elf who always runs as soon as the plate is put down, yelps in surprise and nearly falls over in the process of pulling on a shirt.

“We’ve been invited to breakfast.” Alya tells him and being her only son must count for absolutely nothing because she openly smiles at his misfortune.

“Will they be serving coffee or the blood of the innocent?”

Alya laughs, and he takes that as a win. As stupid as it is, he would quite like the approval of one parent and Voldemort is out of the question. “We’ll see, but I don’t believe it’s an offer we should ignore. I doubt you’ve enjoyed your confinement.”

That is a very good point. Hydrus groans quietly before nodding, and she offers him an arm. It’s a little awkward, linking arms, when he’s still struggling with his own change in height, but he would hate to see her face fall if he refused.

“I hope the Malfoy heir has been better company than you imagined?” His mother leads the way, and he doesn’t know if she’s simply confident or actually knows where to go.

Hydrus snorts. “Surprisingly, we haven’t killed each other yet. It’s a bonafede miracle considering I had to be talked outta trying to feed him to the giant squid.” Less talked out of it, more trapped in the Gryffindor common room by half his house until McGonagall came.

No more quidditch wasn’t worth it.

He’s still not sure the witch wanted to discourage him.

Alya laughs again and it’s so light that it almost lightens the gloomy corridor. At least one of his parents was a true delight, maybe the evil asshole part of his DNA had been balanced out by her so he could be somewhat stable and decent.

“Narcissa has been sharing with me certain adventures she’s heard of. Apparently, her son rather enjoys writing home to complain about you during the school year, and now you’ve corrupted him into partaking in some secret whiskey.”

He can’t even try to hide his grin. “I don’t think Draco is innocent enough to corrupt.” Hydrus doesn’t share his pride in tricking Death Eaters in their headquarters, only because he’s not sure she would approve. He also tries not to think about the fact he’s on a first name basis with his old rival already.

“I do wish I could chide you for drinking at all, but that would be terribly hypocritical of me when I’ve been indulging in a very fine merlot with Narcissa. The house elves assure me it’s one of Marvolo’s most expensive bottles.” Alya shakes her head and somehow manages to sound completely innocent. His mother is petty. “Of course, I’m clearly too late since you already got yourself a tattoo of all things.”

“Yes, I do wonder what possessed you to make that decision.”

Hydrus is more than a little disappointed to find they have already reached the dining room where Voldemort stands, waiting by the fireplace in all his evil glory. Or, more accurately, an inordinately expensive three-piece suit. Hydrus absolutely refuses to think about the disapproving tone in the bastard’s voice.

Voldemort is not allowed to disapprove of his life choices. Absolutely not. The universe cannot be so cruel.

“A mental breakdown and firewhisky.” Hydrus replies quickly, flashing Voldemort a grin he hopes feels like a challenge.

Voldemort looks at the fireplace like he might find some spare patience there. Maybe the man would finally see sense and let them go if he stared long enough.

Alya releases his arm with the expectation he follows her to the pretentiously big table where three places are set up.

Weighing his options, Hydrus considers setting the chair at the head on fire. He controls that impulse, barely, and forces himself to move to the seat across from Alya. Why set it on fire now when he really should wait until Voldemort sits down? Thank Lady Magic the seats are spaced out enough they don’t sit elbow to elbow.

With a short look at Hydrus like he knows his plans, Voldemort beats Alya to her seat and pulls it out for her.

Hydrus resists the urge to gag but does blatantly roll his eyes.

“Do be careful, Hydrus, any harder and they might pop out.” The man cautions without even looking his way.

He decides not to reply and instead looks over the delicate china. Then he looks to his mother with a raised eyebrow, “Tea.”

Alya laughs at the reference to their earlier discussion which makes him feel proud of himself. Voldemort takes his seat at the head and looks incredibly put out which just puts Hydrus into a spin because there is no chance the man is pouting.

“Don’t look so left out, Marvolo. Hydrus simply thought the options might be coffee or…what was it?”

Hydrus, almost absently, wonders how she ever thought she couldn’t put a Dark Lord in his place. “The blood of the innocent.” He supplies seriously.

She hums. “Ah, that was it.”

Voldemort looks between them, eyebrow inching up slowly like he can’t tell if they’re serious, before shaking his head. “I’m sure you would be aware by now if any of us were vampires, Hydrus.”

For the briefest of seconds, he considers that Voldemort might have a sense of humour besides torturing kids and planning genocide but quickly dismisses it. Absurd, stupidest idea in human history.

“Oh, well, I don’t know what Dark Lords do besides kicking puppies, casual homicide and kidnapping. The blood of the innocent seemed like a reasonable guess.” Hydrus shrugs, unable and unwilling to try to keep a hint of passive aggression from his voice.

“Hydrus.” Alya says in a voice so sharp he actually snaps his mouth shut on instinct and his brain short circuits.

That was definitely a tone reminiscent of Molly Weasley scolding the twins, stern and fond in equal measure, and Hydrus has never had a tone like that turned on him. Sirius would sooner encourage his antics and Remus would sigh long sufferingly at them both.

By the time his brain starts working again and catches up to the table, Alya is levelling a glare at Voldemort on account of how smug he looks.

His brain nearly short circuits again.

“Just when I was considering letting you have more space to roam the manor.” Voldemort sighs but grows at least five times more smug when Hydrus perks up. “The Malfoy heir will be returning to Hogwarts soon and, as amusing as it would be to put you in a room with Bartemius, I doubt the manor would dare well. As I hear it, you’ve already assaulted him once.”

Hydrus smiles down proudly at the table.

“It seems appropriate to begin expanding how far you can go. Starting today, actually. There is a rather large sitting room in the private wing where I can both supervise you and conduct business with Lucius.”

Considering, for a moment, just how that would look in practice leads Hydrus to the conclusion only a psychopath could have engineered it.

“Has Narcissa been pestering Lucius for the chance to formally introduce herself?” Alya questions plainly.

Voldemort frowns in a way that makes Hydrus think she has hit the nail on the head. “You’re being uncharacteristically quiet. By now you would usually have some kind of insult lined up, or at least have attempted senseless violence.” The man looks to him, seemingly a little suspicious but probably just in need of a distraction.

Deciding to hell with it, Hydrus reaches for the sugar and tries to do his very best impression of Hermione. “Oh, it sounds like an unmitigated disaster on the scale of the Iraq war, but it might level your manor, so it sounds great.”

For a moment there is absolute silence before Voldemort laughs and Hydrus knocks over his cup in surprise.

The unmitigated disaster that was a confined room containing one Dark Lord, three Malfoys, and two kidnapping victims surprisingly doesn’t immediately spiral into a supernova.

Lucius Malfoy forces out a polite greeting before hurrying to the table where he would be working on evil Death Eater plans like if he tried hard enough then he might wake up from a nightmare. His wife, Narcissa, greets Alya pleasantly before insisting on inspecting her distant cousin herself since it was simply cruel to deny her the chance to fuss over her blood.

Around the time she starts scolding him for the lazy way he styles his hair, he looks to Draco in a pained cry for help, but the git just smirks and delights in his suffering. Hydrus feels a little offended since he shared his stash with the boy.

“She was devastated when I decided I hated my hair long. It’ll be easier if you just give in.” Draco cautions and ignores his mother’s stern look.

Not that Narcissa pauses as she fusses over his hair and insists on no less than five styles that would be better than just letting his curls hang free. Hydrus doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with how it curls at the nape of his neck but does wonder if Ron and Hermione were laughing behind his back.

Ron had been looking for revenge over the dress robes debacle for months.

He doesn’t know how she’s done it, but Narcissa Malfoy has found a way to make him listen just in case.

“Lady Malfoy is right. The heir to a noble and ancient house should take more care in their appearance.” Voldemort puts in without much interest at all.

“This heir to a noble and ancient house wishes the dragon had managed to eat him.” Hydrus responds glumly.

Draco coughs to disguise his laugh.

Hydrus makes an, admittedly, unflattering sound of protest when Narcissa seizes the opportunity to grab his hair and twist it into a bun with what must be conjured pins. “An improvement. It’ll need to be cleaned up, but I should have a few ideas by tomorrow.” She sighs.

He shudders at the very idea of being pounced on again. “I mean this as a compliment. You terrify me more than your husband ever could, and he tried to kill me in the middle of Hogwarts.”

Lucius attempts to protest before deciding it’s not worth it, but Narcissa glows with the compliment.

If he cared to look, he would see the smirk on Voldemort’s face, but instead he sits as inelegantly as he can in a chair next to Draco.

“I know you have better posture than that.” Alya comments from behind her cup of tea.

Hydrus straightens up while wishing Death had just claimed him in the lake.

As they usually do, Hydrus and Draco talk about their favourite middle ground: quidditch.

It was an excellent way for Hydrus to completely ignore the fact he wants to punch the lord of the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy in his pointy face. Lucius keeps looking between Hydrus and Voldemort as if to confirm their many similarities.

Hydrus hates the Riddle genes, apparently the only thing stronger than magic and two generations of dominant pureblood heritage.

Draco had also, possibly just to annoy him, pointed out in their time together that his eye flared as bright a red of Voldemort’s did when he got angry. Hydrus really fucking hopes quidditch is enough to ground him from showing just how much he wants to smack Lucius bloody Malfoy.

‘You weren’t in your study master.’

Having read just enough on parseltongue to better recognise it and how it changed certain words; Hydrus looks up out of curiosity to see the large snake slithering into the sitting room. The same snake from his dreams last year. She sounds just a bit like she’s pouting, and he wouldn’t be surprised.

Plenty of snakes pout, in his experience, because the grass snakes loved to demand his attention when he was carrying out his chores.

(Hydrus hadn’t dared talk to his friends about it, about his ability, about just how happy he was to learn more about parselmouths and the things they could do. The things he could do. They were so scared by it in second year, and he doesn’t blame them but, once, snakes were the only friends he had.)

‘Huh, you’re bigger than I saw in my dreams.’ He comments in parseltongue, a little amazed at the sheer size of her, before quickly adding. ‘And very beautiful too. Do you make someone shine your scales or is it natural?’

Nagini preens, which is a minor success considering how many grass snakes and adders he’s offended over the years. ‘The hatchling is acceptable,’ She declares, like the only requirement of her approval was complimenting her, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it really was. Nagini slithers up the table. ‘He even smells like you.’

‘You don’t need to be rude.’ He huffs back and swears he hears Voldemort chuckle. “Pretty and mean…it’s like being back at the Yule Ball.” Hydrus shakes his head, switching to English.

Draco must recover from his brain melting at the casual use of parseltongue because the prat snorts. “I still don’t get why you took Patil. If she ever forgives you for spending all night making moon eyes with Cho then she’s a fool.”

Hydrus glares at him without much heat because he really doesn’t want to think about how weird it was that Cho simply accepted the fact he was just a little in love with her boyfriend. Even weirder that she just accepted her boyfriend liked him too. Then she spent the night putting all three of them together.

Hermione joked he was exceptionally bisexual but spending the night with both of his crushes had been a little too far even for him.

“She hasn’t talked to me in months. ‘Mione had to convince her not to curse me and Ron.” Hydrus moans because the Gryffindor common room had been hell. If hell were the temperature of the Artic and full of very angry teenage girls. Hydrus would take the dragon, grindylows, and Voldemort before facing their wrath.

“Me and Ron were gonna go together just to spite Rita Skeeta insisting me and ‘Mione were together, but Dumbledore caught wind and said it might ‘offend sensibilities’!” He mocks, still in disbelief he had to sit there and hear it in the first place.

Draco sits bolt upright in shock. “What?”

“Didn’t you…I know you called me blind to other houses, but did you really think Seamus and Dean wanted to go with anyone else? They spend most of Snape’s class trying not to snog each other and lemme tell you, it is not fun sharing a bloody dorm with those two. I thought that was why you took Parkinson instead of Nott?”

Draco turns so red he might as well be holidaying on the surface of the sun. “I – why – why in hell would I have taken Nott to the ball!” The boy splutters like it’s the most insane question ever asked.

Hydrus looks at him, eyebrows raised, not sure Draco really wants an answer. “You spend more time in Care of Magical Creatures staring at him than you do listening. Which is probably the whole reason you got mauled by a bloody chicken.”

Narcissa Malfoy, surprisingly, lets out a short peal of laughter which confirms their conversation is being spied on. Draco sinks into his seat, “You’re a terrible person.” The prat complains but he radiates as much heat as the fire.

“And you have really thin skin.”

Draco needs a better insult.

“Who do you think will take over as captain for the Gryffindor team with Wood gone.” Draco raises the point with just enough slyness that makes it obvious he’s hoping for insider tips.

“Angelina, without a doubt. It’s a shame she’ll only get a year cause of the tournament, but she put together half of Wood’s plays and won’t try to drown herself in the lake over a loss. She’s gonna kick ass if Flint is still the Slytherin captain.”

Draco, entirely miserable, nods in agreement. “Flint’s terrible as a captain. He’s the one who forced me into being seeker when I tried for chaser.” The blond complains.

Hydrus pretends to consider it. “Well,” He draws out the word. “I could tell you weren’t adept at seeking.” Draco looks like he wants to kick him and, if they were in private, he probably would have. “Ugh, I woulda been the shoe in for captain next year if we actually got to play. I had so many ideas. So many ways to confuse your team.”

He mourns the dream of Hermione suffering he and Ron’s combined idiocy.

Draco snorts. “It should be illegal to start games with your muggle rituals.”

“It was Bohemian Rhapsody and it’s a masterpiece.”

“But if you were captain I would have quit quidditch entirely. You play like a madman – you punched me in the face once going for the snitch.”

Hydrus slowly raises an eyebrow. “I can’t remember that, but I can sincerely tell you that I definitely hadn’t seen the snitch.”

Draco makes a rather indignant noise. “And you accuse us of playing rough! You spent half our matches literally murdering me.”

He shrugs dismissively much like when Hermione threw one of her fits. “But did you die?”

“Our match in third year. Gryffindor were already two hundred points ahead and, just to stop me getting the snitch, you literally jumped off your broom.”

Alya throws over a very alarmed and disapproving look.

“That was a play Draco. Me and the twins practiced it, if they didn’t think I would catch my broom they were already on their way. Wood made us practice it closer to the ground, of course, but same thing.”

Alya’s disappointment is immeasurable.

“Am I truly hearing that, in a game played hundreds of feet in the air, you jumped from the only thing keeping you there simply to stop the other team ending the game. Not even to stop them from winning, simply out of spite.” Voldemort says, rather disbelieving of what he’s hearing.

“Yep.” Hydrus nods cheerily. “McGonagall sat the whole team down to tell us to stop being idiots, but she offered me a biscuit which is her code to say she approved.”

Voldemort looks incredibly disturbed but turns back to his work. It’s a little unfair he’s silenced their conversation, but everyone can spy on Hydrus and Draco.

“I’ve heard of some of your…antics. Poppy Pomfrey often complains to her healers circles about the Gryffindors filling the infirmary. You, specifically.” Narcissa comments.

Being the shit stirrer he is, Draco leans back in his seat. “How did McGonagall deal with it when you ran off to fight the Whomping Willow.”

Hydrus resolutely ignores the four pairs of eyes turned his way and attempts his best poker face. “I would never do that.” He denies.

Draco stares at him flatly. “Snape made an announcement to the whole school that if we saw a Gryffindor then we had to stop them going outside. He specifically told Slytherins not to encourage you and to stun you if necessary. I saw Granger chasing after you and Weasel.”

He keeps his face impassive, but he also knows when he’s beat. “I would never fight it alone.” The Slytherin looks at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “The twins bet the whole common room ten galleons ‘cause it couldn’t take us all at once and I didn’t want to do my divination work. Honestly, running from ‘Mione was way scarier than a splinter and I’ve already been attacked by that damn tree twice. I wanted to get some payback.”

Draco groans, muttering again about how glad he was they didn’t become friends in first year.

“Did you just get a splinter?” Alya asks, rather like the too calm nature of the howlers the Weasleys had gotten. Hydrus, on the other hand, had received a letter from Sirius congratulating him on reminding the tree it was mortal and its time limited while Remus begged him not to fight the entire forest next.

Hydrus didn’t have the heart to tell the werewolf he has gotten into fights in the forest twice already, if Voldemort’s wraith and Aragog trying to kill him counted as fights.

Apparently, karma had just been waiting to catch him. Damnit. “Pomfrey put a splinter on my broken leg,” He offers with his best grin. “She also kept saying we were lucky our skulls were too thick.” He adds a little more reluctantly.

Alya looks to Narcissa. “I think it’s time for our daily merlot.”

‘Your hatchling is an idiot.’ Nagini hisses, and Voldemort sighs mournfully in agreement.

Hydrus looks to Draco. “You know, the twins told me once they nearly got put in Slytherin. They just refused since they didn’t think they were more Slytherin than Percy. Imagine what they could have caused there.”

Draco, seeming to search for evidence he’s lying and finding none, sinks into his seat with a look of pure horror.

Chapter Text

Apparently having proven neither he nor Alya would jump out a window, Voldemort allows them free roam of the private wing. Only the private wing, complete with blood wards that only allowed the Malfoys, Barty and few other Death Eaters in. Hydrus doesn’t test if they will let him out.

Draco would be going back to Hogwarts the next day, a fact that still feels a little sore, so someone was tasked to look in on both he and Alya occasionally but otherwise there are no more babysitters.

Hydrus proceeds to act on spite and put the disjointed plan he’s been working on for days into action. He doesn’t know if he can do it but, Merlin, he is going to try. As not unpleasant as captivity has been, he was still a hostage trapped in a house full of Death Eaters.

He was still sitting there eating breakfast with the man who killed the Potters and who killed Cedric and the guilt of it eats at him. Cedric had checked he was okay through the year, shared the prefect’s password and pressed him against the wall, spent the Yule ball forcing him to have some fun and never accused him of lying.

Drinking tea, trying to bait Voldemort, joking with Alya, all of it was a betrayal of Cedric’s memory.

Hydrus sits on the floor of the room Voldemort keeps calling his, and he tries to sit himself just right so that one knee is raised to rest a book against and obscure his other hand. This will work, he tells himself, so long as no one comes and looks closer.

A small flame rests in his palm and Hydrus closes his eyes and thinks of the flat, the flat and the jar Sirius and Remus kept on the table for his visits, and he imagines that jar igniting. He pictures it entirely in his mind and pushes to connect the two. Wrestles it soul deep, focusing on the heat under his skin, forcing it to ignite.

It twists at him, fighting back, but the not real feeling swallows him up like the waters of the black lake, and suddenly he’s dropped in the flat.

“Sirius! Remus!” Hydrus yells, getting to his feet, running for the bedroom. “Please be here,” He whispers to himself.

A sickening feeling creeps up on him, making his muscles seize like he’s been dropped in ice water, and the flat is ripped away. He falls to his side on the polished floor of his room.

He groans, shifting to lay on his back. “You have to admit…we’d both be a little disappointed in me if I didn’t immediately break some rule.” Hydrus points out without trying to open his eyes or look at Voldemort.

“I suppose you’re right. I was expecting an attempt to burn the place down sooner or later.” The monster sighs.

Hydrus forces himself back up into sitting position when he’s sure he won’t be sick and finds Voldemort sat in the chair by the window. Bastard, that’s his favourite. He stays on the floor.

“I am glad to know there is a Slytherin in you under all the lack of self-preservation. You were just sly enough someone else might not have noticed.” Voldemort concedes.

“Holy Batman, that was such a backhanded compliment.” He snorts. “…You don’t need me to explain who that is, right?”

“You do know I was a child in muggle London when Batman was created?”

“…I didn’t want to say you were old as dirt but, hey, at least you look good for your age.”

Voldemort looks distinctly long suffering, but that’s really unfair when it was the bastards own fault Hydrus was here to ruin his day. The rule was always simple in Gryffindor, you couldn’t complain if you were the one who summoned the twins or Hydrus. The same way you had to accept a lesson from Hermione if you asked for help with homework and you knew a chess game with Ron could last all night.

“What was it you were trying to do, send a message? Do I need to send anyone to clean up after you?”

Hydrus considers, for far too long, his options because he knows what restrictions Voldemort might bring down on him if the man knows what he was doing. But, on the other hand, if he doesn’t then Death Eaters would go after his friends.

Hydrus would call Voldemort ‘dad’ before he let Sirius or Remus suffer for his mistakes.

Also, lower on the list, it gives him a dash of serotonin to have done something Voldemort hasn’t.

He glares at his own hands as he weighs it, already knowing what he’s going to choose, leaning against the bed frame. “One of the books I picked up in France talked about how Elementals used to create shared mind spaces to project their consciousness. Floo calls weren’t enough to stop Sirius being a drama queen so I figured a way to project…just without the shared space part.” He admits, though he can’t quite bring himself to be smug. “It was pretty easy after the first time, create a flame on both ends and connect them. They just started keeping a jar out, so I visualised it to conjure up. No one was there, you don’t need to try and destroy the place or kill them.”

The moment of silence stretches awfully long.

“You found a way to use your element to project your mind somewhere you couldn’t even see?” Voldemort finally questions, and if Hydrus didn’t know better then he might Voldemort was proud.

“I’m not completely stupid.”

“I never thought you were.” Voldemort counters quickly. “I think you are foolish and impulsive; you certainly don’t think before you speak, but I’ve never thought you were stupid. Not even when we were enemies.”

When had they stopped being enemies?

And wasn’t that just uncomfortable, being somewhat complimented by your mortal enemy/kidnapper/birth father.

“It would help immensely if you tried to meet me halfway.” The man adds irritably.

He scoffs. “It might surprise you to hear, but I don’t exactly know where ‘halfway’ is.”

Voldemort’s tone is dry, as if he knows he’s speaking an impossibility. “Showing me a modicum of respect would be a start.”

Hydrus looks up sharply, biting his tongue hard enough to sting. “Then you’re bloody deaf ‘cause I’ve really been trying there. It was painful to not even try and antagonise Lucius bloody Malfoy, but I shut my mouth and ignored him. Do you think I let witches poke and prod at me?”

He is frustrated beyond belief, because even the threat of Vernon Dursley and his damn belt couldn’t make him keep his mouth shut most days. Hydrus has spent his life antagonising the people who can hurt him because they would do it anyway, from the Durlseys to Snape to Voldemort himself, and the only reason he’s trying is for Alya.

“You really have been trying, haven’t you?” Voldemort sounds surprised, which is a fair bit insulting, so Hydrus doesn’t even humour him with a reply. “Admittedly, my idea of what respect looked like, from you, was how you act with Dumbledore.”

His teeth grind. “Yeah. And look how that turned out.” He mutters bitterly and tries to banish his thoughts once again. Being angry at Dumbledore doesn’t change this situation. “When he actually deigns to give me the time of day, usually when somethings gone wrong, I can honestly say I’ve never just shut my mouth. I’m pretty sure it pisses him off just how often I’ve trashed his office.”

That was stupid of him, exposing that rift to a man who hates Dumbledore so much. Father like son. Except Voldemort is more like a shark smelling blood. Or, maybe, like a horde of piranhas.

“You destroy his office on a regular basis?” Voldemort sounds amused and that truly cannot annoy him because it’s a shock he has a sense of humour at all. Dumbledore had spent years dealing out small doses about the legendary Dark Lord, building up something that could never have been human.

Hydrus isn’t a gullible child, but five years of those seeds had taken root.

“Semi-regularly. Usually once a year, sometimes more, I broke some of these weird devices he keeps on his desk third year because he left it to me and ‘Mione to use a time-turner and save Sirius. I lost it when he put both my friends in the black lake, but I didn’t really have the energy at the end of the year for obvious reasons.”

Voldemort doesn’t even have the grace to acknowledge just how pointed his words were. “…Do I want to risk asking why you had a time-turner at the age of thirteen?” The man asks instead, very carefully.

“’Mione had a time-turner.” Hydrus corrects firmly. “She wanted to take every class possible, even muggle studies for some reason, and McGonagall made a really good case to give her one. Because she’s so brilliant.” Merlin as his witness, if he’s stuck here then he’s going to shove it in the Death Eaters faces just how amazing Hermione Granger was.

Hydrus really hopes they all know they will never be as brilliant as his best friend is, and he’s happy to teach them that lesson.

“Third year ended with a bit of a bang. Sirius tried to kill Pettigrew but had to drag Ron along, so me and ‘Mione ran after them still thinking he wanted to kill me. And Remus followed thinking we were going to get ourselves killed. And then Snape followed because he’s an absolute asshole who really likes to appear to ruin my day. He has a sixth sense, I’m pretty sure, because he takes every opportunity to appear.”

Voldemort, surprisingly, chuckles. “As I understand it, he feels much the same about you.”

Hydrus, completely unsurprised considering the way Snape has appeared just to yell at him since first year, shrugs. “A lot happened. We were going to turn Pettigrew over to the dementors after I knocked Snape out. Remus gave me full authority as the DADA teacher which was pretty cool. But…well…it was a full moon.”

He sees the moment it clicks for Voldemort because the man’s eyebrows involuntarily rise.

“Sirius fought him off, and Pettigrew escaped, and Snape tried to round up back up to the castle but Snape’s annoyed ‘Mione enough that she makes an exception to her rule about teachers being off limits. She accidentally stamped on his foot in the same way it wasn’t her who set him on fire first year. And I ran off after Sirius and found him with a lot of dementors. A lot. Too many to count.” Once again, he considers the idea he might have packed away third year too fast. “Then I woke up in the infirmary and we were told Sirius got kissed so me and ‘Mione used her time-turner and spent like two hours talking to centaurs waiting in the forest. Then we played hide and seek with a werewolf before I patronused all the dementors and we broke out Sirius with the hippogriff that Draco pissed off. We took a detour to save Buckbeak too.”

Voldemort rests his chin in his hand. “Do you actually attend Hogwarts to study or is your year dedicated solely to these ridiculous adventures?”

Hydrus laughs. “I don’t think you’re allowed to ask that when nearly all of my ridiculous adventures have been your fault.” He shakes his head very quickly before any objection can come. “’Mione made a graph after Yule. She used maths. Nearly all my bullshit has had less than seven degrees of separation from your bullshit. She made a big deal of telling us that. It was very detailed, had a visual guide too. She left it up in the common room for two months so people could make suggestions then she worked them out to relax after homework.”

Damn, someone would have to tell Hermione to correct her graph. Someone suggested ‘being born’ which was a little mean but, also, completely Voldemort’s fault anyway.

“Aragog nearly ate me and Ron ‘cause you framed Hagrid and let him off into the forest. The dementors were there because of Pettigrew, your spy. The whomping willow got me first time because Dobby was scared of your diary. The less said about the tournament the better.”

Voldemort, unhappily, shuts his mouth in clear frustration.

“Most teenagers get to gossip about their housemates. Hermione does math and forces us to plan battle strategies. She has five different emergency plans prepared for if you try to march on Hogwarts, including how to evacuate the first years.” He happily boasts on his friend’s behalf.

“I suppose your pet muggleborn has certain merits.” Voldemort admits and meets his glare without a care. “Do share what other reasons could make you destroy Dumbledores things. I don’t recall him doing anything that might have antagonised you in your first year. He certainly hasn’t left another hoard of dementors to you.”

Hydrus, knowing his willpower was really quite enough to throw off an imperious, could hold his silent glare until the world turned to ruin. But he is also pissed enough that he doesn’t want to look at Voldemort anymore and so glares stubbornly at a spot on the floor by his left foot.

“Just the one mainly. Every year I asked him to let me stay with the Weasleys and every year he sent me back.”

In the summer after third year, he had even begged to go with Sirius because going on the run was better than Vernon. He couldn’t blame Sirius for not noticing, the man had been months out of Azkaban and run ragged himself.

Voldemort is, oddly, completely silent rather than just quiet. Even when he wasn’t speaking, he would drum his fingers or sigh, never letting his presence be forgotten. “He has a habit of making that mistake.” The man finally says, both solemn and dangerous in the way he speaks, “I begged him too, when I was a boy. To let me apprentice at Hogwarts in the summer, but he always blocked it even when Dippet was tempted to agree. His wilful ignorance is nothing new.”

Hydrus curses himself for not being able to hold onto his glare, for his anger slipping momentarily, because the admission takes him by surprise. Tom Riddle, trying ever so hard to gain his trust, had never shared his own life despite guessing as Hydrus’s. He hates himself for not being able to hold tight to his anger.

Hogwarts had made a home for the forgotten and broken boys when Dumbledore refused to see what was in front of his eyes. Dismissing Tom Riddle, taking advantage of Sirius Black, and ignoring Hydrus.

“Not so sure it was ever a mistake.” He mutters and almost winces at the venom in his own voice.

“I don’t hate muggleborns.” Voldemort says instead of addressing that moment of weakness, however slight.

Hydrus glances up at him. “Ha, tell another one.”

Voldemort looks utterly annoyed, and he takes some pride in that. “Who told you I hated muggleborns? Dumbledore?”

Hydrus raises a hand, exaggerating it as much as Hermione did to get the teachers attention first year. “Pick me, pick me! Your murder diary – who explicitly said he was targeting them – but I’ll give you Dumbledore. I’ve not met a single one of your supporters who weren’t blood supremacists, but I don’t think I have enough fingers to count.”

“It is unfortunate blood supremacy often goes hand in hand with anti-muggle sentiment. I never made my platform about that, but thanks to Dumbledore’s lies any half-bloods and muggleborns who might agree were driven off.” Voldemort sighs, tapping his fingers against his knee. “My goal is to enforce strict separation from muggles and better protect our heritage. Sites like Stonehenge lose their magic every day we cannot protect them and give back. It is only a matter of time before muggles stop being driven away by the spells on Hogwarts, they’re already cutting down the homes of werewolves, centaurs and all manner of dark creatures. That’s not even to mention what muggles do to magical children.”

Hydrus opens his mouth to protest and, horrifyingly, realises he has no argument. What he has, which is important but not an argument, is that they cannot just kill muggles. “That sounds an awful lot like barring muggleborns from learning about magic.” He huffs childishly instead because he’s pretty sure that’s what Draco had complained about second year.

“Now you’re trying to be ignorant.” Voldemort snaps before taking a deep breath. “Absolutely not. I would never have attended Hogwarts for that. Magical children in Britain have their names recorded the moment they first use magic, so we can find them from as young as four for most. Even younger for some. There are many wixen who would take in a ward to raise as their own, especially with the option of a blood adoption and fertility rates being what they are. We can remove muggleborns from their homes to a willing wixen family and use muggle orphans and spells to avoid them noticing anything. Historically speaking, the biggest danger to magical children is muggles themselves.”

It feels like the deepest betrayal of Sirius, Remus and the Potters to not be able to argue against that. Betrayal doesn’t change the fact every muggle in Little Whinging turned on him as much for his strangeness as the Dursleys insistence he was a delinquent. Hydrus had been strange and different to the residents of Privet Drive from the start, and they had latched on to any justification for ignoring him the Dursleys offered.

“Not all muggles are bad, plenty of them don’t have problems with magic at all.” He protests instead because Little Whinging may have hated him, but Hermione’s parents love her and her magic.

Once again surprising him, Voldemort nods. “Not all of them, no, but the vast majority do, and they often demonstrate it violently. The fact is muggles could destroy us if it came to open war and we can only delay the exposure of our world for so long. They passed us in terms of innovation centuries ago and that is something I want to fix. That we need to fix. Wizarding Britain became stagnant like most countries that suffered from the sudden offset of Christianity. Our sudden shift to complete secrecy came at our own expense, we had to spend decades rebuilding the parts of our society once joined with muggles. We left ourselves with less space and less freedom.”

“Unlike many places, there simply isn’t enough space to keep hiding ourselves while muggles aggressively expand. It wouldn’t be hard to feign a natural disaster leaving the country supposedly uninhabitable, especially with how they’re poisoning the earth, a sudden influx of wixen from other countries would allow an exchange in populations. With no restrictions on our magic and a hopeful boom in population, Britain could usher in a new age of magical development.”

Morgana strike him down if that doesn’t sound vaguely reasonable. Far more than killing all muggles to deal with the problem. Somewhat hysterically, Hydrus thinks Voldemort would have made a better teacher than Dark Lord.

“Bartemius told me he directed you to some new reading material outside of Dumbledore’s bias, about the types of magic and the persecution of dark magic in Europe.”

Hydrus groans because that just isn’t fair. “It’s really unfair that your deranged spy was the best DADA teacher we ever had and he literally imperio’d me.” Remus had been great, Hydrus wishes he never had to leave, but classes had been a little difficult with how rough the full moon was on him every month.

Voldemort chuckles. “Bartemius, contrary to what you might think, was a Ravenclaw. It’s hardly surprising. But he did share that Dumbledore was very worried about your varied reading.”

This must be on purpose now and he tries to clamp down on the tidal wave of annoyance at both Voldemort and Dumbledore. Hydrus isn’t a ragdoll, he’s tired of being constantly talked at by old men about their plans and what he should think. “Yeah, alright, I did a lotta reading. Dark magic isn’t evil, Grindelwald terrified Europe into persecuting dark magic, and rises in muggleborns have been causing the ministry to get tougher with traditional holidays. I get it, Dumbledore is biased.”

The man smirks, pleased with himself and this perceived win.

“Merlin! No wonder Lady Magic didn’t enjoy talking to you.” He complains, thinking it was rather like talking to a brick that has punched you in the face many times already but keeps coming.

“What?” Voldemort questions, voice flat.

Hydrus bites back his grin at knowing something Voldemort doesn’t. “Lady Magic.” He repeats nonchalantly, “I talked to her when I did the ritual to confirm my element. She said she preferred talking to me, even if she spent most of it discreetly calling me an idiot for being in denial. Death was a bit mean too, mind you. I’m just waiting to talk to the ghost of Christmas future now to complete the set.” He doesn’t risk glancing at Voldemort to protect the casual image he’s trying to project.

Maybe he should have.

“Who else have you told about this?” Voldemort demands, voice as sharp as it was when he yelled in the cemetery.

Hydrus has to stop himself from flinching. It was so easy to separate the calmer, human, Voldemort from the monster that rose from a cauldron in the night. Logically, they were always the same, but it was so much easier to get distracted talking to this one.

“Just a goblin after the first time, but I didn’t know it was death when I did.” He admits, all the wind gone from his sails. Try as he might, he can’t stop the way his muscles go stiff from years of instinct. It’s just muscle memory, he reminds himself, trained up by how quickly he needed to go into survival mode when Vernon began to yell.

“Try to keep it that way. The average wixen wouldn’t react well.”

He resists the urge to snap back because why else did the bastard think he hadn’t told any of his friends?

A cold chill sweeps through the room, lingering at the back of his neck in a way Hydrus recognises from the times Death and Lady Magic had visited. Hydrus thinks Voldemort might shiver.

“There is a reason why Elementals have nearly gone extinct, Hydrus.” Voldemort says after a moment, but it sounds like he’s forcing his words to be as gentle as possible. “We are labelled dark creatures. Parselmouths would be named that way too, were it not for successful arguments by the Gaunts in the Wizengamot likening it to metamorphmagi. But rather than it only being in Europe, Elementals are considered that way in most countries. Those books you’ve bought are by people who studied us and then wrote guides on our abilities to kill us.”

His eyes flicker to the bookshelf, to the titles written in so many languages but never by an Elemental. Hydrus hadn’t thought about it, why no one could tell him anything about elementals, why they were thought a forgotten branch of magic. The books were all relegated to the historic sections, dusty and forgotten, writing about Elementals in the same way the books wrote about Basilisks. Like they were relics of the past. Why hadn’t anyone told him about this?

“Bloodlines have been hunted to near extinction and some have killed themselves to bind their own magic rather than acknowledge what they are. We have a unique connection to magic and most see that as dangerous, something that can’t be controlled or understood, so we must be killed instead. There was a reason I hid my own abilities from Dumbledore, from everyone but a chosen few. It was a miracle your mother didn’t accidentally kill you by binding your magic, and if you hadn’t discovered it then you would have dead before you reached your majority.” Voldemort continues with little of his usual patience, voice strained with the attempt to be both gentle and strict.

“Were anyone to find out that on top of being a dark creature, because that is what we both are whether you like it or not, you had connected to two of the three pillars of magic…there is no telling how they might react. What they might do. Most Elementals only ever talk to Lady Magic when they seek their element, any more than that speaks of unique power that would terrify the ministry.”

Hydrus grinds his teeth and tears his eyes from the bookshelf.

“It certainly isn’t fair, but until we can change the laws against dark creatures and magic then it’s how we must live. Elementals are capable of great destruction, and fire especially.”

He leans against the bed frame again, knees raised up to his chest, exhausted with the ministry and magical society and Voldemort and Dumbledore. “No shit, Sherlock.” Hydrus says rather than voice his frustrations.

“The air is volatile, but it’s destruction is limited. It’s often the least threatening element unless they dedicate years to the study of fine control. Earth is dangerous but no Elemental has ever become strong enough to cause mass destruction. They were still hunted down and killed so no earth Elemental has been seen in decades.”

Wasn’t the only benefit of not going back to Hogwarts that he didn’t have to learn anything?

“Water, my own element, is extremely hard to create but easy to control. I could manipulate a storm with less energy than I would need to restore a dry lake.”

Hydrus reluctantly looks over to see Voldemort conjure a pool of water in his hand, forming it into a small bubble that rises to float between his hands.

“Fire is easy to create but difficult to control, without discipline a fireplace could become an inferno.”

Feeling remarkably petty, Hydrus exerts a little effort and watches the bubble of water turn to steam. Maybe more than a little, he meets resistance but forces his way through even if it makes his gut twist uncomfortably. “I’m just fine at controlling it.”

Voldemort actually stares at his own hands in surprise, red eyes widening just a fraction, before shaking his head. “You’ve been practicing.” There is a hint of accusation there.

“I didn’t have a lot to do this summer other than read and set things on fire.”

Voldemort stands, smoothing down the suit Hydrus maintains is pretentious to simply wear around your own manor. “Can I trust you won’t attempt something again or should I ask Nagini to keep you company?”

He considers it for a moment but doesn’t really want to be followed around by a giant snake. “I don’t have any immediate plans.”

It must be good enough because Voldemort sweeps out of the room.

Chapter Text

The dreams stopped so long ago he can’t quite pin it in his own memory. Maybe when he was on his knees on a bathroom floor feeling wrong to his core but so sure he was doing the right thing, and maybe it was when he decided it was better to be alone. It didn’t matter when, because Tom Riddle stopped dreaming and Voldemort never had.

And maybe that was a lie, because he almost dreamed once. When he was Marvolo Riddle and his days were spent with someone who made him want to live rather than just survive. He had imagined a life without war and without persecution where he could finally learn the difference between surviving and living because Alya accepted his ring and his flaws.

Voldemort buried the chance of dreaming when he buried Marvolo Riddle.

It doesn’t matter when he stopped dreaming, it only matters that when he lays his head down, he knows something is wrong instantly.

Voldemort does not dream so there is no reason he should be stood in his study, fully dressed, yet absent of the noises that always filtered in from the rest of the manor. No crackle of the fireplace despite it being lit, his familiar is nowhere to be seen with her spoiled demands, and the quiet bickering of death eaters doesn’t filter through the walls.

Where most might put silencing spells on their study, Voldemort has never felt the desire to have complete silence. His childhood was spent in silence, usually bred from fear, but he had found home in Slytherin and the common room was always alive with deals and good-natured power struggles. He far preferred to hear the manor alive than work in unnatural silence.

There’s not even a hint of the new addition to the background hum. Even from his study, Voldemort would hear the faint trace of whatever trouble Hydrus was causing and Alya seemed to enjoy walking near his study as she talked and complained. Whilst Voldemort would never admit it, not even under threat of death, he rather liked the way they joined the daily cacophony.

Not that he enjoyed the way Bartemius complained about Hydrus daily, because the boy held a grudge and wasn’t shy about showing it which in turn led to losing the spot as Bartemius’ favourite student.

A double of himself sits behind his desk. “I thought you might be upset about your dignity if I brought you here in your pyjamas.” Lady Magic says but clearly doesn’t care to respect his possessions since she still sits in his chair behind his desk.

Voldemort isn’t foolish enough to try and incur the wrath of magic herself over territory, so takes one of the nicer chairs in his study. “I don’t recall this being your style. The setting or using dreams.” He gestures to the space around them before folding his hands on his crossed knees.

“I shouldn’t use dreams to talk to wixen, no, so this will probably hurt you tomorrow. Nothing you won’t survive.” She smiles at him with his own face but somehow bares more teeth than should be possible, “You’re being reckless, Marvolo.”

“That’s not my name.”

“And Lord Voldemort is?”

“You know –”

“That’s a title, not a name.” Lady Magic cuts him off, voice sharp and impatient, and he snaps his mouth shut on instinct. “I recall meeting a boy so cocky he thought he could dictate our entire meeting, insisting on his name of choice, despite calling on me first.”

Voldemort presses his lips into a thin line at the reminder of their first and last meeting. “And I recall you warning me how lucky I was you were in a good mood.”

She laughs, shaking her head. It’s not kind. “And this time I’m not.” She warns, as if it wasn’t clear by her kidnapping him in his sleep. “I’ve been watching. Mortal sayings are a little beyond me, but I believe the phrase I’m looking for is ‘Like Father, Like Son’.”

“This is about Hydrus?” Really, he should have known by the chill in the room.

“He reminds me of you, just a little. The difference being that I like him.” Voldemort groans aloud, to Lady Magic’s more genuine chuckle. “I worried about you once, and clearly I was right to, and I worry about him now. We worry about him a lot, actually. About his future and what might happen to him.”

His hand forms a fist, not that he even realises it until he looks down, and the feeling that might be worry ignites again. It’s not one he likes, for most of his life he’s not had reason to worry, and it’s too irrational to ever be to his taste. Yet, Alya and Hydrus inspire it in him on a scarily regular basis. “You don’t worry if there’s not a vested interest.”

Voldemort only got one visit and he was chosen as a Dark Lord. He sincerely doubts Hydrus is interested in that career path.

“How insulting. I worry about all my children.” Lady Magic says but she’s using his voice, giving him an upper hand here, and he can recognise just how insincere she is. “Hydrus is still quite fragile, under all that bravado, which I’m sure you noticed.”

“Are you implying I’m a danger to him?” He asks, very slowly, barely more than a whisper.

“I’m telling you I won’t tolerate it should you lose your temper with him for something he had no way of knowing.” She answers, uncaring and cold. “I’ve been forced to tolerate many things over the years, but no more. Much like you, Marvolo, my reach to him was cut off.”

If his rage wasn’t close to all consuming, he might have laughed. Lady Magic was threatening him over the safety of his own son. How dare anyone, even a pillar of magic, think he didn’t wish to bring fire and blood down upon the muggles who left their marks on Hydrus. Because he felt murderous when Hydrus flinched, more so when he tried to hide it, simply because he raised his voice and most days he wonders how any of Dumbledore’s fools could miss the evidence.

“Why do you have an interest in him?” Voldemort asks instead because being marked like this wasn’t normal. Because Hydrus is too strong. To be above the average wixen was expected, he would have been worried if his heir wasn’t with the mix of Slytherin and Black blood, but Hydrus surpassed all expectation. And he knows his heir has been marked in some way, he’s known since Hydrus mentioned being visited by Death and overpowered him with little effort or realisation of what he did.

The boy didn’t seem to understand how strong he was or what it meant, but Voldemort does. He knows there are consequences to being marked, and the pillars of magic were rarely kind to mortals. They had an interest in his heir and, despite himself, Voldemort is determined to protect him should it come to it.

“I hope we don’t need to talk like this again, Marvolo.” Lady Magic dismisses, leaving him without an answer.

Voldemort opens his eyes and, immediately, groans in pain because it feels like, he imagines, being hit by the Hogwarts Express.

Keen to try and decipher the plans of the gods themselves, Voldemort has Hydrus start joining him in his study in the early evening before dinner. He immediately shuts it down when Alya asks if he’s trying to force some father-son bonding because Voldemort does not waste his time with something so mundane, he’s simply gearing up for a potential battle with Lady Magic over his son’s life.

Not that he can tell either of them that.

If anyone could kill a god, Alya Black could probably find a way from her fury alone. It was something he always found endearing but he doesn’t want to take that risk just yet.

And if he takes the opportunity to teach Hydrus a little more about Elementals, then he’s simply doing it to find his heirs limits.

It becomes a quickly established routine that uncomfortably reminds him of the Malfoys and how they had patterns in how they sit and talk to each other. Hydrus always chooses the same seat by the fire and Voldemort always chides his terrible posture and Hydrus continues to abuse the antique furniture out of spite anyway. Alya and Hydrus always find a way to insult him during meals and they always share the same smirk afterwards when he tries to ignore them in the hope they might stop finding it funny.

And, every day, Voldemort reads updates on the Dursley’s trial. It was still ongoing, even a month later, because the Wizengamot had already ascertained guilt but needed to go through all the evidence to determine just how severe the punishment should be. The outcome was guaranteed but there was a decade of evidence to go through.

One death eater attended each day in a cycle because the Prophet was barred from sharing most details, half the evidence might have made a few purebloods faint. Hydrus had a spine of goblin steel to still be standing, to resist becoming an obscurial, and Voldemort has his own plans of what to do to those muggles. Most of them were savage but none could compare to years in a cupboard and the punishments for accidental magic.

A month of only speaking parseltongue in a childish response to trauma, only to be punished for it relentlessly, and no wonder Hydrus neglected the language he was born with.

They would suffer the longest death he could possibly subject them to, and he thought of new ideas each night he slipped into Hydrus’ room to help soothe nightmares.

His new soul container sits on one of the bookshelves in the study, nothing shiny this time because it was more urgent to move the remains of the diary clinging to Hydrus into something new. The boy doesn’t seem to recognise it at all, despite the fact Nagini can recognise other horcruxes.

One week of what Alya refers to as ‘bonding attempts’ later, because it only encouraged her when he tried to shoot her down, and Voldemort realises that Hydrus has somehow invoked olde magic. Magic won’t recognise Hydrus as his heir which means the foolish boy had somehow refused the connection and only he could reverse it. And, seeing as Hydrus hasn’t gloated about it, he didn’t even realise what he had done.

Voldemort would wish he didn’t have such an impossible heir if there wasn’t a chance Lady Magic would force another unpleasant dream on him.

But at least Hydrus was slightly less spiteful now Voldemort had gotten him to acknowledge one side of the war wasn’t simply evil. Not by much, but even a fraction was appreciated. He imagines being told he was a dark creature had done the majority of the work, he remembers the revelation keenly himself, because Hydrus knew well how werewolves were persecuted.

Learning parselmagic and elemental magic was an incentive for good behaviour too, since Hydrus was clearly restless and frustrated about not going back to Hogwarts.

Spending time together in a civil way, even somewhat pleasant, has an unexpected consequence he didn’t foresee. Voldemort doesn’t understand how something born of him, even housing a part of his soul, could be quite so bright. Hydrus has a short temper, a sharp tongue, and terrifyingly poor impulse control, but he was so very bright in the way he smiled and laughed, how his eyes shone when he casually shared stories of Hogwarts.

Hydrus was good in a way Voldemort never had been, despite the way he had been used and abused.

And Voldemort simply cannot understand it.

“Are you having a lesson?” Alya asks, vaguely amused, standing somewhere between them. She often joined them in the study, Voldemort still isn’t sure if it’s because she doesn’t trust him or if she’s trying to maintain peace and he doesn’t want to ask, sharing her colour commentary and trading jokes with Hydrus.

Their private time, in contrast, was spent equally scolding him for all the lies, the damage he’s done since, and reminiscing on the past.

Voldemort looks up from another report about the ministry to see Hydrus has a quill and parchment. The sight doesn’t inspire confidence. “I’m not sure what he would be taking notes about.”

Hydrus blinks up at them both, and he almost looks innocent. Voldemort isn’t foolish enough to fall for it. “Oh, no, I’m just listing bad things.”

Already imagining how this will go, Voldemort refuses to encourage him and ask. Frankly, the quota of insults for the day has been filled as far as he’s concerned.

Unfortunately, Alya doesn’t share his opinion and smirks. “Do you want to share?” She asks, though he doubts her curiosity is earnest, and Voldemort rubs his temples.

He can’t remember the last time he suffered a migraine, but he thinks one might be coming.

A sheet of parchment, folded, is held up and Hydrus taps the end of his quill to the word ‘Lessons’ in overly large writing. “There’s only one thing worse than being subjected to learning against my will.”

The parchment is ceremoniously unfolded and Voldemort blinks, rereading it to make sure he is not seeing things. “…Severus?”

Hydrus opens and closes his mouth at least three times in the search for words, which was impressive for a boy who always had something to say. “You know what? Yes. Absolutely. Not what I was going for but that’s better.” Hydrus finally says, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, and Alya ducks her head slightly to disguise her own laughter.

Voldemort sighs, dreading the day he might have to put Hydrus and Severus in the same room, and leans his jaw against his palm. “I suppose it bodes well I wasn’t at the top of the list. Maybe you’re coming to appreciate me.”

This time, Voldemort laughs at the absolute horror on Hydrus’ face as he realises how his joke has backfired.

Two weeks into the Hogwarts term, Voldemort has Hydrus write another letter for the traitorous Black and the wolf because, according to Snape, the two were antsy. Probably from the lack of contact with Hydrus. He doubts the letter will be enough for long, but it will buy time until he can make another plan and decide what to do.

Hydrus was coming around to his side of the war, especially knowing his friend was not in mortal danger, but not nearly so fast as to trust him to stand with them.

The boy pointedly folds up a piece of parchment in front of his desk. “Will you be reading over it for any coded messages or is it enough if I swear I don’t know morse code?” Hydrus asks dryly.

Voldemort asks for patience because it had long since been exhausted. “I trust you wouldn’t be so foolish.” He replies evenly, not looking up. Hydrus deposits the letter on the desk and chooses a chair to sit in as gracelessly as possibly just to annoy him. “I really need to have Lucius give you lessons on how an heir should act.” Voldemort remarks, glancing up from his work.

As expected, Hydrus pulls a rather disgusted face. “Sirius gave me plenty of lessons…his focus was just on breaking them.”

Voldemort truly isn’t surprised, but it was more satisfying than he would care to admit to slowly discover the rogue Black was far more like an older brother or uncle than a father figure despite the blood adoption. The same with the wolf. Neither man had taken up the absent role in Hydrus’ life despite it being clear how much he was desperate for any parental figure. After all, Hydrus ran halfway across the globe upon finding out he had a living parent.

This way, he might not have to get rid of the men who tried to encroach on his blood. Neither Alya nor Hydrus would react well if he murdered the pair.

“And I imagine those lessons were lacking. Even if you refuse it, you are an heir to Salazar Slytherin, and I expect you to uphold his name.” Hydrus doesn’t respond verbally however rebellion is written over his face. “I truly don’t understand why you act so reckless when you’ve admitted the hat wants you in Slytherin,” He complains then, because his heirs outright life-threatening behaviour was a cause for concern.

“Here for a good time, not for a long time,” Hydrus replies immediately, cheerily, and rolls his eyes when Voldemort looks at him flatly. “When the chance of actually having a future is pretty slim, the rules stop mattering so much.” Follows shortly after paired with a shrug, and there’s just enough nonchalance and venom in equal measure to show it’s not a conscious jab.

“We’ve been over the fact that is in the past. No one is out to kill you now, and certainly not me,” Voldemort snaps, frustrated at the bad blood that was proving remarkably difficult to wash away.

It’s when Hydrus doesn’t respond with even a scoff that he slowly looks up and realises his own mistake. “You didn’t mean me,” He says quietly, and Hydrus scowls at the fireplace. Voldemort thinks about the trial and how many times the filthy muggles left Hydrus to die despite thinking he was their blood, and he thinks of the walrus of a man proudly admitting he nearly drowned his supposed nephew for talking to a snake.

“I’ll kill them.” Voldemort declares simply, containing his own malice, as if he didn’t already have plans to do just that. “It won’t be hard to gain access to them after the trial.”

Hydrus looks up sharply, eyes blazing by the light of the fire. “No, you bloody well won’t!” The boy cries in outrage.

Voldemort sits forward in his seat, jaw set, refusing to even consider those muggles get to live because Hydrus is averse to homicide. “Why shouldn’t I?” He demands, posing the question quite simply to see if the boy has any true objection besides morals.

“Why should you?” Hydrus counters, eye flaring bright crimson, with a sneer on his face “They didn’t do anything to you – I’m the only one who should get to and I’m happy with the justice they’re getting.”

Voldemort folds his hands on the table. “We both know that’s not true justice,” He points out and keeps his voice level. “They’ll go to Azkaban, certainly, but that will hardly be a punishment. The dementors will feed on them, yes, but they won’t be able to see or understand it, the guards won’t punish them like they do the other prisoners. The other prisoners won’t even pay them attention because they’re just muggles. They will be uncomfortable and miserable, but they won’t suffer as they should and therefore there will be no justice.”

He spies the tic in Hydrus’ jaw that always seemed to signal when the boy realised he didn’t have any substantial arguments. “And if your issue is murder then they’re hardly innocent, are they? Death as punishment has been used for a very long time. If that’s too quick, then it can be drawn out.” He explains as academically as possible in case a lack of personal attachment might prove persuasive.

Hydrus outright scoffs. “It’s hard to be squeamish about the whole murder of innocents thing when you have your headmaster downplay you turning your professor to literal dust.”

Voldemort turns over the comment for a moment before leaning forward on the desk, jaw in hand. “It’s not exactly…a surprise to hear Dumbledore ignored it entirely. But Quirrell was not an innocent victim, Hydrus, I didn’t possess him and force him to help me, whatever Dumbledore claimed. Quirrell found me possessing snakes in Albania and he made the choice to bring me back to Britain. He wasn’t brave enough to let me use him, he even tried to offer up school children in his place. He was the worst kind of monster – the coward, much like Wormtail.”

He considers, for a moment, offering Wormtail up as a first trial before the Dursleys however Hydrus probably doesn’t want the man dead just yet. But his words do make Hydrus perk up slightly.

“– Was he really stupid enough to try and offer kids?” Hydrus frowns, a little disbelieving. “Because, being horrifying aside, did he want you to go to lessons all year? How could you even hide that?”

Voldemort chuckles. “I wasn’t particularly happy with him. It was far from an enjoyable year, I spent most of it horrified at the teaching standards.”

The door opens, Alya slipping in with raised eyebrows. “You’re both laughing… just what have I walked in on?” She asks, walking to a chair and briefly resting a hand on Hydrus’ shoulder along the way.

He smiles at her, “Casual but deserved homicide. Nothing you would disapprove of, dearest.”

Hydrus snorts outright and Alya rolls her eyes but he sees the smile that pulls at her lips. “It wasn’t all shop talk when we were courting, he had interests besides homicide back then.” Alya tells Hydrus, a hint of playfulness in her eyes when they catch his, and the boy ducks his head to hide a grin.

Voldemort sighs, leaning back in his chair once again. “Now Narcissa isn’t here to drink with you, have you created a new hobby out of tormenting me dearest?” He asks pleasantly.

She smiles back at him ever so sweetly. “Of course, Marvolo, I’m starved for entertainment. Besides, someone needs to encourage good behaviour in Hydrus.”

“I am encouraging good behaviour.”

Silently, Hydrus raises his palm parallel to the floor and gestures it side to the side in the universal gesture for ‘Kind of’.

“It’s deserved homicide!” He protests.

“Yeah, but I feel like you’re going to progress to encouraging homiecide against my friends and their families if I agree.”

Silence reigns for at least a minute. “Homicide.” Voldemort corrects, stressing the pronunciation, and almost wishes he had just ignored it.

“Homiecide,” Hydrus repeats confidently. “That’s when you murder friends and people you like, aka homies, aka homiecide.”

“Why do you hate the English language, Hydrus?”

Alya laughs outright.

“Because the word nincompoop exists, and I took offence to that.”

“Someone called you a nincompoop?”

“I had an English teacher who liked weird words like that. I turned her hair blue, and a teacher never liked me again, so I hold the English language personally responsible.”

He thinks, for a moment, Alya might chide the boy but she nods in agreement. She always did complain about the way British purebloods spoke.

“I’ll see you at dinner. No more tonight, take your grudge against the English language with you.” Voldemort dismisses, pinching the bridge of his nose, not sure why he continued to subject himself to this.

“I miss Ron and ‘Mione,” Hydrus mutters, seemingly a little put out before suddenly jumping out of his chair. “Wait, no, that’s freedom. Never mind, bye, see ya.”

If Hydrus bolted out of the door any faster, he might have left a cloud of smoke in his place like in a muggle cartoon.

Chapter Text

If Barty Crouch Jr found himself being threatened with a very thick book, then no one needed to know because no one else witnessed the event. No one else witnessed him acquiesce either because the door was closed and Nagini was nowhere to be seen. The convict had a year of experience watching Hydrus, after all, and there was no doubt the teenager would find a creative way to hurt him with it.

Threatening a Death Eater with the thickest book he could grab was only necessary because Hydrus had referred to his prison cell as his room and, seeing as this was war, he couldn’t let Voldemort know that. If anyone knew Hydrus might actually like the room, and even claimed some ownership of it, then Voldemort won and that couldn’t be allowed.

Hydrus Marvolo Black is no coward but is so stubborn he could possibly just tell death no and refuse to die, and therefore he can and will refuse to let Voldemort win.

Hydrus doesn’t know exactly what Voldemort would win but he just won’t allow it to happen.

The only reason any of this matters, however, is that Hydrus has come to appreciate the room that is definitely not his in a way that means he even willingly embraces sleep. His nightmares had eased here, and it was a very nice bed.

And, having willingly surrendered to sleep, Hydrus is woken by a hand over his mouth. For a moment he even wonders if Barty is scaring him for revenge, the wild thought only reasonable due to his panic, before his eyes adjust to the dark light.

“It’s just me,” Alya hushes him, voice a quiet whisper, which doesn’t help his still half-asleep brain. There’s still a hand over his mouth and it’s very dark outside the windows and the manor is silent. “Get dressed quickly. We’re leaving.”

For a moment he wonders if he heard her right, after all she’s so quiet he has to strain to listen, but her eyes are completely serious.

He nods to signal he understands, brain catching up, and she removes her hand. There’s a million questions in his head and it seems like an impossibility she’s found a way out, but infinitely worse is the strange feeling in his gut like he’s not sure leaving is the best option.

Clearly, he can still be stupid when he’s not sleep deprived. Of course he want’s to leave. This is a prison containing Voldemort and Death Eaters and his whole life is outside these walls.

Hydrus moves silently from years of practice with the Dursleys and some from sneaking around Hogwarts, grabbing the first shirt and pair of trousers he can find because he doubts it matters. Anything is better than escaping without a shirt.

This was a hostage situation and Alya had performed a miracle to get them out.

She leads the way in silence, clutching his arm the entire way, and he holds his breath when they leave the private wing. Nothing bad happens to them, there’s no signal they’ve been found out. They keep going but Hydrus thinks this was most likely the hard part and he lets out a quiet breath of relief.

And when they pass the doors of Riddle Manor, they make a break for it, running as if this might be what finally ends their luck. “Hold on,” Alya pants, coming to the bottom of the hill, pulling his arm lightly. “We’re past the wards,” And she apparates them both somewhere, he hopes, is far away.

Hydrus isn’t sure if he’s gasping for air at the rough landing or how his lungs burn. Maybe both. “How – how did you –” He forces the words out but can’t quite manage a full sentence, possibly because he barely trusted himself to breathe as they left the manor, and his lungs were done tolerating his abuse.

A hand rubs his back, and it somewhat helps. “I had a little help. My mother was an aide to the emperor when I was a child, and she taught me some invaluable skills.” Alya tells him, a little breathless herself, and while Hydrus would usually enjoy a little family history, they have just escaped. “I used my time with Marvolo wisely and tricked the rat, as you called him, into giving me access to an owl. I sent Sirius a message, and he should meet us here.”

“You just sent it to Sirius – with no address?” A little too panicked to think clearly, he already knows the obvious answer. Just like he knows the poor Death Eater owls simply leave the letters rather than seek out the recipient, because he tried to poke Voldemort about the letter he was forced to write. The letter would have gone to Grimmauld and the order, with no idea of any of this, would have gotten a letter signalling danger.

Hydrus pulls her down and out of the way of a spell he can’t identify. “The order thinks we’re the danger.”

And they run. Weaving between trees and uneven ground and Hydrus misses Hermione more than ever because she could come up with a plan through all the chaos. A tree root nearly trips him and his still uncoordinated limbs up but Alya steadies him.

“We need to split up,” She tells him and ploughs on when he tries to protest. Splitting up is always a bad idea. “Don’t stop running until you find Sirius, do you understand me?” She doesn’t actually wait for him to agree because he never will.

What Hydrus realises, when his body protests the night of sudden activity, is that there are spells flying in all directions. There’s a fight that isn’t just the order playing whack-a-mole with them. Hydrus slides down one hill as a Death Eater apparates just ahead.

Voldemort noticed then.

Fuck.

He changes course again, because he’s not running through a pond, and his only concern is finding Alya before Voldemort does.

A spell hits him in the back.

The pain hits first, or maybe that’s just the effect of falling down a hill and the rough ground, and he can’t hear anyone. The fact it’s hard to breath doesn’t change much because it wasn’t easy in the first place and he can barely notice a difference.

That pain all blends together, but he does feel cold water crash into him, and as darkness overtakes him, his only, rather hysterical, thought is that Narcissa would really be horrified at his hair now.

The darkness doesn’t last long.

He opens his eyes to the same trees but a lighter sky and no spells flying. That’s odd. Surely, he hadn’t just been left there overnight.

“Death is unhappy I stole his time, but he’s already had to chance to speak to you.”

It is hard to describe who stands before him. A being he knows must be Fate, because he’s been kidnapped to another plane enough by now, and they tower over him. Hardly anyone is taller than him these days, besides Voldemort. But Fate has dark skin like Hermione and varied features so androgynous he feels it would be rude to even try and guess how they identify.

“Fate,” He greets, and they smile at him warmly. He thinks. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s not really our first meeting, from my view. I’ve already met your soul.”

Hydrus blinks.

This probably wasn’t the best time to delve into souls.

Didn’t he fall into a pond?

“Time here isn’t direct to your world, Hydrus. We could talk here for days but I could still put you back mere moments after you arrived.” Fate explains and black eyes that were hazel a few seconds ago watch him curiously. Then Fate offers an arm, “Walk with me.”

He takes the arm.

“Death and Magic are worried about you, and what choices you might make. In all fairness, they’ve worried about you for a decade now so it’s nothing new. They could make a career out of worrying, in my opinion, and it always ruins our weekly games.”

“What games do you play?” Hydrus asks distractedly, even if it’s not the most important topic at hand. It would help if he could think clearly. He remembers water and cold. “I just can’t imagine the three of you playing charades. It’d be like playing monopoly with the Malfoys.”

Well, he could imagine that, but he’s sure either Lucius or Draco would simply try to buy the board with real money or claim lords don’t pay rent.

Coincidentally, a load of the muggle raised had snuck in board games from home in third year. Hydrus couldn’t, for obvious reasons, but he wasn’t the only one so didn’t stick out for it and everyone was invited equally.

Hermione quit early on because she tried to give a lesson on the history of the game and how it was a capitalist bastardisation of the original and no one wanted to hear it. Oddly enough, she only started on that rant when she owed Hydrus rent because she stabbed him in the back and ended their alliance to steal his railroad.

There was no mercy (and no forgiven rent) after that.

Hydrus immediately formed an alliance with Sue who owned Mayfair whilst he owned Park Lane.

The game never technically ended because they both refused to lose and someone else kicked over the board so they could move on.

If Sue hadn’t been distracted asking if Hermione was single and/or fruity, which in turn distracted Hydrus, then she probably would have been able to reset the game from memory.

“We tried twister once,” Fate says, bringing him out of his little reverie.

Back to the present, Hydrus thinks back to the important part of Fate’s words. “They’re worried I might join Voldemort, right?” He guesses.

“No. They’re worried that you won’t.”

Hydrus chokes on air. If there is any air. He supposes he’s just choking on his own surprise.

“They don’t want me to tell you that, of course, Magic prefers to be more subtle when we get involved. She’s terrible, we stopped playing chess because it took her a decade to make a move. But it’s hard for the world to right itself when wixen meddle in my designs.” Fate shakes their head, a smile still on their face.

Hydrus wonders, for a half a second, if the pillars of magic are ‘a little fruity’ as Sue would put it. He hates that course of thinking because it makes his head spin even more and he already feels like it might pop off as if he were a faulty bobble head. He watched Dudley shake one so hard the head flew through the air to freedom and broke a window in the process once.

“Why would they want me to join him?” He frowns and wonders whether Voldemort’s head would inflate if he knew the pillars of magic were on his side.

Oh, that would be awful.

“You’re a smart boy, Hydrus, you understand cause and effect. Your mother was always going to leave your father, she has too much self-respect to tolerate anyone lying to her like that and he was lucky enough she didn’t stay to hex him.” Fate laughs which encourages him to laugh but he’s still very preoccupied with the lethal levels of smugness Voldemort might reach.

Maybe the man never needed to know. Hydrus could just find Alya and then Sirius and Remus and never mention it. That would be fine, wouldn’t it?

He could just wake up in the forest…where he was almost definite bleeding. He could swear he felt the spell cut.

“It just wasn’t the plan for her to stay away. Your mother was meant to take the time to process it and go back, but a wixen meddled in something they shouldn’t have and so your father didn’t find out when he was meant to.”

Hydrus numbly processes this assertation that he was meant to grow up with Voldemort. That his life, who was is, was just a cosmic mistake. His life, the people he loves, everything about him, was just because someone interfered in fate.

That doesn’t feel fair.

“The effect being that he went batshit crazy and tried to kill a toddler.” He says, voice a little thick, not sure whether to be horrified or angry.

Fate chuckles. “Your father was never the most stable person but, even if he didn’t ask for a family, you both give him a perspective. You give him something beyond himself that he cannot isolate from. He became a Dark Lord because he wanted to be right but, for you, he would have fought for a magical Britain to create a better world.” They look at him with something that might be sympathy. “This doesn’t mean your life is wrong, Hydrus, and it doesn’t make you a mistake. It has just drawn out what shouldn’t have been.”

Hydrus tried to imagine Voldemort the caring father and he can’t quite do it. “He mentioned a prophecy,” He says instead, thinking back to something Voldemort has dodged since claiming it as a reason he wanted him dead.

“Ah, the prophecy.” Fate repeats and draws out the words like they taste bad. “That is where our meddling wixen came in. There is a prophecy, and it’s even about you Hydrus, but they were looking for something to use against your father. I gave a prophecy, they heard it, and then distorted it to get back to your father.”

His mouth is so dry it’s like sandpaper. He should know, he licked it once in primary school. “You mean Dumbledore, right?” Hydrus guesses. “Dumbledore manipulated a prophecy…so it was his fault the Potters went into hiding and Alya went with them. So, Voldemort didn’t notice she was pregnant, and she couldn’t change her mind.”

Fate nods.

“Did he read the will too? Was everything in my life because of him –”

A large hand pets his hair comfortingly.

He remembers thinking Narcissa would be mad about his hair, but he can’t remember why.

“I can’t answer that for you, Hydrus, but Dumbledore was consumed by his own selfishness and guilt a long time ago. He is willing to do anything to stop what he sees as evil, and as far as he is concerned the ends justify the means. As much as they both hate it, he and your father are a lot alike in that way.” Fate shares, lacking any amusement. “I can’t reverse what’s been done but I can help guide the future, and you can help finally end this Hydrus. You are capable of so much; you’ve barely even scratched the surface of your true potential.”

They keep walking through an unending forest but it’s nice, peaceful, somewhere he could relax in the light of day.

“What’s the real prophecy about?” Hydrus asks curiously because, if it’s about him, he probably has the rights to know.

Fate laughs, and the more he hears it the nicer it sounds. “Do you remember what happened before you came here?”

“I was…there was a spell. It hit me. It bloody hurt too. And I was falling, I think the hill hurt more.” His breath catches. “There was water. There was a pond – I remember hitting the pond. Because it was going to ruin my hair and Narcissa always complains about it.”

Fate lets him come to it in his own time and he’s thankful for it.

“…Am I dead?” He whispers.

Apparently, he wasn’t stubborn enough to say no to death.

On the list of things that had done a better job at trying to kill him than Voldemort, the pond and the order just joined Dobby.

A large hand swipes through his hair again.

“Do you feel dead?” Fate questions gently.

Hydrus shakes his head.

“You’re not dead. Not in the traditional sense, or the mortal sense. You, Hydrus, were chosen for something very special. I told you I’ve met your soul before. Death to you isn’t the same as a typical mortal and you are far from one of them.” Fate releases his arm to turn and look at him, or rather down at him.

“There is the reason we visit you. You are far more like us than you are a wixen, because we saw your soul and deemed you worthy of a certain privilege. And because of that, you can be with us whenever you wish. So, whatever you choose to do from now on, choose for yourself, because we trust your judgement. It is time you finally got to choose for yourself, Hydrus. You have a long life ahead of you, don’t spend it clinging to others at your own expense.”

Hydrus gasps air into burning lungs, keenly aware he aches everywhere, and finds he’s a bit cold too. Really cold, so much he’d shiver if he could feel more, and it’s probably because of the pond he’s still in.

Dark sky, trees more like ominous shadows, the distant sound of spells flying.

The order just killed him.

Hydrus has a very long history of putting his trauma into a box and throwing it away, so he decides to celebrate that time honoured tradition once again.

There’s no time to think, after all, because there’s a good chance they’ve made a mistake by running.

So, he channels his inner Hermione Granger and divides up his time. One minute for wringing out his hair and zero minutes for processing the fact he had technically been dead, and two minutes for formulating a plan.

Step one, find Alya and convince her they need to go back.

Step two, pray Sirius and Remus don’t die from stress so they can later forgive him. Possibly. He’ll settle for them just not dying.

Step three, find Voldemort and hope there’s no megalomaniac speech in the works.

That would ruin step one and two, because he really needs to talk to the man at least. Hydrus is a little sceptical, still, about considering Voldemort might be right despite getting it directly from the mouth of Fate, but the man also knows a lot about magic.

Hydrus would quite like to know about his little death problem and the bastard was the best bet.

He delegates five full seconds to the realisation he actually was stubborn enough to refuse to die.

That was probably a victory.

Hydrus Black – 1, Death – 0.

(He would count the failed Avada Kedavra as a toddler, but he’s pretty sure that was all on Lily Potter and he won’t take the credit there.)

The next issue is, as already proven, no one in the order recognises him and are very happy to try and take his bloody head off. Which means Hydrus must duck and dodge a lot of spells and make some unflattering noises in the process as he tries to find Alya.

When he does find her, he nearly tackles them both into the floor by crashing into her.

“What happened to you,” His mother demands immediately, tugging him down to grab his cheek and inspect him. Huh, there must have been some damage from the temporary death thing. He’ll appreciate the genuine concern in the middle of danger later, when the danger has stopped.

“I can’t explain here – I – something happened. Something big,” He shakes his head, ignorant to the tremble of a body that’s still trying to function normally. “We need to…you’re gonna hate this. We need to go back.”

It occurs to him a moment later, as her eyes search his face, she’s looking for signs he’s been cursed. In all fairness, before he talked to Fate, he would have worried too. “We need to regroup. Out of the forest.”

That can work with his plan, even if he’d rather not do the running thing again.

Spells soar around them and he doesn’t understand half of them or why the order are attacking like this. Wasn’t this just creating more danger? But he also hadn’t understood why Dumbledore was as useless as he was until Fate ironed that out.

A lot of the spells land and sting and Hydrus only strikes back defensively with flames that hold no real heat. They’ll probably hurt, but they won’t kill, and it’s more than can be said for some spells they’re throwing.

The edge of the forest, and hopefully the edge of the anti-disapparition jinx, is in sight and Hydrus glances back once again to see if he can raise a wall of flames and give them an advantage, but he sees yet another spell he can’t identify fly their way and it’s too fast for them both to dodge this time.

It’ll probably worry Alya if he takes it, but he’ll be fine in the end.

He’s shoved out of the way first.

Time stops, and what he sees is time in repeat.

Hydrus sees a killing curse hit Lily Potter because she won’t move aside.

Hydrus watches Cedric Diggory lose his life because they got so attached they decided to share a victory.

Now, Hydrus watches Alya Black take a spell for him.

“No.”

He catches her before she can fall, and it still takes him a moment to realise he whispered it. “Mum…you’re okay…mum!”

There’s a circle of flames he can’t remember creating around them, rising high into the sky, he can’t even see the trees through them, and he brings her down to the floor carefully so he can check the wound.

He doesn’t have a wand.

Not that he’s ever been good with healing spells.

Hydrus has never called her mum before and he wonders if he’s ever going to get the chance again.

“I turn my back for a moment, and you start a skirmish.”

He forces himself to look up and away from Alya, as much as he’s terrified she’ll die if he does, to find Voldemort stood there. The serpentine glamour falls away and Hydrus looks back to Alya bleeding over the forest floor.

“Help her,” He demands, forcing his voice not to break. “She’s going to die – help her.”

His hands are so red, why are they so red? What sort of spell had they used?

“She’s betrayed me twice now, why should I give her a chance to do so again?” Voldemort replies, crouching down on her other side and running a thumb over her cheek.

Hydrus stares at him.

He knows Voldemort cares, somewhere in that pathetic excuse for a heart, and he knows Voldemort cares for her. Hydrus knows it by the way Voldemort still calls her by that stupid pet name, and the way he looked at her, and the way she only needed to glare to cow him into submission.

Hydrus knows Voldemort cares because he has met Fate now and, in some strange world, they were meant to have been a family.

But Hydrus cannot call his bluff because Alya is dying between them and he won’t gamble her life.

“Then help me.” He says quietly. “I’ll do anything. Whatever bullshit deal you want, I don’t care, just save her.”

Voldemort looks at him consideringly. “You know what I want, Hydrus.”

He swallows hard. “Like I said. Anything. I accept I’m your son and I accept I’m the heir to Slytherin and I’ll accept anything else you want if you save her.”

Hydrus feels the magic settle, reversing what he had accidentally lain down weeks ago.

Sirius and Remus had returned to an empty Grimmauld place which was odd because it was never empty these days, and promptly found an open letter on the kitchen table.

And then Sirius had grabbed Remus and portkeyed them both because the order didn’t understand, and his ring had gotten unbearably hot. He had never had reason to feel the old magic tied to the ring signalling danger, but he recognises it all the same and it makes Sirius feel sick.

A wall of fire rises so high among the trees it acts like a beacon and they run towards it. The fire is putting itself out by the time they reach it.

“No! Don’t,” Remus yells at the sight of raised wands and physically grabs Arthur’s.

“That’s Harry – it’s Harry!” Sirius shouts, running straight past them to the unconscious boy on the forest floor.

There’s a moment of silence.

“Have you lost what’s left of your mind Black.” Mad Eye growls out, and Remus wisely doesn’t try to smack that wand down.

Sirius is too busy combing over cuts, bruises, blood, and soaking wet clothes. He’s not sure what scares him more.

“He’s telling the truth! For Merlin’s sake, put your wands down.” Remus snaps viciously, the mild-mannered wolf breaking his own habits for the sake of their pup and their shared panic.

Tonks holsters her wand, willingly, first. “Is it a glamour?” She asks, proving yet again why she’s one of his favourite relatives.

“No.” Sirius says firmly, only looking up again when he’s sure his pup isn’t in danger. “Before was a glamour. He’s our cousin, Tonks, we found out at Gringotts. He’s adopted, and I don’t know how he got here, because we thought he was with his birth mum.”

Harry, he thinks, never would have dropped contact like that by choice. His instincts had screamed something wasn’t alright, but he ignored them every time Snape claimed Voldemort still knew nothing.

He never should have ignored his instincts. He should have gone after his pup the moment the letter claimed he couldn’t write so often.

Sirius isn’t sure what happened here, but he can’t help but feel it’s his fault.

Chapter Text

The ache starts first. There’s quiet chatter in the background, and he recognises the voices before he even opens his eyes, but there’s an odd warmth fighting off the ache in his muscles. It’s similar to Riddle manor, although considerably stronger, so it’s easy to conclude that it’s just the Black family magic.

Of everything Hydrus found to hate about his situation, he couldn’t quite hate the way the Slytherin family magic smothered him. It took half a century of layering wards over Riddle manor for magic to lay claim to the grounds, and it would never compare to the ancestral pureblood homes, but it was a constant presence regardless.

Hydrus had always been desperate for any claim to family, but the fact the feeling was rather comforting helped too.

In contrast to Riddle manor, the air here is…stuffy. Like no one cared to take much care of the place, much less open some windows and get some fresh air through. The lights, when Hydrus opens his eyes, are also dim.

It is nothing like the manor, but it’s not like Hydrus was expecting to wake up there anyway.

“Careful there,” He hears first, and quickly realises it’s Remus. “You’re pretty banged up, and Mad-eye wouldn’t let us bring you ‘round until he had all the proof he needed.”

That stings a little. It’s probably just his own guilt though, so he moves to sit up.

Sirius is sitting right next to Remus, looking absolutely miserable, and Hydrus only feels a little regretful that he’s lost his cover. If he’s going to lose his old life, it might as well be a spectacular end.

“Ow.” Hydrus groans aloud.

Remus chuckles.

“What did you think you were doing?” Sirius barks, strangely acting as the designated adult for once. Maybe it’s because he’s worried for his godson and maybe it’s because some weird magic happened to cause Sirius and Remus to swap bodies. If asked, Hydrus leans towards the latter. “A month with only one letter, and one that isn’t like at all you at that, and then you send a note saying you’re in danger – for us to send help!”

Apparently done with his rant, Sirius nods to himself breathlessly and crosses his arms.

Hydrus resists the urge to ask if he got hit by a spell too, because that might clear up the odd behaviour. Instead, he winces. “When I found Alya…we got kidnapped by Death Eaters not long after.”

There was an odd reputation around Hogwarts, half the school seemed to believe Hydrus was an awful liar. Along the way, Sirius and Remus picked up the assumption too. He understands where it came from, because he’s very good at pinpointing where his life went wrong, he never cared enough to try to lie about his adventures when caught and his temper always came on a bit too fast to hide.

Sue teased him about it, ribbing him in the halls whenever the opportunity arose, but that was because she knew it wasn’t true. They understood each other well, it’s why they got along so easily, and they both knew what it was like to learn how to survive at a young age. Lying was essential for people like them but it was even more important to hide just how good you were at it.

It never crossed his mind that he might have to weaponize that same skill against the people he cared about.

“…Oh, Harry.” Sirius whispers, suddenly stricken, face falling.

His attention is caught between how strange it was to be called Harry again and the fresh sting of guilt. “Alya got a message out. She didn’t have much chance to explain, but she woke me up and we escaped. But as soon as we did, the order arrived, and they were throwing spells and then the Death Eaters arrived too and…” It’s no lie when his breath catches, mouth turning dry as the memory hits him again. “She got hit by one of the order’s spells. A Death Eater must have grabbed her.”

Both men move at once, seizing Hydrus in a hug that squeezes the life out of him, and they talk over each other.

“Did they hurt you?”

“I’m so sorry pup, Merlin’s balls I should have known something was wrong, I’m sorry.”

“You never have to go back there again – we’ll make them all pay for it.”

Even if Hydrus could move, he doesn’t think he could bring himself to hug back, to steal that comfort when he’s lying to their faces. They deserve so much better than this.

“No,” He chokes out. “Apparently it all meant something big. There was some kind of prophecy, and it was why Voldemort always wanted me dead. But it never even meant me, not now, so I guess they were trying to understand it. And then my abilities made me too valuable to just kill.”

Weaving truth into a lie always worked best, being just plausible enough to raise no suspicion, but he doubts the two would have noticed even if his story made no sense.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now and we’ll…we’ll save Alya too. We will, pup, I swear.” Remus comforts, letting him go and pulling Sirius with him so Hydrus can breathe.

Hydrus smiles back weakly because it’s too late, he’s already taken care of that part. He sold his soul for it.

“Dumbledore’s downstairs,” Sirius admits then with a grimace, none too pleased about the fact. “He really wanted to talk to you when you woke up. Refused to leave, kept insisting on it, and made us promise to ask.”

“You can tell him to piss off.” Remus suggests seriously.

Sirius nods vigorously, like a dog might wag its tail in agreement. “If you do talk to him, it’s gonna be a private chat and we made him swear to be quick so we can get some healing potions in you. Snape was a prick about sending any and Moody was worse.”

“It’s fine. It was inevitable, right?” Hydrus shakes his head, not quite faking his reluctance but definitely hiding the sick feeling in his gut, because this was good.

Wasn’t it better to rip of the plaster quickly?

Suddenly, he’s keenly aware of the weight of a wand in his stupid expanded pockets. Voldemort must have left it. The bastard.

“Better get this over quickly,” Sirius grimaces, helping him up to his feet, and immediately makes a show of how tall he’s gotten. He’s almost taller than his godfather now, something hard to really capture over a floo call.

Hydrus can’t laugh with them or even appreciate their banter, and he imagines they must think he’s traumatised from a month surrounded by Death Eaters. He can’t laugh with them because he’s busy seeking out the heat of every individual in the house.

Sirius and Remus retreat, just slightly, leaning into each other to talk quietly like it will stop the rest of the word existing. Not for the first time, but possibly the last, Hydrus thinks that they always look like it’s meant to form a circle and they’re leaving space for someone else.

They’re probably worried about him.

And Hydrus strikes.

“I’m sorry.”

Flames circle them, not even a foot high, but they burn with a magic that confines them. Elemental magic was funny like that, the things you could do with just the base understanding of your element, you could make a prison of nothing at all.

So long as the flames burn, they’re imprisoned just like everyone else.

Well, all but one.

“I made a deal,” Hydrus says because he owes them an explanation, or something close to it, if he’s going to be yet another name on the list of those who hurt them. “She was hurt. She was hurt bad, for me. She took a spell for me. So, I made a deal to save her.” He wonders if he sounds as desperate as he feels.

“Harry, what did you do?” Sirius asks, voice surprisingly soft, never looking away from him while Remus eyes the flames.

Hydrus sucks in air through gritted teeth. “My birth father…you know all the – all the bad possibilities? It was the worst-case scenario. The worst one. And there’s so much… so much I can’t explain, and I can’t tell you half of it right now and – and you’re going to hate me.”

His voice cracks as he thinks about all the people he’s going to lose. The Weasleys who treated him like family, Ron and Hermione, Sirius and Remus, and McGonagall will be so disappointed.

Probably not Sue, though the thought is bittersweet, Sue might just find the whole thing morbidly amusing.

“You’re going to hate me.” Hydrus repeats, forcing his voice to be just a bit stronger. “But I had to make a deal, I had to, ‘cause I couldn’t watch her die. I couldn’t. And I’m okay with you hating me for it, I am, but I’m sorry.” It’s hard to stop himself talking, in the same way he can’t stop his hands shaking, but he swipes one thankfully blood free hand across his face.

“Harry –” Remus says, voice ever so quiet and not at all judging, which really just makes it worse.

So, Hydrus shakes his head, “I really am sorry.” He flees quickly and calms himself down on the walk to the only other free inhabitant of the house. Hydrus feels for his wand as he approaches the kitchen door but doesn’t take it out and pauses briefly to take one more deep breath.

If there wasn’t a strange element to every conversation he’s ever had with Dumbledore, then he might have been phased by the fact the old man stands upon seeing him. Hydrus thinks he can finally understand why, if only slightly.

“Headmaster.” Hydrus greets, leaning against an old kitchen cabinet.

“Harry, my dear boy, I wish you would have come to me.” Dumbledore replies, forgoing a polite greeting entirely.

“Would you have let me go find Alya?”

Dumbledore watches him, eyes lacking their usual twinkle behind half-moon glasses, with what Hydrus thinks might be suspicion.

“It was a very dangerous thing to do. As proven by the events of last night,” The old man shakes his head as if disappointed. Hydrus bites his tongue to stop himself pointing out it was the order who attacked them for no reason. “I trust you talked to her enough to satisfy your curiosity?”

Casting a line for information. He’s a little surprised, Hydrus always knew Dumbledore was using him because there was no reason for the stone to be guarded behind traps a first year could pass just like there was no reason a family heirloom should be returned just when a magical mirror sat in an abandoned classroom. But with any and all fondness for the man gone, Dumbledore simply felt…transparent.

“You can just ask, headmaster,” Hydrus comments dryly, one hand resting on the counter just behind him. “But I think, like me, you knew as soon as you saw my face. We both had the advantage of knowing Tom Riddle in some way.”

And Hydrus disarms Dumbledore before blue eyes can widen.

His holly wand sits in his hand. Bastard, Hydrus thinks again, and hopes that if he thinks the word hard enough then Voldemort might hear it.

“I’m pretty sure you read the will before you sealed it, but you can confirm that if you like. I guess you didn’t know who she’d been courting either. Feels like a bit of a stretch, doesn’t it?”

Dumbledore says nothing.

“I feel like I should be thankful for that. If you guessed I was basically the antichrist then who knows how much worse my childhood might have been. You left me with the Durlseys before I had tainted genes.”

“I knew she certainly courted a Death Eater. I hoped you might not be tainted by dark magic, that the steps they took would save you from it.”

Hydrus was so stupid. Morgana help him, he clearly needs it. “The steps they took.” He echoes, grip on his wand tightening. “You knew about the blocks on my magic. They said there were spells – blood glamours and tracking spells wouldn’t save me from dark magic. You knew about the blocks.”

Possibly deciding it wasn’t best to further upset the teenager with a wand, Dumbledore slowly nods. “I performed my own rudimentary spell, to see what they used. I couldn’t tell exactly what they blocked but I knew they restricted your magic.”

“Were you ever going to tell me? What would you have done if I didn’t find out myself?” Hydrus asks, not really wanting an answer but still giving the man a moment to try. “…You wouldn’t have told me. You would have let me die – you wanted me to die.”

He laughs, on the edge of hysterical, despite it really not being an appropriate time to lose it.

“I took no pleasure in the thought,” Dumbledore says plainly, but he notes there’s a difference between wanting it and enjoying it. “There is more to this than you can understand, Harry, and sacrifices must be made.”

Hydrus laughs harder.

Four years of this grandfatherly act, of Hydrus trying to earn scraps of attention, and all Dumbledore saw was a rapidly approaching expiration date.

“It was for the best, Harry. Dark magic consumes us, twists our mind.” Dumbledore continues, as if he might be able to regain control of the situation. “You needed a clear mind and compassion, you needed to be able to make the right choice. And it is our choices that define us. Tom made all the wrong choices, but you don’t have to. I just wanted to give you a better chance.”

His laughter cuts off at the same time he throws a fireball next to the headmaster’s head.

“My choices don’t mean shit!” Hydrus snaps, hysteria being burnt up by rage. “How are my choices meant to mean anything when you’ve been fucking with my life this entire time? You faked a prophecy – you left me with people who despised me. And, without even realising it, you repeated the exact same sin with the father and the son.”

Harry Potter was a cosmic mistake, never meant to exist, and his choices meant nothing when Dumbledore played puppet master his entire life. His life was wrong, and this world was wrong, and, as far as Hydrus can tell, it is all Dumbledore’s fault.

Hydrus reigns in his temper because his emotions are running wild and high right now. Too wild to think straight at the very least.

“I’m kinda glad this was what he asked, cause it’s going to be surprisingly easy. Never thought I’d say that either. And, for the record, this isn’t corruption by dark magic, no matter what you claim. You just…really suck.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t be tempted like this,” The old man looks more disappointed than sad, and it’s as if he’s aged a few decades in minutes. “I feared it from the moment your temper got the best of you in my office, that removing the temptation of the Black magics and whichever Death Eater spawned you wasn’t enough, but I thought you might have been made strong enough to resist.”

Fire didn’t feel the same to him since Gringotts, no matter how close he got to a fireplace the pain never came, and it’s why it takes him a moment to realise another ball of fire sits in his palm. That’s a poor way to describe the flames covering his balled-up fist, begging to be truly let free.

Having his element close grounds him so he doesn’t disperse it yet.

“You’re the worst.” Hydrus scoffs. “If this were a competition, you’d be the surprise winner. Voldemort exists and you somehow came up in the last minute to beat him. At least you know he’s a prick when you meet him, there’s no white cap to hide behind.”

There is always a bigger fish. Or, Hydrus revises, a bigger asshole.

“The hardest part about this is that I’m going to lose people I love because of you. Not for the first time, everything I’ve lost has been because of you, but I’m going to lose my friends because of you now too. But I can live with that, I know I can, because you deserve this. Deserve to go pretty unceremoniously in a Black family kitchen with no witnesses and no grand fight. That’s how you set up the Potters to die, with little fanfare, alone.”

Hydrus clutches his wand tight, but Dumbledore doesn’t look disappointed or sad anymore. He looks angry, hackles raised against his fate, mask finally off.

“I am protecting witches and wizards, our entire world, like I have for a century! None of you have any idea of the things I have done and the things I have sacrificed. For the bigger picture, and the greater good. Will you stop being so selfish and understand the safety of our world is more important than you and your hurt feelings – you foolish child, Tom is trying to empower the dark!”

This time, Hydrus doesn’t let his anger free. The flames go out and his hand doesn’t shake, because all he sees is an old man controlled by his own bitterness and regret.

“Well…seeing as I am a dark creature, I’m okay with that.” He shrugs with one arm and smirks, raising his wand with the other. “Thanks for nothing, Albus.”

He takes only one breath before he casts it.

“Avada Kedavra.”

The green light is almost blinding, but maybe that’s because he swore to himself if he was going to use this curse then he would have to watch the result too. No turning away, no pretending he hadn’t.

Hydrus doesn’t feel all that different for having cast it.

Then his knees buckle, and the counter doesn’t hold him up and he slides down to a floor that’s probably dirty. He still clutches his wand tightly, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, and Hydrus tries not to be sick.

The garish salmon of Dumbledore’s robes peeks out from the other side of the table.

Hydrus doesn’t know which emotion he feels, because he’s feeling far too many at once and they all fight for dominance, but he’s glad it’s not too strong yet. It means he can remain disconnected for now.

Slowly, the urge to be sick fades so he assumes it’s safe to stand up again. A little wobbly still but that might have just been the past twenty-four hours weighing on limbs he’s only just becoming used to.

Time to go, he thinks, and only pauses to take Dumbledore’s wand. In for a penny, in for a pound, it’s all the proof needed.

He doesn’t bring down the circles of fire keeping the rest of the house hostage until he reaches the front door and feels a sting of guilt for what he’s left them to find as he hears doors around the house burst open. That doesn’t mean he lingers though; he bolts out of the house and down the street before he uses the spell Voldemort hastily taught him to take him back to the manor.

The door to his study opens just harshly enough to signal it’s someone with no care for antiques, and there’s very few people with access to his study who have that kind of attitude. Voldemort doesn’t have time too look up before a very familiar wand is placed on his desk.

“Is she okay?” Hydrus demands, arms crossed, looking no better than he had in the forest a few hours ago. At least now he was dry, but Voldemort is still distracted by the fact the order hadn’t even healed him in the hours they had him.

It’s not enough of a distraction for Hydrus to notice, but it’s enough to frustrate Voldemort.

“She will live,” Voldemort nods. “Narcissa is taking care of her personally, however she recommends a magical coma for the next week.” And he doesn’t admit that she was currently taking up residence in his own suite.

He meant it when he pointed out her betrayals, time and time again she proved he didn’t mean half as much to her as she did him, and his temper had flared white hot when he found Hydrus’ room empty.

Wormtail was residing in the dungeons for allowing himself to be manipulated so easily.

Yet, Voldemort couldn’t let her die. Hydrus had been too distracted and too upset to notice the spell already freezing her wounds and keeping her alive, or to gamble her life. Instead, Voldemort had made his own gamble on what Hydrus might do. The boy had a knack for staying alive and had more friends than enemies in the order, so Voldemort had taken the risk of sending him into battle.

He was right, clearly.

“Good.” Hydrus nods to himself and then leans on the arm of one of the chairs. “I talked to Fate.”

Carefully, Voldemort closes his mouth and then closes his book, forgetting to scold the boy for treating the furniture so terribly in the process. “Fate?” He repeats.

Another nod. “I’m not going to go over everything they said but it was important.”

Voldemort abandons the work on his desk entirely. “How did you talk to Fate?” He questions and already knows he will hate the answer.

Only encouraging his fears, Hydrus grimaces. “Technically, I drowned.”

Precisely forty seconds pass as Voldemort processes the words.

“No big deal, according to Fate at least. I’m a little sore a spell from the order got me, and I feel like you should be sore a pond did what you couldn’t do many times over. But that’s a different issue.” Hydrus carries on, showing absolutely no regard for the concept of mortality or how it pertains to him.

As ashamed as he is to admit it, Voldemort is still caught up on Hydrus having died in any sense of the word.

“Dumbledore faked whatever prophecy you heard,” Hydrus finishes and brings Voldemort’s attention back to the present.

The horcrux is still safe, untouched if ruffled, so it wasn’t a true death and that’s enough to satisfy him for now. “There was a prophecy, I know that for a fact.” He counters.

Hydrus shrugs, because his heir has no sense of decorum. “Yeah, but Dumbledore altered whatever got back to you on purpose. I don’t know what the real prophecy says but, in a really funny way, it’s apparently still about me.” The boy visibly considers what he wants to say next. “It’s probably something to do with Fate saying I’m more like them than a wixen. Y’know, the three of them do games nights, so I’m just throwing it out there that you should make your Death Eaters try it.”

He allows himself another thirty seconds to process, quickly discarding the suggestion probably meant to cause chaos.

“I can’t claim surprise, I’ve had the belief the pillars of magic marked you in some way for weeks.” Voldemort admits and gets a roll of mismatched eyes in return. “There’s another point, I’m guessing.”

Hydrus looks rather like a pouting child. Probably because he is still, technically, a child and is definitely pouting. “This is going to raise your ego through the roof,” Hydrus complains childishly, and Voldemort cannot resist the urge to smirk in anticipation. “Fate may have suggested…that all three of them think you might have some points. Like one or two, with the whole war thing.”

His smirk turns to a fully fledged smile. “Fate thinks you should side with me,” He guesses.

A groan. “Don’t look too smug, Fate basically called you unstable and the only other option was Dumbledore.”

It doesn’t dull his mood as all, so he simply tilts his head to watch his heir. “Are you actually going to listen to the pillars of magic?”

Hydrus swipes a hand through his messy hair. “Depends. What are your actual plans with muggleborns? Cause you can’t deny Hermione is the most brilliant witch at Hogwarts right now and something like a muggleborn registry is insane.”

Voldemort sighs from sheer exhaustion, the kind that only accompanied Hydrus and Voldemort still isn’t sure if that is simply the burden of parenthood or if it’s an exhaustion Hydrus elicits in everyone. He might owe Lucius an apology or two if it’s the former.

“I’ve told you I don’t hate muggleborns. Those already at Hogwarts would be a special case, they’ll be given a choice of attending Hogwarts while magic is removed from their parent’s minds or keeping their wand but not being able to attend. If they try to reveal magic to muggles then they will be trialled, and if they attend Hogwarts their families will simply believe they attend an exclusive boarding school like all other muggles. We’ll be removing younger muggleborns, like I’ve already said, and there will be classes for all muggle raised to learn about our traditions. Your muggleborn won’t lose anything so long as she doesn’t fight me.”

Hydrus frowns at the floor.

For just a second, the errant thought that he nearly lost them both last night crosses his mind.

“Hogwarts will remain the same. Mostly. We’ll be removing the bias there, teaching about classifications of magic and removing the restrictions. History of magic will teach why we went into hiding and Grindelwald as well as other magical countries, while muggle studies will teach why we need to separate ourselves and about the actual innovation’s muggles have made. Slowly, we’ll bring back the classes Dumbledore removed, because we now offer the worst education in Europe, and the opportunity for students to complete their masteries there. There will be no murder on the streets, Hydrus, and especially not in Hogwarts. Open warfare and raids were a response to the way the light attacked us first.”

He stands, slowly, cautiously, and approaches Hydrus before placing his hands on still too bony shoulders. There was no reversing a decade of neglect in only a month. Hydrus reluctantly looks up at him.

“I’m not a good person, Hydrus. We both know that. But I vowed as a Dark Lord to protect the dark, to protect our people, and I saw no other way to do that than violence. This time…this time is different. But sometimes we must make a difficult choice when our enemies take the form of people like Dumbledore, or muggles who abuse what power they have. Should we find muggleborns in the care of people like your Dursleys then we will kill those responsible. We will because people who enable that kind of abuse cannot be tolerated.”

Surprisingly, Hydrus doesn’t flinch away, instead nodding almost imperceptibly. Voldemort wonders just what happened in those few hours with the order.

“What about the order – Ron, the twins, ‘Mione and Ginny, they don’t know anything but what they’ve been taught.”

Voldemort takes the time to truly consider it. He feels little mercy after the events in Galloway Forest and he didn’t much like any of Dumbledore’s associates, but they were all dear to Hydrus. “There are some members of the order who will decide their own fate. Shacklebolt will be given a choice, because his family is important, and he has always attempted fairness at the ministry. But Moody, even if he hadn’t destroyed so many families, will never allow change. Others won’t be harmed so long as they don’t attack first.” Silently cursing himself, Voldemort only pauses before offering the true olive branch. “If their children try to take up the fight…we will be non-lethal for so long as they’re underage.  Most of the order were recruited from childhood from what I’m told, so I will give them the chance to understand Dumbledore deceived them.”

It was far too lenient. Lucius will decry it later, call it a tactical blunder. But it is still worth it to bring Hydrus in willingly.

“If blood supremacists start going crazy with muggleborns, I’m out. And I hear the ‘M’ word then I throw hands.” Hydrus huffs but still doesn’t shake him off.

Voldemort supposes that’s progress. “I’ll make it clear they’re to reign themselves in.”

Chapter Text

The door opens when he is, somewhat embarrassingly, inspecting himself in the mirror to take note of all the cuts and bruises he amassed in the forest. Hydrus hadn’t felt half the spells hit because there’s more than he counted, and there’s one long one cutting across his back.

Probably the one that took him out.

Not sure who it is, and very much hoping it’s not Barty come to be smug, Hydrus pulls on a shirt and leaves the bathroom only to nearly fall over his own feet.

Professor Snape sighs heavily upon seeing him, face twisted in something akin to pain.

“How much does it suck that you can’t take house points off me right now?” He grins, after taking a minute to process Snape is currently in his room, and immediately finds himself on the end of the most disdainful glare the man might have ever given. It was a fair question, considering Snape once docked points for looking at the board too often.

“Your attitude hasn’t improved at all, I see.” Snape complains and Hydrus resists the urge to ask him why he thought that might ever happen. He has it on good authority that his attitude was half his charm, Ginny once told him his contribution to Gryffindor was sass, flying and his boyish good looks. Also, chaos, but that was really the twins’ area of expertise. Worse still was when both Fred and George looked him over and agreed.

Actually, no, it was worse when Hermione and Ron both shrugged and agreed though Hermione argued he brought adventure to their trio rather than flying.

Hydrus voices nothing and shrugs at his professor instead. If Snape still is his professor, because he’s probably never going back to Hogwarts at this rate.

“Our lord requested I bring healing potions and check you over for any more damage. What a coincidence I had been gathering healing potions to send to the order as well.”

He resists the urge to flinch, mind straying to how Sirius and Remus must be feeling right now. How long until Hermione and Ron find out too? He’s made his peace with losing them, he has, yet his mind keeps returning to what his friends might think of him now.

Snape takes his lapse in cheek to cast a diagnostic charm. “How lucky we are, the damage is all superficial. Take two potions and the cuts should heal up.” The man declares disinterestedly.

Refusing to break old habits, Hydrus makes a bad decision. “Lemme guess; you don’t approve.”

Neither of them look at each other, he keeps his eyes on the wardrobe while the potions master busies himself taking out two bottles from his bag. “My opinion doesn’t change what has been done, Pott – you made a choice and that is yours to live with now.” Snape shakes his head dismissively, stumbling over his former name, but pauses as he puts the bottles down. “Your methods were utterly blatant and could have been disastrous…but there are few who deserved it as much as he did. What matters now is whether or not you think it was worth it.”

Dumbledore’s life for Alya’s felt like a fair trade at the time, even if he wasn’t sure whether the man actually deserved death. There hadn’t been much time to reason it out and he’s tried not to think about it in the hours since, mainly due to his own fear about not feeling as hollow as he thought he would after using an unforgivable.

Hydrus thinks about the man who knew for fourteen years he would die, who cared more about his own view of magic than the real lives he was playing with, and who faked the prophecy that got the Potters killed.

Stopping that man from harming anyone else was worth it, he decides, at least no one else would be used as a pawn in the grand game Dumbledore was playing.

He snatches up one of the potions because he can’t quite stand being idle anymore. “Has it…has it gone public yet?” Hydrus asks quietly, turning it over in his hands, wishing he might be able to explain to his friends.

“The ministry has been informed but I doubt your name was mentioned. It hasn’t been reported yet and it won’t be until morning, even the prophet won’t publish it until they know what will happen with Hogwarts. McGonagall is going over her choices as we speak.” Snape informs him matter-of-factly, “It’s far too late for remorse now –”

Hydrus grits his teeth, slamming the bottle down not hard enough to shatter but enough that it makes Snape pause. “I don’t feel guilty,” He protests shortly. “I don’t and I won’t, because he admitted that he read the Potter’s will, that he hoped I wouldn’t be tainted by dark bloody magic, and that he was going to let me die. I refuse to feel guilty when he didn’t. Why should I let him take any more of my life?”

Snape looks at him in a way he never has before. Without disdain or judgement, like he’s truly seeing him for the first time in all these years. It was about time. “Regardless of what others may say, and what you might find yourself thinking, you’ve rid the world of a man who has presided over horrors. If you ever need reassurance that you did the right thing, think of that.”

He never thought it would be Severus Snape who helped ease the tight feeling in his chest.

“Professor?” He calls before the man can sweep out of the room, which looks less dramatic without his heavy teaching robes. “The Potter will – I don’t know if you’ve been to Gringotts or if you’ve heard from them, but Lily left you something. She kind of threatened you if you refuse them, and I don’t know how that would work, but I’d listen.”

Because nothing about this day makes much logical sense, including but not limited to working with Death Eaters and killing his headmaster, Severus Snape actually smiles. It’s discreet, for less than a minute, and Hydrus gets the impression if he tried to tell anyone the man would happily poison him, but he’s very sure it happens.

Not that he thinks anyone would believe him.

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, MATYR OR VIGILANTE?

The Ministry of Magic has confirmed this morning that Chief Warlock and Headmaster of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore was found dead late last night. The Minister has so far refused to speak to reporters, his office instead releasing a statement that the Ministry is opening a full investigation into the incident.

This comes after members of the public have raised questions over the disappearance of Harry Potter who vanished from his home in July and hasn’t been since (for more on Potter’s disappearance and the trial of his muggle relatives, see page five.) After Potter’s claims, backed by Dumbledore, that you-know-who had returned at the end of the Triwizard Tournament which ended in the death of one student, the Minister has repeatedly denied the claims and insisted all is well. Some accused the Ministry of being responsible for Potter’s disappearance in order to silence him, and the calls for an investigation into the matter have been renewed with Dumbledore’s murder.

One auror, who requested to remain anonymous, told the Daily Prophet, “Mad-Eye Moody brought the body in last night but refused to give us the location of the crime.” In fact, according to the anonymous source, an investigation might be useless as former, and allegedly delusional, auror Alastor Moody refused to name any possible suspects and has been uncooperative thus far.

We at the Prophet have an exclusive after an anonymous tip was sent in prior to printing this morning, alleging that the organisation Dumbledore founded in the First Wizarding War named ‘The Order of the Phoenix’ was involved in a large-scale fight prior to his murder to conduct vigilante justice under the assumption you-know-who has returned. When we sent investigators the area named, they found there was indeed evidence of a battle there as well as possible casualties.

Could the legendary wizard have been struck down in self-defence? Rita Skeeter has contacted the Office of Magical Law Enforcement to inquire as to whether there will be an investigation into the organisation for putting the Statue of Secrecy at risk in a muggle area as well as the possible vigilante attacks on innocent Witches and Wizards.

Acting Headmistress Minerva McGonagall refused comment when contacted regarding the death of her colleague however she has released a public statement stating that the school will be taking an impromptu two-week break in place of the usual Easter break in order for the school board to evaluate how to proceed. The Hogwarts express will be returning to Hogsmeade tomorrow while the option for students to floo or portkey home has been made available to parents on a case-by-case basis.

The newspaper is dropped on the table in the late afternoon, but Hydrus already knows the article by heart. The devil works hard, but Voldemort works harder which is exactly what he told the man as soon as he realised those anonymous sources were almost certainly Death Eaters.

Voldemort had all but confirmed the story was written by a sympathiser to the cause as well, at which point Hydrus completely gave up and left again because there is such a thing as doing too much.

Anyway, the paper drops so suddenly it interrupts his very pleasant conversation with Nagini regarding how she became a familiar to a Dark Lord. She was also attempting to bribe him to get her better food.

“You killed Dumbledore!” Draco Malfoy cries with wide grey eyes and his hair in at least five different directions. Of course he would floo back, the universe could never allow Hydrus a full day of peace.

“How’d you find out?” Hydrus asks curiously, eager to glare at some Death Eaters for gossiping about him. He hopes it was Lucius, Barty wasn’t scared to argue with him but the blonde was still a little nervous to be alone with his master’s heir.

This is, apparently, too much for the Malfoy heir who collapses into a chair. “I heard McGonagall warn Weasel and Granger about any mail they get off of you.”

Damnit, no scaring Death Eaters today. Or…he eyes Nagini conspiratorially. Getting her food would be worth it if he can watch her terrify the occupants of Riddle Manor.

Hydrus snorts. “Yeah, you’ve missed so much. I’m allowed outside now!” He cheers, waving one hand in celebration.

Draco looks at him with narrowed eyes in the same way he did when Hydrus shared his whisky. “Are you alright Scarhead? Cause you don’t seem to care you just killed our headmaster.”

If Hydrus hadn’t already known Draco was a drama queen, he might have been surprised at the way the other boy’s voice rises and cracks. “Former headmaster,” He corrects with a grin. Draco makes a choking noise. “I care that I had to kill him in the kitchen while my godfather and his husband were upstairs – they’re not actually together yet, but they may as well be at this point and they’re getting on a bit so sooner the better – but you do what you gotta do. In this case the ‘gotta do’ was murder but still. Plus, he admitted he was gonna let me die so I stopped caring as much about the Avada bit.”

Draco slumps in his chair, burying his face in his hands. “Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred! Hydrus, I was gone a month.”

Hydrus laughs. “Will you have a heart attack if I tell you I’m actively working with your side of the war now?”

Another strangled noise.

“If I ever hear you say the M word again then I will punch you in the face, and I did get written permission to do so, but otherwise yay team Death Eater!” He waves his hand like one would a sports banner.

“What did I miss?” Draco finally chokes out.

“A lot, Draco, and seeing as you are both here, I have been instructed to give you lessons so your education doesn’t find itself lacking.” Lucius Malfoy declares from behind them, startling them both.

“I’ve suddenly changed my mind; can I go back to being locked in a room?”

Nagini strikes, coiling tightly around his legs, and Hydrus looks around in abject horror. “It’s a trap!” He yells, realising too late he’s been set up and forced to learn, but he’s already lost this battle.

Neither pureblood get the reference.

He’s wasted on these people.

Five days after the news breaks, Hydrus sits in Voldemort’s study being forced to demonstrate he’s been listening to Lucius Malfoy’s stupid heirship lessons.

Why does it matter how he sits in a chair? Hydrus truly wants to know who pays attention to these things and why the wizarding world is at least two centuries behind.

“I hope you continue to study from Draco when you return to Hogwarts after break,” Voldemort shakes his head with a sigh.

Hydrus falls out of his chair.

He knows, immediately, Voldemort dropped it so casually just to trip him up because there is a quirk to the man’s lips. He would take issue with it if the prospect of getting out of the manor wasn’t being dangled in front of him.

“With Dumbledore gone, a number of dark families are sending their heirs to Hogwarts now. There are plenty of old families you don’t know of, Hydrus, because they relied on home-schooling or sending their children abroad. Lucius has already drawn up records that make it so you can join this wave of transfer students.” Voldemort explains, ever so smug, leaning back in his chair.

“You’re just letting me go back out of the goodness of your heart?” Hydrus raises an eyebrow, not trying to hide his scepticism.

“I’m inclined to trust you to handle yourself there alone, although I will be having some say in your classes.” The man corrects before taking the customary pause he always does before showing the bare minimum of basic human decency. “I maintain that bringing you both here –”

“Kidnapping us,” Hydrus puts in.

As usual, Voldemort ignores him. “– Was the correct decision. But isolating you will simply lead to resentment and spiteful behaviour. Probably taken out on my Death Eaters. It’s time I afford you a little more trust.”

“Who begged you to send me back? Barty or Malfoy?”

Voldemort laughs, offering no answer despite Hydrus really wanting to know. Otherwise, he has to accept Voldemort is choosing to do something nice on his own.

“What kind of say in my classes?” He questions instead, eyeing the man cautiously.

A flash of white teeth in return, “You can keep magical creatures in your electives if you wish, but I expect you to drop divination. You’ll be able to take runes and warding as you wanted, and there will be a new duelling elective when you return, and I expect you to take that.”

Hydrus blinks. “I know you were a prodigal student but that is four electives on top of seven core, honestly I’m too scared to do the math on how many that is, and I was once called ‘academically lazy’ to my face by McGonagall.” He points out, ignoring the way Voldemort rolls his eyes. His brain refuses to do the admittedly simple maths and he doesn’t have it in him to count on his fingers.

He never really cared about magical creatures as a class so dropping it isn’t terrible, but on principle it feels unfair he’s being strong armed into changing his class load. Ron was meant to be bullied by his parents over his classes, not him.

(Oh no, Voldemort is putting expectations on his schoolwork. This is just a step too far)

Voldemort chuckles. “You’ve proven yourself smart enough, Hydrus. I imagine with less outside worries then you might have time to actually study.”

He very pointedly thinks Bastard and then groans aloud. “You realise most of Hogwarts could recognise my scar?” Hydrus points out because he doesn’t think this is a cruel joke, but he should check anyway.

“Dealt with. While curse scars cannot typically be hidden, seeing as I’m the one who caused it there are loopholes. I’ve created a glamour ring that will hide both the scar and the Potter heirship ring from view so you will not need to remove it entirely.”

That is oddly considerate of Lord Voldemort.

“I expect the Slytherin heirship ring to take primacy however.”

Ah, there it was.

Hydrus can’t protest, not when they made a deal, but he does sigh very loudly.

“And you will let the hat place you where you always belonged, understood?”

He nods again since he can’t fight and it’s probably safer not to be in Gryffindor right now. Still, this time he grins. “Snape’s gonna hate that.”

“Severus will not be your head of house, in a move that will only benefit his health. He is being named the new headmaster. I’m sure everyone will agree it was a good idea to remove him from teaching.”

Well, that took away most of his joy. Hydrus groans, “Are you telling me all that was in the way of Snape not torturing us every lesson was Dumbledore?” Voldemort chuckles. “It’s not funny! He’s given Neville even more emotional issues – he was a perfectly fine if quiet kid, and after four years of Snape he gets shaky at the mention of potions! He’s traumatised!”

Hell, if Hydrus hadn’t struggled to read the instructions and been so wary of Snape then he might have done well in potions.

Maybe.

It was technically just cooking, and he’s been doing that since he was four.

“Just how many Death Eaters do you have in the ministry to have done that? I thought McGonagall would be offered the job.”

Frankly, Hydrus is more than a little offended on his old head of house’s behalf. Sure, she may hate him now and probably didn’t trust him, but she was owed the job at this point.

“She turned down the interview, claiming she’s too worried about leaving her lions.” Voldemort explains, sounding just a little amused.

Sounds like code for too busy with order business.

“And quite a lot of the ministry are filled with my supporters and sympathisers. We aren’t ready to take over quite yet, if we did then we would win but it would be bloody, however I estimate a year at most before we can. Hogwarts is already ours in all but name.”

Voldemort sounds remarkably smug for a man who tried to fight his own infant son and lost.

“Oh, okay, so Dumbledore was just inept at even fighting you ‘cause you won in about five fucking months.” Hydrus flings his limbs across the chair in sheer exhaustion and glares at the ceiling.

“Eloquently put, Hydrus, but you’re not wrong. Dumbledore always underestimated how many wixen align with our cause. That actually brings us to a task you’ll need to complete during your school year.”

Hydrus can’t bring himself to even look over, he’s already sure he will hate it.

“I’ve mentioned before that there are Basilisk eggs in the chamber. I’ll need you to go back down there and hatch one. Salazar’s private library will have journals explaining how, and it’ll take years for one to grow to a fearsome size so, until then, they will be your responsibility. I suggest you leave the poor thing in your common room during classes, lest they be subjected to the terrors of Hogwarts.”

He stares at Voldemort flatly. “You’re trying to make a point.”

“Yes.” Voldemort looks neither ashamed nor affected by the accusation. “It should be made clear to your old associates just who you are Hydrus.”

“Sounds like you’re being petty to me.”

Voldemort is waiting for it when his door opens, Narcissa had informed him that morning she would be waking Alya soon and he knew she will be out for his head. Frankly, he’s surprised she didn’t defy Narcissa’s orders to rest and immediately chase him down. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.” He comments without turning away from his work.

“You bastard,” Alya spits, not even taking the time to greet him let alone thank him for saving her life. Not that he bothers himself hoping for gratitude from mother or son anymore. “I don’t know how you’ve…” She grips the bookcase for support, so clearly she had left sooner than Narcissa ordered.

“I haven’t done anything to him,” Voldemort counters, already guessing where she was going, rising from behind his desk. “We both know you don’t believe I’m wrong, dearest. You may not shout your opinions, and you can even let Hydrus think you’re a good Black, but you know I’m right. You only disagreed with the violence or you never would have courted me so long.”

She glares up at him, so small in comparison even if she more than made up for it with her words, but she’s as beautiful as the day they met. “I didn’t want Hydrus to lose a childhood to your agendas.”

He scoffs, unable to help himself. “And you robbed him of it anyway, as well as stole the chance for me to know my own son.”

Those silver eyes are like molten steel, fury making them shine. “You robbed him of a childhood when you decided to attack a child!” Her fists are clenched at her sides, determined to need no support.

They are finally doing this then, voicing what they’ve both refused to for weeks, throwing the die and seeing what happens.

“I did, yes, but you were happy to take away the chance of knowing him from us both. Not only was it not enough for you to steal him away once, you tried to do so again when I was finally getting to make ground with him!” He pulls himself back, tempering the urge to lash out. “You decided I wasn’t good enough to raise my own son, and you didn’t think I deserved more than a letter the first time you left. This time you left nothing at all.”

Alya softens, only slightly, but remains ready to strike at him. “I never decided you weren’t good enough, Marvolo.” She says quietly.

“Then what would you call it, dearest, when you leave in the night without telling me we were expecting.” The words are little more than a whisper.

“I was trying to protect him.” She answers with little pause, “Do you think I wanted to give him up? I was young, and I was scared, and suddenly I was being told we had to go into hiding. I didn’t know what to do Marvolo and now – and now it hurts. It hurt every day since I gave him up, and it hurts every time he calls me by my name instead of calling me his mother. It hurt thinking he hates me, and it hurt thinking he believed I didn’t want him. It hurts knowing I missed everything. I am in agony, but I was trying to protect him.”

Alya gasps in a shaky breath, “You never actually asked his name. I’m sure you assumed, but you never asked. Hydrus Marvolo Black, and I would have given if your name too if we’d been married. I wasn’t trying to hide him from you, I didn’t know what I wanted back then, and Lily demanded I name him first because she was convinced I would go back to you.”

Voldemort grips his desk so hard his knuckles pale because she was right, he had assumed when he saw the initials on the trunk, but it was simply too hard to ask.

“I spent weeks unsure of what to do and I was scared, Marvolo. I was scared of the war and the children being raised in it and of the people dying to it. And we were never told why they had to go into hiding but it was too late by then, because I couldn’t talk to you or sate my own fears, and I thought he would be safest with them. No one told them just how much danger they were in.”

He wishes he could have drawn out Dumbledore’s death himself, made the man suffer for all he did to destroy Voldemort’s family before it could even begin. “And you were scared when you tried to take off in the night again?” He sneers, turning red eyes on her tear tracked face.

“Yes,” She snaps, voice sharp. “I am terrified because I see how you watch him. You look like you’re studying him most days, when you think no one is watching, and I don’t know what happened to make you look at him like that, but it scares me.”

He tears his eyes away. “I’m trying to help him Alya!” He yells, losing his patience completely at yet another accusation he might harm his son. “…Have you never wondered why I look this way despite my age? Or how I still live?” Voldemort asks though he expects no response.

He shouldn’t trust her, logic dictates she would easily betray him again, but he throws the ration he’s prized for years aside. Not for the first time.

Alya Black has always broken down his walls and inspired him to act a fool.

“There is a kind of soul magic, one that allows you to split your soul and place the pieces into containers so you cannot pass on from this world.”

Alya was always smart, every day she hadn’t called him out on being Lord Voldemort had surprised him, so it’s no surprise when she surges at him. He was anticipating it. He grabs her wrist first before she can hit him, and he pulls her to him to encircle her with his arms. Alya beats her fists at his chest and sobs out every insult she can think of in every language she knows, of which there are many.

He holds her tightly through it all.

“He’s safe. I’ve been making sure he’s safe. I can’t remove it, but it won’t hurt him,” He tells her when she finally goes quiet, one hand stroking her hair almost without his permission. “I didn’t do it on purpose Alya, I didn’t, and I still don’t understand what happened that night. I’m trying to but, for now, he’s safe.”

And Hydrus was. He knows it, it’s the only reason he allowed himself to consider letting Hydrus go back to Hogwarts. Dumbledore was dead, the Dursleys would be soon, and he plans to make it clear how severe the consequences would be for anyone who hurt Hydrus.

No one would again.

“You’re both safe – please just let me keep you safe. Let me try.” He whispers into her hair.

Let me try to make you love me again.

Her warm breath tickles his neck, and it feels like an eternity before she speaks. “We can try.”

Alya is awake.

Hydrus is so distracted by the fact Alya is awake that he doesn’t even take notice of the fact she and Voldemort were both already there together or just how close they stand. Part of him simply refuses to think about it.

Besides, he’s too busy carefully hugging her like she might break out of relief to see her standing.

“You would think I wasn’t to thank for your fast recovery,” Voldemort comments dryly.

Hydrus doesn’t so much as spare him a glance. “I’ll send Narcissa my thanks, you can piss off,” His insults have clearly lost weight because Voldemort simply chuckles and draws out Alya’s usual seat.

“Narcissa has given me a clean bill of health, Hydrus, I’m fine.” Alya tells him though she’s clearly amused.

“I supplied Narcissa,” Voldemort points out quickly.

“It is near impossible to beat his ego, I advise a tactical surrender,” Alya declares, patting his arm, before taking her seat. “Now what have I missed? You didn’t kill each other without me, I’m happy to see.”

Hydrus takes his own place.

“Hydrus will be returning to Hogwarts next week. We’re finishing the arrangements still but, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know dearest, the new policy allows students to book visits home on the weekend.”

He starts on his tea to avoid acknowledging the manor being referred to as his home, it was bad enough he was even acknowledging the suite as his out loud now. “He’s also torturing me at the same time by insisting on eleven classes – I did the math – so I have to drop one for my own sanity.” Hydrus puts in cheerfully.

Alya laughs, shaking her head. “I took fourteen classes at your age; be glad you have no language lessons.”

He looks up at her, absolutely stricken, “Don’t give him ideas! I’ve already had Lucius Malfoy telling me how to sit in different chairs.”

Voldemort laughs quietly while Alya simply grins. “Some basic lessons couldn’t hurt but we’ll leave that for next year,” Voldemort considers.

Hydrus sips his tea. “Va te faire foutre – Fleur taught me that one.”

Another laugh, Alya this time because she must have understood what he probably butchered.

“I’ll advise your tutors to start with all the vulgar phrases then,” Voldemort sighs but Hydrus sees his lips quirk up anyway. “As popular with teenage boys as I’m sure French is, I’d rather you start with Vietnamese and Telugu considering our blood ties. Our Vietnamese heritage may not have been magical however I’ve built some considerable ties there.”

Hydrus, as always, lets his curiosity get the best of him at times like these and listens raptly.

“Don’t worry, he’s simply planning on boasting his friendship with the emperor,” Alya interrupts, carefully tucking into her breakfast and ignoring the irritated look on Voldemort’s face.

“If I were boasting then it would be with good reason.” The man protests.

Both Blacks look at each other and snort at the same time.

“You have a lot of good reasons then,” Hydrus mutters.

“Now, Hydrus, you must let him maintain his ego somehow. Without it he might just die.” Alya chides him, almost sounding serious.

He laughs behind his cup.

“Sometimes I wonder why I continue to subject myself to this.”

Hydrus shares one more grin with Alya. “You must have realised someone needs to keep you humble,” He shrugs and pretends to ignore the resulting glare.

THE DEAD COME BACK TO LIFE?

This was the question on many minds at the ministry this morning when holder of an Order of Merlin Peter Pettigrew arrived to the ministry. Pettigrew has been thought dead for more than a decade and was supposedly one of the victims of Azkaban escapee and mass murderer Sirius Black, his actions to apprehend Black after the betrayal of the Potter family being recognised with a posthumous Order of Merlin. 

Before aurors could take Pettigrew away, onlookers heard the man confessing to having framed Black and being a marked Death Eater. Auror Kinglsey Shacklebolt said, in a public statement on behalf of the Office of Magical Law Enforcement, that Pettigrew was most likely cursed in order to compel the confession and his mere presence at the ministry. Regardless of the circumstances of this confession, we must consider whether this indicates a decade long miscarriage of justice by the ministry who only this week found Minister Fudge speculating Sirius Black may be to blame for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. For a review of Sirius Black's arrest and the spate of Death Eater trials at the end of the war, see page seven. 

A wand maker arrives three days before the return to Hogwarts.

Hydrus is very tempted to set something on fire, because this almost stops going back being worth it. First Narcissa had terrified him into submission so she could take measurements for his school robes, the pureblood having appointed herself in charge of everything regarding his school things.

Hydrus doesn’t think he was even as scared of Voldemort as he is Narcissa Malfoy.

But this is just taking it a little too far.

“Many wizards keep two wands, one connected to their magic like your holly wand, and the other to their soul.” Voldemort explains at what must be a truly foul look on Hydrus’ face. “And someone would undoubtedly recognise your holly wand at Hogwarts.”

Damn, he can’t argue with that.

“This is Lord Jasper Oakwood, he’s an esteemed wandmaker from the East Asian Empire.”

Oakwood isn’t particularly tall, but he’s built strong and holds himself with just enough confidence that Hydrus has no doubts he could destroy most of his opponents with ease.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Oakwood,” Hydrus says in a way that’s too formal for his liking but when he accepted the heirship he accepted the burdens too.

Oakwood smiles slyly, “I can’t say I’m a fan of all that formality. Hydrus, yes? Let us hurry with selecting a wand wood.”

Hydrus glares at Voldemort. “I’m glad to see you actually listened to Lucius.” The man says with a smirk on his stupid glamoured snake face.

He wonders what potions there are to save his teeth when he grinds them again. Then he follows the wandmaker to a table where a box is laid out.

“All of my wands are custom made, and so I’ve brought a selection of the wand woods I use. Pick whichever you feel most drawn to.” Oakwood informs him, opening one side of the box into a larger compartment split into a grid where small lumps of wood sit in each square.

Unlike the first time he chose a wand, where he had gone through plenty before the holly wand chose him, he immediately picks up a dark wood.

“Blackthorn. They prove difficult wands to master, though the results are always impressive. The emperor’s daughter has the most frustrating Blackthorn wand.” Oakwood hums, closing the compartment and opening the other identical side with a tap of his wand. “Now for wand cores, choose whichever you’re drawn to again. If you feel drawn to multiple that it fine too, some wands demand a balance.”

Another grid of ingredients, many in bottles, but this time nothing immediately jumps out at him.

A single golden feather draws his eye first and he hesitates before taking it but, as is his luck, a vial of clear liquid feels just as important. He knows in his gut Voldemort is going to love this.

“A thunderbird tail feather and Basilisk venom, an interesting mix. I haven’t needed to take a trip to the reserves and replenish my supply in years. You are a parselmouth, correct? The two cores will need a connector and your own venom would work best.”

Hydrus coughs, startled, at the reminder somewhere along the way he’d forgotten what he read about venom. Really, that was all he needed on top of fangs. “Uh…sure.” He takes the vial with as much caution as he once showed Buckbeak before coaxing his fangs out unsurely. It’s not like he often tried to bring them out.

One outright uncomfortable experience later, he hands it back with a small pool of venom inside.

“Excellent, I will return tomorrow with the finished result. Good day Lord Slytherin and Heir Slytherin.”

Hydrus waits until Oakwood has left before he dares speak. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear what, Hydrus?” Voldemort asks innocently, glamour fading away.

He falls into his usual chair, “You know what.”

When Oakwood brings the wand next day, one hand is still healing from burns and it really sets the mood.

The wand, Hydrus must admit, is rather pretty. Delicate patterns, looking a little like a snake coiled around it, are etched up the dark wood which is ever so slightly curved while flecks of white and gold shine where they are embedded in the handle.

Hydrus picks up the wand tentatively, feeling a little like he’s betraying his holly wand, and immediately hears a loud bang.

Voldemort’s chair has blown up.

“I didn’t say anything!” He immediately points out.

It may have been an accident but that alone makes the entire ordeal with it.

“Let me inspect it,” Voldemort requests so Hydrus happily hands it over.

Bright red sparks come from the wand and it shrieks the moment it leaves his hand, which causes Voldemort to hastily give it back.

The sheer, though somewhat discreet, panic on Voldemort’s face has him doubling over with laughter.

Both Oakwood and Voldemort agree the wand is demonic in character, Oakwood in particular saying it’s the worst wand he’s had the displeasure of working with, and it all improves Hydrus’ mood regarding a new wand significantly.

Not content with that alone, however, he later leaves it on the table and offers Draco to take a look at it. Draco yelps and falls on his ass, dropping the wand the moment it shrieks.

It takes five minutes for Hydrus to stop laughing as the pureblood splutters and complains.

“We can’t leave you alone for classes,” Draco declares when they both eventually calm down. Hydrus’ eyebrows rapidly shoot into his hairline. “We don’t know how your Gryffindors feel yet but until then, being alone in Hogwarts is an invitation for them to kidnap you.”

Hydrus rolls his eyes, “I’m not walking Hogwarts with an escort Draco.”

“You will need to remain with someone for the first few weeks at least to keep up the appearance you’ve never been there before. And you’re going to be one of the new prefects too, so you probably won’t have much time alone.”

He chokes on his own breath, staring at Draco who slowly realises they might not be on the same page. “Do you not pay attention to anything? Two new prefects are being added to each house because of all the incoming students, though you are more like representatives for the new additions. It’s mostly been decided on family standings, but you’ve already been picked for Slytherin.” Draco explains, just exhausted enough that Hydrus wonders how ragged he might run the heir by years end.

“Great. If I could, I’d try and be a Hufflepuff out of spite.” He mutters, and Draco snorts showing he was still capable of finding this all a little funny. “I can’t have someone with me at all times though, for one I have to go down and hatch a Basilisk before Yule. Do you really wanna go down there?”

The blond immediately nods, “You won’t be short of volunteers. Half of us have wanted to see the chamber since second year. All the Slytherins in our year are going to be told of the situation before we go back, because one of us will inevitably slip up or your Gryffindors will get too familiar. Some of the older ones with loyal families too.”

Hydrus was well aware of Voldemort’s policy regarding their situation, because he’d quickly demanded he get to tell Sue the truth. Knowing the Ravenclaw, she’d make endless jokes about his turn to the dark side and absolutely start encouraging murder, so there was no reason for Voldemort to protest.

Draco shakes his head, a sly grin on his face. “We’re having some quidditch try outs too, and Flint’s planning on reorganising the team entirely for all the new potential players. I expect you to be there as the new seeker.”

“Absolutely,” Hydrus agrees immediately, leaning back. “I really miss quidditch. Do I need to worry about Parkinson finally taking the opportunity to hex me?”

That grin takes over Draco’s face entirely. “Pansy isn’t that stupid. It’s going to be a clean slate between us all, if you can manage that. Your biggest problem is Blaise.”

Hydrus frowns, trying to recall if he’s ever talked to Blaise. “I’ve never done anything to piss him off.” He protests.

A solemn nod, Draco looking slightly pained. “Exactly. He’s had a crush on you since third year, keeps saying there’s not enough melanin in Hogwarts so he’s pressed for choice.”

He laughs so hard he has to gasp for breath. “Well, he’s not wrong. Maybe all the new students will bring in some variety.” He looks, a little pointedly, at Draco.

“If I have to spend my year watching you flirt with all the new boys, I’m pushing you off the astronomy tower and then jumping myself.” Draco vows, deathly serious.

“I – I’m not – I like girls too! Why does everyone keep forgetting that?” Hydrus protests, tripping over his own words in the rush to get them out.

Draco raises one unimpressed eyebrow, “I’ve never seen you look at a girl.”

“I looked at Cho!”

“You barely even looked at Fleur Delacour last year and she was part Veela.”

Hydrus feels his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “You’re a git,” He moans. “I like girls, I just don’t like them as much as most guys. And I didn’t wanna make her uncomfortable! She’s a really cool person, actually, and it’s a shame half the school didn’t talk to her as much as they stared.”

A pillow hits him in the face.

“Who flies for the other team now!”

Chapter Text

Rather than inflicting another day long train ride on the students, the ministry once again allows students to floo or portkey back. Those who were able simply apparated into Hogsmeade, though both staff and students knew it was simply an excuse so spend a few hours stocking up on sweets before heading to the castle.

The entire day had been resigned as a waste, students arriving throughout the day since there were an estimated seventy new students joining the student body and only one sorting hat to get through them all.

(He might be wrong, Hydrus always started to tune Draco out when the boy tried to drill stats into him. The important thing is that there are a lot of students joining, he really doesn’t see why he needs to remember numbers.

When Hydrus informed the blond he was almost as bad as Hermione, the boy had been so speechless that he simply left the room. Not that he left Hydrus with any peace for long because he came back to complain once again only ten minutes later.)

This means Hydrus doesn’t stand by the floo until after lunch, held with both the Malfoys and Barty because Voldemort seemed determined to get on his very last nerve, with a packed trunk and plenty of restless excitement. Part of him is determined to find some kind of adventure in Hogwarts this year since everyone insisted there was no reason for him to neglect his studies any longer.

Hydrus doesn’t need a megalomaniac trying to kill him to create chaos, he can do that just fine on his own.

An unfortunate side effect of going back to Hogwarts, however, is how Alya fusses over him. Her hands keep fluttering around, patting down his robes, while she worries and gets a little too teary for his comfort. It’s not like she hadn’t already booked a floo back for the manor in only two weeks time despite the fact it technically wasn’t open to book visits home for a few more days.

Voldemort had quietly informed him, when Alya left the dining room rather happy with herself followed a moment later by a paler than usual Snape, that she had insisted on meeting the new headmaster in person.

More time than either of them would like to admit had been spent on imagining just what Alya did to the notoriously stoic potions master, but it had certainly been excessive. She refused to ask Voldemort to insist his follower flaunt the rules for them, determined to use only her own resources.

Hydrus doesn’t really care about the finer details, to tell the truth, he just enjoys the fact his mother is a badass. It’s the sort of thing he would have been eager to tell Sirius and Remus once, to hear boisterous laughter while Remus chided them and pretended he wasn’t amused, and Hydrus still wishes he could but it’s become a dull ache now. The pain of missing his makeshift family has shifted to the background and been resigned to only circle his thoughts in those vulnerable minutes before he sleeps.

The pain will probably never go away, but his other real yet somehow even more dysfunctional family eases it slightly.

Alya nearly cries, making him swear to write even when Voldemort points out that Hydrus will have nothing to say by the time he visits, while Narcissa whips out another grooming spell with terrifying speed because his hair wasn’t quite to her standard. Evening the score, Narcissa hits Draco with one too when the boy sniggers.

Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy are either emotionally stunted or refuse to show vulnerability even in private, though Hydrus wagers all the above for Voldemort, because there are some awkward pats on the shoulder. It takes considerable effort for neither Hydrus nor Draco to burst into laughter when they catch each other’s eye after Voldemort pats his shoulder and gets a wordless lecture from Alya.

The way her eyebrows rise and fall, mouth set in a particular way, is infinitely more effective than words could ever be judging by Voldemort’s subsequent wince.

Barty tosses him yet another book to help with DADA, since they can hold grudging conversations on magical theory now, and suggests a spell or two for if Draco get’s a little…ferrety in the common room. No one explains that or Draco’s flushed face, instead the boy nearly forgets his things in the hurry to the floo.

Hydrus writes the spell down before he follows.

Being a ‘transfer student’, Hydrus has to wait in a line by the headmaster’s office to be sorted even if it just for show when he has the Slytherin heir ring on his right hand. That trip to Gringotts had been nothing if not interesting and he doubts anyone had seen a goblin so openly shocked.

The Potter ring still sits on his hand but it’s completely unseen to all, though he can still feel the heavy weight, much like the glamour ring on his left hand. Really, he’s made a lot of progress since he killed Dumbledore; it’s rare now that he wonders if he deserves to wear it.

Seeing as Draco has nothing to do but go catch up with his other friends, Hydrus forces him to wait as well because he refuses to sit around without company. Not that Draco would have left him alone, still convinced someone might appear from thin air to kidnap him. Hydrus isn’t sure if it’s a benefit or a punishment that Draco uses the chance to introduce him to the host of new students the boy already knew from high society parties.

They had both rehearsed the story plenty, so much so they can both pick up from each other mid-sentence as they share the lie with the other students to explain his absence from the entire world.

Hydrus Black had been raised in Surat by Alya, their lives lived in privacy due to her being unmarried and general concern about British politics. Hydrus was tutored by a large cast of English wixen, accounting for his accent, and Alya had worried about exposing him to politics too young. But now, with Dumbledore dead and the political landscape changing, Narcissa had convinced her cousin to move her small family to Britain so Hydrus could learn more about half his heritage.

The Slytherin ring acted like a signal to Voldemort’s supporters, or at least the vast majority who knew the man was a descendent of Slytherin, that this was code for it being safe to come out of hiding. It was safer to let the masses assume Alya was private to protect her son and their Lord’s heir from wixen like Dumbledore.

Sometimes, in the time since the detials had been ironed out, Hydrus wonders how true that story could have been in a world where Dumbledore hadn’t interfered in his life. If Alya had gone back and the truth had come out, would they have hidden until the war ended?

His imagination hasn’t quite gotten tired of conjuring up the lives he might have lived if their fate hadn’t been changed. It’s his least favourite pastime now since he can’t even talk to anyone about it; telling Voldemort about his full conversation with Fate was never an option, even if it is only out of stubbornness.

It’s been hard enough to accept Voldemort cared about them in his own strange way.

The door opens forcefully, surprising some of the new students not yet acquainted with Snape’s disdain for them, and the new headmaster calls them inside. A few people grumble about having arrived first, but all go silent when the man glares down at them. Fairness meant nothing when Snape’s goal was to be rid of him quickly.

“We all know this is simply a formality, but I am immensely grateful to not be your head of house, Black.” Snape says the name much like the way he once spat ‘Potter’, the tone so alike it vaguely amazes Hydrus.

Still, Hydrus grins back. “I’m glad too, headmaster, I woulda hated to see you combust if you gave me house points.”

Draco unsuccessful tries to cover his snort.

Snape deposits the hat on his head without a word, dropping it unceremoniously. Said hat immediately grumbles about the rough treatment.

‘Long time no see’ He thinks, feeling the familiar push at his mind even if he hadn’t understood it a few years ago.

‘You’ve been busy since we last spoke,’ The hat replies accusingly, shaking itself on top of his head. ‘I must admit, I didn’t quite peg you as a true descendent of Salazar. The poor man might turn in his grave knowing his descent pulled out Godric’s sword, they never saw the end of their bet about their grandchildren’s placements.’

Hydrus only shivers a little at the old voice rumbling through his mind, ‘Who would have won?’

‘Godric’s great-great-grandson was Slytherin. I imagine, whatever afterlife there is, he might feel this was payback.’

Being reminded the founders were living breathing people, just as prone to stupid bets and teasing as any student, is a little strange. Hydrus shakes off his own curiosity.

‘Will you truly not fight you this time?’ The hat is rightfully cautious, considering the fight he put up before, and he almost considers asking it for a favour. Draco would balk if it declared Hufflepuff.

Not the time. ‘Nah, go wild,’ Hydrus welcomes.

The hat deflates slightly as it sighs. ‘It might have worked out best, waiting until he got most of his recklessness out of the way. I’m not sure Slytherin would have survived it. Please, on your ancestor’s behalf, don’t set the dungeons on fire.’ It shares aloud.

He goes to open his mouth and protest – he is absolutely still reckless, why is everyone so determined to make him prove it? – but Snape beats him to it by laughing. Even Draco is startled by the abnormal reaction.

“I doubt I would have survived it,” The headmaster says wryly and plucks the hat from his head. A moment later he offers out the new prefect badge instead. It’s similar to Draco’s, both in the vague shape of the Hogwarts crest and with the word ‘prefect’ engraved into a strip across the emerald inset, but his has a golden base in contrast to the silver of the standard badges. It was meant to make it easier to tell the prefects apart. “I hope you know this truly pains me.”

Hydrus takes it with a wide grin, fixing it to the green lined robes Narcissa purchased in advance. “It’s what makes it all worth it for me, headmaster.”

Being told Harry had killed Dumbledore simply hadn’t made sense. Not to Hermione, not even when McGonagall told them he was most likely being controlled. Sirius and Remus didn’t seem to believe it either, but they were more sure he was in some kind of danger instead, though Sirius was going through more firewhisky than strictly healthy.

Going back to Hogwarts could help. Hermione could dedicate time to trying to understand, looking into curses and contracts, and they could watch Snape. He had stopped responding to the order entirely in the days after, ignoring letters and messages and floo calls. Betrayal on all sides, the only reason Molly didn’t object more to them returning was because of McGonagall.

Plus, the privacy would allow Hermione to try and reach out to Harry. The order wouldn’t let them even try, determined to keep them out of it. It was the same every year and somehow the order hadn’t learned, the three of them always ended up having to do it alone when no one else would listen to them.

Harry was clearly making deals of some kind with the Death Eaters, there’s no other explanation to Peter Pettigrew being put under an imperio and sent to the ministry to confess his crimes. Sirius had been exonerated in a matter of days.

After four years, Hermione doesn’t know how she ever thought making a plan would work. They always ended in disaster, and this time disaster comes in the form of Ron choking on his food. It doesn’t catch her attention, she simply hits his back on instinct, but he shoves at her shoulder until she follows his gaze to the Slytherin table.

The usual suspects. Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott –

Right across from Zabini is a new face. Well, not new, she’s saw it plenty of times in the summer. That was Harry, sans glamour and scar, sat with Slytherins in green trimmed robes and with the new shiny silver prefect badge for the transfer students.

Hermione doesn’t realise for a moment that she’s still hitting Ron on the back even now he’s out of danger.

“Is your friend okay?” One of the new Gryffindors asks with what Hermione thinks might be genuine concern. Half-blood, but cousin to an old pureblood family, she thinks. Happy to be Gryffindor but sending messages to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff between every few bites of food.

“He’s fine,” Hermione dismisses and hits his back once more for good measure before picking up her cutlery again. “He…just saw someone we might recognise.”

Ron visibly cringes when the new girl follows his gaze, straining her neck to try and identify who they might mean. “Loud, annoying, but admittedly cute boy over with Malfoy?” She asks and Ron chokes again but on air this time. “I met him waiting for sorting. Like I said, cute, but he was too cheerful for me. Like an overactive crup. They were both in the headmaster’s office for ages, kept the rest of us waiting.” Then the girl shrugs and turns back to her food, bored with the disruption.

Even if Hermione were feeling charitable, which she’s not, she doubts she could argue with either description of Harry. He could be a little manic at times, and it was a lot to take in when you just met him.

“We should talk to Sirius,” Ron says quietly, and she nods but doesn’t look at him. She stares at Harry instead, watching him like he might sense it and meet her gaze, maybe even catch her eye and signal this was all just a master plan on his part.

But he doesn’t.

Harry laughs with half of Slytherin and lets Parkinson keep poking at him.

“We should go write to him now.” Hermione decides and grabs Ron’s arm to pull him along when he gazes wistfully at the food.

Draco was going to dump a glass of water on him some day soon, Hydrus is sure of it. The blond was exhausted with his general excitement, and even Hydrus will admit he’s exhausted most nights, but he missed Hogwarts.

And he’s only a little upset the Slytherin dorms are more comfortable than Gryffindor, but he truly feels like a traitor when he realises he also prefers the common room as well. He’d been too distracted in second year to take much note but the wall of glass to look into the lake and the two-story set up to the common room amazes him. They can sit by the fireplace and bicker or go up the stairs to one of the balconies to study, though that’s usually because Draco prods him into it.

Slytherin also wasn’t as bad as he once thought.

(Hydrus imagines that somewhere, somehow, Sirius just winced.)

After a short hour of worrying how his change in build might affect his flying, Draco and Blaise had grabbed an arm each and dragged him to try outs. Coincidentally, only two others were trying for seeker and he beat them easily. Alya told him, in her letter two days later to congratulate him, that Voldemort was close to praying he doesn’t risk death for a stupid game again.

Hydrus resolves to create even more unusual plays just to prove quidditch isn’t stupid.

Blaise Zabini enjoys teasing Draco as much as Hydrus does, despite the Italian also claiming to be Draco’s best friend, and it becomes a daily habit to flirt in front of the pureblood just to annoy him. Theodore Nott, too, breaks his silence every now and again just to give sarcastic commentary or poke at his housemates with dry wit. Frankly, Hydrus doesn’t understand how he ever thought Draco was the untouched leader in Slytherin because no one in their year ever gives him a break.

He loves it.

Hydrus also learns that Daphne Greengrass has sharp nails and a sharper smile but she’s also one of the smartest students in the year even if she’s terrible under exam conditions. Pansy Parkinson has a deceivingly sweet smile that hides a silver tongue and he’s positive she has a network of students wrapped around her little finger. After a day of attempting to protest her poking at him, keeping him to standards not much below Narcissa’s, he’d finally accepted the other boys’ advice.

Resistance was futile.

Neither Tracey Davis nor Millicent Bulstrode have talked to him enough to try to get to know them, but they’ve not been unpleasant so he’s happy enough with that.

For all the good of being back at Hogwarts, he’s also very close to hexing someone because he’s rarely allowed a moment alone outside the dorms. Draco was still adamant someone might try to kidnap him, insisting no one left him alone when possible, and everyone ignores his protests no matter how vexed they become.

They had a new bet, he and Draco, over whether the order would attempt anything. Twenty galleons to the winner. Seeing as it’s not his money, Hydrus has made a few strange bets with other Slytherins, even when he knows he will lose. Voldemort owes him reparations for four years of trauma, as far as he’s concerned.

After the first week, with the new order of things settled among the student body, Hydrus decides he needs one friend who understands his humour and insists it’s time he talk to Sue.

Technically, it’s too late for anyone to argue. Hydrus had waited until they went to the library, then he made sure he could see Sue there, and then he stood up and told his housemates he was bringing in a sane person. He also lightly jogged away before any of them could stop him.

They wouldn’t risk having to tackle him to the ground in public and risk any other student seeing them looking anything less than perfect.

Sue Li wasn’t what Hydrus would call a best friend but, in a way, she had always been his closest just by the fact they could understand each other. It’s why it was always so easy to be casual with each other, why they could joke about things they probably shouldn’t and do their yearly still alive sound off, he simply knew she didn’t hate him when she was feeling bitter like she knew he was never angry with her.

Their easy friendship is why he doesn’t try to ask her to talk in private or mention something only he would know. No, instead he goes and sits on the edge of her table with a bright grin, not looking at her book or study buddies. She stubbornly refuses to look at him for a full minute, refusing to acknowledge an intruder to the table, so he pushes her book down a little.

Hazel eyes all but burn through him. “Not interested,” Sue says pointedly, and if she knew who he was he’s sure she would have simply shoved him off the table. He doesn’t move. She jabs a book into his thigh. “Use your giraffe legs and walk away.”

Hydrus bites his tongue not to laugh. “No sound off this year, Sue?” If there was one thing you could rely on Ravenclaws for, it was priorities. Her study buddies already have a spell up to help ignore them since they’ll get an explanation of some kind later. Or they’ll just go with their assumption he’s trying to hit on her, which makes him cringe but works well enough for now.

He remembers third year painfully clear, where they both had their first real kiss by the lake – by luck, they both found themselves having an identity crisis at the same time and, oddly enough, it was because they both had a crush on sixth year boys.

Sue always knew she liked girls and was outraged to find herself attracted to a male student she refused to name to him. Hydrus, as was typical for him, had been in denial since he was six years old and tried to give a boy in his class a valentine’s day card.

They decided to kiss each other to see if either of them felt something, using faultless thirteen-year-old logic.

She had accidentally headbutted him and he caused them both to fall into the lake in his haste to hide from the group of Gryffindors walking past. It was an unspoken agreement to never talk about it again, not even to talk about how they felt. He still didn’t know if he helped her at all, but he quickly realised he felt more watching Cedric fly than he did kissing Sue. A week after that he realised he felt similarly watching Cho fly, which caused another crisis on his part.

Hydrus had come to the conclusion he was simply hopeless and could crush on any boy that caught his eye but took a more reasonable pace with girls. He can only assume Sue decided she was not in fact burdened with an attraction to men since she quickly took to being a fully-fledged menace upon the girls of Hogwarts. 

Sue pushes him off the table with one surprise shove, catching him off guard, and her eyes are narrowed as she looks him over. “Alright, who’s not dead?”

“Who’s not missing.” He counters, lowering his voice. He then yelps as she grabs his arm with one hand and her things with the other and drags him away to a smaller table in the corner. Silencing charms are up before she lets him go. Hydrus attempts to speak only to find his head snapped to one side and cheek stinging. “…Okay, I probably deserved that.”

The other cheek stings. “Hey! I probably deserve the first one but the second?”

She pats his cheek gently to make up for it. “First one was for letting me think you were dead all summer. Second was for opening with sound off.” Then she drops to a seat and looks him over again. “What did you do to your face?”

Hydrus laughs before dropping to a seat across from her, “There is so much to catch you up on, so I need you to promise no jokes until I’m done.” She doesn’t protest, though he’s very aware she doesn’t agree. “Think the most iconic line in movie history.”

“Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

“How have you watched more films than me yet still have worst taste?”

“That'll do, pig. That'll do.”

“I will never forgive you for making me watch that.”

“Luke, I am your father.”

“At last!” He leans back in his chair, resisting the urge to correct her because he’s sure she’ll kick his chair over. “Think that but less dramatic.”

After exactly three minutes, he counts, Sue bursts into laughter. “You’re Luke,” She gasps between cackles, and it’s a good job the library isn’t that busy so no one sees her losing it. Hydrus nods silently. “Circes tits – he’s Darth Vader.” Hydrus doesn’t think Voldemort would appreciate the comparison but nods again. “I need a full play by play, timelines and family trees, the whole shebang.”

Sue suddenly turns very quiet, but her eyes still glint with danger.

“…What?” He asks cautiously, wondering if this is how Voldemort and the Malfoys felt around him.

“You took the rule the galaxy offer, didn’t you? I can’t believe you betrayed our lord and saviour Luke ‘Chanel’ Skywalker to rule wizarding Britain father and son style. Didn’t even sacrifice a hand first.”

Hydrus lets his head drop to the table and groans.

Sue spends ten more minutes teasing him and proposing her own theories of how he landed in this situation. Around the time she asks if Lily Potter hooked up with Voldemort, Hydrus physically throws himself across the table to cover her mouth with his hand and stop her before he can be sick. The next twenty minutes are spent explaining the actual circumstances of his existence which doesn’t get any reaction from her other than asking if she can finally see the chamber.

Sue was exceptionally morbid at the best of times and wanted to see where he was nearly snatched by a giant snake.

Draco summons the courage to venture over around the time Sue starts asking when she gets to join the dark side too, taking the joke as far as she possibly can, as well as asking if she can put out a Death Eater hit on her muggle family. Funnily enough, Draco arrives just in time to make a strangled noise upon hearing that since Hydrus let him into the spell.

“Told you she was cool,” He tells the blond smugly.

“You always have to have one bitch who’s down for murder in the group,” Sue smirks.

They high five without looking at each other when Draco sinks into his seat miserably. “There’s two of you,” The boy moans, utterly distraught.

“This is your new crowd then,” She begins, looking them both over in a way that makes Draco squirm. “You’re one of the pretty boys now.”

“Are you saying I wasn’t always pretty?” Hydrus complains, a little offended.

Draco rolls his eyes but wisely says nothing about how pretty he was under glamour.

She shrugs, “Eh, you weren’t my type. But I’d hit this now.”

“Kinda insulted, not gonna lie Sue. Aren’t you only a menace to witches?”

“Firstly, you’re just feminine enough to catch my interest. And, second, I’m an equal opportunity temptress.” She pokes her tongue out at him childishly. “Don’t get too confident, I only said that I would not that I want to.”

“What a fascinating friendship you have,” Draco drawls, interrupting what was sure to be a disastrous conversation about how attractive they both are. “Still not seeing proof either of you fly for both teams.” The blonde shudders as they both look to him at once.

“You just have to know what you’re looking for – young Luke can’t hide a crush to save his life. Brain breaks, gets all wide eyed, stares at them every chance he gets. Just watch him next time he sees Cho Chang.”

Hydrus has nothing to throw at her, so he resorts to a playground response and raises his middle finger.

“I’ve never seen him like that – was I not good enough to have a crush on or something?” Draco demands, pouting just slightly, suddenly sullen.

“Two bottoms don’t attract,” Sue puts in cheerily just as Hydrus says, “You were too much of a prat.”

He shoves her out of her chair with just a little magic, but it doesn’t dull her mood.

Draco’s still too caught up in his own offence to even notice. “So, you’re saying you never even found me attractive?”

Sue looks to him, face solemn. “You’re cousins, right?”

“Distantly,” Hydrus stresses the word. 

She looks back to Draco, “Go to therapy.”

Silencing charms are a blessing, because they would have been banned from the library after the ensuing disaster.

Two weeks after his return to Hogwarts, Hydrus is in an exceptionally good mood. Things were better now Sue had also been factored into his changing guard of escorts and he had gotten his first opportunity to walk to his new common room alone. Draco couldn’t just wait for him to come back from Riddle manor all day, after all.

The visit had been nice, too. Voldemort hadn’t been a prick, or at least not as much as usual, and Alya seemed far happier. He was still determinedly ignoring how much closer the two seemed for his own mental health and personal wellbeing, and he will continue to ignore it until the day he’s forced to acknowledge they might be attempting to ‘court’ again.

Hopefully that won’t happen for a long time yet, seeing as they’re only now holding hands occasionally. That was a little funny, admittedly, because Alya would simply grab the mans hand every now and again causing Voldemort to pause abruptly every time.

Once, and only once, Hydrus had imitated the windows XP shutdown noise.

No one got it.

Alya had shared some spells she favoured in her youth, encouraged him to make some requests to the elves for dishes she enjoyed which she promises he’ll love, and Voldemort had shared some of the nicer parts to the chamber for him to investigate. Hydrus had happily recounted the latest quidditch practice, only exaggerating it a little because they were being run hard in preparation for the season to start, and grabbed a moment away from Alya’s ears to ask about Sue’s muggles.

There was a chance she was joking when she mentioned putting a hit on them, but Hydrus has been trading surface details of their home lives with Sue for years and he wants them dead too. He’s not a mastermind, he got lucky when he killed Dumbledore, but Voldemort has plenty of Death Eaters who can help her. At least if she’s put in contact with one then she can decide for herself.

His moment of peace in the corridors is abruptly stolen away when he’s grabbed by the collar and arms and dragged into a classroom. His wand clatters out of his hand when he tries to get free, but he manages to get space to breathe.

Ron and Hermione stare at him, no one speaking a word, everyone breathing hard. While they’re barely five steps apart, the space between them feels like a chasm no one can dare cross. Then he must duck out of the way as Ron attempts to punch him in the face, and despite all the warnings about being too open with his Elemental ability he conjures a fireball on instinct. He disperses it before any harm is done and Hermione grabs Ron by the arm.

“– Oh, for Merlin’s sake, why did you have to prove Draco right?” Hydrus groans, as if it might diffuse the tension. “I told him no one was gonna try to grab me in the middle of the school and now I owe him twenty galleons.”

Ron breaks free to try and punch him again.

“Ronald! Stop it – both of you – stop!” Hermione yells, throwing herself between them, but her voice is firm rather than desperate.

“What’s wrong with you!” Ron yells, physically holding himself back, voice breaking.

Hydrus huffs an incredulous laugh, “Wrong with me? You’re attacking me!” He points out, voice rising rapidly.

“Do they have you – I don’t know – imperiod or something? That’s the only reason I can understand you acting like this,” The redhead drags a hand through his hair, hands visibly shaking, but there is so much worry in his voice it breaks Hydrus’ heart slightly.

“Act like what, Ron?” He asks instead. Here is a chance to explain it, everything he’s done, but he can’t. He can’t explain and he can’t just admit to killing Dumbledore out in the open and he’s feeling too defensive to even try. “Just spit it out, cause you’re the one who dragged me in here.” Hydrus scoffs, entirely unwisely.

Part of him is desperate for his friends to retaliate finally. They’ve been watching him for two weeks and they haven’t tried to confront him or lash out and he’s desperate for it. He betrayed them, betrayed their friendship and his found family and everything they stood for, and he needs them to do something about it.

He deserves consequences.

Ron sucks in a deep breath. “Like you’re another mini Death Eater. You’re buddied up to Slytherins, you’re in Slytherin, you might as well come out and declare you’re for you-know-who now.”

Hydrus raises his chin. “And what if I am – what are you going to do then?”

It’s quick, Hermione’s too surprised to resist Ron shoving her out of the way to lunge at him. This time, however, Hydrus is ready, and he’s already braced himself – someone drags the other boy back before the fist can connect with his face.

“What the hell do you both think you’re doing.” Remus demands, not raising his voice, but it carries just as much weight as if he’d yelled the words. Stern, unbelievably so, and angry.

This was planned then. Someone told them when he’d be alone because there’s no other reason for Sirius or Remus to be in the castle.

There’s a loud shriek and Hydrus turns in time to see Hermione try to pick up his wand from the floor, the damn thing letting out bright green sparks to propel itself towards him. He catches it with seekers reflexes but also from practice of controlling the loud chunk of wood since he got it, then slowly and pointedly puts it on a desk out of arms reach.

He still has other ways to fight back, after all.

“I’m not the one throwing punches,” Hydrus finally bites out.

Ron looks like he wants to hit him terribly, and Hydrus isn’t sure if he wants to let him. “You killed Dumbledore…I have every right to beat the shit out of you.” Ron seethes, and he imagines this hurt has festered over the past month.

Hydrus scoffs. “Maybe I did, but you know what? He had it coming.”

His once friends reel back in horror, while Remus and Sirius look shaken but push through it quickly.

“You said you made a deal,” Sirius says gently, like it might create a middle ground, help get them all to a level mood.

He forces himself to breathe as he nods. “I did, and I didn’t want to do it like that – I didn’t wanna hurt you – but it doesn’t mean Dumbledore didn’t deserve it. He did, and no one deserved it more.”

Maybe he had more feelings about that than he’d like to admit.

“You don’t mean that, Harry,” Hermione shakes her head, outright ignoring his words.

“Yes, I do, Hermione. I’ve never meant anything more,” He laughs bitterly, no humour behind it. His fist is clenched, digging crescent moons into his palm. “When I said we got kidnapped by Death Eaters…I meant we got kidnapped by Voldemort. The same day I met her, in fact. And when I said worse case scenario, I meant the worst case.”

Hesitatingly, he offers up his hand and along with it the Slytherin heirship ring. He’s told them all about the chamber and the diary and a young Tom Riddle, he’s sure they can figure it out for themselves.

Sure enough, Hermione lets out a quiet noise of shock and he pulls his hand back. “It was a messed-up few months, really, and I spent the first few days day drinking. The weeks after that with a rotating cast of Death Eater babysitters while the same guy who cruciod me tried to play dad.”

Sirius pulls a rather disgusted face reminiscent of how Hydrus felt in those early days.

“And Alya really did try and get us a way out, only for someone to nearly kill her. She took a spell meant for me, and I didn’t have a wand to help her, so I made a deal. I couldn’t let her die for me. He would save her if I accepted he is my father and that I’m the heir to fucking Slytherin because the universe has been fucking with me for years.”

He grits his teeth for just a moment. “And I had to kill Dumbledore, too. But you know what? That was the part I had least issue with, it still is, and I really – I don’t feel bad. I don’t. Fuck him, fuck wherever he is now, just…after everything he did, why should he live at her expensive? I hope he rots.”

He gasps in air between his teeth, clutching a desk for support, letting out everything he’s been bottling up. Things were fine now, he’s working on moving past the bad blood and he’s made his peace with killing, but those feelings haven’t quite gone away yet.

“Harry,” Remus begins softly, picking his words carefully. “I know you were mad at Dumbledore, but –”

“I am mad at Dumbledore.” Hydrus interrupts shortly, breath evening out but not quite ready to let go of the desk yet. “I’m probably gonna be mad at him for a very long time. But I have every right to be, being dead doesn’t excuse him. I know that you think he was good and perfect, an old man with a few mistakes behind him, but he was an asshole.”

He wants his wand back. He wants to vent the energy that’s making him shake and he wants to blow a hole in the wall because maybe that will help.

“Dumbledore let you down. He let a lot of us down, and he was never perfect. He was human, pup, and he made mistakes like the rest of us, and I understand that you’re angry, but they took advantage of that.” Sirius says so reasonably he could almost believe it.

But no one took advantage of him, he knows that, no one but Dumbledore.

When he loosens his grip on the desk, there are scorch marks where his hands had been.

“He didn’t make a mistake Sirius!” He yells, unable to help himself, focusing on not setting half the room on fire instead. “He did it on purpose. He told me, no one put it in my head, he admitted it. Dumbledore read their will, he knew you were innocent, and he knew I wasn’t their blood and he thought I was tainted by dark magic. He knew I was going to be dead before I even got to have a life, but he was never going to tell me.”

Hydrus doesn’t look up to see their faces and he doesn’t let them interrupt, keeping the fire contained under his skin instead.

“He knew. That’s the thing, because the prophecy that got the Potters killed. He faked it. He faked all of it, engineered a reason for Voldemort to even target them, and he didn’t even tell them why. They didn’t know they could save themselves by just telling the truth, not until it was too late at the least. And then, for ten years, he was my magical guardian but, where was he? Where was he when Vernon tried to drown me ‘cause I burned him when he…where was he when he sent so many letters to the cupboard under the stairs that they locked me outside for two days as if that’d make it stop. He wasn’t there when they told half the town I was a dangerous thief so no one would care what happened to me.”

It keeps spilling out, he’s helpless to stop it, the secrets he’s kept from them for years. The secrets he could only talk about in secret with Sue as they compared old scars and trauma because the only thing they could do was laugh about it.

“He wasn’t there when they locked me in a church when I was six to be exorcised, because that’s what Petunia insisted their parents should have done to her sister, and I was there for two days. When I had to save myself – like I’ve had to do every year in this damn school – I had to do everything I could to stop my own magic turning on me and I was so desperate I accidentally set the church on fire. He wasn’t there when I was left there ‘cause no one cared, either, but I can tell you where he was. He was ignoring it, just like how he ignored me when I begged him not to send me back every year, because I was tainted. Because I needed to be compassionate and strong enough to resist dark magic.”

Hydrus swallows the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his gut because it feels so wrong to even say it out loud. He trained himself to stop this, making sure he wouldn’t slip up and mention half the horrors at Privet Drive, because every slip up was punished.

“I hope he’s rotting in hell; I really do. I hope he’s suffering, I hope there’s some divine justice out there, because when I called him on it, when I had my wand ready and all he had to do was show a little remorse, he couldn’t. He dismissed everything that happened to me as unimportant, as if the Dursleys meant nothing compared to the bigger picture. He couldn’t even feel a shred of guilt for what he did, so why should I? Why should I care when he never did?”

Arms encircle him and they stay steady around him even when he tries to push Sirius away. He refuses to break down, he simply can’t give in right now, and he won’t take comfort he doesn’t deserve.

“We can get you out of it, this deal, pup.”

Hydrus manages to break free, getting out of the hug, shaking his head, and putting distance between them again. “I don’t need saving,” He insists, swiping at the hair falling into his face. “Not anymore, anyway, and I can’t explain it but everything you think about the war – it’s bullshit.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“It took a month for you to buy into blood supremacy. Were you that desperate for a father?” Hermione snarls viciously.

He almost laughs. Almost. “You really think I’d ever buy into that bullshit? Thanks for the vote of confidence, ‘Mione.” Hydrus spits angrily, wishing again he hadn’t given up his wand. “I spent the whole month boasting about how you’re the smartest person in this entire school every chance I got – to Voldemort’s face – because I wanted to remind them how stupid the whole thing is. I’ve got Draco under warning I’ll punch him in the face if I ever hear him say the ‘M’ word again and I’ll hex anyone I hear too.”

Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t back down one bit.

“That’s the thing – the hating muggleborns thing? It’s bullshit Dumbledore made up to stop people joining them. I’m not exaggerating when I say their goals are a little extreme, they could really use a reasonable sane person to workshop them a little. As someone who spent a month stuck at Death Eater HQ, a resident therapist would do wonders too. But there’s no killing all muggles and no killing muggleborns or banning them from Hogwarts. There’s not even any danger to Hogwarts – Dumbledore hated dark magic so much he cut basic classes and forced in a bias – that’s why so many new students have joined with him gone. He spent a century attacking dark wixen.”

An uncomfortable silence.

“Bloody hell, they really got you in the head.” Ron breathes.

Hydrus grits his teeth. “Merlin’s balls! Do you really think I agree with shit like death to all muggles? I spent weeks refusing to listen to anything but it’s really hard to argue with facts. It’s hard to argue with actual statistics too, and those show that being accepted by muggle family is the exception. And that’s a trend across the world. But you know what really made me listen?”

Sucks in another breath through his teeth. “Elementals are dark creatures. Classed that way worldwide, too, and it’s why there’s so few of us. We have a direct connection to Lady Magic and so we were hunted down for it – I’ve talked to her, as insane as it sounds, and magic is on his side. So, I’m trying to listen and hold him to a less violent standard.”

He’d lost Ron as a friend the moment he put stock in anything Voldemort said, he’s known this for a while, so it doesn’t sting so much that his former best friend can’t even look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Remus sighs, customarily world-weary. “Being a dark creature…it’s hard. It’s not something I’d wish on anyone.”

His temper simmers, ready to boil over again. “I’m sceptical, okay. I’m sceptical over just how honest Voldemort is being with me, but he also wants me and Alya on his side willingly, and he’s been honest about everything so far. He swore a few things to me and…if you don’t attack him first, you’ll be safe. He told me his plans for Hogwarts even when I didn’t ask and – and I didn’t ask him to make Wormtail confess. It’s stupid that I didn’t, but he didn’t even tell me, Draco did. He’s removing laws against dark creatures and magic, removing the trace, bring back old classes. All that? It’s a really good start.”

Burned out is an accurate description of how he feels, he doubts he could conjure flames without effort right now, and he’s desperate for his bed. A shower too.

“Death Eaters, You-know-who, they’ve killed so many people Harry. He killed Lily and James, they killed so many of our friends.” Sirius finally says, his voice low and rough. Hydrus can’t blame him; he’d struggled enough to see past Cedric.

“I don’t think Alya ever plans on letting him forget that,” He says, not quite able to smile like he usually would. “I don’t either. The amount of bad blood between me and Voldemort alone can make dinner a little wild sometimes. But Dumbledore spent years recruiting his soldiers out of school, and he let me kill my own teacher first year while telling me it wasn’t wrong. He was going to let me die, he set up the Potter’s to die…I don’t think either side of this war is clean.”

Sirius paces for a few minutes, fists clenching and unclenching, occasionally looking like he might speak before stopping. Remus shakes his head whenever Hydrus tries to say something. Then his godfather stops, suddenly, and walks forward before placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I…I need to think, pup. I really need to go think. So, stay safe, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, try to have a little mercy on Gryffindor. But I really need some time…maybe tell Alya that if she gets an owl from me, I’ll need a reply. Kid gloves too, she was one mean lady when we were younger.”

Remus doesn’t have words but does hug him for a little too long, possibly to say they’ll be okay and possibly just to reassure himself everyone is safe for now.

And Hydrus smiles at them both weakly, realising a minute too late he forgot to tell them he really would prefer Hydrus from now on, and doesn’t try to break the tense silence between the once named golden trio.

“You’re just…Slytherin now then. A proper Slytherin, lying to everyone about who you are.” Ron scowls at a cracked part of the stone slabs.

“The hat always wanted me in Slytherin, Ron. It wanted me there from day one. And, full honestly, it’s easier not being Harry. No one whispers behind my back, no one expects anything of me, and I learned in Europe that I really like the name Hydrus.”

Not even bothering to look at him, Ron storms out.

“He’ll get over it,” Hermione says out of habit and winces immediately. They all know this isn’t as easy to come back from as the usual arguments she mediates. “You actually started boasting about me to you-know-who?” She asks after a moment, a small smile pulling at her lips.

He laughs, deep in his chest this time. “Of course I did. I told him I was pretty sure you’d vanquish him if he messed with your OWL’s too. I told him you were so brilliant you got a time turner at thirteen and I told Lucius bloody Malfoy that you’re the smartest witch and the best person I’ve ever met. I didn’t accept anything he said until I knew you weren’t in danger, ‘Mione.”

She runs at him, suddenly, grabbing him in a tight hug and grumbling under her breath about his new height. They used to be close enough she wasn’t at risk of banging her forehead into his chin, which nearly happens now. “I missed you,” She mumbles into his neck and Hydrus hugs her back tightly. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I doubted you and I’m…I’m sorry you ever had to go through half of that. You’re my best friend and I trust you, so if you say this is all safe…I can accept that.” She declares.

He pulls back to wipe the tears off her cheeks with his sleeve. “It’s okay. I woulda doubted me too if I suddenly started saying Death Eaters weren’t the worst side of the war,” He grins at her, even if he doesn’t fully feel it. “But I do mean it, ‘Mione. I’ve listened to the plans and…most of it isn’t violent. They’re insisting on killing muggles who treat wixen like…like the Dursleys treated me. But that’s the majority of the murder. He even swore you and the Weasley kids wouldn’t be hurt even if you try to fight back. Well, within reason anyway.”

Ah, he almost forgot about what he had long deemed the ‘Hermione face’ where she seemed to pick apart a situation in every way within seconds. Usually to guess what he and Ron were up to. “I can’t say I wouldn’t want to seriously maim them,” She admits with a sigh and then looks towards his wand. “What happened to your other wand and why do you have that demonic branch.”

He laughs again, finally taking back his wand. “A lotta wixen have two wands anyway, and my holly one might have been recognised, so Voldemort called in a special wandmaker and I ended up with this.” He holds it up with a bright smile, “My holly one is back home, and this little bastard is blackthorn with a mixed core including my own parseltongue venom. Weird, right? The wandmaker said he’s never hated the temperament of a wand more and it blew up Voldemort’s favourite chair when I picked it up. Basically, it’s so loyal it won’t let anyone else hold it and sometimes it casts on its own.”

It’s a testament to their friendship that Hermione isn’t at all impressed, simply rolling her eyes in response. Hydrus supposes that nothing he does can phase her after she watched him fight a dragon. “You always have to go an extra mile, don’t you Hydrus.”

He shoves her lightly in response, holstering his wand. “I meant it too, y’know, I’m just waiting to punch Draco if he slips up. I got written permission to do it, so he’s on constant vigilance.”

It coaxes a proper laugh from her like he hoped it would. “I expect to see it when you inevitably do. I suppose I have to support the Slytherin team in quidditch now too? I’ll be a social pariah.” She sighs dramatically, as if she’s ever actually cared about quidditch or social standing in Gryffindor.

“C’mon ‘Mione, you couldn’t expect me not to play quidditch ever again. Like you said – I’m just a jock. I expect you in the stands in full green paint and one practice a month.”

Hermione makes an unimpressed but resigned noise, frowning at him in the process, and he throws an arm around her shoulders to head out.

“Since you don’t want to lock me up and throw away the key, are you gonna help me with this runes essay?”

She elbows him in the ribs so sharply he has to gasp in air through breathless laughter. “I knew seeing you take so many classes was just a fluke.” She directs their walk towards Gryffindor tower.

“I’m still academically lazy but there were conditions on coming back and one of them was actually studying. If it helps, I’ve been ruining Draco’s day begging him for help.”

It does, indeed, make her laugh so he decides to use all his Draco suffering material to cheer her up.

“At least we have plenty of classes together now. Snape finally took the lead on separating Gryffindor and Slytherin as much as possible in cores but now I hardly see you,” Hermione complain, affronted as if Snape did it just to annoy her.

Hydrus shrugs with his free arm. “Runes is pretty small; we can definitely partner up there.”

They begin the familiar climb of the stairs.

“Why did you leave today? Did you have to report back.” There’s a slightly nasty note to her voice but Hydrus had struggled to be civil for weeks so he can’t blame her.

“Alya wanted me to visit,” He can’t shove her, so he uses his arm around her shoulder to sway them both. Hermione shoves at him but doesn’t actually try to make him let go. “Like I said, ‘Mione, he’s trying to play dad. Kind of, I don’t think he knows what that looks like. It’s weird but I’ve just accepted it by now, and Alya’s booked another trip home after Slytherins’ first match. She got really upset when term restarted too.” He frowns slightly, thinking about how Alya got teary once again when he left.

Hermione groans, a little dramatically in his opinion. “You and Ron – you’re both the same. No emotional range at all! Like a teaspoon, and a really small one at that. She’s just got to meet her son after fifteen years and you’re off again for most of the year.” She huffs, sounding rather like she’s telling him off and he grimaces under the onslaught. “Do you think you’re ever going to…call her mum?” Hermione asks then, a little softer but largely curious.

Hydrus sighs, considering if falling from the stairs at this height would be preferable to the topic. Sure, Hermione would forget immediately, but he would probably survive so the escape wouldn’t be for long. “I don’t know, ‘Mione. I’m okay with others calling her my mum and I think of her that way too but…the Potters literally gave their lives for me. Lily refused the chance to live just to save me. I barely remember them, I didn’t know anything about them till I came here anyway, and I never really felt…connected to them, I guess? But it’s like I’m betraying their sacrifice if I do. God, imagine how Sirius and Remus might feel too.” He shakes his head, trying to dispel the image of how hurt they might look. “It feels bad enough wearing their heir ring sometimes.” He admits even quieter, only to yelp, mostly out of surprise, when she elbows him again.

“If this whole war was…if it really was meddled with by Dumbledore, then they didn’t know what they were fighting. He got them killed in the first place and they trusted you with the lordship. That love isn’t unconditional, Har – Hydrus. You don’t need to spend your whole bloody life trying to do what you think everyone else wants you to, okay? Especially not ghosts. If you want to call your own mother ‘mum’ then you get to.”

They finally reach the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, and Hermione grabs him in a tight hug once again, face in his neck, like he might disappear if she lets go. Hydrus thinks it’s not dissimilar to how Remus hugged him. “We’re meeting in the library tomorrow, understood? I know you have a free before dinner. You can even bring along some of your Slytherins.” She orders.

Hydrus holds his hands up in surrender, not brave enough to object.

“Now begone snake, you don’t get the password anymore,” She declares almost as haughtily as Draco.

He grins back, saluting her, “I almost missed you bullying me, ‘Mione.” He flees before she can retaliate and takes the risk of jumping two steps at a time.

Despite being exhausted from the emotional whiplash he’s undergone in the last hour, he still manages to skip part of the way to the dungeons out of sheer happiness.

“Heads up prick!” He calls when he spots Draco in the common room and throws the galleons at the blond before falling into a free armchair.

Draco’s confusion quickly turns into annoyance but then rapidly changes into wide eyes and alarm, “I told you!” Comes the smug declaration, the other boy half out of his seat, uncaring of whether this is the appropriate reaction.

“It wasn’t a kidnapping, but Ron did try and punch me in the face,” Hydrus protests, because Draco was only half right. “I expected it, really, he’s probably been furious about that. Sirius and Remus were there too but they were good, they’re both gonna think about their life choices, I guess. Hermione is great though.”

The other fifth year Slytherins show varying degrees of confusion.

“He’s talking about former escaped convict Sirius Black who broke in and threatened Gryffindors with a knife, right?” Pansy raises an eyebrow at Draco who nods with his head in his hands.

“He was trying to kill Ron’s rat, actually, and he’s a lot better now. Physically. Mentally no one really knows.” Hydrus corrects, jumping in as defence for his godfather who may be experiencing a mid-life crisis right now. Daphne sniggers. “I’m meeting ‘Mione in the library before dinner tomorrow and it’s an open invite. I’m specifically uninviting Draco.”

The boy in question looks outraged, it’s a little over the top in Hydrus’ opinion, but he doesn’t let him protest.

“Do you want tomorrow to be the day I punch you in the face? Because I will, right in the library too. It’ll be a public event. You two need to be eased into talking.”

Draco, having considered the risks, nods in agreement through he mutters under his breath about how it’s unfair.

Pansy descends into a short bout of giggles.

“I’ll join you; I need more spice in my life.” Blaise announces and promptly gets hit with a pillow by Theo.

“You’re both insufferable,” The boy huffs and hits Blaise again for good measure.

Hydrus catches Blaise’s eye for a moment.

“They’re just jealous,” Hydrus declares, sprawling across the chair.

Blaise nods severely, “It must be hard, knowing they could never look this good.”

Pillows fly in every direction.

Chapter Text

Nearly two months into term, Hogwarts is nearly unrecognisable. On the surface very little had changed, of course, besides some of the crumbling old wards being updated. Only a small circle is meant to know who funded it, but Voldemort is so unbearably smug about it that Hydrus needs to complain to someone.

Someone turns into many people, starting with Draco but quickly spiralling into venting to Sue and Hermione.

(The latter was a little awkward, even he had to admit, because Sue gave the distinct impression that he was third wheeling them. The biggest clue being the way she kicked him so hard in the shin he bruised.

Hydrus didn’t have the heart to break it to her that Hermione was under the impression Sue just wanted to be friends now that Ron had sent himself into a self-imposed isolation. If he were a better person he would help them both out, but instead Slytherin had a bet on when the muggleborn would catch the hint.

Draco wagered the two would figure it out by Spring.

Hydrus didn’t feel quite as charitable and bet the train ride home next summer. To tell the truth, even that felt a little optimistic.)

The true change in Hogwarts came from the students themselves. The house divides had never felt so unimportant, the new influx of students with no bad blood had trampled over old rivalries and even the Gryffindor-Slytherin feud was weakened by the amount of time Hermione Granger now spent in the company of snakes. It acted as an olive branch of sorts to the younger students scared to reach across the divide, showing they could be friends with a little work.

The older students were resistant but at least there was a better future on the horizon.

Not much could be done about the missing classes and poor teaching, that would be too much too fast, but it was a new rule that students could report bias in their classes. Surprisingly, both Flitwick and Babbling had received complaints for being unbiased, a few students feeling that meant the professors were promoting the dark.

Runes had been interesting after that. Babbling was a fascinating witch, able to capture the entire classes attention as soon as she walked into the room, mainly because she often stitched her own runes into her hijabs to demonstrate just what you could do with enough practice. In one memorable lesson, she walked in and set the head scarf on fire for five full minutes. Hermione adored the woman, which was enough of an endorsement for Hydrus to like her too.

The class had been kept on edge for ten minutes, waiting for Babbling to say a word as she drew a series of runes on the board, and another five passed when she was done.

Professor Babbling had sat on her desk and asked who could identify the runes in question. She was soft-spoken, sometimes even drowned out when the class got too active, but her proficiency with runes was terrifying and underscored the fact she simply had no reason to raise her voice. Every wall in the room had a silencing rune on it, if she needed silence, she only need activate it.

Hydrus recognised the runes, and he easily spotted a small handful of others who did too, but none of them spoke up. Those were runes you could only find in books a little too dark for the Hogwarts library.

Going by the smile on Babbling’s face, she knew who recognised it and just why they didn’t answer.

Then she spent the rest of the lesson explaining that the majority of ancient runes were seen as dark by modern standards, that she had been forced to limit how much she could cover in a standard class for years because, while they were not banned, they were frowned upon. They were given the choice of learning the true history of runes, from all sides, and how many had dual purposes or going along with the previous curriculum and leaving their education short.

It was an easy decision

Flitwick hadn’t said anything about the complaint but did spend a lesson comparing laws around practicing magic in Britain to other countries, focusing particularly on the multiple uses of specific spells and how that affected their classification. Flitwick may have identified more with his wixen parentage but that didn’t mean he respected wixen beliefs.

A complaint or two was levelled at McGonagall, not that they had any effect, and Trelawney received too many to count.

Not that Hydrus was meant to know any of this, he’d been explicitly warned against sharing this with his friends, because no one could know that Voldemort was a horrendous gossip. Hydrus didn’t ask to know the juicy details about the reworking of Hogwarts but Alya took any chance to share the burden of listening to Voldemort’s complaints.

Hydrus isn’t sure why either of them have to deal with it, surely that should be Snape’s job.

The professor with the most complaints, unsurprisingly, was Delores Umbridge. She had united every student against her, one bag of anonymous complaints arriving at the Headmaster’s door each morning in a coordinated effort to get her fired. Each house and year were taking it in turns. No success there, Fudge was clinging onto power by the skin of his teeth and refused to budge on anything.

Voldemort had warned him about her early on in his return to the castle. Umbridge was Fudge’s man through and through, but if the minister was to disappear, she wouldn’t hesitate to seize power for herself. She was an opportunist above all, her agenda may have aligned with theirs on the surface, but she had no care for dark creatures or dark magic.

Delores Umbridge wanted to purge anything she viewed as impure, which was just a bit hypocritical, and that put her at odds with them. She fell for the propaganda Dumbledore once pushed and they couldn’t get rid of her just yet. Voldemort made sure to emphasise that after Hydrus spent a full day discreetly using his element to mess with her, not limited to setting the board on fire and burning up her textbooks.

No one got hurt, as Hydrus pointed out repeatedly, and she got cosmic retribution for unfairly targeting Hermione. It was Voldemort who tried to convince him of the benefits to deserved homicide, the man should have been happy Hydrus was being proactive.

Voldemort was not happy. At all. In fact, the man rubbed his temples for ten minutes and asked Hydrus to present a list of reasons it was necessary to set her chair on fire every time she attempted to sit down. He didn’t let Hydrus actually offer a reason, deciding it wasn’t worth it.

Hydrus made note to not be so obvious next time.

He could probably find a way to flood her office as soon as she stepped inside.

Runes were handy like that.

One thing that would never change about Hogwarts, and where the house divide would never end, was quidditch. No one would have it any other way.

Except Voldemort, who would probably want to get rid of the sport altogether if Hydrus insisted on risking death and injury to catch an enchanted golden ball.

Hydrus made Crabbe and Goyle practice their speed and timing with him so that, at his signal, they would hit the bludger at him should another seeker be following him too closely. It takes a few attempts for them to get it right, but Hydrus happily takes the bruises because it nearly makes Draco faint every time.

The blond was under the impression that he would be held accountable should Hydrus be harmed whilst at school. It probably wasn’t true, but Hydrus can’t know for sure, so his reassurances fall short every time.

The first match back, taking place in the miserable mid-November weather, feels different to all his past games but that’s probably because the twins aren’t beside him cracking jokes and Hermione isn’t leading the muggle raised Gryffindors through different songs. Not that she had escaped quidditch, Hermione and Sue are bundled up in the Slytherin stands with Daphne Greengrass.

When he flies by them before the game starts, Hermione curses him five times over for making her stand in the rain.

Then Hydrus almost falls off his broom.

Narcissa Malfoy and Alya Black are climbing the Slytherin stands.

He flies straight into Draco instead, making a few slightly embarrassing noises in the process, because he’s sure he must be hallucinating. His mother is striking up a conversation with Hermione and Sue.

Draco agrees it’s unusual but only because Narcissa hates the winter games, preferring to attend in the summer where she could actually see him play without squinting through the rain.

It’s not that Hydrus is upset about Alya being there, if anything it makes him nervous in a very strange way to know his mother probably demanded Voldemort let her come out to the castle just to support him. No, it’s the expectation more than anything. If he didn’t play to his best before then it may have disappointed his house, but he wouldn’t have been letting anyone down, not anyone important to him.

And, of course, he knows Alya has as much love of quidditch as Voldemort. There was nothing she really enjoyed here, Hogwarts meant nothing to her, and she has no house pride to invest in, so she was sat in the rain entirely for him.

Part of Hydrus would like to simply fly away rather than disappoint her. But that’s not an option, he’s never been one to run away, not even when he was scared. And he’s not scared over something so very normal to most people.

Well, maybe a little.

Hydrus hadn’t planned for either of his parents to see his plays, just to be horrified at the stories later.

The game itself goes well, it’s a laughably easy victory, though it gives Hydrus a new appreciation for his vision. A bludger may have nearly hit him, sending him right into Blaise, but at least he didn’t need to worry about his glasses breaking.

Just his ribs.

Nothing a trip to Pomfrey couldn’t fix and going by the bruises already blooming on Draco’s pale skin he wouldn’t be alone. Not a surprise, the other boy would probably bruise if someone tapped him too hard.

Hydrus didn’t dare look to the stands throughout the game, nervous of what he might find; there was a real, if small, chance that his best friend might have turned to violence. It wouldn’t be the first time she set someone on fire on the pitch. Hermione may have been civil with Draco, so far, but she wasn’t exactly endeared to any Malfoy just yet.

There was no chance Sue would attempt to stop her either.

Sue Li loved chaos as much as him, but she enjoyed violence a great deal more.

If the two ever did end up together, Hydrus thinks the wizarding world should be scared.

The usual crowds are waiting outside the changing rooms, family and friends eager to talk about the game, and Hydrus shoves Draco out in front of him. Better to have a human shield to hide behind than risk fury and lectures head on.

It’s a bad idea.

Draco freezes in place with no warning so, when Hydrus keeps walking, science kicks in. That is to say, Draco falls victim to gravity but, refusing to go down alone, grabs Hydrus who grabs Blaise just behind him. Crabbe and Goyle, putting in a commendable effort, try to grab Blaise and save them all. It doesn’t work, Draco’s too indignant and stubborn to accept defeat and knocks Hydrus off his feet. The five of them end up in a heap of tangled limbs, their formerly clean clothes covered in mud, and no one claims credit for the high-pitched yelp as they are all brought down again.

Hydrus gets elbowed in the face twice, at least.

The cause of this disaster?

Draco Malfoy, mostly.

But, partly, the group of laughing witches comprised of Hermione, Sue, Narcissa and Alya. It was a dangerous sight, the four of them seeming like they’ve done this every quidditch match for the last five years. It was understandable Draco would be shocked to see his mother chatting with a muggleborn.

Unforgivable, but Hydrus understands.

The rest of the team pull them up one by one, making sure they’re firm on their feet and not at risk of sabotage, and by the time they’re all upright the witches have finished laughing.

Sue still giggles with a malicious kind of glee.

Hydrus makes a mental note to try and keep her from meeting Voldemort.

“You couldn’t have helped your favourite person, ‘Mione?” He pouts, glancing down to inspect himself.

Hermione gives him one look over, face completely serious, before shrugging. “Didn’t fancy it, sorry.”

He almost lets it go. Almost. There are other pressing matters, after all. But Hydrus grins up at her, Hermione backing up slowly as she realises he’s up to something, and spreads his arms wide. “You could at least give me a hug then, after you watched me get hit in the face and all. C’mon ‘Mione, you love hugs!”

Sue squeals as she’s almost knocked to the ground when the two of them dodge and dive around her.

“Piss off demon!” Hermione yells, voice echoing around them, and very narrowly skids out of his way, “I won’t help you with potions, and – and I’ll set the twins on you!”

Hydrus laughs as he finally manages to dive in front of her, catching her around the waist as he does, making sure to rub as much dirt as he can into the back of her top. He was a lot taller than her now and he uses it to his advantage, spinning her around so she can’t break free even as she childishly hits at his arm.

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” He says with no remorse whatsoever as he puts her down.

Then he taps her on nose with muddy hands and a whispered, “Boop.”

Hydrus nearly falls over again as she weakly hits his arm, both laughing in the process.

Grooming spells are so familiar to him now, the strange tingle over his skin coming once a day when Pansy wasn’t happy with something, that he only distantly notes it enough to realise Narcissa has waved her wand to clear them all up.

Mostly. There were some things even magic couldn’t salvage.

“Gryffindors, mother, they have no decorum.” Draco shakes his head but it’s a fool’s effort to hide his grin.

Hydrus rolls his eyes and turns to Alya, “How was your first quidditch match?”

“I have attended matches before, Hydrus.”

“Yeah, but there’s nothing like a Hogwarts game. We’re a lot more fun.”

Alya shakes her head at him and pushes loose hair behind her ear, the wind having blown a few strands free to fall in her face, “I can’t say I didn’t have warning. Miss Granger tells me she’s lost count of how often she’s had to go to the infirmary after a match so I suppose I should be grateful today.”

He quickly decides not to mention the infirmary until she leaves. “It was probably an over exaggeration.”

“He’s on a first name basis with Madam Pomfrey,” Sue pipes up ever so helpfully.

“For many other reasons, you traitor!” Hydrus argues.

Alya sighs, a small smile turned to the ground.

“…I see how that sounds worse,” He admits a moment later.

Draco tries to cover his laugh with a cough.

For someone so dramatic, the blond was a terrible actor.

“I am going to go get dry in the nice, warm, castle,” Hermione declares, grabbing Sue’s arm while she’s at it. “It was nice to meet you Ms Black, Mrs Malfoy.”

Hydrus watches her leave with no small amount of suspicion.

“Lovely girls,” Alya smiles so that’s one win in his favour. Not that he understands how she got that impression, both his friends were amazing, but he would never describe them as ‘lovely’.

“I’m glad you liked them. I wasn’t sure if you would get along.” He admits rather than tell her she’s been deceived. She was spending most of her time with Voldemort these days, maybe everyone just seemed lovely by comparison.

It sounded reasonable enough to him.

Hydrus almost jumps when she’s suddenly wiping dirt off his cheek with a tissue from her robes, an act reminiscent of one he’s seen a thousand times over from Molly Weasley.

“I see why you and Miss Granger are such good friends. Admittedly, I’ve been a little keen to get to know her after hearing some of your stories. And especially after the letters I’ve been exchanging with Sirius.” Alya tells him, almost making him shudder imagining what exactly Sirius had been sharing. But at least his godfather was reaching out. “It’s why I’ve invited her to have dinner with us next weekend.”

Hydrus chokes on his own breath, the words leaving him so shocked he forgets to breathe for a moment.

“Deep breaths, Hydrus.” She encourages, voice utterly calm.

“Hermione – Dinner – Us?” He splutters, not yet able to form complete sentences. Alya simply nods in answer. “Us. All of us. The usual us,” He tries again, as if the answer may be different this time.

“Not quite the usual Sunday party,” Alya allows, lips quirked up as if his reaction were amusing. “I doubt she would be completely comfortable were Nagini or Bartemius there.” She chuckles at the open panic on his face, brushing her thumb over his cheek in a comforting gesture. “Miss Granger is aware of the guest list, Hydrus.”

No wonder Hermione all but ran away.

It was going to be a disaster.

“Looks like he’s broken, I’ll take him up to the castle,” Draco says from somewhere beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Hydrus can’t even find the energy to protest.

“It’s gonna be awful,” He whispers instead, in a semi-permanent state of horror. “It’ll be carnage. Oh god, she’s gonna try and kill him. I just know it.”

With a small smile, Alya presses a quick kiss to his forehead that he barely registers before Draco can lead him away.

“There’ll be so much violence,” Hydrus shakes his head slightly.

“Sure there will, scarhead.” Draco agrees with faux sympathy.

“She can’t kill him, Draco. He’s immortal. So obviously he’ll kill her. I’ll have to tell her parents; I mean I owe her that, maybe we could get her some post-humorous OWLs. But then I’m down a best friend - I can’t afford to get a new one! I’d be stuck with you.”

“Hydrus? If you don’t shut up, I’m going to throw you into the black lake.”

“Can’t you see I’m going through something here, Draco?”

Chapter Text

It takes two days for Hydrus to mark the dinner down on a calendar. Mostly because it takes him a day to go buy one. It wasn’t easy to get muggle items at Hogwarts but, after a day of begging, he convinces Barty to do him this one favour and venture into the muggle world.

Hydrus really doesn’t want to know how it went, all that matters is it worked. Hopefully with minimal criminal acts.

(Bartemius Julius Crouch the second is a genius who fooled Albus Dumbledore and has assisted in crimes of the century…he also has no idea how ‘ASDA’ works. Hydrus had baited him into navigating the muggle world, however, and Hectate be damned he will not lose!

Long story short, Barty forces Lucius Malfoy to accompany him but refuses to tell the man their mission until they arrive. It takes three different shops before they successfully locate every item from the list Hydrus had sent, only to realise they don’t have money.

An even longer story short; somehow the trip ends with two missing limbs (not theirs), a small fire, half a dozen obliviations and some petty theft. Oh, and wilful destruction of property. Mission accomplished, they send a children’s Star Wars calendar, all the movies, and three posters.)

(Hydrus doesn’t tell them it’s not the posters he wanted. They had somehow found a mixture of Doctor Who and Star Trek posters. He more than has the heart to break it to them but it’s far funnier, in his opinion, that they were so proud of failing so badly.)

It feels apt, Hydrus thinks, that Palpatine’s ugly face stares at him as he marks down the apocalypse.

Now that the date is suitably marked down like a doomsday clock, Hydrus turns his focus to the next issue at hand.

Planning Hermione’s funeral.

Out of respect he tries to be discreet. Casual questions like asking her exact height and her opinion on life sized ice sculptures of the deceased and whether a Viking funeral sounds exciting to her.

Subtlety could be his middle name really; it would look a lot nicer than Marvolo.

Sue throws something at his head and tells him to piss off.

Maybe he shouldn’t have tagged along on their little after class trip to Hogsmeade.

By Saturday he feels no better but at least he’s got most of what he needs.

Most.

“Mione, not that it’s important or anything, but what’s your favourite flower?”

Hermione promptly turns to look at him with a face that could strike fear into anyone else. Hydrus, pretty immune to it after all these years, just gently scoots her book across the table so she can’t hit him with it.

She doesn’t say a word.

He keeps waiting.

“Hydrus,” Hermione begins, breaking first. She speaks slowly, as if talking to a child. “Stop planning my funeral.”

“I need to be prepared!”

She groans wordlessly, dropping her head into her hands.

Hydrus decides to shut his mouth.

“Why are you so sure I’d be the dead one?”

He leans back in his seat, “Probably ‘cause I took him out once and he just respawned. Like three times. He was a dark souls boss in a past life. Anyway, it’s Alya’s job to plan his funeral.”

Hermione finally snatches back her book. “I’m not planning on killing him!”

See, he wants to be reassured by that. Really, he does. Voldemort probably wasn’t planning on killing her either – that might disappoint Alya. But he’s not.

Since when did either of then plan anything?

Hydrus can imagine a surprise attack upon Voldemort opening his mouth.

“Okay. If you do manage to kill him, I’ll throw his ashes at Fudge.”

That’s probably what Voldemort would want. Hopefully the Urn would be heavy enough to break the ministers face.

Usually, on his visits home, Hydrus would promptly leave after breakfast to spend the day there. He could attend breakfast as well, the option was always open, but he’s pretty sure Voldemort and Alya enjoyed that private time to be sickening.

Sickening to him, at least.

They had made different arrangements this week. Hydrus would accompany Hermione there and then he would stay the night and floo back before morning classes. Better to not send her off alone to Riddle Manor, in his opinion.

By the time lunch comes around Draco has been forced to threaten tying him to a chair and has actually sat on him. It was impossible to stay still, Hydrus was far too restless thinking about the night ahead, and his pacing around the common room was apparently pissing off his friends. Thus, the being sat on.

Hydrus uses his head to tap a rhythm into the floor.

“Were you dropped as a child?” Draco complains, currently acting like the giant squid trying to pin all his limbs down. It was a futile effort. One which Daphne was happily capturing on camera to shame them with later.

“You have to be held to be dropped!” Hydrus declares, probably a little too cavalier about the whole thing. Now used to his personality shaping trauma, hardly any of the fifth years react to his retort.

Bar Draco, who practically leaps away from him with muttered complaints.

At least he was free.

Hydrus meets Hermione outside of Gryffindor. He’s probably a little early, which is why he can hear two voices arguing still as it opens.

Ron.

“I can come back –” Hydrus says quickly, avoiding Ron’s eyes. He knew they were still talking, of course, he never expected them to pretend it never happened. Just wished the redhead wasn’t ignoring him and refusing to hang out with Hermione outside of the common room anymore.

“No. We’re fine. It’s fine.” Hermione stops him, raising her voice just slightly. That sounds a little like denial to Hydrus but he’s not going to argue with her right now. Ron has apparently done more than enough of that for the night.

The boy in question doesn’t argue either, hanging back just on the other side of the portrait as if the threshold signals safety. Instead, Ron keeps looking at his shoes.

“So…ready?” Hydrus asks.

This awkwardness wasn’t them. It was strange, if nothing else the three of them had always been able to fall in step through arguments and teenage drama. They could ignore each other for days but at least they always had something to say. Even if unkind.

He hates it.

“Ready.” Hermione agrees, a little like it’s an agreement to go to war.

Maybe it was.

“You –” Ron finally says, before they can leave, but cuts himself off abruptly. They let him take a breath and steady himself. This whole thing was unfair, dropped on them out of nowhere, half a century of bad blood trying to drive a wedge in their friendship. If Sirius could write to Alya then Hydrus thinks Ron can come to terms with this. At least, he hopes so. “Can you just…be careful tonight. The both of you.”

Hermione huffs, probably catching the unsaid ‘look after her’. If anyone could take care of themselves in a nest of Death Eaters, then it was her. But she doesn’t argue and neither does he.

“Always are.” Hydrus grins at him, and just for a second Ron grins back. Like old times.

Then Ron closes the portrait.

No ones waiting on the other side of the Floo.

Hydrus wasn’t expecting anyone to, to be fair. It was an attempt at showing Voldemort trusted him by letting him make his own way to and from. No overt monitoring.

He wasn’t stupid enough to think Voldemort wasn’t keeping tabs somehow, but at least it was discreet.

Arm in arm, they walk to the dining room in the unusually empty house. All the Death Eaters were probably ordered to clear out for an hour or two. Hydrus wonders how Alya made that happen.

Probably with minimal effort.

His mother had a hell of a way of scaring the hell out of people.

Alya and Voldemort are stood around the fireplace, chatting casually about something. Hydrus thinks they mentioned kidnapping and a prison break and promptly pretends he absolutely did not hear that.

If Alya was on board, he must assume whoever it is deserves what’s coming.

Hermione lets his arm go so his mother can capture in a hug, fussing over him in a way that still makes him feel strange. After no less than three minutes of inspecting him, she lets up and greets Hermione with a hug that lasts maybe a second.

Hydrus meets Voldemort’s eyes to find they are both confused by the familiarity.

Since neither of them want to comment on it, they silently agree to ignore it and move on.

“Should we all sit down?” Voldemort suggests, waiting for Alya to return to his side. The woman’s stare is icy when she looks at him. “It’s…a pleasure to meet you, Ms Granger.” He adds a moment later. Only by virtue of how much time Hydrus has spent with him, he picks up on the strain in Voldemort’s voice.

It’s acceptable enough that Alya does in fact return to him side, too close for Hydrus’ personal comfort and mental wellness.

“I’m glad to meet you as well.” Hermione returns, sounding civil but no doubt refusing to use his name just because she can.

The funeral might be back on.

A muscle in Voldemort’s jaw tenses and Hydrus sees his fingers twitch. They didn’t even make it to starters, he mourns. Then Alya takes the man’s arm in what must be a silent signal, because he looks slightly less murderous. Maybe an inch less. “For tonight, you may call me Marvolo.”

Hydrus pinches himself to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. It could, he thinks, just be a hallucination brought on by dissociation caused by a traumatic murder scene in front of him.

Seeing as he doesn’t awake to a bloody reality, it must be real. Reality is just terrifying.

Hermione tugs him to the table where Hydrus takes his usual place to Voldemort’s left and Alya across from him. Hermione sits next to Alya. It’s probably the safest place to be, he determines.

So ensues the horror.

“What is your opinion on how the ministry functions?”

Hermione’s blunt question causes Hydrus to choke on his bread.

“Since when is politics acceptable dinner talk?”

Alya’s attempt to stop the situation before it starts is admirable yet futile.

“I think anyone who believes it is functional is deluding themselves, but that’s hardly a controversial opinion these days.”

A surprisingly calm and well adjusting answer from Voldemort.

“The soups great, isn’t it?”

Hydrus says, once he’s recovered his ability to breathe.

Alya doesn’t get the chance to agree.

“What is controversial is how to fix it; so how would you?”

“Overwhelming reform and overhaul. New oversights. Better maintained elections. You?”

“You would never get in the door. A clean and bloodless revolution is the only way forward.”

“Since when are revolutions bloodless?”

“Many curses rarely draw blood.”

Hydrus considers drowning himself again.

The conversation – no, it’s definitely a debate now, Hydrus corrects himself – goes back and forth like a tennis match all the way until the main course. The two were so engaged that he and Alya were able to remove their wands. Hydrus has a back up plan should Voldemort use his element on her.

It was probably the only reason Voldemort allowed him to take his wand.

They had also resorted to just talking over the debate, knowing they’ll be ignored either way. Alya tells him about her daytrip to Durham with Narcissa and he tells her how classes are going and his recent trip to the chamber with Sue. Also, how he just needs to find a DVD player to show her the Star Wars films.

Wait – what the hell was in Durham? Maybe they stopped there after the match last week, took a walk on the coastline. Sirius told him once about how easy it was to hide there after escaping.

“Hydrus, didn’t you say you wanted to speak to me?” Voldemort says abruptly, breaking from the debate. Hydrus can’t prove it but thinks Alya may have kicked him.

It takes his brain a moment to catch up. “Oh, yeah. Definitely…in private.”

With a slight sigh, Voldemort stands and so Hydrus follows. Only pausing to offer Hermione a grin when she looks at him questioningly.

There’s a small room just off of the dining room which Hydrus is convinced was intended for super-secret Death Eater conversations.

Voldemort had never confirmed or denied, so he was probably right.

It’s not built for many people and most of the room is taken up by chairs and a rug. It’ll do fine for this so Hydrus sits on the arm of one of the chairs. After so long, Voldemort has given up trying to reform his abuse of old furniture.

Voldemort waits expectantly.

“I need you to kill someone.” Hydrus decides to just rip off the plaster.

Silence.

“Actually, multiple someone’s. I need to get the exact numbers.”

More silence.

“Okay. Maybe not all the someone’s. There’s like two that already have dibs on their heads.”

Voldemort takes a deep breath. “I need more than just a request to kill someone, Hydrus.”

“Since when?” Voldemort fixes him with a look, so he shrugs. “Listen…they deserve it. My friend Sue, her muggle family is shit. She takes care of herself but…”

“So, this is what you were asking about, when you asked what would happen to a half-blood if their muggle family disappeared.” Voldemort connects the dots.

Hydrus nods.

“I looked into families that would take in a wixen in need. At short notice, few of them could unless the deaths were inconspicuous.”

“But?”

“Bartemius has both space and need of an apprentice as well as a house elf in dire need of someone to care for.”

Usually, Hydrus wouldn’t volunteer to subject his friends to Barty. At the very least, he would ask what kind of apprentice. He didn’t even know the man had a proper job! This isn’t usual, however, and Hydrus is sure Sue could more than handle herself whilst helping him torture the man in fun new ways.

“I think she would be very open to that.”

The main course is served just as they sit back down.

“You both look very pleased with yourselves, should we be worried?” Alya asks, a smile on her face and a raised eyebrow.

“I will tell you later, dearest.” Voldemort assures her quickly.

Hydrus would call him whipped if he didn’t think Voldemort would sense it, instead he looks at Hermione. “Just planning on giving back to the community.”

She rolls her eyes.

They somehow manage to get through it without argument, and Hydrus almost thinks that a miracle has occurred and they’re home safe.

As soon as cutlery is put down, the arguments begin again. This time away from the table, ruining the post-meal but pre-desert bliss. Alya nudges him slightly, “Let’s leave them to talk in circles.”

Hydrus looks between her and the heated debate on the teaching standards of Hogwarts as if she might be missing something.

“They will be fine, Hydrus. Trust them.” She urges which is wrong because he absolutely does trust them. He trusts them both to become violent. “Trust me.”

Ah, damn.

Unlike with Voldemort, he and Alya sit in her favourite sitting room. It has tall clear windows looking out over the hills, some bookcases, an old vinyl player and a fireplace. It’s cosy, Hydrus thinks.

Alya sits him down on the couch and draws an armchair forward with a flick of her wand to sit across from him.

“Hey?” Hydrus says unsurely.

She looks at him as if studying his face. “Hey,” She echoes back.

Hydrus can’t help but to fiddle, not sure what to do, but carefully Alya takes his hands. A gentle restraint to keep him still.

“There’s something wrong.” A statement, not a question. “You’ve been quiet. That is not like you.”

There’s a lump in his throat and he struggles to swallow it down. “I’ve just been…watching them talk.” It’s not a lie, he had been very focused on the verbal sparring.

Alya doesn’t seem to buy it, rubbing circles into the back of his hand with her thumb. “You’re waiting for something to happen.”

It feels like an accusation.

“There’s just –”

“A lot has been put on you, and I am so sorry for that Hydrus. No one thought to ask how you are with any of this, not even me.” She hangs her head as she speaks, as if in shame.

The thought makes his stomach turn. “I’m fine – really – you didn’t need to ask or anything. I’m okay,” he insists, hoping it might help. The sooner she feels better, the sooner they can get back to make sure there hasn’t been a murder.

“No.” Alya huffs, releasing his hands to sit straight and look at him. “No, you’re not. I am not blind, Hydrus. You’re not okay, but more importantly you don’t need to be. You are the child here, it’s our job to look after you. Even if you’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared,” he denies without even thinking over the rest of her words.

She reaches out a hand, stroking through his hair in what was most likely a comforting gesture. Hydrus isn’t sure if he feels comforted. “Of course not,” she agrees. That feels placating. “Just like you’re not looking at the door waiting for disaster.”

“It’s just…well, they hate each other, don’t they? They don’t agree on anything. And what could Hermione do to defend herself ‘cause she’s brilliant but he’s – he’s him!”

“Do you really think that Marvolo would harm her in front of you?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers, the confession feels sharp somehow. Like the words cut his throat on the way out.

Like he’s done something wrong.

Alya just sighs, nodding to herself “We’ll work on that. All three of us. Marvolo…your father has so much blood on his hands, Hydrus, but even he has lines. And one of those is harming us. I promise you that.”

Hydrus can’t find it in himself to agree or accept it.

“It’s not just that, is it?” She asks, the question gentle yet he has no doubt she will not let him leave before she gets the truth. “Is it being back at school? Have you been having problems there?”

He shakes his head quickly and his breath feels ragged. His skin itches, feels too tight, and he considers pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes until it stops. “Everything – it’s all fallen apart, and it feels like I’m going to lose everything. Ron isn’t talking to me and that’s allowed, I know it is, but we’ve always had each other’s backs and now I don’t know if we’re ever gonna be right again! And – and Sirius is talking to you, I know, but he’s not talking to me. Remus isn’t talking to me. We’ve never gone this long without talking, not since third year. So, if he’s not written by now then he’s never gonna speak to me again.”

The words come faster than he can think, spilling out without much consent.

“I’ve lost them. Lost…nearly everyone. Sue and Hermione are still here but – but that could change. I thought I knew this war and I didn’t. I didn’t even know my own life! And I’m not mad about that, ‘cause I found you and…but that all changed in like a day. Whenever anything good happens to me, it gets taken away just as fast and I…It just feels like there is always a shoe about to drop, like if I relax then everything is gonna go wrong and I’m gonna lose everything I have left too.”

A cool hand cups his cheek, much as she had only a few months ago. “You are not going to lose us, Hydrus. I swear.”

“You can’t know that!” He pulls away suddenly. “You can’t promise that. I almost did – you almost died! And I couldn’t stop it and you couldn’t stop it and I just had to sit there trying to help but I couldn’t. I just had to hope, and that doesn’t do shit. I almost lost you – I thought we lost you, mum, and I was scared and that could happen again. The order, we’re traitors to them now and I…and I don’t even know if they were the good guys in the first place. They could just attack us all over again, but I can’t hurt them, and I can’t let them hurt you –”

Alya’s standing, he only knows that because she’s next to him. Pulling him into an embrace and stroking his hair, whispering something he doesn’t understand but feels comforting anyway. So, for possibly the first time in his life, Hydrus just holds on and lets her, body shaking and tears coming too fast to wipe away.

“You’re right, I can’t promise that baby. But I can promise that, no matter what happens, I will do everything I can to stay with you. And I can promise your father will fight to protect us both. But, most of all, I promise you don’t need to protect us. It’s our job to protect you, I know we’ve not done it well, but that changes now. We have you, Hydrus, you don’t need to fight anymore. You can breathe.”

Hydrus doesn’t understand how it works, what sort of magic she’s performed, but the weight isn’t pressing on his chest. It doesn’t feel like he needs to claw air into his lungs before it flees.

Alya keeps stroking his hair, whispering that she has him.

“Can I call you mum from now on?” He whispers into her side, voice rough.

“You can call me whatever you want,” She presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Do we think Marvolo’s going to get jealous?”

He laughs despite himself, “I love you, mum.”

Chapter Text

There is snow everywhere.

It follows, naturally, that Sue would dump a handful of snow down the back of his robes. Frankly, Hydrus is not sure how she reached down his collar without him noticing but he is willing to bet Barty has something to do with it somehow.

He had introduced Barty to his new ward/apprentice just a few days ago and felt a strange pang of regret that might be similar to how Voldemort felt on a regular basis since the kidnapping. Unlike Voldemort, there is no reason whatsoever that he should have any regrets – Hydrus Marvolo Black has never done anything wrong in his life.

A picture of innocence, an angel sent from above (apparently literally?) to pay for wizardkind’s sins, all things that describe him to a T.

A shame that no one else agreed.

(Sue had turned around during their group walk through the grounds and stated she had never noticed the resemblance between father and son more. Mind you, she had never met Voldemort.

Hermione, traitor that she was, had nodded severely and simply said ‘apple tree’. Honestly, he regrets nearly commissioning that life sized ice sculpture.)

Soaked through from the sneak attack, Hydrus shivers a bit more than is natural.

It then occurs to his dear, loving, friends that as a fire elemental he might not do too great with ice and snow. Theoretically he could just heat himself up…then came the chance he could just set his clothes on fire.

Voldemort had cautioned him not to try new experiments with his element at school, and usually he would ignore that piece of sage advice, but he doesn’t really want to risk ending up tits out near the quidditch pitch.

Draco would love that.

Hermione throws an arm around his shoulders, only achieved by dragging him down by the collar, and appoints herself in charge of taking him back inside. His mothers trust in her had only made the big sistering worse.

Childishly, but having won the sole attention of his best friend, he looks back at Sue and pulls a face to gloat.

She throws another snowball at his face.

It had been two days since hell had frozen over.

This event was otherwise known as Voldemort having a civil dinner with Hermione Granger.

No one got maimed, or cursed, or hexed.

Well, besides Snape. From what Hydrus had heard, the new headmaster very narrowly escaped injury at the end of Alya’s wand the next morning.  

His mum had threatened Snape again. Even thinking it makes him smile, the thought of being able to call her his mum out loud and without guilt more so than Snape’s experience of mortality.

Not that the latter doesn’t have its place.

Hermione had been needling him about just what happened from the time he and Alya left the dining room to when she had seen him the next evening, but she tried not to push too hard.

Bless her heart, she thought three times a day wasn’t pushing.

From what Hydrus has pieced together of Sunday, both from memory and what he’s been told, they had never returned to the dining room. He and Alya had spoken in the sitting room, on one couch, as she coaxed him along and insisted that it was her job to look after him and not the other way around.

A novel concept that had exhausted him.

Voldemort’s idea of protection was twisted anyway, but how was he ever meant to relax knowing the order was out there thinking of them all as the enemy. Not that they were technically wrong. Alya swore again and again that Voldemort would not hurt him now, even if it was indirect and a hit to his feelings, but even that didn’t feel strictly right.

Hadn’t Voldemort hurt her all those years ago too?

Hydrus is well acquainted with the act of hurting those you love even when you didn’t mean to. The road to hell was cobbled with the sins of people like them – swearing one thing, doing another, never quite getting it right, and being left alone in the end. So, he doesn’t think that Voldemort wants to hurt him, but he knows the man will if he deems it necessary.

It had been a long conversation that she promised they would repeat another time with Voldemort there.

A family discussion.

Another novel concept.

Hydrus had fallen asleep there, head in her lap, with her hands running through his hair and her gentle promises weaving sweet dreams.

According to Hermione, a house elf had come on Alya’s behalf to inform them that dessert would be a two-person affair. It had nervously apologised to Hermione, at her direction, for the whole dinner being cut short and asked if they could do this another time.

The elf, who’s name she scolds herself for not knowing, had asked Voldemort to go see Alya as soon as Hermione had been safely returned to Hogwarts.

The next morning was the worst part.

He knows that Snape attempted to floo, reluctantly, in the early morning to find out why Hydrus hadn’t attended breakfast or his first class of the day. Voldemort had gotten Alya to handle the call and it had gone badly.

Snape would not be questioning Alya Black again.

Ever.

Of course, he did swear that last time they met too. Hydrus would bet it’ll happen again before the end of the year.

He had slept through this, as well as most of the morning, only to wake up in a room that was not his. After idly taking in the fact there was a body on either side of him, he had realised that this was someone else’s room.

Another moment, and he had realised that he had never been in this room before, which meant it wasn’t his mothers.

That left one terrible option.

Voldemort’s bedroom.

Hydrus had been out of that bed like a whippet, only absently confused on who had changed his clothes, and his absolute lack of grace had woken his dozing mother and the vaguely parental unit shaped dark lord.

“You sleep in a bed?!”

This is the first question that came to mind, at the time, and hindsight says there were more pressing options.

“How did you expect me to sleep?” It might have actually been worse that Voldemort wasn’t looking at him for this usual banter, instead remaining there with his eyes closed and arms folded, half sat up against the headboard.

“Upside down, hanging from the rafters, for two hours a night, in a suit - not your jim-jams.”

“Hydrus.”

The light scold from his mother had drawn his attention to many things. Like the way the nightstand on her side of the bed – she had a side of Voldemort’s bed – was populated with more than she would have needed for one night.

There was some make up and jewellery on a dresser.

“No!” Hydrus had yelled, mouth agape in slowly mounting horror. “This is sick – you can’t – sharing a room? I’m too young to see this.”

To prove his point, he had thrown up his hands, gagging exaggeratedly.

It wasn’t all fake.

Alya was watching him vaguely amused but not encouraging.

Voldemort had decided to properly sit up and look at him.

He had slept cradled between them.

He felt a bit violated, honestly, what happened to family values and good old decency? Back in his day of just five months ago, parents and parent shaped megalomaniacs didn’t share a bed, and they locked their teenage sons out of the room always.

Not that he had any parents at the time, but that’s irrelevant.

“You are much more peaceful when you sleep. Sweeter, too.” Voldemort had commented, clearly amused by it all.

Cradle snatcher.

Voldemort was just lucky no one had called in the magical equivalent to Chris Hansen.

“This just isn’t right.” Hydrus had declared, refusing to look in the direction of the bed.

There had been silence, as he attempted to accept that this was why the two had been holding hands and standing so close lately, but his brain kept shorting out somewhere along the way.

Okay, admittedly, he had also wondered how Alya convinced Voldemort to allow this sleep set up. Specifically, Hydrus being put in the middle of them.

At least he’d woken up closer to Alya’s side than Voldemort’s, but it’s still not much of a consolation.

From the corner of his eye, he had seen Voldemort smile and tilt his head as if a sinister light bulb just flashed above him.

“Now, Hydrus, most children would love their parents to get back together and repair a broken home. A stable home is good for your development, according to the parenting book’s I’ve read.”

Hydrus had turned on his heel, picked a door that was hopefully the exit, and threw up his hands again. “I’m not a child!”

This door was for the ensuite.

He had walked out again, head held high, and dignity only as bruised as the knowledge he might have tried to cuddle Voldemort in his sleep allowed. “And I need a lobotomy more than a stable home!”

Pettily, Voldemort had yelled after him. “Would you prefer to attend a spring wedding or one in the fall?”

There had been a quiet grunt behind him, distinctly from Voldemort, probably because his dearest elbowed him.

Apple fucking tree.

It was obvious why he hadn’t told Hermione any of these details.

If he doesn’t tell her, then it’s not real.

Voldemort and Alya were not dating/courting/sleeping in the same bed.

Hydrus, frankly, draws far too much of his humour from having a traumatic childhood and non-functioning parental figures.

Voldemort cannot fuck this up for him too.

So, rather like dangling a bone over a small yippy dog to distract them, he tells Hermione that Ron had sent him a letter asking to meet.

She yells at him for approximately ten minutes for waiting for so long to tell her and then drills him about the note’s contents and what he will do.

It’s better not to tell her that they were meant to be meeting that night.