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Chapter Text

The Dark Lord Voldemort killed James Potter without hesitation. He climbed the stairs, an uncommon breeze blowing through his hair, a freezing gust before the magical mist blew the door to the nursery open for him. Lily Potter stood in front of the white-painted cradle with her wand pointed at him, her arm firm and unwavering as she stared him down. 

“Step aside,” he said for the sake of Hadrian Black, his Death Master. For a cold blooded necromancer that could eat souls and kill people with a single touch, the boy had a soft heart, even in his life of undeath. It was exactly a year since the man had achieved lichdom, and ensured Voldemort’s own immortality in the process. Hadrian had a very soft spot for Lily Potter, who offered him kindness along with Alice Longbottom when his traitorous cousin took him to meet the Order of the Phoenix. If only little Regulus was alive to watch the last of their members fall to his enemy’s wand. 

“No,” she said. “Spare him. Take me instead.” The Dark Lord didn’t respond. He didn’t even entertain the idea, but his silence must have given her the illusion of such. “He’s just a baby.” 

“Stand aside, or I will kill you,” he repeated, and the wench refused to take his most benevolent offer. On the third attempt to get her to move, he was done with her  nonsense and killed her. Nearly as soon as she had hit the ground, the Dark Lord looked at the baby with the same green eyes as Lily Potter. 

“You would have been perfect,” he said with a sneer, refusing to admit his jealousy over having such a perfect child. He looked just like his Hadrian. It could have easily been their offspring if either of them were capable of producing one. He sighed and sent a killing curse forward, and the breeze circled the room, tearing everything apart almost as if it were angry, before the green spell struck little Harry Potter in the chest. The Dark Lord saw the silvery sheen of a soul enter the boy nearly exactly as the spell struck, and just before the Dark Lord’s body was ripped apart, he saw a new pair of green eyes looking at him, a pair of green eyes that he knew very well, and the baby was surrounded by black feathers as the magnificent guardian crow, Kiki, rose around him with her spear. The Dark Lord’s body was destroyed, and his wand hit the wooden floor, rolling down the stairs and into the hands of a rat man, Peter Pettigrew, who barely apparated away before one Sirius Black came running at him, spells flinging out of his wand. Harry Potter had survived by some sheer miracle, or so the world thought. 

***

Albus Dumbledore approached Godric’s Hollow with a frown and glistening blue eyes. Lily and James Potter were too young to have died in such a way, they were too young and they had a baby to care for. Their family was ruined. He knew Tom had become quite a monster, but to personally orphan a child in such a way? It was truly despicable. He saw the end of an Auror robe disappear with apparation and knew that Sirius Black had been there. The old man shook his head as he walked into the building and saw James’ corpse first, and as he somberly walked up the steps, he saw Lily from outside the door frame. Little Harry Potter was wailing, his little hands poking out of the bars of his crib. Arms that were marked with black tattoos that Albus was very sure he hadn’t had when he first met the infant only months earlier during the casting of the fidelius charm. 

“Oh Hadrian,” Albus said, picking up the baby that stopped crying to look at him. Those eyes. Albus would recognize those eyes everywhere. “What have you done?” In the crib were black feathers that Albus remembered belonged to a maleficium- wielding necromancer’s soul forged servant. The baby’s hands grabbed out to him, and Albus held the baby to his chest and the infant, far too little to understand much, hugged him back. It was pathetic and horribly sad that a man like Hadrian -- no, a boy like Hadrian -- had been reduced to inhabiting a body of Harry Potter. Albus set the boy on the floor and cast a charm to see if the body was even alive, and he found that it was not . Harry James Potter was dead, but his body was being used. 

Hadrian Black was a mistreated young man with a life where he was constantly forced into demonstrating his dangerous abilities and praised for doing so. He was raised by pureblood fanatics. That’s why Albus decided that it would be best if Hadrian had a chance to see the lives of the muggles he was taught to hate so fervently. Hadrian was not like the other Death Eaters, because he wasn’t a Death Eater, and he had been very friendly with the Order of the Phoenix in his own special way. He had endeared Albus and the rest of them to him, and even Albus couldn’t deny him because the boy was dreadfully awkward. There was no dishonesty in his portrayal of himself, there was only shyness that belied the truth of a scared boy who wanted to be loved. He hoped that if he put him with Lily’s family, who knew no better, he would finally get what he so desperately needed. Hadrian had loved Lily, he had spent hours researching spells with her and creating arithmetic sequences by her side, so surely if he would have been her child, which he had admitted he wished for on a few occasions, he would have wanted to know her family. 

Albus decided on what he had to do, and gave Harry to Hagrid for safe keeping, pleased that the large man didn’t seem to notice Harry’s true identity. From then on, Hadrian Black was Harry Potter, and there was no reason to think of him as anything else, because he would be raised as Harry Potter would have been, and he would learn and grow just like the boy. 

That night he asked Minerva to watch the Dursley, Lily’s sister Petunia’s, family’s house, from sunup to sun down. The next night, on November first, he set Harry Potter, swaddled in a small blanket to keep his rather telling tattoos from Minerva who would similarly recognize them, on the doorstep with a letter telling Petunia a slightly modified version of events of the previous night and the necessity of her raising her nephew in the absence of his parents. He mentioned that strange things may happen, but that he would remain harmless but shouldn’t be praised for any scary outbursts (his attempt to keep the necromantic abilities from being praised as they had been in his previous life). He hoped it was enough to tame the savage beast, but when Regulus had brought his cousin along, Albus saw the gentleness in him when he interacted with his creatures and the Weasleys, and he saw the hope and friendliness in his companionship with Lily, so his original claim that he was inhumanly evil was incorrect. Hadrian, or rather Harry now, just needed to be properly taught to express himself in a safe and healthy way where his deadly and dangerous abilities were not the center of his self worth but the goodness in him. Hopefully, if anyone could do that, it was a muggle family. 

Chapter Text

Nearly ten years later…

Petunia knew there was something very wrong with her nephew and she always had. Vernon was convinced it was because of his magic, and outlawed the word (even for her) but Petunia knew that it wasn’t normal, even for wizards, what Harry could do. Lily never raised dead animals back to life, or killed all the plants by sitting in their proximity. The note said to discourage the freakishness, even those freaks thought that Harry was weird, and so she and Vernon punished each outburst, which had been happening more and more the more they punished him, so the punishments got worse until Harry somehow released a snake and ruined her Dudders perfect birthday. She pulled Vernon off of the boy after he started to hit him and then he just wouldn’t stop. She hushed Harry and locked him in his cupboard before she took care of Vernon’s fists, bandaging them and cleaning them up, and then she made sure that Piers was invited for cake after the disaster. 

When Dudley ripped the letter for that freaky place, Hogwarts, out of Harry’s hands, she and Vernon made an executive decision to give him back to his kind to keep the little devil from the normal folk like them and whoever other poor souls Harry would torment. At least if he was at school, he’d be gone forever, and no matter the freaky things Harry did, he had never attacked any of them, Dudley and his friends included. Petunia wrote a reply for Harry and mailed it like she used to mail her pleading letters to that bastard headmaster (he denied her because she was never good enough, she wasn’t a witch like her perfect sister). Then the problems really started when they received a reply saying a professor would be there at nine in the morning to pick Harry up and take him to get his school supplies. 

Harry kept trying to reach up and unbutton the very top of his shirt and she slapped his hands away. 

“You’ve got to hide those freakish tattoos all over your weak little body, do you understand me? Or do you want them to hate you, too?” she asked, and Harry shook his head before letting his hands drop. It was the middle of summer, and Harry was in a long sleeved shirt with the buttons closed all the way to the top, tucked into his jeans that were fastened snugly with a belt she had to loop around his waist a few times. It was fine, Harry looked presentable, even if his hair was a mess when it was short. No boy child would have long hair in her house. Boys weren’t supposed to have long hair, it was unseemly in modern society and she wouldn’t have her disappointing burden running out of her normal house looking like a hooligan. What would the neighbours think? It would be even worse if anybody saw the little idiot’s tattoos. What type of monstrous parents tattooed their baby? It must have been that Potter man, because even though she didn’t like Lily, her sister wasn’t that freaky. 

At exactly nine, there was a knock on the door just as Petunia fixed Harry’s hair to the best of her ability, which was limited with his messy locks. She opened the door and saw that bratty boy that ruined her sister’s life. The freak from Spinner’s End. 

“Snape,” she said. 

“Tunie,” he responded with the same disinterest. “Where’s Potter? I have duties to attend to.” 

“Potter!” she called, and Harry came running. She forced him out of the door and glared at Snape before she shut the door. She went back inside to see Vernon and Dudley enjoying breakfast together, and she smiled. Her perfect family was waiting for her. She sat down with them and picked up her fork and smiled at the both of them. She wished that her sister hadn’t gotten herself blown up, then maybe her spawn wouldn’t have ruined their lives with whatever the hell was wrong with him. Maybe that wizard that killed Lily would do everyone a favour and aim for her son next time he came round. 

***

The first impression of the boy was the fact that he looked exactly like James Potter. The issue was that there was something about him that reminded him of someone else. Why the kid was wearing as many clothes as Severus was unknown, especially since muggles weren’t able to apply cooling charms like he was. He called the Knight Bus and paid for him and Harry to board to the Leaky Cauldron. He sat across from Harry and stared at him, trying to understand who the boy reminded him. There wasn’t an ounce of Lily there, the eyes were all wrong even if they were a similar enough colour. He had abandoned the Dark Lord because of Lily’s death, and swore to protect Harry, but he had gotten a child that was too much like James Potter to ever be likable, and what parts of him didn’t look like James Potter, he looked like his other nemesis, Sirius Black. It would be more believable if the child was the child of Potter and Black. What a horrid thought. 

“My name is Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House and resident potion master.” 

“I’m Har--” Severus quickly shushed the boy before he could reveal his pathetic name to the rest of the onlookers in the Knight Bus. Of course Potter would want to introduce himself and already attract the attention of his simpering fans. The house he lived in was nicer than anything Severus had growing up, and while he was determined to not be bitter about his own childhood, he could say that after they were adults, James Potter still ruined his life, and tainted his beloved Lily. This Potter would always be a reminder that he, Severus Snape, wasn’t good enough for her (it hurt worse, because after what he had done, he agreed that she had been right). 

“Don’t say your name, you idiot child, lest everyone be aware. You’re something of a celebrity,” he scoffed, and Potter looked down at his head. “Let me do the talking and keep quiet, if you think you’re capable of what must be such a trying task for you.” Potter just nodded and then looked up from his feet and turned out of the window. Severus saw the collar of his button down shift and a hint of… was that black ink? Did Harry Potter have a tattoo? Perhaps it was a protection rune of some sort, for his safety. He doubted it would make his job to keep the welp safe any easier. 

Once they were at the Leaky Cauldron, Severus grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him through the crowd that wisely parted for him, and he tapped the pattern on the brick wall to get into Diagon Alley. Potter seemed entranced by the world around him, and for a moment, that wonderment reminded Severus of his mother and it made him furious. He maintained his composure, as composed as one could be in the presence of such an ungrateful nemesis spawn, and continued to rush the boy across the way and towards Gringotts. If Potter had been a muggleborn, he would have been required to take the parents with him so they could exchange their monies, and if it had been someone like a Weasley, although they had never needed an introduction into the wizarding world for obvious reasons, he would have had to draw from the Hogwarts fund for students who couldn’t afford to pay for schooling and supplies themselves, a scholarship source. Precious Potter didn’t need such a thing, because he knew without a doubt that James Potter had left his little brat everything. 

When they walked into Gringotts, the goblins immediately had their weapons drawn and aimed at Potter,  who had fisted his hand in the back of Severus’ robes and stared at the goblins wide eyed (terrified) and unsure. A goblin ran to the back and soon it returned with a goblin in much nicer attire than the others, with jewelry and neatly combed hair. He also lacked a name tag unlike the others, save the guards who were covered in goblin-made armor. 

“Ah, Mr. Black, it’s good to see you again,” the fancy goblin said. “I must ask the guards to escort you and your… guardian to my office.” 

“Are the weapons really necessary?” Severus asked, not too pleased with having spears shoved so close to his face. It reminded him of that damned bird-creature that the Dark Lord kept around. It was a wretched, raven-like woman beast with a skull for a head and a beak that never opened except to screech to communicate when it was time to attack. She was the creatures’ leader. How or where the Dark Lord found it, he still wasn’t sure, but it probably had something to do with the crazy and faceless Death Master. Only the Inner Circle knew of the man’s identity, but Severus knew the tales well enough to know he never wanted to be stuck anywhere near such a foul fiend of a person, because whatever that thing was, that Death Master, it was even less human than the monsters it made. 

“I’m sorry, mister, but my name isn’t Black. I’m Harry Potter ,” Potter said, trying to catch the goblin’s attention. Said goblin only laughed and they all continued to walk until Potter was separated from Severus and forced into a room, the guards trailing after him. The door shut before Severus could enter, and Severus banged his fist on the doot no matter how uncivilized. He hated the brat, but he couldn’t have him killed! The goblins were notorious for-- a guard came up from behind him and jabbed him in warning against his back. He spun on his heel and drew his wand. 

“Stop complaining and sit quietly. It’ll all be over soon.” The goblin had the audacity to grin at him with an overly wide mouth full of sharp, yellow teeth. Severus huffed but leaned against the wall beside the door, not once letting his guard down, his wand staying firmly in his grip. 

Then the doors suddenly opened after what felt like half an hour, and Potter walked out of the room with a confused expression and no guards pointing their weapons at him. Potter’s sleeves were rolled up which exposed his forearms which were covered in lines of runes from all sorts of languages, some of which Severus couldn’t even identify. Where did Potter get those? Did the goblins give them to him? But earlier, on the Knight Bus, he had really seen ink under Potter’s collar. The boy has tattoos, and from the looks of it, magical ones. 

“Professor Snape?” Potter asked, almost scared, and if he had been one of his snakes, he would have sucked up his pride to offer some comfort, but as it was, he was still Potter, so he tucked his wand away and crossed his arms. 

“Yes?” 

“Did you know Hadrian Black in school?” Potter asked, and Severus did, because the only person who was bullied as bad as he had been by Sirius Black, was Black’s cousin, Hadrian, who had also been a Slytherin like the other Black, Regulus. The Blacks bred like rabbits. There were so many of them. 

“I did.” 

“Were you friends?” Potter asked, and Severus rolled his eyes. 

“No. We were not, and if this little heart-to-heart is quite finished, we have shopping to get done, because I have better places to be than babysitting snivelling brats. Now come along.” Severus turned with the turn of his robes, but Potter didn’t follow. “I said: come along .” 

When he went to grab Potter by the upper arm, he found that he couldn’t move and Potter’s hand was up slightly. Was he keeping him in place? 

“I think I can handle this myself, Professor. Thank you.” Potter’s hand dropped and he walked away. As he turned a corner, Severus’ body finally relaxed enough to move again and he ran as quickly as he could without coming across as desperate to find Potter speaking with a goblin at one of the teller booths. Severus decided he would wait until the boy returned as he walked away with a goblin, and he’d already be removing points from Gryffindor it seemed. 

When Potter returned he carried a little black bag with an embroidered letter on it that Severus assumed to be a P, but it was odd because it was silver, which wasn’t a Potter family colour. Potter saw him and rolled down his sleeves before passing him like he didn’t exist. Severus turned to follow him, grabbing him by the nape of the neck and holding him still. 

“I’ve dealt with many horrid students and even worse excuses for children, but you are by far the most delinquent and arrogant brat I have ever had the displeasure of meeting,” Severus said, and Potter didn’t move in his grip. 

“I don’t wish to burden you, sir,” Potter said softly, as if he actually had the capacity to care for others. “You said you had many things to get done.” 

“One of those things includes getting your school supplies. I suggest you leave whatever pathetic hero-whining antics you have for Gryffindor, and do as I say,” Severus said. Then he had a horrible feeling that he had just turned into Sirius Black to Hadrian Black, oddly enough, and he cleared his throat and let Potter go. “Forgive me, Mr. Potter, that was highly unprofessional. I simply mean that it’s dangerous for you to go wandering. You’re new to this world, and I do not wish for you to get lost. If we hurry, I assure you, I’ll have plenty of time to take care of my other duties as well.” 

“I’m sorry for making you upset, sir,” Potter said, turning to him and offering him the saddest most pathetic smile he had ever seen (one he had seen before, but couldn’t seem to remember where), and then he held out his hand with a stifled sigh and took Potter’s hand and took him down the stairs and pushed his way through the crowd to purchase the items from the first year list. He knew them by heart since they never seemed to change. When Potter had to get fitted for robes, Madam Malkin took the ‘poor muggleborn dear’ to a station beside the one and only Draco Malfoy, Severus’ snot-nosed godson (and the person he cherished most in the world nowadays). Severus lingered outside, not wanting Draco to be distracted, and not wanting the boy to try and guilt trip him in front of Potter, who didn’t need to know of their familial relationships at all lest he cause problems with it later. 

He watched through the glass how Draco just kept on talking, his mouth never stopping for more than a few seconds, while Potter sat silently through the entire thing, answering only twice with what seemed like monosyllabic replies. When Draco was finished he rushed outside and gave him a hug. 

“That’s quite unbecoming for an heir, Draco,” he said, patting his godson’s hair because he couldn’t help it. He hated how he used potions to slick it down flat because Lucius and Narcissa both had beautiful hair (that Severus envied), and it was worse because Severus had been the one to introduce the potions to him to try and keep his hair out of his eyes while he tottered on his broom in his youth. Draco backed away from him and cleared his throat before nodding. 

“Right, of course,” Draco said. Severus smiled as much as he liked to, not much, while in public. 

“I’ll see you on August thirty-first, and I’ll also see you for nearly ten full months starting the day after,” he said. “We’ll see each other plenty, I assure you. However, I’m currently working. I believe Potter is finished with his robes, so all we have left to do is get a wand.” Potter walked out right then with a box full of robes. Severus shrunk them and added them to the satchel of items that he needed to unshrink at Privet Drive so the boy could fill his trunk. For now, it was easier to do it this way. 

“ You’re Harry Potter?” Draco asked, looking at Potter as if he hadn’t just spent time yapping at him. “I was sure you were someone else. You said you wanted to go into Slytherin.” Severus’ eyes narrowed. How did a muggle raised boy know anything about Hogwarts houses? How had he known about Hadrian Black? What was going on here? 

“I do.” 

“But your parents were in Gryffindor,” Draco pointed out. Severus should have found Narcissa and had her handle this conversational trainwreck. What if Potter got emotional or offended? He wouldn’t be able to handle that, he could hardly tolerate the boy as it was, and the kid hardly said anything. 

“I know.” 

“So why would you want to go into Slytherin?” 

“I belong there,” Potter said, and then after a moment he paused and added, “I can talk to snakes.” 

“Prove it!” Draco said, grabbing Potter by the arm. “We’ll go find a snake and you can talk to them right now.” Severus stopped them both and detached his godson from the other one. He looked at his godson with a scowl. 

“Behave yourself,” he said, not nearly as appalled as Narcissa would have been, but still unhappy with the display. Speaking of Narcissa, she was coming from behind Draco, getting nearer and nearer. 

“I have a snake on my body, I’ll talk to him,” Potter said, and he pulled up his sleeves to reveal his tattoos, one of which was apparently going to be a snake. Narcissa’s smile rapidly faded as she looked at the boy’s arms more intensely before the colour drained out of her face. She rushed forward as fast as a proper lady could before she grabbed Draco’s shoulder a bit too hard, her manicured nails seemed to dig into his collarbones. 

“What fine markings they are. Where did you get them?” Narcissa asked. 

“I’ve had them for as long as I can remember,” Potter said. Narcissa gave Severus a grave look before her fake smile was plastered over her perfectly dainty face. 

“They’re lovely. You know, I knew a man with tattoos like that once. He was very special… please forgive my manners, I’m Narcissa Malfoy, and this is my son Draco. Who might you be?” Narcissa knew exactly what to say to make people want to talk to her. 

“Harry Potter.” 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Potter. Your tattoos, you got them on Halloween, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice less warm but no less pleasant. Potter pulled his sleeves down quickly and shrugged his shoulders. How would the boy know? He had only been a year old. “If you ever need anything, please, owl me or Draco. I hope you and my son can learn to be friends.” 

“He’s a liar,” Draco said, and Narcissa’s nails dug deeper into his shoulders causing the boy to scowl. “Sorry, Potter. I just don’t believe you, but you could be telling the truth, I suppose.” 

“What’s this about lying? What don’t you believe?” Narcissa asked. 

“He said he can talk to snakes.” 

“Well, I believe that to be true,” Narcissa said, shocking Severus just as much as she shocked Draco because she seemed to mean it. Severus was a spy, he knew when people were lying, but Narcissa meant that, which led to even more questions as to how she knew that. “But I suggest you keep that a secret, young man. Many people think it’s a bad omen. You’d do best to keep your… talents hidden the best you can, alright? After all, we’re cousins.” Then Narcissa quickly added, “Of a sort.” Severus watched her with wary eyes. 

“We need to get his wand now, Narcissa. It was lovely seeing you again,” Severus said, trying to sound bored, but honestly he was suspicious and his suspicions were leading down paths that made him afraid. He didn’t like being afraid, in fact, he despised it. Narcissa and Draco parted ways a moment later, and Severus guided Potter silently to Ollivander’s. 

The bell chimed as the carpet scrunched beneath the door. The scent of old wood and wood polish burned his nose, and Potter sneezed twice due to the warm dust floating around before Ollivander even entered the area. He took one look at Potter and yelped before running back. He came back with a wand. It was odd that Ollivander hadn’t given his spiel, listing out the wands of his parents, talking and chattering like he usually did. Ollivander was an irritating chatterbox who remembered every wand ever sold, as he liked to remind people, but there was none of that to be found. Ollivander set the box on the counter and pushed it towards Potter. Typically he offered the wands after taking them from their boxes. Potter opened the box and picked up the wand, and silver sparks lit from the top. 

“Holly, phoenix feather, eleven and three-quarter inches. But that isn’t your real wand, is it?” Ollivander asked. “Seven galleons.” Severus scowled at the man. He would have appreciated his straight-to-business attitude had it not been in the face of Harry Potter. He expected people to flock to the brat and cheer him on and his name, but nobody had done that so far. He had half a mind to see if it was only certain folk who were odd around him, or if it was everyone. Severus had a plan. After Potter paid, they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron. 

“It’s your birthday today, I believe. Can I interest you in lunch, my treat for both your birthday and for being so… rude earlier.” It hurt his pride to admit that, but it would work to his advantage. 

“I thought you were busy.” 

“A young man only turns eleven once in his life,” he said haughtily, because that’s what Lucius Malfoy had told Draco earlier, and perhaps a fatherly figure that wasn’t a monster would be good for Potter, if Severus could stand to be around him for long enough to make that connection. Having the trust of Harry Potter would be more beneficial than having him as an enemy… he wasn’t a Slytherin for nothing. The fact the boy was so eager to agree with him and walked with him to the Leaky Cauldron without a fit made him suspect that maybe Harry Potter wasn’t too bright, either. He was clearly being used, anyone knew that rage to kindness was manipulation, it was… it was often seen in abusive dynamics, but he refused to think about that in this context. Severus refused to be an abuser like his father or the Marauders. 

Once they sat down, he prepared for a vicious feeding of the patrons in the establishment as soon as it was revealed who he was sitting with. He left Potter alone in the booth and went to Tom to order for them both. Once he ordered he paused. 

“Do you have cake?” he asked, not needing to feign his irritation or exhaustion. 

“‘F course! We’ve got chocolate, and a trifle, and--” 

“A slice of chocolate will be fine. Today is Mr. Potter ’s birthday after all. We’ll be seated right over there.” He made sure to motion to exactly where they’d be sitting. Along with the Potter name being thrown out, people were already starting to talk, the chatter died from loud and boisterous to a rolling wave of whispers before he took a seat with Potter. It wasn’t long before the first simpering fans approached, pleased to meet with the Harry Potter. Severus backed further into the corner and crossed his arms. Nobody dared to talk to him, but Potter on the other hand was free game. People reached out to touch him, trying to prod at his forehead, but before they could make contact, it was almost like waves of disgust forced them to reconsider. 

“Mr. Potter, thank you for saving us all, if there’s anything you ever need, here’s my card,” a man said, holding out a card. When Potter went to take it, the man shuddered visibly and then quickly set it down on the table before he turned and scampered away almost like his life depended on it. That happened for a while, and then the stench of garlic grew closer and closer, and there was only one fool in all of the country that smelled quite so terrible. 

Professor Quirrell approached, worrying his hands near his chest. Potter observed the man unlike the others, and tilted his head. 

“M-Mr. P-Potter,” Quirrell exclaimed with the same subdued excitement that was the height of the man’s enthusiasm. If people were to mistake Severus as a droll, then Quirrell was as interesting as a single rock in the middle of a pile of rocks. Uninspired, plain, and not worth the attention or time to seek out to use as any more than a skipping stone, if he was good enough for even that. 

“Do I know you?” Potter asked, sitting up on his knees. He reached out to try and touch Quirrell, and suddenly the turban-wearing man became twenty times more interesting. Even more so when the man’s eyes closed for a moment before he jerked back and held his hands up. Potter quickly pulled his hand back. “Apologies, sir.” 

“N-no ap-pologies necessary,” Quirrell whispered. “Ha-Happy b-birthday.” 

“My birthday is on the thirty-first of October,” Potter said. 

“That’s not funny,” Severus said, trying to keep the immense distaste from his voice. He didn’t want to scare the child now that he became interested. 

“No, I remember it. On Samhain, which is on October thirty-first, I came out of the darkness, where it was warm and soft into the world. It was dark, and there were people there waiting for me,” Potter said. Quirrell was still lingering, but Severus couldn’t tell why, but the man seemed to know something about this. “Her voice, it was so regal, and beautiful, and she held me and said her ‘ itty bitty buby Hawwy ’ was here now. I’m Harry. So that must be my birthday. I’ve always celebrated it then. That was my mum, I think.” 

“That was not your mother, and Petunia should know better then to indulge in your--” 

“Apologies, sir, but Petunia has never celebrated my birthday. She doesn’t know it.” 

“She absolutely does know it,” he said. “But that’s concerning that she’s never even attempted to… this woman, do you remember what she looks like?” For all intents and purposes Potter should not know what this woman looked like because he should not remember being born. Nobody remembers being born. Was this some odd fantasy he had created? A dream that he somehow thought was real. 

“She had big black hair and the darkest eyes, and there was a man there, but he wasn’t my father. I don’t know who he is, but he seemed happy to see me… I think. Not a lot of people are happy to see me, sir. He had eyes like… like blood.” Potter paused and inhaled followed by a small sigh. “They were really nice.” 

“Did you hear anything else?” Severus asked, and their food was brought out, and while people were lingering around because of the famous Harry Potter, nobody who hadn’t already approached and bolted dared to interact with them. He wondered if it was because it was him, Severus Snape, feared potions master and professor at Hogwarts, or whatever was wrong with the Potter child. 

“No sir, I just remember the feeling of feathers on my face.” 

Potter ate his food quietly but quickly, as if he were afraid Severus would snatch it away from him at any given second, when Severus had no more questions. And after the boy refused the cake. Politely suggesting that he could take it ‘back the Dursleys’ (not ‘home’). They took the Knight Bus back to Privet Drive. Once Severus unshrunk all of Potter’s items, and the fat child ran off with the cake like a bat out of hell, he handed Potter the ticket to the Hogwarts Express. 

“The platform looks like a brick wall between platforms nine and ten,” he said. “Good day, Mr. Potter.” Severus didn’t linger, and as soon as he was out of sight and out of the faint wards around the house, he apparated from that horribly picturesque place. Muggles, especially the kind like Petunia, were always so boring and unoriginal. Their uniformity gave him a headache. 

It only took five minutes of pondering if he needed to tell Albus about the boy before he walked up to the forsaken gargoyle. 

“Ice mice,” he said, and the gargoyle allowed him passage through. Travelling up the stairs and to a door, he knocked a few times but didn’t wait for a response. “Something’s wrong with Harry Potter,” he blurted at Albus, who was sitting with Flitwick and McGonagall. Severus narrowed his eyes. 

“We were expecting you thirty minutes ago,” Albus said with a smile. “Come. Sit. Would you like a lemon drop?” 

“There’s no time for lemon drops, there is something wrong with--” he started.

“What do you know of Hadrian Black?” Albus asked. Severus usually would have made a comment about being interrupted so rudely, but this was a bit more important than that. That name, he had heard it multiple times over the past day. Severus told him what he knew, which was little to nothing besides the fact he was a Slytherin two years younger than him that Sirius and the other boys bullied mercilessly despite him never, not once, fighting back. He was also strange, but Severus hardly recalled how strange, just that nobody liked being around him for any extended period of time. Sort of like Potter. 

“It’s horrible news -- awful really -- but the soul we knew as Harry Potter died that night in nineteen eighty-one, you see. Voldemort took his life, but the body was almost perfectly preserved because it had just happened. Who else ‘died’ that night, Severus?” Albus asked, stirring his tea. 

“The Death Master died that night,” he said, shaking his head. There was no way that Albus was implying what Severus believed he was implying. That was ridiculous. 

“Oh, we don’t call him by that name. That’s the name his master gave to him. We were his friends, of a sort,” Albus said, leaning back in his chair. “That poor boy lived a hard life. His tattoos… they will forever stain his body because they are not attached to his body, but his magic, his soul. Did you see them?” Severus nodded. Was Harry Potter truly dead, and was his body being inhabited by the Dark Lord’s most feared ally? “I fear his memories will come back with time, each year that passes, the more likely he is to regain them. He might even regain them out of order. There is little recorded about this sort of magic. Necromancy is a practically unheard of art.” 

“Lily’s baby’s body was taken over by a monster?” he asked, slowly and cautiously. 

“The poor babe died. What did he need his body for?” Albus asked. “Also, with Harry Potter alive, we have given the world something they were in desperate need of: hope .” Severus took a deep breath, trying to understand what had just been said. 

“There is a mass murderer that can raise armies of the dead currently vulnerable in a child’s body that he stole and instead of doing something about it, we’re sitting here having tea?” he asked. “Have you all lost your minds? Have you forgotten what that thing was capable of?” 

“Neither have we forgotten what you have done, Severus, nor what you are capable of,” Albus said, and Severus felt rightfully scolded. Touché. He looked down and away from the blue eyes that would bore straight through his soul. This boy was not safe to have around other children. He wasn’t even a boy, he was a man, a grown man. Wasn’t it their duty to protect the children of Hogwarts over everything else? 

“You have plans for him…” he realized, looking up at Albus. “That’s why he’s still alive. You plan on using him to fight the Dark Lord. Have you forgotten that the Death Master sat at the Dark Lord’s feet and let the man pet his hair as he tortured his Death Eaters?” (as he tortured Severus). The man hadn’t even flinched at the screaming, only moving closer to the Dark Lord rather than a normal person, who would have gotten further and further away. 

“No. I also haven’t forgotten that you were one of his Death Eaters,” Albus said with a sigh. “It’s unfortunate that you cannot understand this. He deserved a second chance, just like you, and so far, he has done nothing but good with his abilities. He was raised by muggles, to learn that blood purist ideals are wrong, that everyone is deserving of life and autonomy, and he hasn’t hurt anyone or anything as far as I’m aware. He is not praised for his abilities, so I assume he has stopped using them quite as often, as children often do when scolded. Their behaviour corrects itself. Who are we to deny him a second chance after his first was riddled with unfortunate circumstances? Should I have left you to rot in Azkaban? I believed you had a right to a new beginning, so why not another? I am many things, Severus, and you may call me all of them in your head, but I am not a hypocrite, and I do not choose favourites. I’m being fair.” 

“Fair is throwing him in Azkaban -- where he belongs!” Severus hadn’t realized how fast his heart was beating or how heavy his breathing had become, but both Minerva and Filius looked at him with disappointment and he hated to see it. He turned his head, unable to gaze upon them when they looked at him like that.

“What did he ever do to you? You hardly knew him,” Albus pointed out, and Severus didn’t have an answer because the old man was right. 

“He won’t change,” Severus said, turning to the door. “Bellatrix Lestrange loved the Dark Lord, sure, but nobody loved the Dark Lord like that fiend did. If I had to guess, I would say he wasn’t even human.” 

“You’re right,” Albus said, standing up. The man’s indigo robes with dancing rainbow jelly beans floating around the fabric swayed with every step as he approached Severus and his hand, gnarled with age, rested upon his shoulder. “He’s not human like you or I, and it is his nature to be malicious, yet he was a good man at times. Is that not enough to offer him a second chance? The fact he could overcome something as inherent as biology lends credibility to the idea that if anyone could change, it would be Mr. Black -- or Mr. Potter, now, I suppose.” 

“He stole an infant’s body,” Severus pleaded one last time. Albus must see reason. 

“Be honest with yourself, and me. It’s not an infant’s body that bothers you, but that it was Lily’s child.” 

Severus didn’t deign such a thing with a response and with a flourish of his robes, he stormed out of the office. The ghosts didn’t dare get in his way, and Peeves had long since learned that Severus had no issue raining on his parade and making him suffer. The doors thudded louder than necessary behind him. Nobody followed him. (They all agreed with Albus.) Severus would have to take it upon himself to ensure that the brat wouldn’t end up like his former self if it was the last thing he did.

Chapter Text

That’s okay, Harry thought, as he sat alone on the Hogwarts Express, I’ll meet plenty of friends when I get to Hogwarts. Harry waited hopefully, as any lonely eleven year old may, for someone to enter his compartment, but it was almost like they knew he was there and they didn’t want to be around him. Not a single knock until the trolley lady came, and Harry politely refused candy from her in order to sit back against the wall, facing the opaque glass doors with longing eyes that he refused to believe filled with tears as the day grew into night and still nobody wanted to be with him. Was he really such a freak that nobody wanted to even sit with him? What had he ever done to deserve such agonizing loneliness? 

Harry changed into his robes and made his way to the boats with a giant man with a head of frizzy hair and a bushy beard that Harry was pretty sure had a live bird living in it since it kept chirping. Harry got into a rickety boat. There were four boats, and there were a lot of students, at least twenty, Harry reckoned. Still, he was left to his own devices, nobody joined him, and Harry sat back in his boat. 

“Why does he get his own boat?” a red headed boy asked, looking over his boat. “Oi, you there? Why do you get your own boat?” 

“I didn’t,” Harry said. “Nobody wanted to sit with me.” 

“Fine then, don’t tell me,” the boy said, throwing himself back in the boat so harshly that it nearly capsized. Harry reached out to skim his fingers against the water only for a giant tentacle to peek out of the water and poke his palm. He poked the water again, and then multiple tentacles emerged, towering over Harry. 

“Tha’s the giant squid,” Hagrid, the keeper of the keys as he introduced himself, said. “He’s harmless.” 

When Harry turned to look at the castle, he felt underwhelmed. He looked upon the magnificent sight of towers and constructs of glistering stone under the moonlight and a variety of windows that were lit with warm yellow and orange light, yet there was no excitement, only a hollowness that rooted itself firmly in Harry’s chest. The boats came into contact with the shore at the base of the castle, and Hagrid jumped out into the water that went past his ankles and guided them up a muddy trail through a small forest of pines and onto a grassy area that led to a stone path and through a tall set of double doors. Inside the entry hallway, there was a woman in thick green robes, velvet like Petunia’s nice coats, and a pointed witch’s  hat stood with a small piece of the funny paper wizards seemed to use, parchment. She looked upon them all. 

“The first years, Pr’fess’r,” Hagrid said before he waved and headed back out the door. Harry wondered if he would see the man at the feast, or if he was just as excluded as Harry felt. The Professor’s eyebrows were thin and sharp, much like her face would have been had she not had wrinkles that caused the fat distribution to be all wrong. Harry wondered what she would look like if she wasn’t a human, perhaps someone like a bird person or a fire imp. He had dreams about those sorts of creatures, and he knew they came from people, so did the people look like them before they became those creatures? Was that something wizards could really do? 

“I am Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and head of Gryffindor House as well as the transfiguration professor, and I welcome you to Hogwarts. As many of you know, Hogwarts is composed of four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Once sorted, you will live in your house dormitories and spend time in your common room. Each year you can earn points with excellent work and outstanding behaviour, and lose them by demonstrating the opposite. Whichever house has the most points by the end of the year will win the honour of the Hogwarts House Cup. Please wait here a moment while I prepare the Great Hall. I suggest you tidy up before I return.” Professor McGonagall walked towards the double doors in the distance and disappeared behind them. Harry looked around at the other students. 

“I’m going to be in Slytherin like my entire family before me,” Draco Malfoy, from the robe shop, said. Harry remembered that his mother was very nice, and he liked her a lot. He didn’t much care for Draco, but perhaps they just got off on the wrong foot -- Draco still reminded him of Dudley. 

“Slytherin? Everyone knows the best house is Gryffindor,” the red-head from the boat said, pushing his way towards Draco. “We’ll have Harry Potter.” 

“Hand me down robes and red hair? You must be a Weasley ,” Draco said. Harry got closer to the conversation, and the other students pulled away from his touch instinctively. There really was something wrong with him, Harry knew, but what could it be? How could he fix it? “I’ve met Harry Potter--” the other students started to whisper, and Harry wondered if they realized that he, Harry Potter, was standing right there among them and yet nobody seemed to see him “--and he said he wanted to be in Slytherin.” 

“What a crock of shite!” another boy shouted, pushing his way up to the front. He was covered in freckles, but unlike the Weasley boy, his face was far more red than his hair, which was shaggy and blond. “Everyone knows Potter’s gonna be a Gryffindor.” There was a round of agreement. Harry lingered behind them all, seemingly unseen. He wondered if they would realize he was there, or if they were more interested in his house than they were interested in him. It wasn’t a nice feeling, he decided, that cramp in his heart, like he wasn’t good enough. Then there was a shriek, high-pitched and feminine despite it having come from a little boy gripping a toad to his chest like his life depended on it. That boy also seemed like an outcast. Maybe Harry could be his friend. 

The ghosts that came laughed, the chubby bald one, the Fat Friar he said, looked at them all. 

“I hope you go to Hufflepuff. That was my old house, you know.” The friar halted at him and the other ghosts did as well. “We didn’t know one of your kind was going to be here.” 

“My kind?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, your kind, and I believe I speak for all the ghosts when I graciously request you stay as far away from us as you can,” another ghost said. Somehow Harry wanted to call him Nick, specifically, nearly-headless Nick, but he couldn’t understand why or how he came across such information. Was it in Hogwarts: A History ? It must have been. The other ghosts dispersed when Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. 

“Form a single file line and follow me,” she said. Harry fell into place in the line and they walked into the Great Hall. In the history text he had read about the beauty of the castle, and once again he was underwhelmed, almost like he wasn’t supposed to be excited, which left him frustrated. Still, what a wonderful feat of magic, to make the ceiling look like a clear and dark night, as if you could float up and pluck the stars right from their places. The candles floating had to take a lot of energy as well, or perhaps someone just made a special type of candle that could float. They were treated to the sight of a rickety four-legged stool and a ratty hat upon in. The hat opened its stitched flap of a mouth and began to sing. Harry hadn’t been expecting it to be able to do much of anything considering the state it was in, much less talk or sing. 

After the song, the hat fell silent and Hannah Abott was called up and sorted into Hufflepuff. Hadrian considered Hufflepuff, but he felt like he needed to go into Slytherin, like it was where he belonged, and since he could talk to snakes, and Slytherin was the serpent house, it only made sense he went there. Soon it was his turn, and his name was called. 

“Potter, Harry.” 

“ Is that really him? ” 

“ Have you seen his scar? ”

“ Why is he so small? ” 

Harry walked up to the stool and sat down. The hat was placed on his head a moment later, and he felt a tingle deep in his ear canals, and suddenly he just knew someone was reading his mind. 

“ What do we have here? My, my my, what an impressive mind you have here. All of these memories, locked away, but I can see them. But that’s not you anymore, is it? Still, your life with muggles made you resourceful, cunning, and you have a great sense of self-preservation, apparently more so than before. You think you belong in Slytherin. What if I agree? ” 

“What about Hufflepuff?”

“ Hufflepuff? For you? Do you want to terrify them? They cannot give you what you need. They will forever be afraid of you and your abilities, no, Slytherin is where you must go. ” Harry didn’t put his two cents into that conversation again, and the hat called out “SLYTHERIN!” Harry was afraid of Professor Snape’s reaction, the man seemed to really dislike him, and the whispering grew. Unlike the others, there was no applause at his sorting, only hushed murmurs from around him. 

“ A Potter in Slytherin? ” 

“ He’s the next dark lord, mark my words. ” 

“ His parents must be rolling in their graves. ” 

These people, who didn’t know him, dared to hold him to the expectations of two people that didn’t raise him. The fact the Slytherin table received him just as icily as Professor Snape’s glare only went to show the world that he should have gone to Hufflepuff no matter what he wanted. Harry wasn’t ambitious. He wasn’t studious. He wasn’t even sure if he was going to be good at magic, he only had to hope. Harry was curious though, about what the ghosts had meant by his ‘kind’ and he made a note to check out the library to try and find out more about ghosts and those that they disliked inherently. It sounded like a good enough place to start. 

The sorting continued, and finally Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin as well. Harry quietly served himself food, and tried to not scowl whenever his hand reached out, all the hands in the area would quickly pull back towards their owners. He hadn’t realized he was so repulsive, but perhaps the Dursleys had it right. He was just a freak , even among wizards and witches. He didn’t belong. 

“Nice ink,” someone said, and Harry didn’t realize they were talking to him until he saw multiple gazes resting upon him. 

“Uh, thanks.” 

“You’re a little young for that, don’t you think?” the same voice asked, and Harry tried to scan the table to see who was talking to him, but he couldn’t see them just yet. Finally there was a boy with long black hair and auburn eyes who leaned away from the table and looked at Harry. 

“I’ve always had them,” he said, making eye contact with the boy for a brief second and then returning to his mashed potatoes. The large dishes reminded him of red hair and warmth that he couldn’t understand. His tattoos were… Aunt Petunia hated them, and when he worked in the garden in the summer, he was forced to wear turtlenecks with long sleeves. The school uniform had a lower collar, and thus they were noticeable. 

“I’m Amyas Lestrange,” the boy said, seemingly not bothered by Harry like everyone else. Harry set his fork down and looked at him. 

“I’m Harry Potter.” 

“I know,” Amyas said with a laugh. “I’ll take care of you. My mother would have wanted it.” Someone slapped Amyas on the shoulder, hard enough to force the boy over on the seats. Amyas ignored them. “She’s in Azkaban, but I’m sure she’ll remember you.” 

“You’re a Slytherin, have some tact,” someone else said. “For Merlin’s sake, why don’t you just tell the whole world you want to harm the precious Harry Potter?” 

“Lestrange is crazy, of course he’s going to say something stupid.” 

“Maybe if we’re very casual, Lestrange will do us all a favour and just off the brat by second year.” 

The conversations, no matter how quiet and hushed at his table, left him feeling more and more upset. He didn’t want to attack them, but he wanted them to know that he wasn’t going to fall for their traps, he wanted to tell them that he wasn’t going to be hurt again, but he was afraid that those things may turn out to be lies. Harry waited with the other students, as Dumbledore explained some rules. There were over four hundred banned items, as if anyone would actually read the list, and the Forbidden Forest was forbidden -- a real shocker. Harry clenched his fists at his sides as the other Slytherins grouped up, one group around Draco Malfoy from before, and the other around Blaise Zabini, but the looks the boys threw at each other seemed too friendly to be anything but a conspiracy. Harry was between the two groups, utterly alone. 

As they walked to the common room down in the dungeon, those two groups that surrounded him seemed more intent on pushing him into an alcove or shoving him in the wrong hallway at an intersection. It was a quick fix then, but when they stopped at the door to the dungeons, Harry had been so focused on trying to catch up and listen to the prefect talking at the same time, he hadn’t remembered which ways they went. He hoped he could remember which ways not to go. 

The common room was tall with a silver chandelier with layers of candles upon the spotless arms, and the left wall was made out of glass that could withstand the pressure of the Great Lake, giving everyone a great picture into the depth of the place as well as the inhabitants. A few little monstrous octopi swam around with mouths full of fangs and nestled in the grasses and plants that grew inside the freshwater abyss. There were couches and tables around, as well as tall bookshelves filled to the point of nearly overflowing with texts of all kinds. Their fifth year female prefect, Agatha Wilkes, and their fifth year male prefect, Shale Lowe, parted after telling them that the girl’s dormitories were on the right and the boy’s was on the left. They sat with who Harry assumed to be other prefects and Professor Snape walked in, dressed exactly how Harry remembered him, head-to-toe in black with an overrobe that billowed not unlike a bat’s wings. Harry shook his head and thought, tricky mudblood . It took a whole multiple minute to reacquaint himself with the fact he wasn’t a pureblood, and he had never heard the term ‘mudblood’ before in his life, so where had he learned it? How did he know what it meant? 

“Potter!” Snape called, and Harry looked up at him from where he had been looking down at the floor, or rather looking down but just thinking about how he knew that tidbit of information. Or how he knew that Lestrange hadn’t been lying. Were there spells that could make him trust people? It felt like he and Lestrange were… connected somehow. “Potter!” Snape snapped again, and Harry looked up at him again. 

“My apologies, professor,” he said. He didn’t meet Professor Snape’s eyes, he knew that it was dangerous. He didn’t know how or why that was, but he knew it was. 

“Detention tomorrow night at seven, for your inattention to important information,” Snape snarled. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Now get to bed, all of you!” Snape threw his cloak back and slammed the side door as he walked, presumably, into his office or classroom. Lestrange was back to Harry, hands on his shoulders. 

“Remembered something, didn’tcha?” 

“I remembered that there is only one pureblood who would ever speak in such an inelegant manner,” Harry said, and Lestrange started to cackle. That sound was also familiar. Lestrange wiped his tearfilled eyes and clapped Harry on the back. 

“Oh, how I missed you,” Lestrange whispered in his ear as he squeezed the life out of him in an all embracing hug. Harry tapped his shoulder to get him to release him. Lestrange stood back, and Harry could feel everyone observing this interaction. “Mummy Bella will miss her wittle Hawy. Don’t worry, itty buby, cousin Amyas has got you now.” Before Harry could extract himself from Lestrange’s general vicinity, Lestrange grabbed him again and petted his hair. So Lestrange was a very handsy person and somehow a crazy ally, how wonderful. Harry didn’t want Amyas to let go now, however, because he had never been touched quite so lovingly before, and now that he wasn’t being squeezed to the point of crushing his lungs, he liked being held. Aunt Petunia cradled Dudley like this at times. It was nice, he was jealous that Dudley got this sort of thing so much more than him. He deserved it. 

“Getting any memories?” Lestrange asked. “Any funny feelings? Tell me, tell me, we can work them through together. Mummy left me lots of notes with lots of pictures and--” 

“Firsties need to go to bed. Let him go, Lestrange,” the prefect, Shale Lowe, said. “You wouldn’t want his filth to taint you.” Lestrange laughed again and smacked Harry on the butt as he was walking. Harry looked at the boy with wide eyes and started to walk up the stairs. 

“But my itty bitty buby Hawy isn’t like the other muddies,” Lestrange said, looking at him. Harry stopped in the stairwell and finally made eye contact with someone, with Lestrange. “ Toujours pur. ” The raucous laughter echoed up the stairwell and banged against his eardrums as he bolted up the stairs and stumbled into the dormitory for the first years. He saw his trunk, a rather beaten and ratty thing compared to Malfoy’s magnificent and luxuriously decorated trunk sparkling emeralds and intricate family crest included, and he went to it. He stripped his shirt without hesitation and put on his pyjamas. They were going to be living together and probably showering together, modesty was pointless. He hesitated as he looked down at his bed. He pulled his wand out, as if he knew how to use it, only to find that he did know how to use it, and he cast finite incantatem , which made the bed flash blue for a brief second before it was normal. Harry didn’t appreciate someone hexing or cursing his bed. (They were first years, where had they even learned such magic? And on second thought, where had he?) He got under the covers and pulled the drapes closed with a huff. 

Chapter Text

Harry was up and dressed earlier than the rest and found himself creeping down the dormitory steps and into the common room. As soon as his feet touched the stone, there was a flurry of movement before he was enveloped in a hug. He knew who it was because they smelled like bergamot and cinnamon, just like Bella used to. He didn’t remember who Bella was, not really, but he had a feeling it was the same Bella that Amyas had mentioned. Amyas was the one who was nearly strangling Harry with his hug, but having not gotten many hugs in his life, Harry didn’t mind. Harry tapped his side to get him to release him when he heard the stirring of other students. Amyas led him to a couch. 

“Let me fix your tie,” Amyas said, reaching out to undo Harry’s tie only to retie it. “I’ll teach you how to do it yourself, and then I’ll teach you a spell for it. Can I see your wand?” Amyas held out a waiting hand, and Harry took his wand from his pocket and handed it to the boy. Amyas looked it over, his eyes narrowing and widening as he inspected it, dragging it nearly against his nose as he did so. “Hmm, this isn’t your real wand. Cissy sent it with me. She said you’d be here, that you met her in Diagon Alley. Would you like to keep this one, or do you want your other one?” 

“Why do you know so much about me?” he asked, abruptly. Ollivander had said the same thing about his wand. He also knew that he was getting weird visions the night before. He wasn’t sure what was happening. 

“Well, Harry-dear, we’re cousins,” Amyas said. “And I know a lot about you for other reasons, but I can’t tell you right now because you just wouldn’t believe me. Nobody sane would, no offense.” 

“Why would I be offended for being sane?” 

“Because sanity is a horrible, horrible state in which to find yourself,” Amyas said, shaking his head. “I’d never wish it upon anyone, not even my greatest enemies.” 

“Enemies, plural?” Harry asked, and Amyas smirked, the former seriousness of the subject forgotten. 

“Why yes, I currently rival the Weasley twins for the most fun people in the castle. They serve a purpose as my rivals, of course. I’d never tell my mother or my father when they return, of course, but I like those Weasleys -- as funny and rebellious they are. They stole a toilet seat last night and owled it to their mother. I can’t wait to see her howler in the Great Hall. Aunt Cissy would never send me a howler, but I’d never hear the end of it if I participated in something so uncouth!” Amyas whined dramatically and nearly fell over Harry, his body much larger as a healthy thirteen year old than a frail, sickly eleven year old like Harry. Still, his absolute lack of hesitance when touching Harry or wrapping an arm around him to further his dramatics was so refreshing that Harry didn’t know how to handle himself. 

“How did you know they stole a toilet seat last night?” Harry asked after a pause. Amyas froze and then looked up at Harry with a shrug. 

“Because I was there, obviously. I can’t let them have all the fun, even though nobody will even know it was my idea! The outrage! The horror, oh dear!” Amyas collapsed against Harry again, and Harry took to hesitantly petting his fluffy black hair. There were Slytherisn lingering around the common room, and many minded their own business, but there were drifting comments about how ‘poor Harry’ was suffering ‘that crazy Lestrange’ or how ‘Lestrange sure is laying it on thick’ just so he could get closer and ‘kill that brat and get sent to Azkaban with the rest of his wacky family.’ Harry paid them little mind. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did know that Amyas would never hurt him. 

“Maybe we should get some breakfast?” Harry suggested, and Amyas beamed at him, all sorrow forsaken. 

“What a magnificent idea, cousin, let’s!” Amyas stood up and yanked Harry to his feet before he practically dragged him out of the common room and to the Great Hall. Amyas piled Harry’s plate high with foods that Harry had never had the pleasure to try before. He had never had kippers before, the Durselys didn’t let him have much more than toast and burnt eggs, but he liked it. “It was your favourite,” Amyas said as he shoved a tiny muffin in his mouth. “Or it was one of your favourites. Remember, Bella liked to…” 

“Bellatrix Black Lestrange!” Aunt Walburga shouted as Bellatrix animated the kippers on the table. They did a little dance on the table, flayed as they were and fried. Hadrian didn’t find this as upsetting as his aunt, rather he smiled and snatched the dancing fish. Walburga was about to scold Bella even more, her mouth open and her cheeks red with anger, but when Hadrian laughed at the display before biting the head right off of the little fish. 

“I love herring. It was a food given to the greatest necromancers, back when they were worshipped,” Hadrian said. He set the fish down on his plate and Walburge fretted about, wiping the grease from his hands with a cloth napkin. Bella tilted her head and stood up, banging her knee against the table in a very unlady-like gesture. 

“Well, baby Hawy, consider yourself worshipped. I can’t call you ‘my Lord’ but I’m sure, one day, someone will.” Bellatrix bowed and sat back down. She pointed at Hadrian’s blush and started to laugh before Narcissa slapped her sister’s hand because pointing was so rude. Bellatrix cackled and stopped only to sip her tea. “Best of luck, and maybe one day my Lord will begin worshipping you .” This time, Hadrian didn’t know what else to do, and tried to hide his face behind his hands and napkin, all confidence fading off of him with the swirling excitement and embarrassment in his chest. Bella continued to laugh at her itty buby cousin while Walburga continued to scold her for her behaviour and for embarrassing Hadrian, who was only sixteen and certainly too young for the Dark Lord, no matter what anyone said about the feared leader. 

Harry jolted in his seat, catching a flash of fearful eyes from his cousin Regulus and absolute loathing from Sirius. He remembered that Sirius ran away three days later, and never came back. Regulus disappeared not long after. Amyas seemed oblivious to Harry’s newfound memory, or dream, or whatever the hell he had just experienced, and piled more things onto his plate until Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to consume even a quarter of it. Finally Professor Snape approached with their schedules. 

“Potter,” the Professor snarled, shoving the parchment at his chest. “And stop wasting food, you little imbecile,” Snape added, this time directed at Amyas, who stuck his tongue out at the man only to receive detention. Harry had detention that night, too, already. He would have to be there by seven in the evening. Harry looked at his schedule and sighed, wondering if Hadrian Black had to take similar classes, or if there were more variety. He wondered about Hadrian Black. The goblins had told him that they were the same person, and that they, the goblins, were never wrong about matters of identity. If the goblins were never wrong, then they would have known that Harry Potter is not Hadrian Black. Surely the newness of magic must be able to explain why he received such strange visions or dreams about who he was assuming was Hadrian, and why they felt, at times, like those dreams were memories that truly belonged to him. Harry was just so confused by it all, but magic seemed confusing, especially if there were so many classes required to explain it, and for seven years, too. 

“What did you remember?” Amyas whispered to him conspiratorially. Harry shook his head, because he didn’t want to talk about it. Was that what it felt like to have a family? A real one? It seemed that Bellatrix Black Lestrange had loved him, and so had Narcissa -- who was Draco’s mother. She looked much younger in his head. Harry looked at Draco, who was busy speaking with his friends, or perhaps he was boasting. What about the others? His worried mother? Harry couldn’t remember -- were they even really memories? Why was he having them? He had strange dreams in the past, but it was on how to use his curse, his freakishness, not whatever he had started experiencing. 

“Do you need a potion?” Amyas asked, his voice softer as he slid beneath the table only to pop back up beside Harry and wrap his arm around him. The other students yelped as Amyas pushed them out of his way so he could hold Harry’s shoulder like he cared. But why did this stranger care, and why did Harry want to care about a stranger so much? “Let’s take you to Madam Pomfrey, she can help if you have a headache.” 

Harry hadn’t realized that the dull ache was indeed from a headache, perhaps even a migraine, something he had become begrudgingly accustomed to over his short life, but he let Amyas drag him up the winding, moving stairs that he somehow navigated easily despite never having been there before. He wasn’t sure what happened, but as soon as he was seated on a white covered cot, Amyas beside him, stroking his back, Harry started to cry. He didn’t cry, or at least he hadn’t in front of the Dursleys because they didn’t like it when he made noise. He held a hand over his mouth to try and stop the sounds from coming out, but Amyas made it hard as he didn’t tell him to stop. 

“Ah, another homesick firstie?” a woman asked as she approached them. She handed Harry a cup of cold water. She looked at Amyas with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t poison another one, did you? The headmaster told you what would happen if you poisoned people again, correct?” 

“I didn’t poison anyone, not even the time you think I did,” Amyas said, although he winked at Harry, causing the nurse to roll her eyes. “No, really, Poppity-poppy Pa-pom-frey, the great matron and mistress of my medical heart, I swear I didn’t poison him. Lookit!” Amyas grabbed Harry’s face, a thumb pinching each side of his face as he pulled his cheeks. “This is my cousin!” Amyas stretched Harry’s face before letting his hollow cheeks snapped back. 

“You are a menace, Mr. Lestrange,” the woman, Poppy Pomfrey, said with a shake of her head. “And who is your cousin?” she asked. 

“Harry Potter,” Amyas proclaimed proudly. 

“Oh dear, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” Pomfrey said before she went to a cabinet to pull a few vials free. “Now, is it homesickness? Just feeling down? Is it a headache, perhaps. People who spend lots of time with Mr. Lestrange often comes to me for those.” 

“Headache,” Harry said at the same time, Amyas cried, “Hey!” Although Harry thought Amyas could be rather excitable, he was the nicest person to him. He was very kind and liked Harry, when nobody else in the world had thus far been that way towards him. He was very excited and lucky to have someone like Amyas, even if he was overbearing. 

“Do you have headaches often?” she asked as she handed over a blue vial of liquid. Harry looked at it dubiously, never having taken a potion before. He suddenly thought back to when he, or not-him-but-still-him got ill and had to drink tons of vials, all of which tasted disgusting. He nodded his head and then drank the potion, throwing it back like he had in his vision/dream. He handed her the vial back with a scowl. 

“Well, if you continue to have them or it gets any worse, please come back and let me know. I don’t have any health records from your files, so we’ll need to fix that if you are persistently ill. You can stay here for a few minutes to let that kick in, but then you best be getting to class, Mr. Potter. Mr. Lestrange can show you where you need to go, and then he better get his butt to class himself.” 

“Class-smlass,” Amyas said with a grin. “I’ll help my cuzzy Hawy and then I’ll do what a boy’s gotta do.” 

“What’s a boy gotta do?” Harry asked. Amyas hummed. 

“I still haven’t figured that part out yet,” Amyas admitted. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something better than transfigurations. Auntie Cissa will certainly be glad I’m not tormenting the students with my skills this year. If you see a kid with rat ears, then yes, they’re permanent, and yes, I was already punished by multiple people. Honestly, what an overreaction! I’m an underappreciated genius, I tell you. Really, and it was definitely on purpose, it wasn’t an accident at all…” Amyas continued to tell him about his ‘exploits’ before Pomfrey waved them out to get to their classes. Harry’s schedule put him in transfigurations class. Amyas saw him off to the large double doors, and Harry entered the empty class. There were some students already lingering, others were seated, but when Harry sat down, the few Slytherin girls didn’t bother to make an excuse to get up and leave closer to the back. Harry knew his eyesight, even with glasses, was poor. 

From his position up front, he could see that there was a gray striped cat perched on the front desk. It looked at him with something like curiosity. As people soon flooded into the room, he assumed that class had begun, although Harry had no way to tell the time besides guessing (did wizards read sundials or something?). The cat stared at the silent students, and suddenly lunged forward before morphing into a human, into Professor McGonagall. Harry was entranced with such a display -- it was the most brilliant thing he had ever witnessed. He couldn’t wait to learn transfigurations, but then McGonagall had them read their book and write down notes instead of anything fun. He started to realize why Amyas gave people mouse ears -- notes were boring. He wanted to turn into a cat! 

Harry finished the class and left like a spectre. He drifted, unsure where to go, and not being welcomed with the other Slytherins, so he lingered behind them and followed them into a tower. Outside the tower were Gryffindors, and he watched as both the Gryffindors and Slytherins provoked one another. As Draco and the red head from the boats before started to really argue, Harry held his head and leaned against the wall to keep himself upright. 

“Be careful, firstie, you might not know where you’re going,” a Gryffindor, Sirius Black, warned Hadrian Black, his cousin, as he walked past him towards his Defense Against the Darks Arts class. Hadrian was silent, not bothering to respond to Sirius who caught up to him a second later and grabbed his shoulder. Sirius was a third year, while Hadrian was still a tiny first year. Sirius had yet to hit a growth spurt, but he was still bigger than Hadrian. “Hey, you better listen to me you little freak!” 

“I listened,” Hadrian said. “I didn’t think I needed to respond. What would you have me say?” 

“Now you’re mocking me!” Sirius cried before he drew his wand. Hadrian didn’t draw his own, he didn’t even pull himself out of Sirius’ grip, he just stood there. 

“I’m not mocking you,” Hadrian said calmly. “Please let me go, cousin.” 

“Don’t you call me cousin, you creep,” Sirius sat, his words and the spit that accompanied them dampened the side of Hadrian’s head. Sirius pushed him forward, and cast a jelly legged jinx on Hadrian, who immediately fell to the ground, his books scattering across the floor. As the other Gryffindors and Slytherins arrived, they all left them to their devices. James Potter and Peter Pettigrew both laughed at Hadrian with Sirius, while the Slytherins remained stoic, neither helping or fighting. The professor opened the door and--

Professor Quirrell snapped in front of Harry’s face, and Harry’s eyes cleared as he took in the visage of the man and the smell of garlic that wafted off of him. 

“Are you alr-r-right Mr. P-Po-Potter?” his professor asked, and Harry saw that the other students were all staring at him as well. Harry felt like the Hadrian Black in his vision, nobody knew what to do other than watch him. He nodded at his professor and then Quirrell went into the classroom, trailed behind by the other students. Harry was the last one in the class and sat in the front, where most of the desks were empty. He squinted despite his glasses to try and see what was on the chalkboard, before he realized there was a strange scribble in the corner. The handwriting was… odd. It said: the necromancer calls for Kiki. Harry didn’t know what a necromancer or a kiki was, but he was very confused. Hopefully they would learn what those terms meant, except that they didn’t. They were stuck writing more notes until the end of class, going over rules and expectations. It was all boring stuff -- not magic. 

Since it was lunch time and nobody would miss him anyway, Harry stayed behind to speak with Professor Quirrell about the note on his board. 

“Excuse me, Professor Quirrell?” he asked, reaching out to pull on the back of the man’s robe to get his attention. He felt horribly small next to Professor Quirrell, in a way he had never felt in his life, even when he was a child and couldn’t fend for himself, before he learned of his curse. The man turned around, and instead of the watery blue eyes of Professor Quirrell, he was met with a familiar red gaze. It made Harry’s body shiver without any conscious thought, and he wasn’t sure what sort of emotion accompanied it, whether it was fear or something else. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” the man said, his stutter was notably absent. 

“Yes, well, the note on the board. I was hoping you’d explain what it meant,” he said. 

“Which one?” the man asked again, his voice softer, like he was frightened, but why would he be frightened of Harry? 

“It says: ‘if the necromancer calls for Kiki,’ but what is a necromancer, and what is a kiki?” Harry asked. The room got colder, barely perceptible, but it felt so comfortable that he wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes and sleep. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but it felt like love, like care, like undying loyalty, so Harry couldn’t just pull away. It was happening again… he was feeling overwhelmed and he didn’t understand why. “Is this Kiki?” he asked. Professor Quirrell nodded, and Harry turned around to see a tall creature with black feathers and a skull for a head, a plume of black around her head. He knew it was a female, or at least likely being referred to that way. She held a spear made of cold iron in her hand like a guard. 

“Nobody else could read that note, Mr. Potter,” Professor Quirrell said. “It was in parseltongue.” 

“Why is it written then?” he asked, reaching out to hold Kiki’s extended clawed hand. 

“Because I’m looking for someone who can read it,” Professor Quirrell said, except Harry had a feeling that this man wasn’t the Professor Quirrell who had been teaching their class at all. It was like he was a different person. Maybe it was common among wizards, or maybe Professor Quirrell was a freak like Harry, who did strange things that even the other wizards thought were weird -- like having tattoos as an eleven year old. 

“Are you looking for Hadrian Black?” Harry asked. Everything seemed to come back to that name, to that person, but Harry had never met Hadrian Black, why did his life revolve around him? 

“It’s lunchtime. You should go eat something. I can speak with you after classes tomorrow, if you have time then,” Professor Quirrell said. Harry nodded, that sounded fine, and maybe Professor Quirrell would give him the answers he needed. He looked at Kiki. 

“They’ll be afraid of her,” he said. “She should probably go and stay hidden. Can she come back when we talk?” 

“Of course,” Professor Quirrell said. He reached his hand out, calloused hands a centimeter from the side of Harry’s head as if to stroke his hair, but then the man pulled his hand back and went to the door to open it for Harry. “Head out first. I’ll make sure Kiki stays safe while you’re away.” 

“Thank you, professor.” 

Harry walked to the Great Hall in dazed confusion. Nothing that had happened made sense. It was his first day to Hogwarts, though, and he knew very little about magic, so maybe… he knew enough to know that what had happened wasn’t normal, however. He ate his lunch while Amyas told him about his morning, and then talked about stories he heard from his aunt about his mother. Harry was nibbling on a sandwich when Draco huffed. 

“Stop talking about Aunt Bella,” Draco complained. “Mother only tells you those stories to make you shut up. She’s crazy, and she’s a criminal. She helped the Dark Lord kill people related to pretty much everyone in the hall. Nobody wants to hear about her!” 

“I want to hear about her,” Harry said, his brain not quite catching up to what his lips were saying. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t comment again. Amyas grabbed a handful of food and shoved it in his pocket, likely making a mess of his robes, before dragging Harry outside the Great Hall and outside onto the grass. 

“I’ll tell you all about my mummy, your other cuzzy, alright?” Amyas asked with a manic grin. Harry nodded, and Amyas started to pull the squashed food from his pocket and rip it apart to eat it as he told Harry a story about his mother, Bellatrix, making a wish to have a baby -- Amyas proudly proclaimed he was the wish baby -- and her favourite cousin helping her with his magic. Harry wanted to know how he did it, but Amyas didn’t know. Still, he went into details about the weather and major constellations at the time, too. Harry just listened to Amyas talk, because Amyas was the only person beside Professor Quirrell who had told him anything. 

Chapter Text

Harry had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, who were, as the hat insisted, frightened of him. They didn’t just ignore him or avoid contact like others, they downright quaked anytime he got too close to them. Harry felt instantly horrible for his curse so callously affecting others. Professor Sprout seemed to do better, but she still had to force herself to interact with Harry, helping him adjust his gloves only to gasp at the sight of the tattoos on his hands. 

“Oh,” she said, her voice cracking while her beaming smile became forced, “Those are just lovely.” It was clear that she didn’t mean that, but it was still the nicest thing someone had said about Harry’s strange markings, and he thanked her before he corrected his glove for her so she didn’t have to touch him again. It was for her sake, he had rather enjoyed the feeling of calloused and work-worn hands on him, helping him, like he was a normal child who was deserving of the same consideration as other people. Aunt Petunia had done her hardest to make sure he was free of that notion as soon as he could think it up, of course, but he could wish it was true. 

After class, he finally got to explore the common room. Thankfully, he had Amyas beside him. The other students had many things to say about Harry, whether it was disparaging his blood status, his fame, or his supposed treason against wizardkind. Amyas shushed them, and held Harry’s shoulders like a protective older brother anytime it happened. Harry had never had a brother, and his cousin Dudley was nothing more than a bully. He was quite glad to have Amyas, who showed him to his special corner where the others left him alone. He encouraged Harry to read a book he got him, a book called “Dabbling With Darkness; A Beginner’s Tome Of Necromancy” by Viralira the Vivacious. Amyas reminded him that the book was very illegal, and he needed to keep it hidden. He also made sure to cackle and rave about how nobody would rat him out, because it was Amyas’ book, and to rat Amyas out meant to get Amyas in trouble, and Amyas was the heir to the Lestrange family and closer to the heir of the Black family than Draco was. 

Harry didn’t dislike Draco Malfoy, but he didn’t like him either. Draco boasted all day, wherever he could be heard, and Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it, but Draco hadn’t been any worse to him than anyone else since he arrived, even if he hadn’t helped him at all either. Then again, there was no alliance between Harry and Draco, and Draco’s mother, Lady Narcissa, had already given Amyas directions to keep him safe, so Draco was unnecessary. 

As Harry read the tome given to him, he started to recall things. His fingers twitched and ached, as he wanted to correct the book -- but Harry had never learned this before, how would he know? Why was he so certain that it was cacoxenite, not bloodstone, that would best be used in the legendary lich ritual? In fact, it was glossed over in the introduction, just mentioning that it was important to the ritual, but Harry knew that it was wrong. If someone used bloodstone, they would end up with a body that would deteriorate over and over, requiring more and more magic to sustain them. It had to be cacoxenite--

“Did you remember something?” Amyas whispered, his lips brushing against his ear as he once again displayed that he had no understanding of personal space. He was lucky that Harry didn’t either. Harry turned to face him, their noses bumping into one another until Amyas backed off a bit, sitting on his haunches like a waiting dog. “So, tell me!” Amyas’ grin did nothing to convince Harry that Amyas wasn’t insane, as his voice had been almost angry with desperation. 

“This book is wrong… if you ever undertake a lichdom ritual, you should use cacoxenite not bloodstone.” 

“Couldn’t you use both?” Amyas asked. Some of the other Slytherins scoffed at Harry, but listened anyway. 

“Bloodstone represents the flesh, the blood. A lich is preserved, he has no need for mortal concepts of blood and flesh, he is a vessel. Cacoxenite is the stone of ascension, it will assure that you become deity-like in your transformation. It will assure the safety of your soul.” 

“That’s soul magic, Potter,” another older Slytherin said. Harry didn’t know their names, and these folk didn’t deem him worthy enough to know them. “What would a little mudblood like you know about soul magic and the darkest of the dark arts anyway?” 

Harry stared at the boy, not seeing him really, but seeing the soul housed inside his body, his mortal vessel. Harry’s eyes widened as he could see the soul, the spirit, and he could almost taste it on his lips. It tasted like… it tasted cold and fulfilling, but sweet like it could give him a bellyache. Harry turned his head, very confused and very frightened by his own mind -- although this wasn’t an unusual occurrence, like when he was scared by his ability to resurrect the dead cats in Mrs. Figg’s backyard. (They had all attacked poor Mrs. Figg and she hadn’t had him over since.)

“He remembered something else,” Amyas cheered as he clapped his hands. “Tell me, tell me, tell me! I need to know!” 

“I just--” 

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Lestrange,” a dark voice said. Professor Snape was lingering at the door that adjoined the common room to his office. “It is nearly seven o’clock, must I remind you that you have plans.” 

Professor Snape carted both Harry and Amyas off to his classroom, and sat them before a desk with multiple jars of writhing worms. 

“Because Mr. Potter doesn’t know how to yet slice and clean a flobberworm, I will demonstrate how you will milk them for their mucus. Mr. Lestrange has had plenty of practice, but watch closely,” Professor Snape said. He pulled a single flobberworm from the container and Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of it, before he choked on his spit and… 

“Eat it!” Sirius said, while James Potter held Hadrian’s shoulders to the ground. “Just open your mouth and eat the flobberworm, Hadrian, or I’ll tell everyone something nasty about you.” 

“You do that anyway,” Hadrian responded, not at all alarmed by his position. He stared blankly at Sirius and tilted his head to the side. Sirius threw the flobberworm at his face, and it bounced off his cheek and hit the ground. James Potter slapped the side of Hadrian’s head and then let him go before he and Sirius both stalked off, ranting and raving about how much of a freak Hadrian Black really was. 

“I can’t believe he’s really your cousin,” James Potter said. “What a lunatic!” 

“The only good thing my great aunt Cass ever did was get rid of that little shit, and then my crazy mother of course had to pick up the trash and now he’s living in Grimmauld Place. I wish he’d just eat the flobberworm. He’s no fun when he doesn’t react.” Sirius continued to complain, and Hadrian dusted himself off. He picked up the flobberworm and pulled it into pieces, looking at its insides before Regulus Black found him and demanded he clean himself up, lest he tarnish the Black Family name with his disheveled appearance and the flobberworm guts all over his hands. As Regulus dragged him to the nearest bathroom to forcibly wash Hadrian, neither of them mentioned Sirius Black or even James Potter. 

“Does Aunt Walburga often steal trash from other people?” Hadrian had asked. 

“Never! She’s a proper lady,” Regulus insisted. Hadrian nodded and hummed in agreement. 

“Regulus?” 

“What, Hadrian?” Regulus wasn’t happy with his questions, his anger growing apparent with his tone. Hadrian was now fourteen, and no longer was he a timid child, but an intimidating young boy that was a little too pale to be normal, with eyes too dark, and cheeks too hollow. He just wasn’t right, and he was certainly not cute. 

“Why would Sirius want me to eat a flobberworm?” 

“To humiliate you,” Regulus said. “For someone in the top of all your classes, you sure can be dumb sometimes.” Regulus scrubbed the splatter of mucus from Hadrian’s cheek and immediately scrubbed his own hands clean with scalding water like he touched something disgusting. Hadrian watched Regulus with dispassionate eyes and a tiny frown. 

“Thank you for helping me, cousin,” Hadrian said. Regulus just scoffed. 

“I’ve seen what you can do, Hadrian. Why don’t you help yourself instead of relying on others to do it for you? The Dark Lord will get bored of you eventually, and then what will you do, huh? Protect yourself, or you’ll get dead quick. And don’t call me your cousin.” Regulus quickly stormed out of the bathroom, and left Hadrian by himself. Hadrian looked into the mirror, and saw dozens of decaying faces of strangers smiling back at him. 

Harry jolted in his seat as he looked around. Professor Snape was hunched over him. Had he fallen? He was on the floor, and his chair was toppled over near his feet. Amyas cackled and cheered for Harry who was apparently remembering more ‘good things.’ Professor Snape seemed even more unhappy with this idea than with Harry as himself. 

“You appear to be fine. Care to explain your little issue, Potter? Not used to menial labour, perhaps?” 

“No, sir,” Harry said, pushing himself up. Snape dropped his body as fast as he could get away with, and Harry fixed his stool before perching himself on the edge again. “I think I know how to milk a flobberworm now, sir. Thank you for showing me.” Like earlier information, this knowledge came to Harry as if he had already been taught it. In fact, he could picture a gregarious man with a wide smile, teaching everyone how to do it. The man looked nothing like Professor Snape, and wore a brocade waistcoat with an ornate watch beneath his outer robe. Snape huffed but left to his desk where he graded something, most likely summer homework. Hadrian easily extracted the mucus from flobberworms, without any of the whining and carrying on that Harry vaguely recalled happening in the past. Although which past and how, Harry wasn’t sure. 

They worked for an hour and a half, and Severus glared at both Harry and Amyas who hadn’t complained a single time before dismissing them. Harry cleaned his area and washed his hands before he stole one of the flobberworms on the way out. He took it to the bathroom in the dormitory and started to rip it to pieces like Hadrian Black had done in the memory. He was hoping that ripping the flobberworm up was the way that he saw the faces in the mirror, but he ripped it up, and went to the mirror, he saw nothing. 

He was unwilling to leave the bathroom for quite some time, still trying to make it work, but eventually, he knew he needed to break away from the mirror. It would be time for bed soon, and he would ask Professor Quirrell many things, and he hoped that he could get answers for them, too. So he headed to bed. 

Hadrian Black joined his Aunt Bella as she took him to his cave, where he learned under his mentor Tarul, a lich. He walked into the grand cavern that hosted at the far end a throne in which Tarul never seemed to leave. Hadrian used the wand his master had provided him, as was customary for necromancers, and went to his books and left off where his studies began. He was an older boy now, barely fourteen, and he had already mastered so much that most necromancers in the rest of the world couldn’t perform until much later. Hadrian was wonderful, and he knew it. He knew he was good at what he did, and he challenged Tarul often with such matters. 

“My mother died last year,” Hadrian said, his voice lacking any inflection. “I’d like to speak to her again. I need to use a mirror, it says, a special one, with a concoction of yeti tears, my blood, and unicorn blood spilled onto it to make it work. I don’t want that, I want to use a mirror. How do I do it?” 

Tarul motioned with a long, crooked finger, and the books flew from the shelves to rearrange themselves in order before Hadrian, who took to opening the nearest one. When it screamed at him, he casually smacked the back of it which caused it to stop making such a sound with a small whimper. Hadrian Black, it seemed, was afraid of nothing. He opened the book and started to read. 

Only days later, Hadrian performed a ritual, dropping yeti tears, human blood, and unicorn blood into his eyes to make them into the soul gazing mirrors. Puncturing his eyes with needles for the fluid to seep inside, so precisely lest he blind himself. This way, he could gaze upon any surface and receive the same benefit as the soul gazing mirror. It would show him the soul of anyone he killed, ate, or otherwise was related to in some way, and even better, he could call spirits to look at if he wanted to. The downside was that there was no way for the souls to communicate with him, no matter how hard the souls tried they wouldn’t be able to communicate with him, although they could hear him. The first person Hadrian Black summoned was not his mother, or even his father, but Salome Lestrange, a descendant of Gormlraith Gaunt. 

“You’re my grandmother?” Hadrian said as he stared into a hand mirror where he saw a few lingering souls, but mostly just his grandmother looking at him. “You’re not what I expected.” Salome Lestrange was a regal figure with long, bloody-auburn hair and even her soul was tinged with darkness. She opened her mouth to hiss at him, but Hadrian couldn’t hear it. He just giggled at her antics before he sighed. “You share a common ancestor with the Dark Lord, yet you never searched for him.” Hadrian sighed again and looked at his hands. “I wish I could speak with you properly. If only I had your corpse, but… I heard that you were burned.” The soul in the mirror started to make faces, started to scream and holler, but it was silent. Hadrian reached out and pressed his fingers against the mirror. 

“Show me where your body is,” he said. She settled down, and crossed her arms over her chest before she pointed to the east. He thanked her, and his search began. 

Harry woke up, a full ritual in his head. A ritual to make his body better, a ritual to help him. All he needed were some ingredients that Harry knew sounded rather awful. Harry didn’t have many allies, in fact, he only had one for certain, Amyas. That morning, before breakfast, as Amyas went through teaching Harry how to tie his tie properly, Harry asked him about procuring some of these ingredients. 

“Come over for the winter holidays with Auntie Cissa and me, and we can get all of those nasty and illegal things you want, okay?” Amyas asked with a little giggle. Harry easily agreed, because he had no plans for the winter holidays, and as long as he was invited, he figured he would be okay to visit with Narcissa Malfoy, who had already met him and seemed quite taken with him -- going so far as to call him family. 

That day went well enough. They had Charms with the Ravenclaws first, and then there was a free period. After that was lunch followed by History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs again, who were still as terrified of Harry as they were the previous day in Herbology. After his classes were over, he waited in the tower that hosted the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and office. He waited outside the class with his books around him on the ground as he worked on his homework for the previous days worth of classes. Transfigurations was already demanding essays out of him despite only having been the second day, and a single class period, into the semester. It wasn’t a proper essay, technically, just a summary, but Harry made sure to document all of his own ideas and notes as well, so he could get clarification on them. 

Soon the doors to the classroom opened, and tall students who looked like they might as well have been adults streamed out, some of them were silent and rushing out, and others were lackadaisical in their movements, lingering with their friends in small groups. Either way, nobody stayed very long when Professor Quirrell arrived, and Harry believed it really was because of the smell. He packed his books back into his bag. He lived with the Dursleys his entire life doing their dirty work, sometimes quite literally, so foul odors had never frightened him off before. He slung his bag over his shoulder and approached the professor who ushered him kindly into his office rather than his classroom. 

The office was covered with diagrams of different things, most of which were beasts, and of those beasts they were mostly werewolves and vampires. There were lots of books around the room, and there was a long braid of garlic that hung around the door, draping over the door frame. It seemed Professor Quirrell really was afraid of vampires. 

“I’ll have one of my house elves bring us something to eat. I fear this will be a rather long conversation,” Professor Quirrell said, once again, he didn’t seem, feel, or act like Professor Quirrell ought to the entire time. Professor Quirrell called for Squilly, who appeared. She was a rat-like creature with lots of loose skin and floppy ears. Her eyes were like tennis balls, and she quivered in his presence, her large hands clutched to her chest. Professor Quirrell requested gingerbread cookies and grape juice, which is not something Harry had ever had in his life on either accounts. They arrived, just popping into existence on the low lying table between them. 

“Take as much as you’d like,” Professor Quirrell said, sitting back in his seat, not reaching for any himself. Harry got a cup of juice and a cookie to try them. He decided that he quite liked both of them, just maybe not together. Still, the cookie was wonderful. 

“Have you been having visions?” Professor Quirrell asked, shocking Harry from his silence. 

“They’ve been getting worse,” he admitted. “I got them sometimes when I was younger, but not like this.” 

“May I ask, where have you been living?” 

“With my muggle family,” Harry said. Professor Quirrell’s face twisted in disgust, and Harry looked down in shame. He hadn’t expected Professor Quirrell to react like the Slytherins had, especially because the man hadn’t been a Slytherin at all. In fact, wasn’t he a halfblood? He had no right to… it wasn’t Harry’s problem. “I didn’t know about magic, not confirmed, until I was eleven. That’s why I’m asking so many questions, you see…” 

“Of course,” Professor Quirrell said, his face softening in an instant. If he wasn’t so odd looking, he could even be considered just attractive enough to be charming, his sharp smile in particular. “That’s a very wise attitude. So, you may ask whatever you’d like, and I’ll try to answer to the best of my ability.” 

“Yesterday, that creature, Kiki, what was she?” 

“A servant forged from a lost soul and a soulless body. She’s technically called a ‘night creature,’” Professor Quirrell said, although that didn’t seem like the full extent of the process either, rather it was just the limited version. Harry decided not to pry, because perhaps Professor Quirrell didn’t fully know either. 

“Why did she come to me ?” Harry asked, and Professor Quirrell sighed. 

“What do you know of Hadrian Black?” 

“I dream of his life,” Harry said, his voice full of exasperation and tainted with the desperation as to why he dreamed of his life. “I have his memories, and I have his tattoos all over my body. It feels… it feels like I was one him, but I’m not. I’m just Harry!” The goblins had said it first, and he had learned that the goblins were never wrong. Harry thought that they had made a mistake when they insisted he was Hadrian Black, but maybe… Did he want them to be right? Professor Quirrell didn’t speak as Harry tried to figure things out for himself. He was blissfully silent. “If I was -- and I’m not saying I am -- how… how is that possible?” 

“Hadrian Black was the greatest necromancer in the past two thousand years, at least,” Professor Quirrell said this, and leaned forward. He spoke as if it was from the holy book that his Aunt Petunia would hit him whenever he did something particularly ‘terrible.’ “A necromancer is someone who manipulates or utilizes the dead, but that’s not all they can do. Hadrian Black was born special, you see, he was able to do all these things by accident. He learned from a powerful necromancer who had already died, but stayed preserved, although I don’t know much about that… He was amazing, the most amazing wizard. I would… I would dare to say that he rivalled the Dark Lord -- that’s how powerful and mighty he was.” The entire statement was filled with awe and appreciation. 

“Did you know Hadrian Black, professor?” 

“I--” Professor Quirrell abruptly stopped before his slowly tensing posture, as he grew more and more excited thus demonstrating more with his hands as he spoke of Hadrian Black magnificence sizzled out and he slumped in his chair like he lost all his energy. “I did. He was… he was very dear and precious to me, or well… to someone I know very well. They loved each other, I would say.” 

“But in my memories, Sirius Black always said that nobody could love Hadrian. Everyone said it! Why would they say something if he did?” Harry asked, and before Professor Quirrell could speak, Harry continued, “But they hated him. Everyone who said those things hated Hadrian and treated him poorly. Why didn’t he hurt them? Why didn’t he return their words at least if he was so strong?” 

“I don’t know,” Professor Quirrell admitted. “He made the most interesting creatures, Kiki was one of his first attempts, one of the most versatile, but he could make them to serve very specific purposes which changed their shapes, their abilities, it could make a dozen different monstrous night creatures with a dozen similar bodies… I don’t mean to frighten you, of course, what Hadrian had done, but… I don’t think I am the only one who knows that Hadrian…” Professor Quirrell hummed, almost in frustration. “That when the Potters died and the Dark Lord killed Harry Potter--” Harry gasped, although he had heard it, it had never been said like that-- “That his soul took up residence in the body left behind. That you’re not Harry Potter like you think you are. Your body is Harry Potter’s, that’s true, but your soul and your magic, and everything that makes you who you are, was once Hadrian Black.” 

They sat together in silence for a while, and Hadrian ate another cookie, unable to feel anything about this revelation. He had never been a very expressive child, but he had felt things in the past in great intensities, yet this didn’t feel like anything. If anything, it just felt like more confirmation, and… what would be so bad about being someone so powerful? The Dark Lord wouldn’t be trying to kill him at least, like the Slytherins gossiped about, right? 

“Who was the person that loved Hadrian Black?” Harry asked. 

“Why does it matter?” Professor Quirrell asked, his tone just as apathetic as Harry’s. 

“Because… if what you’re saying is true, I don’t want to live with the Dursleys. They… they could accidentally be hurt, and even if they don’t like me, I don’t want them to get hurt. So, maybe, if they loved Hadrian Black so much, they could take care of me. I think that’s fair,” Harry tried to explain. Professor Quirrell sighed again, and this time when he looked up, the eyes of Professor Quirrell weren’t just slightly tinted with red, but they were fully red, just like the memories made the man look. Harry couldn’t remember his name, it wasn’t said often. 

“His lover doesn’t have a body,” Professor Quirrell said. “They weren’t supposed to die at the same time, but trust that he’s working on regaining a body. He doesn’t know what Hadrian knows -- or knew, or will know, I suppose -- but he will find a solution. He’s also a powerful wizard.” 

“What’s his name?” Harry asked. Professor Quirrell didn’t answer him. Harry leaned forward in his seat and grabbed another cookie for comfort. “Professor, do you know his name? Maybe… maybe I could help. I have so many memories, I just need to see the right ones.” 

“His name was Tom,” Professor Quirrell said. “But only Hadrian was allowed to call him that.” 

“So can I call him that?” Harry asked. Professor Quirrell’s eyes started to fade from that bloody red colour to a more respectable brown littered with nearly nonexistent flecks of blue. 

“... I suppose … After all, they were -- you are -- soulmates .” The way Professor Quirrell said ‘soulmates’ was almost as if he hated the idea and loved it at the same time. Either way, Harry felt a new form of acceptance. If he had Hadrian Black’s soul, if Professor Quirrell and the goblins were right, then this Tom person would have to take care of him. He’d never have to suffer again! He couldn’t wait to tell Amyas about this. He had never had something that was only his, and perhaps he still didn’t, since he didn’t yet have all the memories of Hadrian Black and thus was still a somewhat different person, but still he was definitely the only one left, which made this Tom person exclusively his, too. A soulmate, that was a family, that was his family. He had the Dursleys, but they made him well aware that he would never be a part of their family, that he wasn’t even wanted, that he was nothing more than a burden at the best of times, and Amyas had his mother, his aunt, and even Draco, but Harry would have Tom. They could be best friends, even more best friend-like than him and Amyas. 

“You can’t tell anyone about his name,” Professor Quirrell said. “It was, it was supposed to be a secret, you see, but I overheard once since I was… close friends with him.” 

“Oh, but as long as I don’t say his name, I can tell my friend Amyas, right?” 

“I suppose…” 

“Great!” Harry said before he settled down, forcing himself to not eat another cookie lest the sugar was part of why he had gotten so hyper. “So, are there any ways to force me to remember certain things? I feel like that could be very helpful.” 

Professor Quirrell stood up and walked around their chairs. Harry turned around and got on his knees to peek over the back of his chair to see that Professor Quirrell had a chest full of books that was kept locked with a bunch of special spells. He wondered why Professor Quirrell was so frightened all the time if he had a chest with such complex magic weaved around it. Clearly he was at least a little competent, wasn’t he? Why was he so afraid all the time? Still, the man pulled a book from the chest and flipped it open, thumbing through many pages, before he handed Harry the book. 

“That potion would help regain all the memories he had faster than you get them now, but it would put you into a coma. I suggest waiting until we have a break or a holiday. That being said, there isn’t a way that I know for memories to be targeted. It would be best that you remember them in the order they come naturally,” Professor Quirrell said, and none of what he said was unreasonable, but Harry didn’t want to wait. If he really was this other person, if he could do the epic things this other person did, then he wanted to do them. 

Harry accepted the book and then pulled out some paper from his bag. He’d copy the recipe and the instructions. He was sure that if he couldn’t brew it, then Amyas could when he was with the Malfoys for the winter. As he copied the book, Professor Quirrell sat in front of him, and the red eyes returned as they studied him. 

“Tom didn’t have time to see Hadrian Black grow up. He never knew him then, when he was young and vulnerable,” Professor Quirrell said suddenly after nibbling absently on a gingerbread cookie that he seemed to dislike. 

“Oh, well, will he not want to live with me then?” Harry asked. Professor Quirrell’s jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. He didn’t respond for a while, and Harry paused in his scribing to look up at Professor Quirrell. Why did the man look like that? His expression… Harry could remember Hadrian’s memory, that there was a man who often looked that way, a stubborn sort of glare, in a similar context. When he wasn’t sure what to answer, and was ashamed for some reason but would never admit it. Harry still couldn’t remember who it was, but their face was vastly different from Professor Quirrell no matter how reminiscent it was. 

“He would,” Professor Quirrell said, “I think… Perhaps you can send him letters. I’ll write his name down for you.” And with the wave of his hand, not even his wand, Professor Quirrell -- when he had red eyes -- summoned parchment and a pen already dipped in ink to his hands. He wrote a name down in beautiful cursive and slid it over the table to Harry. Harry took it. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle . 

He had no address, just the name. 

“I can deliver them for you. Since he doesn’t have a body, I will read them to him,” Professor Quirrell added, hsi eyes clearing up and returning to their brown state. Harry nodded and tucked the name-stamped parchment into his sleeve. He was already planning on sending the man a letter. If he was such a brilliant wizard, he likely knew a lot about the stuff Harry had been dreaming -- or was he just remembering? -- about. 

“Alright,” Harry said. He finished copying the potion information down. It was called the Tincture of Mind Return, and was often used as a remedy for Dark Arts curses that rendered people amnesiacs. Harry had never seen such a spell used before, even in his memories, but it sounded rather useful. Harry wished lots of people didn’t remember lots of things. He wished that he could forget about the Dursleys, and that they would forget about him -- so they could live the peaceful life they wanted without his blight on their good family. 

“Professor?” Harry asked as he stood up. “Do the other professors know who I am?” 

“I believe that they all do,” Professor Quirrell said. “Why? Is anyone giving you trouble in particular?” 

“No, none of that. I was just curious if they knew,” he said. “I hope it doesn’t affect the way they treat me.” 

“Hadrian Black fought against most of them at the end of the war, but they never seemed to hate him,” Professor Quirrell said. “I’d speak to them about it, if you’re really curious. They were all quite fond of Hadrian Black by the time he died.” 

“How did Hadrian Black die?” 

“The opposite of Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore killed him,” Professor Quirrell said, and Harry frowned. He had never met Headmaster Dumbledore yet, but he was certainly an intimidating figure. Harry nodded, and left the class, thanking Professor Quirrell for his help, and he was allowed to return whenever he had questions or needed help with a memory. Harry planned on sending his memories to Tom for information, he was certain that his soulmate of all people who knew what was going on with his head. He headed to the Great Hall and ate dinner, listening to Amyas tell him about his day. 

For the next week, things went well. Harry, he realized, didn’t like flying much to the disappointment of everyone. Professor McGonagall commented on it, and even Professor Snape mentioned that the least he could do after being a Potter is win the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin. Harry settled in relatively well, and the memories kept coming. They just kept coming no matter what, and some of them were horrible. Some of them, Harry hoped they were nightmares, but when he woke up, he wasn’t afraid despite feeling terror in his dreams. Sometimes it was different, it was macabre but interesting. Either way, Harry was coming to realize that Hadrian was a very weird person, much like Harry himself. If they knew each other, they would probably never speak to one another, but if they ever did, they would get along well.

Chapter Text

The first time something ‘freaky’ happened, the kind of freaky that was odd even by wizarding standards, was during Halloween. Harry was minding his own business, when Amyas came running into the Great Hall. He started ranting and raving about the ghosts panicking in the hallways, but more importantly, that one of the Gryffindors had barricaded herself in the bathroom. Harry didn’t care why she did what she did, but about thirty minutes later, Professor Quirrell came running in. A troll had gotten into the school. He helped escort the students back to their classes while the other professors went to search for the beast. As Slytherins, since the last place the troll had been was in the dungeons, they had to stay. Harry however didn’t want to stay, but he knew that he couldn’t reveal his close friendship with Professor Quirrell, especially not since the Headmaster was very busy, staying to watch over the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins alike. 

“I need to use the restroom,” he said, going to Professor Quirrell. The man sighed and went to the head table to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore who looked at Harry with twinkling eyes before he waved. Professor Quirrell walked with Harry, and as soon as they were out of the Great Hall, they stopped. 

“I know you’re lying,” Professor Quirrell said. “What are you planning?” 

“I’m going to find the troll,” Harry said. “I think… I think I know how to I can… save it.” 

“Save it?” Professor Quirrell asked as Harry started to briskly walk towards the most revolting odor. As before, a bit of stench didn’t bother Harry, but it was still particularly foul. Harry saw the trail of snot from its hands on the door to the girl’s bathroom. Harry didn’t wait for Professor Quirrell’s permission or reproval, he just pushed the doors open and took the sight of the troll in. On the floor crying was Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor that the other Gryffindors bullied relentlessly. He picked her up and threw her out of the way. She landed in a heap against Professor Quirrell who took her outside the bathroom on a leg that she couldn’t stand on, broken by the club in the troll’s hands. 

“Kiki?” he asked, his voice steady despite the troll turning to face him. From beside him, Kiki emerged from the shadows. “Bring me an animal, quickly.” Kiki faded behind him, and before the troll could even comprehend what was happening, a small rabbit was pressed into Harry’s hands. He held the squirming creature and snapped its neck before he slammed it into the ground. The floor began to tremble beneath them, the stones beneath their feet moved like waves beneath their feet. The troll lost its balance and landed on its back on the ground. The club was smashed to pieces by Kiki’s spear as it nearly hit Harry. Harry would thank her later, because soon the earth split in front of him, engulfing the dead rabbit. Hands started to crawl out of the ground. Dead, cold, wanly hands attached to inferi started to rise. They grabbed the troll by the legs and started to drag it into the ground. He could hardly hear the inferi’s shrieking and crying, a natural sound that they made, as the blood thrummed through his ears. 

Then he saw black. 

Harry woke up in the infirmary with Headmaster Dumbledore by his side. The man was sleeping when Harry opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep, sagging forward in his chair, his bear twisted in the front of his robes. His glasses were still on his nose. Harry wasn’t restrained to the bed at all, he wasn’t obviously in trouble in any way, but it still made him nervous. He tried to be as quiet as he could as he got out of the cot, but his body ached like he had been thrown into a wall and he groaned as soon as he tried to sit up. He fell back against the mattress with a pained huff. He didn’t remember anything harmful happening to cause pain like that. In his distress, Headmaster Dumbledore had woken up. 

“Harry, my boy,” the Headmaster said with a smile. “It’s good to finally meet you, I just wish it were under better circumstances.” 

“Am I in trouble, sir?” he asked. 

“Well, what you did to fight the troll is certainly the sort of work that could get even weaker wizards sent to Azkaban. You realize that those sort of practices are illegal, no matter how you manage to do them, yes?” the Headmaster asked. His words and tone were grim, but he never lost his smile or his comforting blue eyes. They made Harry feel seen in a way he had never felt before, except maybe the red eyed man in his dreams (and hopefully his soulmate, Tom). He sighed, having heard about Azkaban from his dreams, and from Amyas who told him about it because that’s where his mother and father were being kept. It was a horrible prison. Hadrian had a dream after the night when Amyas explained why Azkaban was so horrible, the dementors, that made Harry both afraid of dementors, who could steal his soul, but interested, because they were creatures of death -- which was a necromancer’s domain. 

“But is the Gryffindor-girl safe?” Harry asked. The Headmaster chuckled. 

“Yes, you saved Hermione Granger’s life, and because of that, we aren’t going to punish you for what you did despite how dangerous and wrong it was. You see, there are many people who believe that all people who can do what you do should be imprisoned forever, and should never learn how to use their talents, and there are some other people who believe that gifts like yours can be used for good, but it is still a very slippery slope, and thus must be recognized as such.” 

“Which one do you believe, sir?” 

“Oh me? I believe in neither,” the Headmaster said with a little shake of his head. “If I had an opinion on it, then I’d be no better than every other old man who thinks they know about something nobody but a necromancer could know, but I know that you are a good boy, Harry, and I know that you didn’t do what you did to hurt anyone. I just don’t want you to be put at risk because of those blind people. Surely you understand my concern. Your abilities are rather unusual, even for the wizarding folk.” Harry didn’t know what to think about Headmaster Dumbledore. In one way, he didn’t condemn him immediately, and in another, he was warning him off and reminding him that he was a freak even to other wizards. 

“I haven’t been trained to take out a fully grown mountain troll, so I just… it was like a reflex,” he explained. The Headmaster hummed again and not a moment later, Madam Pomfrey came with a tray of food. She set it on his bed. 

“You need to eat this. You’ve been asleep for two days,” she said. “We’ve been keeping you on nutritional potions, which you may need to take to supplement your diet. You’re awfully small for your age, Mr. Potter, but you’re still young enough for us to help fix that. Albus, I expect you let him get some rest once he’s finished eating,” she said, and then she looked at the Headmaster who nodded at her, and with her own nod, she went out from behind the curtain to attend to her next patient. 

Harry was alone with Headmaster Dumbledore now. How long had the Headmaster been alone with Harry while he was unconscious? Did Headmaster Dumbledore want to kill him like he had killed Hadrian Black? Surely he wouldn’t, if not because Harry was innocent, then because he was a Headmaster and he couldn’t just kill his students no matter if their memories were weird. Harry picked up the spoon out of the bowl he had been given on Madam Pomfrey’s tray and used it to pick up some broth. He sipped it, glancing over at the Headmaster every now and again. The man never looked away from him. The Headmaster’s blue eyes twinkled with mirth and his lips were curled into a small but sincere smile. 

“Well,” the Headmaster finally said as he stood up. The man cracked his back with a cheerful laugh. “I suppose I ought to leave you to rest, my boy. I’m glad that you’re not harmed from the incident, and I hope I’ve imposed upon you the fact that these things you can do cannot be known by anyone else, yes?” 

“Yeah,” Harry finally mumbled. He didn’t understand why people would hate him for what he could do, or why they got to have an opinion on it at all if they couldn’t do it themselves. He had saved the Gryffindor, hadn’t he? He didn’t expect a medal, but he had done a good thing, and maybe a ‘good job’ would have been nice. Instead he got politely threatened. Harry knew exactly who he could write to about this, since he would never want to bother Amyas with his complaints when the boy had done so much to help him in the past. 

“Alright then,” the Headmaster said with a sigh. Before the Headmaster left the curtained section Harry rested, he turned back to look at him with the sort of concern that Dudley received from Petunia sometimes. It was a look that had never been directed at Harry in his entire life. “If you ever have any questions or concerns, please speak to a professor. If need be, they will bring you to me. I only want the best for you, my dear boy.” 

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Harry said, but the words felt stale even when he said them. Dumbledore didn’t smile at him for a moment, and then a smile was forced onto his face before he left. Harry hadn’t meant to upset the Headmaster, but what else could he do? Harry ate his soup, and listened to Madam Pomfrey’s instructions. It only took a day for him to heal. Madam Pomfrey claimed he was just so powerful and gifted that his magic helped him heal quicker than average, but Harry hadn’t even realized he was injured despite being in the infirmary at all. He thought it was just an excuse to keep him away from other students for a few days. 

The rumors he was greeted with were whispered behind hands and into ears of neighbours, but Harry knew what they talked about. It was obviously him - the staring as they spoke confirmed it as such. He wasn’t sure what they knew, or how they knew, but he hadn’t realized that doing what he did was so bad. Even the Slytherins weren’t apt to pick on him since his return from the infirmary. 

“Snape told them to stay away from you,” Amyas informed him after classes. They sat together in the corner Amyas had procured for them, the same one as before. “He said you were dangerous, a necromancer, and they would stay away from you if they wanted to stay alive. I guess most of them believed him… of course, you are a necromancer, but you’d never hurt them--” Amyas hummed-- “Unless you gave them a reason to, I guess!” Amyas started to cackle loudly, and Harry swayed as he sat. A new memory clouded his vision. 

Bellatrix cackled like a mad witch, and she slapped Hadrian on the back, causing him to jerk forward slightly. She was a lady like most of the time, but some of the time, she would undoubtedly rough around the edges. The Black Family Madness had tainted her mind enough that propriety wasn’t the most important factor to her existence, like it was for Aunt Walburga. Bellatrix was a woman of action, not decorum although she could be when it suited her. 

“I like it!” Bellatrix called. She put her lips together to make a pspspsp sound to summon the beast that Hadrian had just made. It was once a normal body, albeit lacking a soul, and now it was a behemoth devilish canine with three heads and rolling eyes that were all crooked. It was a poor attempt to summon a creature from the abyss, but Hadrian had done it. This was his first try attempting to make specialized night creatures. Beside him, the skeletal raven armed with a spear, Kiki, stood tall and squawked at the creature, using her spear to direct it to another place. The canine-beast growled and grunted but trotted in the direction he was pointed. 

“What a cutie,” Bellatrix said. She shook her head. “You ought to make me a partner for when Rodolphus is being stuffy and boring. He attends all those meetings and whatnot for his family, and what do I, his precious wife, have to do?” she asked. She paused, and Hadrian looked at her and shrugged. “No, seriously, what am I supposed to do? I’m so bored!” She groaned and flopped back into a chair in the living room they stood in. Hadrian sat on the arm of the chair and reached out to pet her curls. 

“I could make one for you,” Hadrian offered. “To spend time with you, like Kiki does for me.” 

“That would be excellent, my wittle bubby! Make your sweet cuzzy Bella a night creature for entertainment.” 

“Bring me a body, Bella,” Hadrian said, stroking her hair again before he stroked her cheek instead. Bellatrix didn’t pull away from his touch, but leaned into it like a cat before she forced herself out of her seat. 

“I’ll bring you ten people waiting to be kissed, just you wait!” she called before she laughed again, boisterous if not a little bit intimidating. She headed out the front doors of Grimmauld Place and Hadrian took her seat. Soon, Kiki replaced Hadrian on the arm of the chair. With long clawed talons, Kiki reached down to pet Hadrian’s wavy hair. 

“I think she’s one of the few that sees you as people, just as I do, Kiki,” Hadrian said. Kiki didn’t say anything, she just continued to comfort Hadrian. “You are all people. All my night creatures are just as valuable as any regular human. You’re certainly better than the person you came from. I’m glad to have you in my life. You’re better like this, mother.”

Hadrian held his head when the Common Room came back into his sight. Amyas waited impatiently beside him, squirming in his place. After a moment of silence, Hadrian looked at Amyas. He wanted to know if anyone else knew that Hadrian Black had turned his mother into a night creature, into his feared general, Kiki. It was almost as if even Bella hadn’t known. 

“Tell me!” Amyas finally crooned like a dying man who couldn’t keep himself from bursting with emotion. Amyas’ face was red from trying to keep himself silent, and Harry sighed. 

“Just another vision. Your mother was in it,” he said. “She fetched me bodies to turn into night creatures. That’s all.” He was a liar, and he felt guilty for lying to his best (and only) friend, but he wasn’t sure who to give this information to. He knew that if anyone else knew that he knew how to make night creatures now, not from that memory per se, but the many memories that were flooding him at any given moment, that he would be in trouble. Hadrian Black, from the memories alone, had been thirteen at least before he realized how to make night creatures. Harry was only eleven - this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. 

“Oh wow,” Amyas said with wide eyes. “Was she as beautiful as you said she was last time?” 

“She was,” Harry said. Harry wanted to tell Amyas that he knew what it was like to not have a mother either, since Amyas had grown up with Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix’s sister, rather than his mother, but from that memory, it seemed like he did have a mother. She had just kept away for some reason, and knowing Kiki from the visions alone, it seemed that perhaps someone ordered her to behave that way. Hadrian wished that he could have lived with Kiki rather than the Dursleys. Perhaps he wouldn’t have experienced what he did. The Dursley’s never hit him, they were far too afraid to touch him lest they get a disease (or so they always said), but they did not treat him very well. He knew that most aunts didn’t tell their nephews that they were disgusting and worthless and should have been put in the rubbish bin where they belonged. He knew that even more aunts, even the ones who said things like that, didn’t mean it with the same vitriol that Aunt Petunia had. Amyas’ aunt loved him, it seemed, from the stories. 

“Oh!” Amyas cried before he sat beside Harry and leaned against him. “I can’t wait until you get all your memories back, Hawwy-bewwy--” Amyas hummed, his eyes closing as his slim fingers clenched around Harry’s stick-like upper arm-- “because they you will break mama out and show the world why you never mess with the House of Black.” 

“Hadrian was also a Lestrange,” Harry mentioned for no real reason. 

“So am I!” Amyas said. “My, we could have been brothers. I would kill to have a brother as good as you.” The flitting look in Amyas’ eyes as he roved over the other people, now wide rather than closed and content, proved that he was possibly insane enough to truly kill someone if it meant that Harry could be his brother. Harry patted his shoulder awkwardly. 

“You’re my best friend, and the best cousin I could ask for. That’s practically a brother.” 

“You’re right,” Amyas said. “Oh, my sweet bubby Hawwy is so smart and wise!”

Harry plucked the book he had hidden between the cushions of their chair from where it was stuck and flipped it open. He had homework for his regular classes, but with more memories coming in, the more he realized he already knew the answers to things. His papers didn’t take him very long to write, and answering questions was far easier than anything else he had to do since he didn’t need to cite his answers in those sorts of assignments. He continued to read his book until Amyas left to do his own assignments (he scowled the entire journey to his satchel and back). Harry used this time to get out a clean parchment and begin to write a letter to the person he had been most nervous to write to: Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

If Amyas noticed him doing anything strange, or if he was disconcerted with the way he hid the parchment even from his eyes when he got closer to Harry, he said nothing. Harry wasn’t able to relax even a second until he dried the ink with a nifty spell Amyas taught him and folded the parchment well enough to hide his words. Harry excused himself to the empty dormitory, and made sure that there was truly nobody inside. He sat on his bed. 

“Kiki,” he said, with a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Come to me.” He opened his eyes, and Kiki stood before him, an imposing figure dressed in a black cloak with feathers on her shoulders, and a bone white raven skull the size of a human’s over her face. He held the letter out to her. “Please take this to Professor Quirrel. He’ll know what to do with it.” 

Kiki said nothing before she melted back into the floor, leaving only a few stray feathers behind. He picked up the feathers to hide her presence, but a few minutes later, Kiki returned. Harry hadn’t called her this time, but he hadn’t dismissed her either. He had just given her a task. He knew from his memories that Kiki was extremely loyal and obedient. She was willing to do anything for him, and part of this came as a magical force due to his creation of her, however not all of it could be explained by such a method. Kiki was powerful and Hadrian Black’s most trusted because she was his first and most steadfast, not because she was forced to be by the terms of her creation, but because she wanted to be - as much as a night creature could want, that is. 

“I’ll see you again soon,” he said, reaching out to touch Kiki’s bone mask. “But nobody else can see you, none of the students. So you need to go now.” The beak opened and let out a soft sound, not like the malignant squawks he had heard in the memories, full of demands and commands. Kiki melted back into the floor just as her free hand brushed Harry’s temple. Harry watched her disappear and suddenly a wave of melancholy overtook him, and he flopped into the side of his bed. He drew his knees up and he cried. He didn’t want to make his night creature go. He didn’t want to be alone. But if anyone knew…

Chapter Text

The Winter Holidays were the worst. Stuck to the back of  Quirinius’ head meant that the Dark Lord could do none of the things he needed or wanted. The only benevolence of this form was to be found in his (as much as he hated to refer to his cunning and perfect Hadrian this way) soulmate’s night creature and servant, Kiki. Due to the absence of Hadrian, she spent the last decade serving him and tending to his soul. She kept him safe while he was incorporeal, and still she returned to Quirinius with chalices full of unicorn blood to sustain him. She didn’t fear the absence of humanity or soul since she had none. A night creature, as Hadrian described them, were made with the wicked devils long since cast into the abyss. They were desperate to be ushered forth and given a form and duty, and none had as much duty as Kiki, the General and strongest, arguably, night creature due to her sentience and commanding nature. 

“Read it to me again,” he hissed, his voice as fragile as his precarious state, plastered to the back of Quirinius’ head. He could possess the man and read it himself, but he had already begun to grow weary simply from being exposed to the light, the sweat-stained turban having been removed. 

“But m-master…” Quirinius stuttered, this one is real, and not as fake as Quirinius’ other attempts. What a fool, to think that his stuttering would remove scrutiny from him. It had disarmed enough, but not all. Severus Snape was wary of him and the body he was hosted in, and Tom wasn’t a fool either. He knew that Dumbledore had no trust in Quirinius despite the man’s ploy. His position in Hogwarts wasn’t a benevolence, it was a test for Harry Potter. 

As the spell backlash of Hadrian inhabiting the dead body of his distant relative hit the Dark Lord, he knew exactly who had taken over the corpse. There was only one person capable of such an intense magical feat, after all. He knew that the Harry Potter that people worshipped and flocked to (in theory) was actually the once feared Death Master. He knew he was Hadrian Black, which is why he conducted a test of his own. Harry passed, retaining all the traits and even some of the memories of the man the Dark Lord once knew. 

Surely Dumbledore’s test was to see if this new version of Hadrian, Harry Potter, would be ‘seduced’ to the darkness like he once was or whether he was truly redeemable. The Dark Lord knew what would inevitably happen already - Harry Potter would find him, one day, and he would regain his Death Master. He also knew that Albus Dumbledore wanted a vastly different outcome and would struggle to try and mold the boy in that manner. But Tom knew, not because he had faith in Harry’s innate darkness, or in Hadrian’s will, but because Harry Potter housed a piece of the Dark Lord inside him. Their souls were forever intertwined. There was no way that Harry Potter could survive without the Dark Lord, just as the Dark Lord would need Harry Potter one day. 

The Dark Lord disliked the idea of destiny. He was an independent master, but for once, fate wasn’t against him in this matter, and perhaps the hope that it would get better helped drive him. Once upon a time, he had no hope. He had only confidence in his authority, but then he was given a piece of whatever humanity resided inside his necromancer - his husband . Suddenly, and only then, had he begun to feel . Some days, he regretted the process because of the horrible feelings that came with it. He experienced longing and sadness, grief and heartbreak, in a way he had never been forced to before, but he also wouldn’t have been alive or nearly as sane as he was without Hadrian’s work. For that, he was grateful… which was another feeling he would have previously been incapable of truly experiencing. 

Quirinius cleared his throat and picked up the parchment from their bedside table in their private quarters in the castle. 

“ Dear Tom …” Quirinius began to read. Tom closed his pathetic eyes, the rest of his face, the only corporeal thing about him, relaxed as well. Quirinius continued:

You may not know who I am, but my name’s Harry Potter. I’m a first year at Hogwarts, and I was sorted into Slytherin. I recently learned that I was a wizard. I wonder if you had always known you were special. Because that’s what we are, aren’t we? Special. We have magic. Everyone I knew before my letter didn’t have magic. They weren’t special. I didn’t really much care for them, actually, but that’s not something you’d want to hear about, I bet. 

I actually wanted to tell you that I had a vision today. Or I suppose it’s not a real vision, but a memory. Either way, I remembered how to make night creatures. I figured this would be important because you’re really far away. I had Kiki deliver this letter. I learned some things about her, too. Did you know that her body was made from the corpse of my Hadrian’s mum? I guess you were really close with Hadrian Black in the past. I bet he told you, but I think it’s really cool. His mum would never leave him. She’d always be with him. My mum died to save me. Sometimes it still felt like she left. I don’t know why. It doesn’t make much sense, but neither did being a wizard a few months ago, and now I know how to raise night creatures. 

Anyway, I’m actually writing this for a purpose. You see, someone I know - who also knows you - mentioned that you’re my soulmate. I had to look up what that was, but all I found were some stupid romance books. I asked my cousin Amyas instead, and he gave me a better answer. Only some of it was dumb love stuff, but most of it was how we have to be loyal and stuff to one another. I don’t trust people very well, not because I’ve learned not to, but because I’ve never been able to, I guess. Why would I trust people that didn’t even like or want me? But this soulmate thing means you have to want me, and that means that you can help me. 

You see, I can’t go back to my muggle relatives this summer. I just can’t do it. I don’t really want to explain why because nobody ever believes me. I guess it could be worse, but that doesn’t mean it’s good. So, I’m going to find a way to help you get your body back, since you’re missing yours, through what I know about night creatures. The body might be temporary, but it would work I hope. I’m going with my cousin to his aunt’s house for the winter holidays. They have a library, so I’ll do some research there. I’m sure you know who the Malfoy’s are. Well, on the winter solstice, I want you to come there however you can. Kiki can carry you, all you have to do is call her, I told her to help you if you ask just in case you couldn’t reach her. I’ll give you a temporary body to inhabit. By then, I should have more of my memories back. Then you can take care of me away from the Dursleys like you’re supposed to, as a good soulmate. 

I don’t mean to come off as pushy… you have to trust me, though, so trust that I need you now. I didn’t even know you existed, and I’m so glad I learned. Now I can help you and you can help me. 

If you’re the man from my memories, the one with the red eyes, and the soft words… If you’re the one who buried him and brought him back, and loved him, then I know you’re a person who can help me do what I want to do, to achieve what I want to achieve. And I need help with one thing after you save me: I need to rescue my family. If you want to give me to them after, that’s fine, but until they’re rescued, I have to stay with you. You’re the only person strong enough to--

“This is where he scribbled out the new few lines,” Quirinius said, before he picked up at the next legible line: 

They say you’re a great wizard, and Amyas says I will be one day, and I know Hadrian once was. I’ve seen it. Lived through his eyes; felt what he felt. I don’t think that describes it as well as I want to, but that’s how it is. 

Seriously, Kiki will bring you to the Malfoy Manor on the winter solstice, and we can talk-talk then. Talk for real, I mean. I’ve never written a letter before, so I hope this one is okay. I’ve never had anyone to send letters to. 

Sincerely, 

Harry Potter

Quirnius finished reading the letter, and set it back down on the bedside table. The Dark Lord wanted to know more, but re-reading the damned thing wasn’t going to help with that. The issue was that he had been coveting this letter since days after Halloween, that was months prior. Tomorrow was the winter solstice, and the solstice took place at eight in the morning. He only had about ten hours to make up his mind whether he was going to truly go or not. Never had the Dark Lord disbelieved Hadrian once he proved himself to be his equal, but did he trust Harry Potter, who was functioning on memories which may not be accurate? 

“We go to Malfoy Manor at dawn,” the Dark Lord finally said, making his decision. Quirinius gasped, and then he sighed. 

“Of course, master,” Quirinius said. 

“Extinguish your candles. I want to rest,” he demanded. 

“As you wish, my Lord,” Quirinius said, his simpering was both amusing and annoying. The candles were extinguished, and the room smelled vaguely of smoke before the Dark Lord closed his eyes and thought about the freedom having a body may have, and about what sort of body he may be inhabiting while he worked on a cure to  fully regain his body. 

***

Narcissa was hosting her cousin, Harry Potter, in her manor for the winter holidays, and yet she rarely saw the boy. Of course Harry Potter wasn’t important to her because of who he was, but because of who he used to be -- Hadrian Black, the pride and joy of the Black Family. He was everything they ever aspired to be, and when he achieved perfection, he surged above that with new and impossible talents. He also reminded her of when her sister was happy and playful, of when she was still the Bellatrix from her childhood rather than the insane woman that went on a rampage after his death. The woman that was locked in Azkaban for heinous acts. She missed her sister, and that is why she so often rushed before Amyas to stop her husband from punishing him for his pranks.

She knew that Amyas was not born of her sister or her brother in law in any way resembling something natural. She remembered how Bellatrix had escorted Hadrian deep into the graveyard in Little Hangleton and when she came back, she had a baby in her arms that looked just like her and her husband. The baby had been nearly eight months old when he was introduced to the family -- the night she suspects that Hadrian made him somehow. Because of her affection for her sister and her cousin, she babied Amyas as much as her own son, despite the boys not getting along in the slightest. 

Harry Potter, however, got along excellently with Amyas. He was quiet and reserved, just like Hadrian, and let Amyas ramble on for hours, poke at him, and even dance around and sing. Amyas generally made a nuisance of himself, and Harry just let it go, sometimes acknowledging it, sometimes not, just like Hadrian. She knew they were the same person, the tattoos said as much, and Harry was growing more Black features than Potter, but she also was aware of the cruelty in her cousin that Harry didn’t seem to have just yet. She wanted to get her Lord back, sure, but she also didn’t want her cousin, what was left of him, to fall into that darkness again. She wanted him to be free with his cousin outside of the influence of the Dark Lord. 

When he came to her in the middle of the night, his clothes torn and his hands dripping blood in the way an eleven year old should never experience, she rushed him out of her bedroom to keep her husband asleep and ignorant and took him to a bath. The house elves were quiet, and she would keep them that way for as long as possible. She scrubbed him clean, trying not to panic. She checked Harry for wounds, but the boy had none. He had hurt someone else. 

“What did you do?” she asked, trying to keep the fear and judgement from her voice, but when Harry’s eyes widened slightly she knew she failed. If her little dragon had ever returned to her in such a fashion, she would have been equally as horrified. She couldn’t imagine what the boy could be doing. It was just too horrible to fathom. 

“I found a body,” Harry said, his voice cold and dead. It killed Narcissa to see the boy like that, even if she had no claim to him. She hadn’t raised him, but she still felt responsible for him. “Well, I found a person, and I made it a body.” 

“Harry,” she said softly, before she leaned her head forward. Her hair dipped into the bath as she hugged him to her clothed chest. “No. You can’t do this. You can’t just go out in the middle of the night and come back covered in blood. You can’t--please--” 

Narcissa was a Malfoy, but only in name. She was a Black first and foremost, and it was just known that Blacks didn’t cry. It was beneath them, because sadness was beneath them and their empire, their brilliant legacy which would never be overshadowed. They were the oldest and most noble family, far surpassing even other galant lineages like the Malfoys and the Patils, they were secondary only to the Hogwarts founders, and only because of their significance due to the sorting system. But she cried, as she held Harry Potter against her. Harry didn’t bother to hide his tattoos then, and she swore some of them moved despite being ink embedded in his skin. 

“You’re all I have left of my family,” she said, trying to regain some composure. 

“I had to do this, Madam Malfoy,” Harry said, once again his voice was lifeless. Hadrian was like that whenever Sirius or Regulus were around, but she would never be like Sirius or Regulus. She would always protect him, she loved him, whether he was Harry Potter or Hadrian Black, he was her family, too. “I’m going to rescue Auntie Bella.” Narcissa cried harder, and slowly Harry dislodged her from his person and he reached out and tapped her shoulder and back. 

“There, there,” he said, no longer cold, but entirely awkward and stilted, like he wasn’t sure he was doing the correct actions. She wiped her eyes and summoned a tissue to blow her nose before she looked at Harry. 

“If you ever need a body, I know my sister has the reputation for hunting for the Death Master, but I am not incapable,” she said. Harry remained frozen for a moment before he smiled. 

“I wish I had met you earlier,” he whispered. “The Dursleys… I just wish I had known you Madam Malfoy.” 

“You’ll use none of those titles with me, young man. It’s ‘Aunt Cissy’ to you. How many times must I tell you?” 

“You’re not in many of my memories,” he said. 

“That’s because I was married to Lucius Malfoy very early, and I wasn’t a major force in the Dark Lord’s army,” she said. “Where is the body?” 

“I had Kiki take it to the ritual area outside. A preservation charm would be really nice, though,” he said. She called a house elf to bring some of the nearly fitted robes she had purchased for her cousin -- no family of hers would be looking like a destitute mudblood if she had any say -- and helped him dress in a white robe with dark blue snowflakes embroidered on the bottom skirt. She left the bathroom to the elves to take care of and walked with the boy to the place he and Amyas had been spending the past few days hanging out to see an intricate web of runes and sigils painted on the grassless ground. Lucius would have a fit if he ever saw what they did to his lawn, but she didn’t have much care. She trusted her cousin, even if he was currently inhabiting the body of an eleven year old. 

“You know,” Harry said as they walked to the center of the sigils and marks. “I’m not just Hadrian in Harry Potter’s body. I am Hadrian Black with Harry Potter’s experience until just a few months ago. My memories are important, but I’ve lived a whole other life without knowing who I am. My ‘formative years’… Amyas said they’re important. I’m not the same person who you knew, not entirely.” 

“I see… but you’re still my cousin Harry, and even if your experiences are different, I know your soul. I know who you used to be, and I’ve seen a bit of who you are now. I still love you. You’re still my family, and there is one thing the Blacks value above all else: family.” 

“Sirius Black would certainly disagree with that,” Harry said. Narcissa scowled as they came across the body. Not because of the mangled corpse, but because of Sirius Black. He had once been a wild boy that they could all be amused by, but he had changed. Then again, so had the rest of them. “And I would like to think that they highly value power as well. After all, even Walburga and Orion were vying for the attention of the Dark Lord, too scared to face him directly but happy enough to support him despite their disagreements. They also cherished me -- I mean, Hadrian.” 

“They would have loved to meet you, too,” she said. 

“I’m sure they would have,” he said with a wry smile, too old for a child’s face. He motioned to the corpse on their feet. Narcissa cast a preservation charm, but knew it wouldn’t last. It was far more mangled and therefore exposed to the elements that could cause it to rot far quicker. She flinched when Kiki appeared from the ground, and stood beside Harry. The bird woman had always been quite terrifying, and Narcissa was not immune to being afraid of Kiki, not when she had seen what she was capable of. She remembered being present for a moment when the Dark Lord ordered Kiki to bring him Regulus Black, her other cousin. Regulus hadn’t survived the meeting. 

“It’s preserved, but it won’t last long,” she said. 

“It only needs to last until the solstice, which begins in a few hours,” Harry said, peering up at the sky. The sun had slowly begun to break through the darkness of night. She wondered what he had planned. Unlike Bellatrix, she had never been privy to Hadrian’s lessons and necromantic education. She knew the least amount about his abilities, possibly, than anyone in her family, excluding Sirius. She had been busy as a housewife, as stupid as it sounded to the majority. She had also taken a long time to adapt to her new role in life, especially because her husband was not as fierce or as freeing as Bellatrix’s. Those two complimented one another while she and Lucius made a beautiful baby. The most they had in common was their hair color and they both primped and preened before attending Ministry events. Lucius worked for the Dark Lord and never involved her, whether he just didn’t want to or thought she was too delicate remained to be seen, but the Dark Lord never asked for her either, not for the more important efforts in his campaign, so she had not served like Bellatrix. Her sister was a force to be reckoned with, and the Dark Lord knew this. He used it to his advantage time and time again, just like he used Hadrian. 

In some ways, the Dark Lord stole both her sister, her husband, and her cousin from her. She was bitter and angry, but she was too smart to ever challenge the Dark Lord, so she remained quiet. Harry, however, had power, and he had yet to truly be influenced by the Dark Lord as Hadrian had been. She would not let him get trapped a second time - never again . 

At precisely eight in the morning, Hadrian started to unfasten his robes and hum. Narcissa was ‘escorted’ by Kiki to the outside of the sigil circle and runic array. How had a child of eleven managed to draw something so complex? It was because his memories and abilities were from a time when he was older, she knew, but it was still so shocking to see it. Kiki disappeared shortly after she was on the sidelines. 

Lucius joined them alongside her son and Amyas, who were both still a little sleepy. She held Draco’s shoulders and combed his hair out of his face with her fingers while Lucius glared at the ruined portion of green lawn. He had the elves care for it, but this would certainly cause a problem, or at least a hissy fit on Lucius’ part. He was as vain and proud as his father, Abraxas, had been. Kiki returned, but in the distance, and she had a man in her arms. Amyas rubbed his eyes a few times and then he gasped. 

“What?” she asked, wondering what he saw that she couldn’t. 

“He’s going to make a night creature!” Amyas said, before he started to cheer Harry on with loud calls and compliments. Lucius turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. 

“Night creatures?” Lucius asked. “How exactly does an eleven year old learn to summon night creatures?” 

“He’s got cuzzy Hawwy’s soul, obviously,” Amyas said before she could answer. She would have cast a spell to silence the boy, but it was easier to let Amyas be himself and explain things so simply. She hadn’t the patience to diplomatically deal with her husband that morning. The question she had, however, was for what purpose was Harry creating a new night creature? And who was the person that joined him in the circle. 

“This isn’t a normal night creature ritual,” she said, pointing to the runes. Amyas shrugged his shoulders. 

“I dunno. I’ve never made a night creature before,” Amyas explained before he started to hop from foot to foot. “I can’t wait to see this. This is going to be so cool!” 

The look Lucius gave her made her point her chin up. She wouldn’t cower to him, not again, and he would have to get through her to punish her dearest Harry for doing what he was so great at. For doing what made him so brilliant.

***

Quirinius was forced to be face down on the ground beside the bloody corpse. The Dark Lord got a good look at the bright sky for the first time in a long time. It was as horribly bright as he remembered it. He saw the round, childish face of who he assumed to be Harry Potter. He looked vaguely like a Potter, but due to the incessant inbreeding between the purebloods, he could have easily been a Black as well. One trait that was noticeable were his startling green eyes, just like the Avada Kedavra curse, just like Hadrian Black’s eyes had once been. When the Dark Lord focused on Harry’s eyes, he knew that he could see a part of himself nestled inside his very soul. He felt seen despite the disgusting form he had been reduced to. 

“Tom?” Harry asked. 

“Only you,” he said, forcing the words from his malformed mouth. Harry nodded. 

“I’m going to take your soul now,” Harry said. “You’ll have to tell me how it feels after.” Harry pressed the tip of an ornate athame between his eyes. It was not how Hadrian had made night creatures. He was conscious, and seeing, and suddenly he felt horribly numb and once again he was intangible. He wasn’t sure how long he was in such a state, but suddenly he opened his eyes again, his chest rapidly inhaling only to burn and wheeze. The first thing he felt was his limbs. They were heavy and longer than any limbs he had ever had. A small hand cradled the back of his head and shushed him. He closed his open mouth, unsure what sounds had been coming out only moments before. He hadn’t been consciously making any noise. 

“Do you feel alright?” Harry asked from beside him. Harry was kneeling on the ground, his boney knees were under the Dark Lord’s torso, and… so were some limbs he could feel. If he was a night creature, then surely he wasn’t as human as he could imagine. The most humanoid night creature was Kiki, and she was definitely avian in nature. He rushed to sit up. The Dark Lord was not a vain man, but he was aware that his good looks had served him very well in his early rise to power, and continued to be a boon ever in his favour later on. 

“Here,” Harry said, handing him a mirror, as if he knew what was concerning him. “I made it as human as I could, but I’m not very good at this yet. I’ve seen my past self do it, but I’ve never done it, especially not like this. I had to combine rituals.” 

“Did you experiment on me?” he asked, holding the mirror up. His skin was white, reflecting the absence of colour, and there were dark black horns growing from his hairless head. His mouth was host to a variety of fangs, and his fingers were slightly webbed and tipped with claws. His ears were long and pointed, and horizontal, connected to the side of his head with more webbing. The Dark Lord looked down at his body, to see his chest had a pattern of dark green and black scales. He had no genitals, just a flat surface, and his legs were covered in scales. His bare feet, after he looked down ridiculously long legs, were also webbed and clawed. 

Over his shoulders… he had wings, leathery and black but feathered at the top with a long spike protrusion. 

“I…” the Dark Lord finally said. His fangs felt odd in his mouth. Was that how vampires felt? 

“If it helps, I think you’re the most beautiful night creature Hadrian or I ever made,” Harry said. 

“You’re eleven,” the Dark Lord nearly spat, before he pushed himself to his feet. He towered over Hadrian since he now stood at maybe eight feet tall. His wings flapped once and he was suddenly in the air, just a foot from the ground, but he easily hovered in place without really needing to beat his wings -- which defied physics, but the Dark Lord was adept with the intricacies and miracles of magic. 

“I gave you a body,” Harry said, his humor and compassion gone. “Now you’ll help me.” 

“Who are you to demand anything from me? I’m the Dark Lord Voldemort and you’re--” the Dark Lord felt weak for a moment, and he hated it. The strength in his voice gave way as he sighed and reached down to pat Harry’s messy hair. He would need a bit more length to make it fully manageable. “You’re Harry Potter, and you house not only my soul, but the soul of my Death Master. Your letter stated that you wanted to retrieve Bellatrix Lestrange from Azkaban. Is that still your main goal?” 

“It is,” Harry said. 

“We might have to wait,” the Dark Lord said. “There are many problems which we must plan for. We must help you regain all of your memories, so that I can return to my original body. This one, you mentioned, is only temporary.” 

“Yes,” Harry said. He held out the ornate athame, precious jewels in the handle and along the cross guard. “You’ll need to keep it powered in a way the other night creatures don’t have to. You need to… you have to drink blood. This dagger is the only thing that should be able to kill the body, except me, so keep it safe. It’s yours now. Of course, you could always just keep this body in case your other one gets injured, too. Think of it like a pair of pretty robes.” 

He took the dagger from Harry. 

“Kiki,” he called, and the night creature came to him. He handed the dagger to her, and she took it. “Hide it in the phylactery.” 

“You have a phylactery?” Harry asked. “I’ve read about this. They’re--” 

“It’s not mine, Harry,” he said with a smirk. “It’s yours.” 

“Mine?” Harry asked. “But…” Harry bit his lip. “You know where my phylactery is because you’re my soulmate. Did we-- I mean, did you and Hadrian make it together?” 

“You’re too young to hear about it. I’ll tell you in a few years. For now, let’s greet our hosts,” the Dark Lord said. He held his hand out to Harry and the little boy took it, his small hand only managing to wrap around three of his webbed fingers as he walked, and the Dark Lord floated towards the edge of the ritual circle. Once they got to the edge, they were faced with a terrified little boy (clearly Lucius’ spawn), Bellatrix’s giddy changeling, Lucius himself (who fared no better than his child), and Madam Malfoy in all her icy glory. Narcissa held her skirt and curtseyed. 

“My Lord,” she said. Lucius quickly followed suit, barely snapping his dropped jaw shut. Narcissa held her son’s shoulders and pushed him down to bow and Amyas bowed as well with another giggle. 

“Mama didn’t say you were so tall!” Amyas cried as he ran forward to circle around the Dark Lord and Harry, inspecting him. Amyas dared to reach out and touch his wings, which the Dark Lord used to smack his fingers with said wing, hard enough for Amyas to grunt as he tumbled on the ground. Amyas crawled to his feet and ran back beside Narcissa where he stared at the Dark Lord with wide eyes. “You’re brilliant! I knew my cuzzy could make you a good body. He was so nervous! He talked about it for weeks. He just wouldn’t shut up about it - it was crazy!” 

The Dark Lord peered down at Harry, who looked away from them both. 

“Excited were we?” he asked, and Harry just shrugged his shoulders. The Dark Lord smiled, which caused the Malfoy brat to startle against his mouth, his hands clawing at her robe-clad arms as he pushed back against her like he was trying to escape into something else. 

“Does the Dark Lord wish to stay in the Malfoy Manor until he’s recuperated?” Narcissa asked. 

“Mother!” the Malfoy child called. “He’s a freak,” the little Malfoy whisper-shouted at her. 

“Draco!” Lucius shouted, clearly afraid for the life of his son, but the Dark Lord had no care for the words of children, it was the words of adults that angered him. They knew what they were saying most of the time. He landed on the ground and when he turned around, Kiki had Quirinius in her arms, and she dragged the man into the shadows with her, disappearing. He hoped that she deposited him back in Hogwarts. He couldn’t be blamed if she put him somewhere else. 

“Don’t fret, Lucius. I won’t punish your child, no matter how dreadful his character may seem,” he said. “No, I’m going to be returning to the Slytherin Castle until Harry departs Hogwarts for his summer holidays. I’ll retrieve him from this manor when that happens.” 

“You’ll be thinking of a plan while you’re home, won’t you?” Harry asked. The Dark Lord rolled his eyes. 

“Of course,” he said, easily lying. He had more important things to do than worry about his followers in Azkaban. They had already been there for ten years, a few more won’t hurt them anymore than they already had been, but Harry didn’t seem to realize how damaging the halls of Azkaban were. Then again, to a necromancer like Harry, perhaps dementors really weren’t concerning in any capacity - as far as he was aware, Hadrian had very limited, if not any, contact with dementors when he was alive. No, he would be focusing on how to fix Harry, to bring back Hadrian the way he was then, because Hadrian would have never been nearly so bold as to demand so much from him. Hadrian knew where he stood in relation to the Dark Lord Voldemort, and he knew that only rarely did the Dark Lord become Tom again (and only for Hadrian did it happen). 

“Will you be joining us for breakfast before you depart, my Lord?” Narcissa asked. 

“His body doesn’t require food,” Harry cut in, bold in a way that Hadrian Black had been but never would have dared to be at the same time, “He only needs to drink blood. Magical blood would work best, but muggles might work. You might need to eat some muggle meat to get the same fulfilment as drinking a wizard’s blood.” 

“I guess I’ll go eat a muggle then,” the Dark Lord drawled. Amycus giggled just like his mother and father would have. The boy was also looking at Harry with the same adoration and affection his parents gazed upon Hadrian Black with. Some things, despite different bodies and lives, would always remain the same. “Alas, the sooner I depart, the sooner I can fulfil our plans, young Harry… Lucius, do you still have the book I gave you?” 

“Yes of course, my Lord,” Lucius said with a bow. The Dark Lord held out his hand. 

“Well then? Fetch it for me.” 

Lucius Malfoy hesitated only momentarily, and disappeared beside a house elf while the young Malfoy spawn held onto his mother’s dress with some great distress. When Lucius returned, he bowed low as he presented the journal to him. Upon merging his soul with a lich, an immortal soul and creature, he had undergone the painful process of reconnecting with his horcruxes. The process was immensely painful because he couldn’t force himself to feel remorse to allow his soul to reconnect naturally, and thus had to force it together. The journal, however, was still very important, and it still lingered with his magical energy. 

“Before you return to Hogwarts, I will return to give you this journal. It will allow you to write directly to me, and only for me to see,” the Dark Lord said. Harry nodded, and as he did, the Dark Lord realized how horrible the child looked. Certainly Narcissa wouldn’t have allowed him to starve or go without sleep, but as the Dark Lord had learned from his time with Quirrell, Harry Potter was a stubborn young man, in a way that Hadrian Black hadn’t been. “When’s the last time you slept, Potter?” 

“Three days ago,” Harry admitted, looking at the ground. 

“Harry…” Narcissa said, her voice soft but heartbroken. “Why didn’t you come to me? There are plenty of potions to assist if you can’t sleep.” 

“I have to get the ritual perfect,” Harry said. “There was just no time to waste sleeping. Hadrian Black didn’t need to sleep as much as I do…” 

“Hadrian Black had been training since he was a toddler, and he had achieved lichdom,” the Dark Lord said. “You will sleep, and you will eat regularly. If you don’t--” the Dark Lord paused. He didn’t know what he would do, because never in a million years should he have cared about some brat, even if the brat shared the soul of Hadrian Black. It became more and more apparent that Hadrian Black was not Harry Potter, even if they had the same memories, they had different views of the world and themselves as well as their place within it. 

Had Dumbledore been right that he could reform the infamous Death Master simply by placing him, in infancy, with a radically different family than his original one? The Dark Lord wasn’t sure what he would do if he truly lost Hadrian, especially because the man had kept a piece of his soul with him, which meant that Harry could… he could potentially be influenced not entirely by his upbringing, but by Tom’s soul nestled within his own. 

“Kiki,” the Dark Lord said, “come to me.” 

The raven-skull of Kiki rose from the ground followed by the rest of her slender, nearly-emaciated body. Her feathered cloak and wings fluttered behind her as she smashed the butt of her spear into the ground. 

“Ensure that Harry takes care of himself. Drag him to bed if you must. Your duty is to ensure his safety and health above all other things. And Harry, if you give her a hard time as she follows her orders… I suppose you don’t need to come to the Slytherin Castle over the summer holidays.” 

Harry stared at the ground, and then he looked at Kiki. 

“I’ll obey her,” Harry said with some defeat and relief. The Dark Lord nodded in his impressively tall new form. “But don’t forget who the night creatures obey,” Harry whispered, almost like a threat, “ all of my night creatures, my Lord .” That vindictiveness that Harry displayed belonged to neither Harry Potter or Hadrian Black. Without a doubt, the Dark Lord knew that such a thing came from Tom’s soul, which was both a relief and probably the cause of a headache. 

While the Dark Lord smiling had once stricken fear into the hearts of his followers and enemies alike, it hit with a new sort of ferociousness with the jagged fangs in his mouth. He smiled down at Harry, who didn’t look up at him, showed him deference by keeping his eyes low, but it didn’t stay that way. The boy glanced up at him, and smirked as well. 

“And listen to Narcissa, Harry. She’s your cousin, and she’ll teach you everything you need to know for when you take over the duties as the Head of the House of Black. After all, that was Walburga’s great plan for you originally, and so it shall remain,” the Dark Lord said. 

“But mother,” the little Malfoy whined. “ I’m the heir to the House of Black.” 

“Shush, silly dragon. I’ll explain it all to you later,” Narcissa said, her polite and disarming smile in full force. “Let’s go eat breakfast, Harry. We can’t have you skipping any meals. The Dark Lord is a busy man, but he will surely return before you leave on the Hogwarts Express.” 

“I will return with the journal,” the Dark Lord confirmed. “But for now, you go eat. I’ll return to the castle to prepare it for your return.” 

The Dark Lord held out his inhumanly long arm, and Kiki wrapped one arm around her waist, and held his wrist with the other hand as her spear pressed against his chest. Suddenly he felt like he was going numb from his feet. He seemed to shrink as he melted into the shadows on the ground. Instead of remaining in the ground, he immediately regained feeling starting with his horns and wings until they were standing in the foyer of the Slytherin Castle. The Dark Lord peered around the dust-free and tidy home. The house elves and the few working night creatures that roamed had done an excellent job keeping the area neat and clean. 

He pulled out of Kiki’s grip and rushed with less grace than he’d ever admit as he marched down the dozens of spiral stairs and into one of the deepest dungeons they had. The room was full of crackling static, and at the center of the room was a large rhombus carved from white phenakite, and adorned with precious metals in perfect circular arrays, carved with ancient runes, and punctuated with other important gems. It stood on an ornate stand carved to withstand the energy it emitted with various spells, enchantments, and runes. The floor was carved and lined with precious mother-of-pearl inlay on a massive scale. The walls were fortified with silver and gold, also with carvings of sigils and other spellwork. The room could fit maybe six people inside total, shoulder to shoulder, in a circle around the phylactery itself. This was what kept Hadrian’s soul immortal and semi-invulnerable. It is where he would come should he lose his body and lack a way to get one. He would be reborn here, the nexus of his power. 

The Dark Lord found himself on his knees before the phylactery. He reached forward to brush his fingers a mere hair’s breadth away from the freezing metal that orbited and twisted around the phenakite base. 

“Why didn’t you come back here?” he asked. “Why didn’t you come home ? That boy? That boy isn’t you!” 

He didn’t receive any answers, but he probably never would. The phylactery itself spiked with energy however, as if it was sentient in some way. Like it was aware that the Dark Lord was speaking to it. The Dark Lord wiped blood from his eyes, since that is what began to leak out. 

“He’s a menace…” 

The silence was deafening, and as suggested, it said nothing. However, the Dark Lord wanted to hear, “So were you.” He would have killed to have heard literally anything from Hadrian again. His Hadrian, the only person he had ever truly desired, the only person who had possessed the Dark Lord in the same way the Dark Lord possessed him in turn, and after they exchanged portions of their very souls, what made them mortal and sentient and alive… he was the only person that the Dark Lord had ever truly loved. He wasn’t capable of just losing that person and moving on. Once upon a time, it would have been easy, because he never would have been able to care for someone in such a way. Back before Hadrian, the only people that ever mattered to the Dark Lord were those most valuable to him and his goals at any given time. Hadrian changed that, and then he died. The Dark Lord still didn’t know how he had died besides that Albus Dumbledore had done it, or at least he got the credit for the kill. But how could Dumbledore manage to kill someone like Hadrian? 

The worst, most heartbreaking possibility is that Hadrian let the man kill him, but why ? Looking into that question had only brought the disembodied Dark Lord more trouble and strain, causing his already unstable form to be even less stable than before. So he had stopped thinking about it. Now that he had a body, the hurt and the question remained. Had the Dark Lord done something wrong? Forever meant forever, and the Dark Lord hadn’t even been the romantic who said it, so why had Hadrian not kept his word? 

If Hadrian had betrayed the Dark Lord, for some unfathomable reason… then the Dark Lord didn’t want him anyway, right? But what would make Harry Potter any different?