FicWad

Three

Hogwarts, Scotland

If Hadrian wasn't used to being stared and gaped at as he had become throughout the years, then he probably would have been more than annoyed. He might have hexed them once or twice, earning himself an earful when he went back home. Andromeda always did tell him regardless of how much they annoyed him to no end, he should never be the one to resort to the physical violence. There was always a peaceful way to settle the match. Hadrian didn't tell Andromeda so, but he thought that was a load of a bullshit. How would you hope to talk sense into the people that refused to listen?

Professor Severeus Snape strode into the classroom in a rather dramatic motion, his long dark robes sweeping past him like a fancy dress as he stopped mid-walk, facing them with a narrowed, lukewarm expression on his pale face. Looking quite like he would much rather be doing anything else than teaching a couple of eleven-years-old little twats a potions class, Professor Snape stopped on his name for a mid-second, a brief look of a recognition flashing through his eyes before he continued his work.

Once he was done, he immediately began to speak, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,"His voice was of a low volume, like he was deliberately pitching his voice to sound as terrible as humanly possible. Though, Hadrian had a feeling that was his actual voice. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach. "

He then immediately turned to a rather tall, dark-haired boy with blue eyes whom Hadrian briefly remembered from the night before, and he drawled, promising lots of a pain and suffering in the boy's future. "Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Augustus Potter seemed to have shrunk in the size. "I do not know, sir." Despite his rather unfortunate situation, there was something about him that still told him he had yet to lose his natural confidence.

"Let's try again, Potter." Snape sneered at the other boy. "where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" It was quite obvious there was some personal agenda Snape had against Potter. Seeing as it didn't look as if he was about to avert his attention to anybody else. Sure, Snape could be the sort of a teacher who just liked picking on the students, but Hadrian didn't think so. It was personal here. Though, he couldn't resonate why exactly Dumbledore would hire someone who would step so low as to use a personal agenda in the classroom. "Clearly, your father had forgotten to educate you properly." He said the word in a sneer, like the very mention of Potter's father was enough to receive his ire.

"One last chance, what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

It seemed that Potter have had had quite enough of being humiliated publicly, and decided to revert to a silent tactic. If the pure raged look on Snape's face was to indicate anything at all, it didn't have quite an effect Potter thought it would have.

"For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from the most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Severus Snape hadn't talked with Lily for whole years before the news of her death had come around, protecting the son of a man who couldn't even stay alive long enough to get to raise him.

Severus had never did understand Lily's fascination with the younger boy. Sure, he supposed that in Lily's eyes, Regulus Black was all the things every girl wished for in a future husband. He was everything Severus was not. But he was also so perfectly fake, his whole persona built up on the lies and deceits.

Severus wondered if she had seen through them the first time she met the boy, dragging the boy by the arm from whatever compartment he had been in previously into their own, like they were not in a fact perfect strangers, but friends who had known each other for years. He thought she had. As far as he knew, only few things escaped her notice. One look at him, and she would have known. There was a major difference between genuinely nice people, and those pretended to be the friendly sort. Regulus Black was the latter.

Hadrian Black was a tall, dark-haired boy that looked exactly like his father all those years ago back when they were at Hogwarts, except, of course, those familiar green eyes he must have inherited from his mother. He was a Black in all of his dark glory, already having people surround him like he was somebody quite special. Even when Black was not being surrounded by his merry group of friends — Alice Fortescue with her fancy robes and expensive high heels, always closely followed by Frank Longbottom who more often looked happy enough to be just there by her side, and there was Rowan Scamander with the magical creatures that seemed to follow him everywhere and then, of course, there was Lily with her sunshine like bright smile and beaming laughter that had his heart beating quicker than ever before — people tended to follow him wherever he went, their reasons differing from needing the Black family fortune to rose up in the social rankings to because they seemed to genuinely like him. And just like then, Hadrian Black was surrounded by the students of all kind, looking quite like he would much rather be someplace else than here. Well, too bad. If his father failed to escape their notice, then he sure wouldn't manage to think of a possible escape route.

"Professor Snape?"

It was Professor Sprout coming his way, all beaming smiles and positive energy that he wished to step on right then. Talk about nauseating. "I was wondering if you could help me with a potion."

"Of course, Professor Sprout. Right this way."

Hadrian Black loathed having to pretend as if he haven't been aware of the rules of the Qudditch since he was five, Andromeda grudgingly obliging to his request. He used to play Qudditch all the time with Draco and Theodore every time they came to visit, mostly because he had nobody else to play with.

"Neville. Try to relax." He certainly didn't understand why he was teaching Neville a Qudditch lesson. After all, what he had made him think he would successfully teach him this time? He had tried to teach Neville how to board a broom without a falling down with a little to no success throughout the years. What would make this time any different? "If you keep fretting over it, you wouldn't be able to get on a broom. Try taking a deep breath."

Neville took a deep, slow breath. "Now, say up."

"Up."

It stayed in the place. "I don't know, Harry. Maybe it's just me that's wrong. Maybe I am physically unable to ride a broom."

Hadrian stared at his friend in disbelief. "Neville, there's no such thing." He told him. "Just try again."

Neville sighed under his breath and did as he was instructed. "Up."

It lifted.

"Just a one time luck."

"What do I always tell you? Stop downplaying yourself. What do they have they don't? You can do it. You are Neville. My best friend." There was something unreadable on Neville's expression at the word best friend, and Hadrian frowned confusedly at him, "Neville, what is it?"

"Nothing."

"Neville — ," Hadrian stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Blaise Zabini walking their way, closely followed by Tracey Davis; a small, brown-haired witch who looked as if she would like to be anywhere but here. "Come on, everyone, look at what I've found!" Blaise yelled. "Longbottom's rememberball!" He was practically beaming with the knowledge.

Neville paled. "Oh, Merlin. Nana would murder me if Iose that thing."

"Blaise, stop playing. Give that back." Hadrian growled, not really in the mood to deal with Blase's bullshit. He understood that he had issues and all, the downsides of being the son of an infamous black widow, but that didn't give him the right of treating people like a shit. "Honestly. Can you really tell me you want that thing? Just give it back to Neville."

"What's happening here?" Madam Hooch glared at them both with her hands on her hips, standing perfectly still on the ground. "Never mind. I don't care. Go back to your brooms, both of you. And push off when I whistle."

But Neville, sweet and naive Neville, pushed off anxiously before Hooch could even whistle. "Come back, boy!" Here was the thing. Neville had a trouble with directing the broom most times. Which meant that Nevile rose up higher in the air than he was probably comfortable with, and then he was falling down just as quickly into the ground, slamming loudly. Neville let out a frightemed gasp, screaming in the pain as Madam Hooch ran towards him, cursing under her breath. "Broken wrist." Madam Hooch seemed to say. " "Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get." When it seemed he was about to follow them to the infirmary, "Black, you stay put." And then to the rest of them. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch. Come on, dear." And then with Madam Hooch supporting his weight, Neville stalked away with one last glance at him.

"Did you see him?" Blaise smirked to the rest of his peers. At the back, Draco and Theodore was shrinking away from the crowd, the blonde shaking his head at Hadrian, a clear warning to not do something foolish. It was really too bad that Hadrian did not take Draco's orders. "What a freak."

"Shut your mouth if you know what's good for you." Hadrian stalked toward Blaise, his blood boiling with a rage.

"What are you going to do? Punish me?" Blaise's lips curled up in a daring grin. "Tell me you depressing tales of a woe?"

Hadrian rolled his eyes."Just give me the ball, Blaise." Tread it carefully, Andromeda's words rang up in his head, don't resort to a physical violence. "And we can go our separate ways."

"But, Hadrian, how fun would that be?"

"Just give it to him, Blaise." Draco looked tired, as if he really, really didn't wish to get involved in this, but found himself unable to stay away. Cousins stick together, Draco had told him once, regardless of how I may feel about you, you are my cousin. I would never let anything bad happen to you. "Aren't you tired of playing games already?"

Blaise shot Draco an angered look. "You dallying with half-bloods now, Draco?" He asked coyly. "What would your father say?"

"I am quite certain I would not care what my father would say." Draco shot back. "Give me the freaking ball before I hex you into the next week."

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?" And before neither of them could move, Blaise rose up in the air.

Draco gave him a look, pleading with him. "Hadrian — don't do anything — ," But Hadrian was already on his broom, following after Blaise. "Give it here, you annoying wanker!" It was probably the best if he didn't insult someone who had what he wanted. But nobody would accuse Hadrian of being reasonable and logical. That was Draco. Always the one to clean up after his mess in the aftermath.

"Come and get it, Black!" And then he rose up in the air, flying around the the Qudditch pitch in the circle. Hadrian followed after him, glaring at him angrily just in the time to witness Blaise abruptly stopping mid air, and throwing the ball high in the air, forcing Hadrian to try flying higher, almost missing the ball by an inch. Hadrian held the ball in his hands with a sigh of a relief as he watched Draco on the ground beside Theodore with a small smile.

"HADRIAN BLACK!" It was Professor McGonagall, running towards them with a furious glare. "Never — in all my time at Hogwarts–" She was saying. " — how dare you — might have broken your neck–"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor McGonagall."

Professor McGonagall glared. "Be quiet, Mr. Nott."

"But Blaise —,"

"That's quite enough, Mr. Malfoy." She snapped, facing him. "Get down, and follow after me, Mr. Black." Hadrian did as he was instructed without a word. If he got expelled from Hogwarts, then so would be it. In his mind, he didn't do anything wrong. He did what he had to. If she didn't like his choice of actions, well, there was nothing he could do about it now, was there? He quietly followed after Professor McGonagall into the series of hallways that led into a lone classroom. She opened the classroom doors swiftly, and poked her head inside. ""Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Hadrian frowned. Wood? What did she need him for?

Wood came out of Professor Fltwick's classroom with a somewhat sleepy look on his face, staring confusedly at Professor McGonagall and Hadrian.

"Follow me, you two,"And they followed her up the hallway with Wood gazing at Hadrian curiously.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard. "Out, Peeves." She roared. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Black, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I've found you a Seeker."

Oliver beamed wider than he had seen him in the past few days. "I knew it!" He practically jumped in the joy. "I fucking knew it!"

Professor McGonagall glared. "Wood, language!" She scolded. "I saw Mr. Black out there in the field. He had a talent. And well, if he's anything like his father had been when he was his age, he would be captain by the time he's fifteen."

Oliver cast an accusing glare at the elder witch. "Are you trying to rid of me, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes. "You are fifteen, Wood." She said. "You only have two years left before you leave us. It's a good idea to have a replacement in the mind."

"I do." He said, "Kate."

Professor McGonagall nodded her head in an acknowledgment. "Good choice," She said.

"My father was a Qudditch player?"

Professor McGonagall seemed to be hesitant to reply. "One of the best." She informed him, "When he was on the team, Gryffindor never almost won."

Oliver was now looking at him in the new light. He turned back to Professor McGongall, looking quite giddy indeed. "He was that good?" He then turned back to him. "Are you that good?"

Hadrian shrugged his shoulders. "I never played against a large number of people. So, honestly? I really wouldn't know."

"Well, we never know until we try, do we?" Oliver grinned at him boyishly, "Come on, let's train!"

"Wood." Professor McGonagall reminded him. "After class."

Oliver can be heard cursing under his breath. "Damn it!" But Hadrian didn't pay much attention, for he was grinning to himself.

"A Seeker?" Neville asked with a surprised look on his face. "But the first years never play."

Hadrian grinned. "I know."

"You must be really good then."

Hadrian shrugged his shoulders casually. "How's you wrist? It looked as if you fell really hard."

"I'm getting better." Neville grinned at him. "Don't tell my Nana, but those sweets you've brought me are helping."

"You know me. I am a real keeper of the secrets. If Augusta hears anything of the sort, she didn't hear it from me."

"I know." There was that troubled expression again.

"Neville?" He called. "What's wrong? You can tell me, you know? We are friends."

"It's just — sometimes, I cannot help but feel like you can do way better than me. I mean, look at you. You are the Boy Who Lived. You are a first year, and you are already doing things I never could hope to do. You can do better than me."

Hadrian touched his shoulder. "Hey, come on."

"And sometimes, I can't help but feel like you don't even like me. LIke the only reason you even hung out with me is because I am the piece of your parents' memory you would never get to know."

Hadrian gulped. "It's true. I did start trying to be your friend because our parents were friends, before everything. And of course I can be decide to be friends with anyone else. But, Neville, here's the thing. Nobody else would understand my pain like you do. Like it or not, we are in it together." Hadrian grinned boyishly at his best friend, patting him on the shoulder.

"Harry?" Neville was grinning back. "You think Hermione is doing well in Ravenclaw?"

Hadrian shrugged. He didn't actually give much thought to Hermione after the sorting ceremony. "I am pretty sure she is." He said. "She looked like the type of a witch that can definitely handle herself."

Hermione Granger felt like she was about to cry. She couldn't find her shoes anywhere around the room. But here they were, in the lake. Hermione cast a drying spell on the shoe, forcing back the tears. Her daddy had told her everything would start making sense when she was at Hogwarts among her crowd, people with abilities just like her, but they were so cruel. She didn't feel like she did fit in here at all. And finally, not being table to take any longer of the pain, Hermione hugged her her knees closer to her chest and let the tears fall, her throat aching deeper as each tear fell. "Everything's going to be fine." She whispered to herself. "Everything is going to be just fine, Hermione." She wasn't entirely sure she believed herself.