Chapter Text
1 August 1984
When Hadrian followed his parents, Henry, Sirius and Remus to the drawing room, he was barely able to drag his feet down the stairs.
Ezio kept glancing at him worriedly, while Belen wouldn’t stop glaring at Sirius.
He stared morosely at the twenty-something assorted gifts, no wonder courtesy of his parents, godfather, Remus and the Longbottoms, and sighed.
It was nothing compared to what Henry received for his fourth birthday yesterday, but it was offered with love and he appreciated it.
He knew that every present was picked with the utmost care, with him in mind, and couldn’t wait to unravel the prettily-wrapped boxes.
However…
He was tired and could barely stand on his feet. He looked ghastly, his complexion pallid and damp and according to what he learned from his Heir lessons, the separation he dreaded was upon him.
“Harry, you—‘’ Lily Potter gasped taken aback when he held to her arm to avoid falling.
She placed an arm over his shaking shoulders and leaned down, kissing the crown of his head.
“Is something ailing you, my dear? Do you want me to take you to a Healer?” she asked worriedly, her emerald-green eyes filled with apprehension as they scrutinized his face.
He gave her a bleary glance, his green eyes missing their liveliness. “I’m fine, Mum. I’m merely tired,” he tried to placate his mother, hating seeing the concern in her eyes.
Hadrian looked down at his hands loathingly, then shook his head and smiled widely.
Sitting next to Sirius, he kept the fake smile plastered on his face as he eyed the feast.
He drowned a wince in his goblet of water and winked to Henry—who seemed excited at the prospect of another birthday party.
“Harry! Hurry up!” The four-year-old chirped excitedly, looking forward to the task of going through the presents.
“Let’s enjoy our meal first, son,” James said tersely.
“James,” Remus took a swallow of his rare steak and kidney pie. “Please.”
“I know,” James turned his attention to his plate,
“But—‘’
“No buts,” Lily dropped back to her chair. “Let’s give Harry the seventh birthday he deserves and then…” she hesitated and Harry understood the reason behind her reluctance.
“Thank you, Mum. Everything is great,” Hadrian offered wanly.
“Very well,’’ James tensed, his throat closing against a growl.
Through heavy-lidded eyes, Hadrian watched the interactions between his family members.
His father’s grip tightened on his fork. His mother kept stealing glances at him, while Remus seemed uncomfortable.
Harry squirmed, seeking a more comfortable position and stilled when Sirius laid a hand over his back. He leaned unconsciously and forced himself to stay awake.
A strange sound left James’ throat but a meaningful look from his mother made him drop his gaze.
“Harry is sleepyhead!” Henry giggled and Harry nodded. Sirius raked a hand through his hair and gave him an encouraging grin.
Belen finally brought the birthday cake, a Red Velvet seven-layer cake, his favourite.
“Thank you, Belen,” Hadrian thanked the house elf. The latter bowed respectfully and popped away.
“I want cake!” Henry demanded losing his patience when everyone remained stiff and silent.
“Harry, would you do the honours?” Lily urged him to take the silver knife, embellished with the Potter emblem, and he acquiesced.
He cut a small piece and Henry clapped his hands enthusiastically. Hadrian’s lips twitched despite the weariness overwhelming him.
He sliced through the frosting. Henry’s face shone with anticipation as he eyed the cream cheese and butter he loved so much and Hadrian chuckled.
Henry opened his mouth wide while he accepted his brother’s offering and his lips lifted in delight as he savoured the heavenly taste.
“Again!” he gave him his famous puppy eyes.
“Henry, you can’t have all the frosting. You’ll ruin Harry’s birthday cake,” Lily chided gently.
“But it’s yummy,” Henry pouted looking at his brother for help.
“Later,” Hadrian mouthed soundlessly and Henry’s hazel eyes widened. He looked at his mother, then giggled, clamping a hand over his mouth to conceal the sound.
“Henry,” Lily said with exasperation.
“Let him be, Lils. It’s not every day that we celebrate our boys’ birthdays,” James said. He patted his wife’s shoulder and she sighed.
“But he’ll get sick,” Lily contradicted, and everyone discerned the flare of her legendary temper.
“I—Henry will be f-fine, I guess” James treaded carefully and everyone burst out laughing, even Lily.
Hadrian basked in the lightened mood and sought to take advantage of the jovial ambience.
Stealthily, he slipped his hand into his pocket and fondled his grandfather’s wand.
He had an inkling that James knew about him keeping it always on him since that night.
If he did, he never mentioned it.
Lord Fleamont Henry Potter’s wand wasn’t returned to the family vault to join its brothers like custom predicted. Hadrian bonded with it the night his grandfather was murdered by Voldemort.
Yew— the wood dreaded by most wizards as it symbolized Death and Resurrection, felt strangely warm in his hand while the Griffin Heartstring that denoted the Potters’ strength, courage and ability to lead made his blood sing with an inextinguishable fire.
According to the Wandlore books he skimmed through looking for answers, his grandfather’s wand was considered strange by Wiccan standards. It belonged originally to Linfred of Stinchcombe, the founding patriarch of their family then was kept for centuries in the Family vault with its brothers.
When Fleamont struggled to find a match, Lord Henry Hardwin Potter the II took him to Gringotts hoping to find an answer in his ancestors’ legacy. The wand was the only one that answered to Flemaont’s magic.
It wasn’t a perfect match, not in the beginning at least. As the war with Grindelwald raged and the previous Lord Potter recognized the pressing need to shed his Potioneer robes and protect his family, the Potter Magic answered his call and after a long wait, he cemented the ultimate bond with the wand.
It was the day the dexterous duelist took the place of the business tycoon and Magical Britain sang his victories for years.
Ultimately, Dumbledore managed to subdue Grindelwald in the famous duel, however, Lord Fleamont Henry Potter was declared one of the most accomplished duelists Britain had ever birthed.
His grandfather refused all the offered congratulations and Titles. He considered it his job to see to his family’s safety, not to mention that of Magical Britain.
He resumed his life as if nothing happened and divided his time between taking care of the Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion company, the Wizengamot and enjoying his free time with his late grandmother.
Hadrian has always been fascinated by the wand, even before he understood what it symbolized and how invaluable it was to his family.
The wand had a way about it that pulled at his core, beckoned him and overwhelmed his magic.
That night, he couldn’t ignore the urge anymore.
He took it intending to avenge its previous Master and it seemed that the wand was eager to accomplish the mission.
Ezio and Belen affirmed his suspicions years later when he started taking his Heir Lessons seriously.
The wand chose him and no one could separate them. He still sensed his grandfather’s magic woven into the core, with that of Linfred of Stinchcombre, and he intended to become strong enough and make it accept his magic as well; forever linked to that of his honourable ancestors.
“Are you feeling better now?” Sirius murmured under his breath, and Hadrian recognized what his second father was doing.
“Yes,” Hadrian answered. “I can…feel it.”
“Harry...” James stood abruptly, walked over to him and leaned over his eldest.
Gently, he grasped his face between his hands and Hadrian read the pain, the remorse, the pride and the awe in his hazel eyes.
He caressed his hair softly as if he was worshipping a Deity at an Old Temple, and said.
“I’m proud of you, son. When we agreed to the Blood Bond, I never predicted that the Black Magic will be so eager to have you. I know that you have to leave for a while and it saddens me to spend a night without you under the same roof. But—“ James swallowed thickly and Hadrian blinked to chase away the tears that wanted to slide down his cheeks.
“You’re my eldest, my blood and my legacy. The Black Magic can try to steal you all it wants, but you’ll remain my son and today, I pronounce you my Heir.”
James took a deep breath and calmness seemed to settle over his features as he produced the Heir Ring from his pocket.
“Wow! It’s glowing!” Henry gasped with awe.
Hadrian swallowed a whimper. He wanted his father to gather him in his arms, to hold him and offer comfort, but he sensed he could not offer his compassion without breaking down and losing the last shreds of his shattered composure.
His parents have not said the words, yet Hadrian knew that they were barely managing not to crumble down.
He looked at his father, really looked at him and saw all the love in his eyes.
Many perceived James Potter as a brash and cocky Gryffindor who seldom thought before acting. He was renowned for his blithe disregard for the rules and his loyalty toward those he considered family.
What the Magical World has never seen was James Potter; the son who fell to pieces the night his father was murdered.
James Potter; the father who threw away his future with Puddlemere United as their star chaser and joined the aurors to protect his family.
James Potter; the indulged wizard who took the mantle of Lord Potter, even begrudgingly, and pledged his voice and his power to Magical Britain.
It was the only James Potter Hadrian knew: his father, his mentor and his role model.
The Black Magic was vicious and merciless but Hadrian understood that Sirius gave him his blood with love, named him a son with love and with love, he would honour his second family.
Hadrian shook his head, his awestruck gaze glued to the ring arrayed in his family’s history.
Two Griffins were holding what seemed like a triangle enclosing a circle and a vertical line. The Griffins’ eyes were two blood-red rubies: the Potters’ colours.
“Dad…” Hadrian glanced at his father cautiously and James gave him a slight nod to confirm that he was ready for this moment.
Twin tears were sliding down his mother’s cheek as she held Henry to her chest, while Remus’ eyes shone amber, attesting to how emotional he was.
Sirius kept rubbing his back and offering all the support he needed without him asking.
With reverence, he took the ring and turned it from side to side mesmerized by the two guardian Griffins.
Ambient light stuck the stones and cool red flashes came from their depths.
James stared at him without blinking. “It’s curious how Lord Linfred opted to have two Griffins while the Potters never had two sons at once. You and Henry are the exception.”
Hadrian’s eyes widened and he twirled looking at his brother. Henry tilted his head questioningly.
He strained a glance over his shoulder at Sirius who nodded encouragingly.
Everyone’s eyes crinkled with delight when he finally slipped the ring onto his fourth finger.
Hadrian’s knees buckled and he was thankful that he wasn’t standing, otherwise, he would’ve crashed under the overwhelming weight of the violent strokes and tugs of the magic that pounded on his core.
He squeezed his eyes shut and took rugged breaths.
“Harry!” Henry shouted with alarm.
“Shhh. He’s fine, my darling. The Heir Ring is judging his worth,” Lily explained pragmatically.
“But Harry is the best!” Henry expressed his disapproval vehemently and if not for his trial, Hadrian would’ve laughed.
Henry was the best brother.
James gave him a glance of mingled chagrin and pride and he bit his lower lip and nodded.
His hand clutched his father’s offered arm as the last of the tremors left him.
The assessment was over and the ring settled on his finger as if it was always meant to bet here.
“Congratulations, Heir Potter,” James kissed his forehead, his voice hoarse.
“Thank you Dad, for everything,” Hadrian answered.
Everything surrounding him seemed blurry all of a sudden and not able to fight the drowsiness anymore, he gave up the struggle to stay awake.
The last thing he heard before darkness greeted him was Henry’s cry.
Lord Sirius Orion Black hugged his Heir more tightly to his chest as Kreacher greeted them at the entrance.
He led them along the long hallway until they reached a suite of rooms, the Heir Rooms.
The air was spiced faintly with gardenia and jasmine. The hearth had been lit despite the mild weather and the sheets were brand new.
The Black emblem was stitched in silver thread and Sirius’ eyes went over the Ancient Runes embellishing the elegant swath of black silk. Everything screamed money, power and high quality. It was expected considering the family he and his son belonged to.
The dutiful Black house elf bowed and informed him. “Master is waiting for you in the office.”
Sirius nodded and tilted his head, urging Kreacher to give him some time alone with Hadrian.
Slowly, as not to alert his charge he took a seat against the headboard and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth Hadrian offered unconsciously.
It was never his intention to take Hadrian away from his family and separate the two brothers, even for a while, but the Black Magic was not known for its pliancy.
When he offered the Blood Bond seven years ago, he did it out of love.
The moment he took Hadrian in his arms for the first time, he lost his heart to the newborn and his magic demanded him—called him theirs.
Being his brother in all that mattered, James agreed and the ritual was done.
Lord Fleamont, James and Lily were happy to know that their eldest would have another father to protect him—and the Potter family— if everything went from bad to worse and Sirius finally secured an Heir to his family.
Despite how much he loathed his mother, he could never turn his back on the family.
Family was everything.
After he lost his father, then Regulus, Sirius understood that it was time to stop pretending and act like a respectable wizard, act like Lord Black.
Lord Arcturus Sirius Black never agreed to Walburga blasting his name off the tapestry. He was the Heir in blood and magic.
Sirius knew that he could never have a child of his own, his family's inbreeding plus the trauma he suffered as a child made that dream impossible.
Even his Hogwarts exploits were but a myth he created in a bid to hide the truth.
He felt no sexual attraction to others whatsoever, felt no need to share himself with another. He tried several times but the experience left him hollow and empty inside.
He was broken, Walburga had made sure of that. However, like every Black he was resilient and his cold heart brimmed with billows of love and loyalty he directed toward those he considered deserving.
He would never have a child of his flesh, but he didn’t need to.
Hadrian was his child and as he sniffed his seventh candle, the Black Magic demanded him.
A few days ago, Hadrian started showing signs of magical deprivation. Sirius tried to deny what he knew was happening but as the child’s condition worsened he understood that there was no second option.
Hadrian needed to spend some time in the Black stronghold where the Black magic would heal him.
The seventh birthday was crucial for every wizard and witch. It was the age they underwent the Ring Trial, and if they failed, they would try again seven years later.
It was also the age the magical affinity started showing. The Potters were inherently Grey. They birthed many a Battle Mage and illustrious Duellist.
The Black Magic, however, was Sentient. It was vicious and judgmental and merciless. No one could own the Black Magic, it owned whomever it deemed worthy instead and took them unapologetically.
It was obdurate and enticing and it was…extremely Dark.
The myths and stories involving his family's past were but a drop in the ocean.
Perceiving the problem, Sirius asked James and Lily for an urgent meeting and confessed the truth. He feared an explosion or some punches, yet James merely looked at him with angry and resentful eyes.
The jealousy stabbed him like a driven nail but he understood his brother’s dilemma.
He was about to steal years James could spend with his son, years he could hug him at night and raise him according to the Potter values.
Hadrian could always visit, and so could the Potters. He, however, could not stay in Potter Manor for long periods of time until the Black Magic healed him completely.
Sirius glared at the window, hating what he brought upon his beloved son.
He stared down then without blinking, hungrily devouring the aristocratic features of his Heir.
He could already see the Black infamous traits in his bone structure and silky hair.
Carefully, he stood and made sure that Hadrian was comfortable. He ran a hand through the ebony locks and felt the magic that linked them buzz with warmth and love.
He drew the curtains over the windows, casting the room in soft shadows and stared at the cackling dancing flames trying to regain his composure.
The house’s magic was singing with delight, welcoming the long-awaited Heir and Sirius had learned a great deal about the importance of supplying a wizard’s core with the family magic.
He took an uneasy breath and apparated to his next destination.
He knew that he couldn’t keep him waiting any longer; the old fox wasn’t renowned for his patience.
“Godric’s flaming ballocks,” he murmured under his breath as he beheld the sight of his grandfather sipping his tea serenely.
Arcturus Black lifted an eyebrow and skewered him with a piercing grey gaze. “I don’t believe that your Godric was that great,” he drawled lazily.
“Why are you back?” Sirius took a seat and sighed.
Arcturus pulled out a drawer and withdrew a thick book.
Sirius winced when he recognized it. “Surely you’re not—“
Arcturus’ smile was feral as he patted the book.
“My retirement is over, son. I lost all feelings and incentive the day I buried my Melania. I’m a dying man, but before I join my beloved there’s one last thing for me to do. I’ll train the Black Heir like I trained you and pay my debt to Fleamont for taking care of you. Hadrian isn’t yours anymore, he’s ours. He’s the future of House Black.”