Chapter Text
As he materialized in front of the Dursley home, he became aware of three things in rapid succession.
One - his Aunt and Uncle were home, their silhouettes visible through the kitchen window.
Two - His wings, forgotten until now, were definitely still there, and had snapped out to their full span as he regained his balance from the instant magical travel. Also he was still shirtless, the worn fabric limp in his hand.
Three - Dudley was sitting on the porch, eyes trained on where Hadrian had appeared, and had definitely seen him.
‘Shit’
‘Ok Hadrian, think fast.’ the teen scrambled for an excuse.
‘We could always just hex him’ his brain suggested, very unhelpfully.
Dudley, to his credit, had not immediately freaked out, ran screaming to his mother, or alerted the neighbours, so Hadrian was probably in the clear. Even so, his cousin would demand an explanation, and Hadrian had barely understood what Striketooth had said, let alone remembered it all.
As he approached the house, Dudley moved to get up, the wood of the front steps groaning from the release of pressure. His expression was closed off, and Hadrian flinched slightly, fighting the urge to run and never be heard from again.
His cousin reached the end of the drive, looking Hadrian up and down. His eyes, a blue so similar to Hadrian's aunt, sent chills down the young wizards back.
Hadrian expected a big, explosive reaction - after all, seeing your cousin with wings is a weird development so early in the morning. ‘Or not morning anymore,’ he guessed, as the sun was beating down full force now.
Instead, the blond boy in front of him leaned down, face somber.
“Get in through your window. They won't see you.” he muttered. “And happy birthday, by the way.”
Hadrian blinked. ‘Oh. That wasn't so bad,’ he thought. Taking his cousin's advice, he quietly made his way to the window on the side of the house, muttering quiet thanks. Shabby curtains fluttered in the breeze, and Hedwig poked her head out the window, making a face as surprised as owls could be. Hadrian, not trusting himself to fly quite yet, looked back at his wings, watching as they faded away as quickly as he thought it. He slipped his shirt back on, then started hauling himself up using the trellis by the porch. The vines that used to be there had long dried out into brittle stalks, so he felt no remorse as he scrambled for footholds. He threw himself through the window as quietly as he could, startling Hedwig, who was clearly expecting him to act as if he had more brain cells. Hadrian hissed in pain as his leg scraped the side of the window frame, ripping his pants. His owl hooted loudly, causing the noise downstairs to stop abruptly.
‘Ah, shit’ Hadrian thought. He pushed himself up, unlocking Hedwig's cage as quickly as he could to the soundtrack of his uncle's heavy steps coming up the stairs. The snowy owl flew out the window just in time as Vernon reached the door, turning the knob and throwing it open in Hadrian's face.
(jumping to the pigs brain real quick)
Vernon Dursley had had it! That blasted owl and that blasted boy and his blasted friends! This was the last straw. Screw the letter, screw the money, he wanted the boy OUT!
He stormed upstairs slamming the door and barging in. He raised a hand, prepared to strike… and froze.
There was no one there.
(back to our boy)
Mere inches away stood Hadrian, really bloody confused as to why his uncle seemed to have suddenly gone blind, he watched incredulously as the great pig of a man scratched his moustache, before turning and lumbering out again, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.
‘What in the…’ Hadrian stared at the door for a beat, then turned on his heel, towards the window where Hedwig had flown off. As he did, suddenly the room felt brighter, like the sun had come out again.
Shadows like mist faded off his body, shifting back to their corners and dissipating like the neighbours cigarette smoke. Mentally, he added it to the list of things he should probably tell a therapist.
Maybe he was finally going insane. About time, honestly. His knees hit the bed. He didn't remember walking over. The soft pillow cradled his head, and the covers seemed to magically swallow him up. A much needed nap.
—-------------------------------—
When he awoke, Hedwig was back. Perched on the shaky bedframe, yellow eyes glaring like she had something to prove. His stomach lurched. Her claws gouged new scratches into the post as she took off, moving to her favourite spot on top of his wardrobe, where she could watch the entire room at once.
“Hey girl,” he murmured, eyes bleary as he adjusted to the fact the sun seemed to have set as he slept. A copy of The Prophet sat on his small desk, headlines screaming something he couldn't decipher. Outside, the heat had gone from lightly roasting to downright stifling. He got up, hit the lights, and managed to make it to the bathroom before throwing up once, twice, three times. Cold sweat beads his forehead when he turns to the mirror.
He wiped his mouth, flushed the toilet. Downstairs, he could hear his aunt's high shriek, a couple others he didn't recognize. ‘Oh right, the dinner party was today,’ he remembered suddenly. ‘Good thing I didn't come in through the front.’ Whenever they had guests over, he was under strict instructions to stay upstairs, ever since the incident with Dobby in second year.
Hadrian walked back to his room, barefoot on the soft carpet. An old gym bag and a small stash of bobby pins and loose coins were procured from the loose floorboard under his bed. He really didn't have to go to such lengths to hide things, his relatives never came into his room if they could avoid it, but better safe than sorry.
The pins were put aside for later, the money stowed in his pockets. He filled the bag with old clothes and saved up energy bars, as well as a water bottle and Dudley's old, slightly rusty army knife, that he'd taken after his cousin had lost interest, a mere week after he received the gift.
He zipped up the bag and shoved it under his desk, a just-in-case plan. Hedwig's owl treats went in the side pocket, and his wand in the other. He hated not having it on his person, but it was too tempting, and getting in trouble was really not worth it.
Just in time, his aunt called him down to clean up. The guests had left, and it was now safe to show his face. His uncle, thankfully, was out, and his aunt only seemed to want him to clean the house before she let him go, and the young teen took the first opportunity he could to run upstairs. Once there, he shoved on a black hoodie and his beat up shoes, grabbed his glasses and wand from its hiding place, tied his gringotts key around his neck and made his way outside. Once on the street, he walked down a ways, hopping between whatever meager shadows the trees provided.
Once far enough away, he stuck out his arm and braced himself as the knight bus materialized in front of him with an almighty BANG.
“WELCOME TO THE KNIGHT BUS, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening.” The young man's voice was entirely too loud for Hadrian, so he simply told Stan Diagon Alley and pushed past quickly, dropping the galleons in the collection box, and claiming a seat near the back.
At the front, the conductor was now talking to another wizard, his appearance reminding Hadrian of a homeless man. Snippets of their conversations drifted towards him as the countryside blurred outside his window.
“Rita’s new article…”
“ -where he is?”
“Now, dung…”
‘Dung? Did he just call the homeless guy dung?’ Hadrian snickered, just quiet enough to not be heard. He had a lot of practice with not being heard, after all. Soon after, Stan called out his stop as the bus screeched to a stuttering halt. Hadrian tipped his imaginary hat at them, thankful they didn't seem to recognize him as The-Boy-Who-Lived. Then again, he mused, Hadrian wasn't sure he would even recognize himself.
Before him, Diagon Alley loomed like an imposing challenge, brimming with magicals of all sorts, even during the middle of the workday on a Tuesday. He pushed his way to a more empty corner, pausing to think. Not fully sure where to head first, he looked around, spotting several stores he had never seen before.
A glance down at his too-large hoodie and tattered jeans settled the matter quite easily, however, and he quickly set course for Twilfit and Tattings, the renowned pureblood clothing store.
He had no doubt now Madame Malkin, his usual tailor, was on Dumbledore's payroll, one way or another. Besides, Twilfit and Tattings had a marginally better reputation anyway.
Don't judge, summer got boring fast and magic magazine subscriptions cost very little and had the added bonus of pissing off his aunt and uncle.
Eventually, he reached where the shop was located. Less known to the public than Madame Malkin's, they made up for it by serving mostly old, wealthy families, who came in once or twice a year and ordered enough to keep the store alive for a long while. He knew for a fact Malfoy shopped here, and that almost made him turn around as he reached the door, but he pushed his way in with a resigned sign.
The shop itself was built using dark oak wood, contrasted by the marble flooring and siding. As he approached the storefront, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. Getting clothes that finally fit him would be a welcome distraction from yesterday. And besides, it was high time he started working on his ‘image’.
Style was as good a place to start as any, I suppose.
Floor-length silver mirrors lined the walls, bordered by deep blue velvet curtains. Racks and racks of expensive looking robes covered the space, and changing rooms were sectioned off towards the back. One well-dressed witch perused the racks towards the back of the store, but it was otherwise empty.
As it was, Hadrian needed a full wardrobe, as he had grown out of the few pieces he had bought himself last year, and Dudley's old castoffs wouldn't cut it for anything involving higher wizarding society, anyways. Which, apparently, he was a part of now.
And, if his half-baked plan to overthrow the government –starting with Dumbledore- was to be realized, he had to look the part.
Hadrian browsed through racks of robes and suits, selecting garments suitable for both formal events and everyday wear. The clothes had no tag, so he just grabbed whatever and hoped it was his size.
He chose elegant robes for possible school functions and galas, even though he had none in his immediate future. He was rich now, so price didn't really matter.
Oh Merlin he was starting to sound like Malfoy. What a nightmare…
Shaking the thought away, he continued picking things off the racks, moving on to more casual clothing. He didn't have anything, after all, and doing all his shopping at once seemed pragmatic.
He grabbed several shirts and vests, some trousers and socks, and a pair of leather boots. Hadrian looked around for someone he could purchase all this from. A cough sounded from beside the teen. ‘Ah, there he is.’ Hadrian thought.
“Can I help you?” His voice reminded Hadrian of falling leaves in the wind, crackly and frail.
“Oh yes, I would like to purchase these.” Hadrian answered, following behind the old wizard as he led the way to a small counter Hadrian had missed before.
He took all his things to the middle-aged wizard in the back, who, to his credit, didn't glance twice at the amount of clothing on his arm.
Hadrian was led to a small stand, much like the one Madame Malkin used to measure him for his school robes every year. He stepped up, and with a wave of the man's wand, tape measures flew up from a nearby shelf and coiled around him, numbers appearing next to whatever each one was measuring.
The wizard barely glanced at him, writing down measurements on his arm as the tape measures worked.
“First time?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Hadrian replied.
“Might want to charm some of this stuff, being as young as you are. Can't have you ruining acromantula silk, it's quite hard to come by.” the shopkeeper advised, pulling out a box of pins from Godric knows where. Hadrian, too occupied by flashbacks from second year, didn't respond, but the old wizard seemed to take that as a yes, and disappeared into a back room.
Hadrian took his time looking around the room, eyes catching on the witch who had been here when he had come in. Her back was to him, but something about her seemed awfully familiar. He shook off the feeling, distracted as the old man came back into the main shop with his clothes. As he began the transaction, the small hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up, and goosebumps formed beneath his shirt. He whirled around, but there was nothing behind him. The witch from before was gone, somehow leaving without triggering the bell.
Hadrian frowned.
—//—
After paying a truly mind-boggling amount of galleons to the old man, Hadrian grabbed his bags and beat it out of the store. It was nearing midday, so the young wizard looked around for a place to eat as his stomach started to growl rather threateningly. At the end of the section of the alley, he spotted a small, cozy looking cafe, colorful smoke drifting out of the chimney in swirls. The cat shaped sign hanging in front of it identified it as ‘The Whisker Lounge’ in silver letters. Hadrian crossed the streets towards it almost in a daze, reaching the door before he realized he was moving.
He pushed his way in, and was immediately greeted by the strong smell of chocolate and tea. Soft murmurs and the clinking of china cups were mixed in with meows and purrs, as what looked like two dozen cats roamed the open space, jumping between cat trees and accepting chin scratches from the various patrons.
To the side, a display of artesanal tarts and cakes were being sold, and a barista chugged away at an espresso machine in the corner.
He made his way to the till as the door closed behind him, a small tabby cat winding around his legs. He set down his bags to order as the barista turned around to face him, a fresh latte in his hands. Hadrian balked in shock.
What in merlins balls was Blaise Zabini, slytherin royalty, doing at a place like this? Working, no less. It was no secret his family was as wealthy as they came, so why would he ever lower himself to work at a cafe during the summer? It almost made the Zabini heir look like a normal human. An apron was tied around his middle, and a beanie covered his head.
Just as Hadrian started to move away from the counter, Zabini’s eyes snapped to him as if he expected Hadrian to be there. Ah shit. Can't escape now…'' the teen lamented. The Slytherin smirked as if he could read Hadrian's thoughts, then in one fluid motion, jumped the counter with practiced ease, landing inches from Hadrian.
“Well well well, if it isn't Harry Potter, the golden boy. Don't you look… different.” Zabini’s baritone voice surprised Hadrian into reaction, and a sharp "don't call me that” was spat before he could stop himself. This was Malfoy's friend, and one could never be too careful.
Zabini looked nonplussed, but continued. “What are you doing here, Potter? Where is the band of ginger bloodtraitors you associate yourself with?”
“Im here to eat, asshole, but I'll leave now.” Hadrian turned around, but before he could step away, a strong grip on his arm pulled him back to face the other teen.
“Yeah, no, you're not. Why do you look like you overdosed on beauty potions? You weren't that pretty last year. My break is in five. Order something and sit down, we need to talk. Don't think I won't force you.”
Hadrian sighed. He was afraid this would happen. It was really too much to hope for no one would recognize him all day. But Zabini? His luck really was shit, huh? Wait…
“Did… did you just call me pretty?” It was Hadrian's turn to smirk as the other boy looked up in shock.
“Dont flatter yourself, Potter.” Zabini snarked. “Now go sit down, you lost your chance to order. I'm picking it for you.”
Hadrian smiled slightly. ‘Godric this is weird’ he thought, even as he dutifully went to sit down away from the window. Immediately, an absolute unit of a cat came over to him and planted its head on his lap, purring up a storm. Hadrian absentmindedly watched Zabini fight with the machine, petting the tabby menace on his lap.
—//—
A handful of minutes later, he looked up to find the slytherin boy staring down at him, a mug in each hand and a plate of steaming… something balancing on his arm.
Zabini placed down the food, swatting away a tabby paw as he sat opposite Hadrian.
“That's a croissant, a chocolate eclair, and tea. You looked pretty hungry.” The teen was saying. In his own mug, black coffee.
Wasting no time, Hadrian dug into the food, hoping to avoid questions for a little bit longer.
No such luck.
“So, what in Salazar's name is going on. And don't you bloody lie to me, Potter, I'll sic the cats on you.”
Hadrian grimaced.