Disclaimer: I don't own HP. JK Rowling owns Harry Potter
Riddle Manor [August 10th]
Hadrian Riddle passed through the halls of Riddle Manor, dragging his feet and digging his heels into the expensive marble floors. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with his father, not now, not ever. Despite knowing that the Dark Lord was not a patient man, Hadrian intentionally took the long route across the massive estate, purposely doing all he could do delay the meeting.
When he crossed through the entrance to his father's wing, Hadrian Riddle stopped in his tracks. He could feel the dark magic nearly suffocating him the minute he stepped through the wards. His father wasn't simply angry. He was furious.
Hadrian considered his chances of turning and trying to floo back to the Lestrange Estate, where he had been hiding out for the summer. He even took a step back; only to run into the ward his father had put up once more to keep intruders out.
Or perhaps to trap him in.
The thought caused Hadrian to stiffen in undeniable fear. Shaking his head, he decided he really had no choice other than to answer to his father's summon. Sucking in a shaky breath, Hadrian forced himself to control his outward appearance. His father was already in a bad mood. Cowering in fear would only cause his father to become more enraged.
He reached his fist up to knock on the doors to his father's personal study. When the doors did not immediately open, Hadrian grew steadily more worried. Steeling his shoulders back, he straightened his cowering posture and pushed open the all too familiar double doors.
"Hadrian." His father greeted from the chair behind the impressive desk that was facing the window. Hadrian attempted to decipher his father's already blank expression, but the shadows from the window made it nearly impossible to tell what his father was thinking. "Sit."
It was a command, not a suggestion.
Hadrian hastened to throw himself into the stiff chair facing his father's desk, all the while trying to appear unfazed by the terrifying man in front of him. Hadrian fought to still the tremor that threatened to run through his entire body. He could nearly feel the crackling magical energy surrounding his father. Oh yes, the man was enraged.
There was a long moment of silence–long enough for Hadrian to nearly quiver in fear of what was to come–and then his father spoke.
"You…" he began quietly, "have murdered a part of my soul. You attempted to hide the fact that you destroyed part of my immortality. And in the process of this…conspiracy… you have ruined about seven of my future plans." The Dark Lord turned around slowly in his chair, staring at Hadrian with a deceptively calm expression. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
Hadrian Riddle was not fooled by his father's bland expression. Though Lord Voldemort's voice was hardly above a whisper, Hadrian could easily detect the simmering rage that boiled just barely underneath his seemingly composed tone.
"Hadrian?" His father inquired sharply.
He winced, his gaze never straying from the dark marble floor. "Er… I'm sorry?"
It was apparently, not the right thing to say.
"Crucio." His father spoke, rising up from his desk to watch his son fall to the floor in silent screams.
Hadrian dug his nails into the cold floor, feeling the intense pain of his father's favorite curse–after the classic killing curse, of course– press into his body. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, and his vision became blurred with tinges of red. He closed his eyes, refusing to scream aloud; he knew screaming would only incite his father into increasing the intensity of the curse.
"You were simply instructed to open up the Chamber of Secrets, and command the basilisk to finish what I started back in my sixth year. But you decided to entrust such an honorable responsibility unto a first year, a filthy Weasley." His father sniffed in apparent disgust, but thankfully lifted the curse. He hissed, "What have I always told you?"
Hadrian gasped for air, and stumbled over his words, his mouth feeling like cotton. "I-I-If you want s-something done, do it yours-self." He forced out, pushing himself off the ground into a sitting position with an immense amount of effort.
"And yet, you let a Weasley open Slytherin's Chamber. She may be in Slytherin, but she'll never be a true Slytherin. I simply don't understand how it would even cross your mind to do such a thing." Lord Voldemort continued on with his berating.
"You also forgot to mention the fact that the basilisk only obeys its true master, which is still you." Hadrian spit out, wiping a drop of blood that had appeared on his lips. "I could've died!"
His father cocked his head to the side and appraised him silently. "You're still here, aren't you?" He pointed out. A flicker of rage crossed his face and he hissed, "Yet, a part of my soul seems to have been destroyed."
Hadrian sighed resignedly as his father lifted his wand and uttered "Crucio."
He thought he would be prepared for the sudden onslaught of pain–now that he was used to it–but his father seemed to have become angrier as time passed, and the curse felt stronger than before.
Hadrian could feel his eyes sting with unshed tears, but he refused to let his father gain any satisfaction from his punishment. He knew the torture curse was more often used to break the victim, to humiliate them, to destroy them internally. The pain was merely the quickest way to achieve the result. No, he wouldn't let his father feel any gratification over this.
"All these years of work, all this research to create the memory I implanted into that diary…wasted. I had to split a part of my soul for that diary. And you have the audacity to tell me that it's destroyed?"
His father didn't wait for an answer, his eyes flashing a murderous shade of red before hissing the torture curse again.
Hadrian felt as if his insides were being torn apart, twisted and stabbed hundreds of times. He gasped for air, but his throat closed up. His eyes watered and his face was slick with a sheen sweat. His knuckles were white from clenching is hands into a fist, and his palms were bleeding from the desperate way his nails dug into his hand. He cracked open an eye, and spit out- his tongue bleeding from where he'd bit it so hard to keep from crying out-
"Are we going to ignore the fact that your memory-soul-whatever it was- tried to kill me?"
His father shrugged unconcernedly and leaned against his desk, dropping the curse to cross his arms across his chest. "Technically, my past self tried to kill you. Not me. And let me point out, you were the one who killed him."
Hadrian–too relieved that his father had finally stopped cursing the living daylights out of him–rambled sarcastically, "Technically, since it was last month, it was my past self that killed your past self. By that logic, why are you cursing my current-future self for something my past self did?"
His father's eye twitched. Hadrian closed his eyes again, bracing himself again for the curse to fall from his father's lips.
It never came.
Instead, just as Lord Voldemort was about to raise his wand and curse the insolent brat till he bled out on the floor, the door to his personal study burst open. His head–and wand– snapped up to greet the intruder, annoyed at the interruption of the wonderful father-son moment.
Lucius Malfoy stood uncomfortable in the doorway, pale blond hair in a disarray as if he had ran all the way there. His pale grey gaze brushed over Hadrian awkwardly, refusing to settle on the less than respectable state the boy was in. Hadrian's already red face flushed with more humiliation at the thought of him lying weakened and broken on the floor at the foot of his father's robes.
"Uh, pardon the interruption, my lord, but we have an emergency." Lucius Malfoy muttered, looking down at his feet.
Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed into a serpentine slit, and his voice was dark and full of warning as he hissed, "Well, spit it out, Malfoy."
"The negotiations at Wiltshire…My lord, they didn't go very well."
Voldemort's expression darkened, and he prompted his follower to continue.
"Well, we took our highest ranking men as you requested. But the mudbloods guarding the Wiltshire safe house, well, they didn't take too kindly to the idea that their fellow guards were willing to trade the safety of their community for information on the Order." Lucius winced, as if he were afraid his lord would curse him at any moment.
Judging from the way he himself was sprawled on the floor, Hadrian did not think that was a terrible conclusion.
"What happened, Lucius?" His father inquired threateningly.
"They–the mudbloods– the Aurors came, my lord. There were almost a hundred of them. We don't understand how the mudbloods could've called them; it must've been someone in the town that tipped them off. The Aurors overpowered us by almost seventy men. They were ready to fight." Lucius rushed out.
"Lucius…" The Dark Lord hissed, "What happened?"
"My lord, Bellatrix managed to kill a handful of the mudbloods and Aurors before they approached, but there were too many. I managed to grab Nott, Avery, Rosier, and Rodolphus, and escape before they swarmed the city."
His father pinched the bridge of his nose, and his eyes turned a terrifying shade of blood red, "The casualties, Malfoy?"
"Almost ten of our men were killed, though we haven't identified them yet, since I came to inform you as soon as I arrived. But my lord…" Lucius winced, as if preparing himself for his next words, "Bellatrix Lestrange, Barty, Rabastan Lestrange, Mulciber, Travers, and who knows who else… they were all magically restrained and are currently being held in a cell in Azkaban. My sources tell me the Aurors rounded up anyone with a dark mark and placed them in Azkaban." Lucius muttered, his head hung low.
Hadrian glanced up, an action which took far more effort than he anticipated, and observed his father's expression. While his father's expression remained blank, and devoid of all emotion, Hadrian could tell his eyes held a strange, unsurprised gleam. It was almost as if his father expected his followers to mess up.
"Lucius–Prepare the second rank and meet me in front of Azkaban in exactly twenty-four hours. And Hadrian… get up." His father said sharply.
Hadrian groaned from the floor, his muscles aching too much to do anything other than grunt out a muffled, "Kind of hard to get up when you're almost dead."
Lucius raised an eyebrow, his slightly panicked gaze darting across the room in an effort not to look at the Dark Lord or his son. "I-I don't think I understand."
Voldemort sighed, "What part of 'prepare the second rank followers and meet me at Azkaban in twenty-four hours' do you not seem to understand?"
Lucius flinched, "If you will permit me to ask, my lord, why?"
His father let out another loud sigh, seemingly disappointed in his most loyal follower for missing the obvious. "We're going to break our fellow men–and women– out of that despicable prison. Keep up, Lucius."
"Pardon me, my lord. But did you say we were going to break prisoners out of Azkaban?"
The Dark Lord seemed amused at Malfoy's befuddled expression, not even bothering to deem his question with a response. He walked toward the doors, gesturing for Lucius to follow. Voldemort's robes brushed over Hadrian's back as he stepped over his son on his way to the door.
"Hadrian, prepare yourself by this time tomorrow. You'll be joining us."
Hadrian simply rolled over onto his stomach with a painful moan in response.
Azkaban Prison [August 11st]
Bellatrix Lestrange was thrown into her cell–with quite an unnecessary amount of force, if she were to judge–and just barely braced herself when her body collided with the jagged stone floor. Really, they couldn't even have leveled the floor of the cell since her last visit?
"Maybe next time you'll talk." The guard hissed, slamming the cell door in her face. Bellatrix smiled wickedly through her pain and spit onto the guard's face in disgust.
He growled and tried to grab her, but she backed up against the opposite wall of her small cell. She chuckled darkly as he cursed angrily when he ran into the magical barrier; everyone knew once the cell doors were closed in Azkaban, the wards went up and no one but the assigned head warden could open the cell once more.
When he was finally gone, Bellatrix let go of the hands clutching her abdomen and allowed herself to assess the damage. Torture was not new to her, but it didn't mean she couldn't feel pain, dammit!
She hissed softly when her fingers brushed against a particularly rough spot, noticing the nasty hex that sliced through her ribs, which–oh dear, it seemed to be getting infected already. Her knees felt weak and she collapsed against the wall, groaning loudly at the particularly rough stone that stuck out and dug into her back.
This had been the third time they had dragged her out of her cell, only to torture her for any information. They were restricted to no unforgivable curses, but that certainly hadn't stopped them from nearly carving her like a turkey when they didn't get the information they needed. She could say with pride that she had one of the highest pain tolerances she knew, but honestly, they didn't have to go and abuse that.
She noticed her robes stuck to her with something heavier than sweat, and she rolled her eyes as she remembered the blood that coated nearly her entire body. When the carving into her skin hadn't worked, they'd resorted to spells that made her loose blood and magically whipped her with all too powerful stinging spells.
Perhaps saying, "Sweetheart, you're only turning me on" to the interrogator wizards was not such a bright idea.
She bit her tongue when she noticed the deep hole in her left thigh that was bleeding profusely where the guard had driven in a knife when she refused to talk the second, and third time. She predicted he'd do it again when she wouldn't reveal anything the next few times. Bellatrix wasn't very vain–after all, who knew how long it had been when she last brushed her hair–but she didn't fancy any more scars on her person.
"You should just tell them what you know." A voice spoke from the cell across from hers. "They won't stop, otherwise."
She made her way over to the front of her cell to see the man better. He had clearly been her for a while, since his hair was long and matted against his forehead, and his robes were ragged and crusted with dirt and filth.
Bellatrix smirked, "It's not my first time, but thanks for the tip. Why are you in here?"
The man looked up then, and Bellatrix smothered a gasp at the familiar face. The face that had once been joyous and filled with life was hardened and hollowed with years of torture. His voice was hoarse and rough, unlike the roguish intonation it had held before. But Bellatrix gripped the cell bars in her hands at the staggering difference she could see in the flickering dim light of the narrow hall: his dark eyes were devoid of any life, as if a dementor had stolen all the light out of them.
"You." She breathed out, watching the man like a hawk. "How did you–"
"Hello, Bellatrix." He sighed tiredly, leaning his forehead against his cell walls and holding himself up with the support of the cell bars. "Never thought I'd see the day when we were both in here."
"What did they do to you?" She whispered, shivering in horror at the very thought.
"I don't think you'd want to know." He cocked his head to his side, eying her wearily. "Why are you even conversing with me?" His face took on a bitter expression as he spit out, "Aren't I just a filthy blood traitor to you?"
Bellatrix shrugged, "I never said you weren't a filthy blood traitor."
His lips twitched, and Bellatrix suspected this was the first sort of humor the man had felt in years. The mere motion seemed unfamiliar to him.
"Why are you in here?" He asked.
She shrugged, "Got into a fight."
"That landed you in Azkaban?"
Bellatrix cackled, "I might have disemboweled a couple Aurors in the process."
He shook his head in disapproval, "So clearly you've been up to the same… mischief."
She laughed then, despite the piecing pain she felt in her side when her body moved, "Mischief? Is that what we're calling it?"
He began to reply, but suddenly there was a resounding BANG that nearly shook the entire prison itself. Bellatrix felt the rocks above her head begin to rain down on her, and she winced as a rather large boulder grazed her head on the way down. She quickly dove to the side of her cell, bracing herself against the rocks that rained down in a flurry of dust and debris. Her entire body ached, and she could almost see the trail of blood she left in her haste to get out of the way. She covered her head with her arms, briefly registering that if the rocks were falling into her cell, then surely the wards protecting her cell were down.
She could feel the ground beneath her nearly shake, and her chest heaved in a combination of fear, nausea, pain, and anticipation. Despite her conflicting emotions, she felt a wicked smirk appear on her face. Thank Merlin! She would not wait another day in this wretched cell. Really, five years was enough the last time.
When she removed her arms that were protecting her head from damage–further damage, that is–her eyes widened at the sight.
Azkaban Prison, protected by swarms of dementors and guards and some of the best Aurors of their times, the supposedly unbreakable prison…the high security cells that were guarded by wardens and several layers of magical wards and offensive traps to deter any potential escapers…
She let out a sound of twisted delight at the massive damage that had happened to the prison walls. The side of the entire prison was blown apart to bits, and Bellatrix laughed maniacally as she stepped to the very edge of her cell and felt the rain on her skin and the wind whipping her curls to the side. She could see the sea crashing around the prison below, and there was still a combination of dust and mist in the air around her.
She was free.
In that moment, she made a split second decision.
Knowing she wouldn't have much time, she quickly turned around and ran back into the prison. She could barely see, for the entire corridor of cells was swathed in a flashing red light, and a loud siren could be heard resonating from somewhere.
"Get up, I'm getting you out of here." She hissed, grabbing onto the man's arm before he could protest. "You've been here for long enough."
The man, who was barely even conscious, merely focused his gaze on her and asked quietly, "Why are you doing this?"
Bellatrix rolled her eyes at his dramatics. This was clearly not the time. Her arms looped around his torso, and she began to lead him towards the blasted apart side of the building for them to exit. "Well, I'm not staying here. I have a daughter and husband at home now." She muttered. Bellatrix quite literally had to drag him to the edge of the building, despite the inconceivable amount of pain that enveloped her entire body and blurred her vision with every step she took.
She noticed several familiar Death Eaters flying about on brooms, and she quickly swung her free arm around and shouted until she caught the attention of one.
"I meant why are you helping me? You hate me." The man insisted, embarrassedly leaning against Bellatrix since his legs were not strong enough to even hold his malnourished weight.
Bellatrix sighed in relief as two Death Eaters approached them, each on their own broom. One of them eyed the raggedy man at her side and hissed, "Bellatrix, who is this and why are we helping him?"
Bellatrix sneered, and pushed the man she was supporting onto one of the brooms. "Shut up, Dolohov. I said we're helping him and that's final."
"But why?" The grown Death Eater almost whined, glaring at the scrawny man with clear disgust.
"I'd like to know that too." The former prisoner seconded, gripping the broom handle despite his protests.
Bellatrix sighed heavily, climbing onto the broom behind the second Death Eater that was waiting patiently for her. She held onto the broom tightly and said with hardened a conviction, "toujours Pur, darling. We never leave behind one of our own."
Riddle Manor [August 11th]
Hadrian Riddle paced across the hardwood floor in front of his father's personal study. The doors were charmed shut, and his father had gone inside earlier with a few of his closest followers to discuss further plans. Despite the hopeful look Hadrian had given his father, the man had not allowed him inside of the room. Hadrian had attempted to enter anyways, but then the protective ward encasing the doors had blasted him across the hall the second he touched the handle of the door.
Hadrian was slightly peeved he hadn't been invited to the apparently important meeting. He had been the one to suggest his father to simply blow the entire wretched prison apart, rather than trying to sneak each prisoner out discreetly. It was his idea to grab any prisoner they could find, and cart them off to safety on a nearby unplottable, hidden island. That way the Death Eaters could make a second, and third trip quickly to rescue any other prisoners before the Aurors arrived.
Once everyone was on the island, it hadn't been difficult to procure portkeys and transport the rescued prisoners to Riddle Manor. When they arrived, his father calmly instructed Lucius to identify the rescued prisoners. He placed Rabastan Lestrange in charge of directing the uninjured into separate rooms, and the injured were transported to one of the many parlors of Riddle Manor, where Narcissa was serving as a quasi-mediwitch for the time being.
Hadrian had watched the strange efficiency sharply, and his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of his father's gaze latching onto one of the rescued. The prisoner was nothing special, other than the fact that he looked far more haggard and roughed up than any of the other Death Eaters. Hadrian did not recognize the man, but something about him–perhaps it was the sharpness of his face–seemed familiar.
When the chaos had tamed down a bit, and every Death Eater was accounted for, his father retired to his study, along with a handful of his closest followers. Hadrian glowered as he realized that did not include him.
He leaned against the wall opposite to the doors, nearly slipping down when they opened and Lucius Malfoy and a few other high ranking Death Eaters stepped out.
"I'll contact the Daily Prophet. It'll be handled, don't worry, my Lord." Lucius promised, bowing in respect. His eyes landed on Hadrian, surprised. "Hadrian, he wants to see you."
Hadrian resisted the urge to make a face at the blond man, and instead waited until the death eaters had left before entering his father's study and slipping into the chair across his desk. His father was casually sipping a tumbler of what Hadrian assumed to be firewhisky and leaning back in his chair.
Hadrian curiously eyed the crystal decanter full of the amber liquid that sat upon the Dark Lord's mahogany desk. He opened his mouth to ask–
"No, Hadrian. You can't have any. " His father said, almost amusedly.
Hadrian scowled, "You didn't even know what I was going to ask."
The Dark Lord smirked –He seemed to be in a good mood, Hadrian noticed–and chucked, "This is 500-year-old Ogden's Firewhisky. What kind of father would I be if I let my thirteen year old drink something like that?"
Hadrian's jaw dropped open in disbelief. "You crucioed me in this very room yesterday! And since when are you concerned with being a 'good father'? "
His father waved away his protests, "That was for your own good. And I've always been concerned with being a good father. I took you in, didn't I?"
Hadrian almost snorted. "You kidnapped me."
His father shook his head, "I seem to recall that you were quite willing to come along."
"That was before I knew you were a psychopath!"
His father shrugged, "I am far to pleased to curse you right now, but rest assured if anything had gone badly in this plan, I would've certainly punished you for that comment."
Hadrian stilled suddenly, his father's words repeating in his mind. He carefully assessed his father's, dare he say jovial mood, and the way he seemed to be completely calm when Lucius had first informed him of the Wiltshire negotiations gone wrong.
It was almost as if he were expecting this.
It was too planned. Everything was too perfect for it to have been a shock to the great almighty Dark Lord.
"You knew this would happen." Hadrian accused.
"Pardon?" His father questioned, completely at ease.
"You-You knew the Wiltshire negotiations were never going to happen. You knew the Aurors would come!" Hadrian's eyes widened as he connected everything together. "That's why you didn't seem at all surprised when Lucius came in."
His father smirked, "Well, not exactly." He paused when he saw the confused look on his son's face. "I didn't just know the Aurors would come. I'm the one that called them."
Hadrian froze. "Why? Why would you call the Aurors on your own followers? What happened to loyalty? A handful of your Death Eaters are dead! You sent them, knowingly, to their deaths!"
The Dark Lord shrugged, "We have to make a few sacrifices. Besides, if they got themselves killed, they weren't all that bright to begin with. Not much of a loss, I'll say."
"I don't understand why you would send your Death Eaters to a mission you purposely sabotaged. Only a few escaped, most of them were taken to Azkaban, and the rest were killed. How does that, in any way, make you pleased?" Hadrian questioned. "Not only did you have to launch an a plan to rescue the Death Eaters out of prison, you have to deal with the horrible publicity the Wiltshire incident and Azkaban break –out would give you."
His father could barely conceal his twisted smile, "Have I puzzled you yet?"
"Even if you wanted to sabotage the mission, why would you go back and rescue the Death Eaters you put in Azkaban yourself? That seems a bit counterproductive." Hadrian mused. Suddenly his eyes widened and he spoke slowly, "…Unless you needed something in Azkaban and the break-out was just a cover-up."
"Not something, Hadrian. Someone." His father crossed his arms triumphantly and leaned back in a relaxed manner in his chair.
Hadrian's eyes flashed. "How could you do that to your followers? However stupid, idiotic they were, how could you leave them to die, or worse, be put in that hellhole? They're not your enemies, but people that gave their life to your cause. Is this how you reward them? By sacrificing them to save one random prisoner of Azkaban. What if the plan to rescue them had failed? Bella, Rabastan… they could've been in there for who knows how long. You know what that place does to people. And yet, you did this to them!"
His father's features darkened and he rose from his chair. A strange curse Hadrian didn't recognize was hurled at him before he could even blink.
He didn't care what curse it was, he was only focused on the burning sensation that ran through his blood and made his blood unbearable hot. His body felt weak and prisoner to the immense agony that was shooting through his veins. He could feel his vision steadily blurring and his heart felt like it someone was clenching it into a tight ball.
His father's figure loomed over him and he spoke in a quiet, deadly tone, "You do not tell me how to run my Death Eaters. They did not give their life to my cause; they gave their life to me. And I will use them as I see fit. I am your master, not the other way around. If they had to spend eternity for me to get one prisoner out of Azkaban, they would do so. And they would be happy to do so."
Lord Voldemort finally lifted the curse, and peered out the floor to ceiling window beside one of his massive bookshelves. He did not appear to seem even the slightest bit affected at his son's condition.
"I did this for a reason, one which I don't have to explain to you. That man that I organized all this to rescue… he's quite important to our future plans. It has to seem as though he's a part of our Death Eaters, which is why I orchestrated the entire scheme to have him break-out with the rest of my followers. I knew Bellatrix could not resist rescuing him, with her irritatingly strong loyalty. That man, dear Hadrian, is our newest recruit." His father's eyes hardened, and he looked toward the door of his office resolutely. "…Even if he doesn't know it yet."
Hadrian rose out of his chair, eager to get out of his father's study. "Who is he?"
His father turned back to the window, taking a sip of his firewhisky to hide his wicked sneer, "Third floor, the Red Suite. I think you can find out for yourself."
When Hadrian pushed open the door to the Red Suite, his eyes immediately landed on the ragged-looking man sitting in the massive four-poster bed with the crimson sheets. In the room full of luxury and antiques–all in complimentary shades of red, hence the creatively named "Red Suite"– the pale man stuck out like a sore thumb. His robes, the standard issue Azkaban prisoner stripes, were torn and dirtied and bloodied. His long hair looked as if it hadn't been cut in decades, since it was matted and had crusted with filth.
Hadrian wrinkled his nose in disdain. He couldn't understand what was so special about this man who resembled a beggar on the street. He didn't seem like the famous type. Despite all this, Hadrian reluctantly pulled a chair over to the man's bedside and stared at him, waiting for a spark of awareness to be evoked.
Hadrian studied the man, and finally asked, "Who are you?"
The man stared curiously at him, and then abruptly, he blinked with familiarity. "Harry…is that you?" The man whispered, reaching out to touch Hadrian's face.
No one had called him that in years.
Harry, he inwardly cringed, was dead to the world. The only people that knew about him were the Dark Lord, and Destiny.
No one had even recognized him. Not even his actual father. And yet, this man…this man who had been in Azkaban for years, this man who hadn't seen another person other than a dementor and interrogator for years, he somehow recognized him?
A panicked look came into Hadrian's eyes, and he made to get out of the room quickly, but the man's hand latched onto his arm.
Hadrian swallowed his dread and glared distrustfully at the man.
"I asked," His voice took on a harsher tone, "Who. Are. You?"
"It's the eyes. I'd recognize those emeralds anywhere." The man mused. His sharp features were expressing some emotion Hadrian was unable to interpret.
In the blink of an eye, Hadrian shoved his wand into the man's throat and whispered, "Tell me who you are, and why you call me Harry. Or else."
The man laughed. "You certainly take after your father with all the threats, kid. But I'm still hurt you don't remember me. I suppose the whole "prisoner of Azkaban" appearance might have something to do with it. When you last saw me, I think I wore trousers, at least."
Hadrian gritted his teeth together dangerously and he knew the man could see the angry magic that cracked around him.
The strange man raised his hands in surrender, "Not in the mood for jokes, then. Oh Harry," His eyes twinkled with amusement, "I'm your Uncle Sirius, Sirius Black."
A/N: Aaaand the Sequel has been updated! Sorry it took so long, you guys know I have finals in May. I hoped you liked it! It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do, I'm not kidding, I literally wrote like 4 different versions of this chapter. As always, reviews mean so much to me and I always appreciate them, even if they're critical!
Follow me on Tumblr for more information on updates and other stuff- Username: lovemyromance
I'm glad you guys enjoyed the first book in the Dark Prince series, and I hope you'll enjoy the second book too! Here's to The Allure of Darkness!
P.S: "Toujours Pur" is the motto of the Noble House of Black. Since Bellatrix and Sirius are cousins, she still has loyalty to her family, even if Sirius is a known "blood-traitor".