Chapter Text
When Narcissa Malfoy flicked on the light in her living room, there was a man sitting on the couch.
During the many years of the war, such a thing hadn't been all that unusual. Death Eaters popped in and out of the manor at all times of the day. But these past five months, ever since the death of the Dark Lord, that had ceased.
So, the shadow of a man startled her for a moment. But she was a Malfoy and a Black and thus quickly gained her composure, striding into the room and planting herself a few feet in front of the wizard. She rose a superior eyebrow at him, her chin raised.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" she asked, her tone demanding answers. "My husband and I don't take very kindly to intruders."
"You love your son very much," the man said, a kind smile curving his lips. He looked vaguely familiar, but Narcissa couldn't quite place him. "You love him more than life itself, really. More than your husband, more than the great Cause. It's a very redeeming quality, I think. It's why I fought for you."
Something cold chilled Narcissa's veins. This wasn't a Death Eater, but he didn't give off the impression of one of Dumbledore's Order members, either. He was something else entirely; Narcissa detested unknown entities. Especially when they talked about her son. If looked at in a certain light, what he was saying could be interpreted as a threat.
"What do you want?" Narcissa demanded again, but her voice was much quieter now. Upstairs, Lucius and Draco were asleep. The vulnerability of her son hit her like a brick. He wasn't even two years old.
"I want to put away those who buck the system, and I want to protect Draco. I would even say I want to protect you."
He said it so simply, as if it was just a fact of life and not something confusing and slightly terrifying. She didn't say anything in reply. He stayed seated, as if to seem less threatening. Towering over him should've made her feel more in control, but it didn't.
"For everyone I encounter," the wizard began, unbothered by her silence, "I adjust my approach. Some people require more information than others, some work better on gut feelings, some are perfectly fine looking at the actions in front of them and making a decision from there. Some require bluntness, some a gentler touch. I have to curb my impulses a lot these days, but I like to think I've grown from the hotheaded teen I was."
"What does this all have to do with me and my son?" Narcissa asked, already sick of riddles.
"When I was making a list of all the things I had to fix, to make right, I deliberated over this one for a long time. I wasn't sure if this would do more harm than good in the long run. But if there's even a chance..." He sighed, shaking his head, and then met her gaze intensely. "You are an incredibly loyal person, Lady Malfoy. And a fiercely protective mother. You might not like the comparison—and I don't imagine she would, either—but you make me think of Molly Weasley."
Narcissa wrinkled her nose, indignant, and the man smiled lopsidedly. "Yeah, I thought so. But that's not the point."
"What is the point?" Narcissa snapped. "You break into my home, talk about my love for my son, and compare me to a Weasley. Why are you here?"
"If it came down to it, would you choose your son or your husband?" the wizard asked bluntly.
The witch blinked, then narrowed her eyes, calculating. "Why would I need to make such a decision?"
The man's eyes crinkled. "When I was trying to decide how to go about convincing you, I realized there was nothing I could possibly say to make you take my word at face value. The only thing that would possibly convince you was if you could see the complete and utter truth. It's a big risk, and I'm not a fan of the idea, but I kind of respect that about you, Lady Malfoy.
"So I'm going to be upfront with you—Lucius managed to escape prosecution because he lied about being under the Imperius Curse, as you're well aware. Which means the only way he'd go to prison, is if someone stepped forward with hard proof. You have that hard proof, I know you do. You can get Lucius put away with all the other Death Eaters in Azkaban."
"Why in Merlin's name would I do that?" Narcissa asked incredulously, a sneer creeping onto her face. This man was an idiot if he thought she'd do that! He'd just spoken of her loyalty; she wouldn't abandon it so easily.
"Because he's going to hurt Draco," the wizard said matter-of-factly. "He's going to hit him and curse him and insult him his entire life, and you'll do what you can to protect your son but it's hard when you're getting a very similar treatment."
Narcissa's mouth went dry. "Lucius would never hurt Draco," she said stubbornly, but the words felt hollow in her mouth. "And he's never harmed me in such a way."
"I know," the man said softly. "But he will." He tilted his head. "Do you know legilimency?"
The witch hesitated. "A bit," she said cautiously. "I'm not...overly skilled."
The man smiled wryly. "Well, as long as you're not so bad as to rip a hole in my memories, we'll be fine. Now, I'm going to lower my occlumency shields. When I do this, you're going to cast the spell and look at my memories, and you'll see why I'm saying these things. Alright?"
Narcissa wasn't sure she wanted to agree. She wanted to exist where she was, with her husband cold but not overly so, her son happy and babbling, her crazy sister locked away and her traitor sister far away. She didn't want to see something that would ruin her life. But if he was being truthful, if Draco was in danger...
"Alright," she agreed quietly, and there was something not dissimilar to relief in the man's eyes.
"Go ahead," he said after a moment, and she rose her wand.
"Legilimens."
At first, seeing Draco so handsome and grown was amazing. But the haunted look in his eye—and the bruises on his skin—and the hesitation before his turn at a Boggart—and him cringing from Lucius on the train platform—and—
"You look ridiculous," Draco tells me, a sneer curling his lips.
I laugh lightly, glancing down at myself. Draco's insults stopped hurting years ago, after the end of the war. They barely touch me now; I know there's no real malice there, not anymore. "I suppose I do, yes. Hermione told me it's tradition, I have to wear it."
"Granger is a mud—" Draco stops himself, and then continues as if he never stuttered, "—muggleborn, and has never had to attend a wizard function such as this. I'm surprise you're even in the right garment."
"And yet in the right garment I am," I tell him with a grin, and after a few seconds he rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in suppressed amusement.
"I hated these things when I was younger," Draco says offhandedly, examining his nails. His tone is blasé, like this is unimportant, but Draco doesn't talk about his childhood, and his posture is suddenly very tense.
I decide to act as if I haven't noticed; he'll only get defensive if he thinks I'm giving this my full attention. "Oh?" I prompt, looking around as if searching for something. "Why?"
"Because no matter how perfectly I acted, my father always found something wrong." His lips twist bitterly. "Messing up was a painful experience."
I go still, and turn to look at him. I know my jaw has dropped, and I know as soon as he spots it his walls will go back up, but I can't help it—I just had never thought that maybe Draco and I had gone through similar things.
I decide to take a gambit. "Messing up in my house was a painful experience, too," I tell him quietly.
Draco's gaze darts over to meet mine, sharp and searching, and then he lets out a slow breath. "Ah."
"Yeah."
Neither of us say anything for a while, and it's a little awkward but not overly so, and then the music starts from inside and startles us both.
"That's your cue, Boy Who Lived," Draco says with a smirk. I roll my eyes, smiling, and turn towards the door. "Potter," Draco calls at the last second. I look back at him, and he won't quite meet my eyes, but there's something heavy in his expression when he says, "Thank you."
Narcissa's face was wet when she pulled out of the man's mind, and a hand flew up to cover her mouth.
"You..."
She didn't know what to say. She'd just seen the future; how could she possibly form a coherent response? What did he expect her to do with this? She had just seen proof that her son grew up but he was damaged, damaged by Lucius, and she hadn't protected him from it? Why? Why wouldn't she have protected her son?
But it's hard when you're getting a similar treatment.
A shudder ran up her spine.
"You're..." she trailed off, her voice no more than a whisper. The wizard—who should be a baby—nodded, watching her carefully. "Oh my."
Narcissa's legs felt like jelly and she moved over to one of the armchairs to sit, lest her body betrayed her and she collapsed. The wizard who shouldn't exist allowed her a few moments to absorb the information she'd just been presented with, and then said, "So?"
"What do you..." Narcissa shook her head, attempting to clear it. "What am I supposed to do with this information?"
But she knew. She knew why he showed her all of that, knew what he wanted to come of it. She even knew what her response was going to be, Merlin help her.
"Okay," she said, still unable to raise her voice to a normal speaking level. "Okay. To stop that from happening, to protect my son...I'll turn Lucius in."
She felt the decision settle into her bones, what she needed to do to protect her child, less than two years old. She pictured that haunted, lanky boy from the memory and swore to herself that she would never see such a look on Draco's face. He would grow up happy, she decided. Happy and loved and not abused. She would steer him away from what Lucius would have made him. She could—would—do it.
"I'm glad," the wizard said gently. He reached out towards her and for a moment Narcissa thought he was going to do something odd like hold her hand, but instead he passed her a vial.
She sent him a questioning look, suddenly feeling too tired to examine anything.
"That's Veritaserum," he explained, and Narcissa's breath caught. "I figure you're smart enough to set him up somehow to confess to the right people—you can always act as a witness in a trial instead, if you wish, but I just thought this might take some of the burden off of you."
Narcissa stared down at the glass vial for a few moments, and then nodded slowly before looking back up at the man.
"Why did you come here?" she asked, meaning more than just her home.
The wizard sighed. "I have a million answers to that question. A million reasons that I made this decision. I didn't make it lightly. But at the core of it all, the one reason that really matters is—because I could." He offered her a wry smile. "I hope you can keep this to yourself, yes?"
Narcissa was nodding before he'd even finished asking. "Of course," she said, her tone almost offended. "You've just shown me a better path and given me the tools to get rid of the obstacle—I won't reveal your secret." She examined him for a moment. She understood now why he'd looked slightly familiar to her. "What do I call you, then?"
The man smiled, wide and bright. "Hadrian Gaunt, at your service. I must say it's been a pleasure to formally meet you."
He got to his feet, and Narcissa followed his lead. He kissed the back of her hand like a gentleman and then turned to go.
"May I ask you something?" she inquired, one thing still burning in her mind. "Just one question, before you go."
Hadrian Gaunt looked at her critically for a moment and then nodded. "Alright. What is it?"
"How did you know what I'd do here?" Narcissa asked. "You let me see inside your mind because you were so sure that I would do whatever I could to stop that from happening. How did you know that I'd choose Draco over Lucius, over everything?"
The man's smile was gentle, and even caring. "Because you did choose Draco over everything; I didn't think sixteen years would change anything."
Narcissa stared at him, wanting to ask so many more things, but she restrained herself. "It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Lord Gaunt. I hope to see you again."
The wizard laughed. "Oh, I think that's more than likely. And if I may offer a word of advice?"
"Go ahead," the witch agreed cautiously.
"Make amends with your sister, Andromeda Tonks." Narcissa's head jerked back in surprise at the words. "If you want to shape Draco better, frankly if you want to shape a lot better, reach out to her. You have a niece, you know; and she has a nephew. It might be nice, is all I'm saying."
He shrugged, and then turned quickly, disapparating from her living room, leaving Narcissa Malfoy with a vial of Veritaserum and so many plans for the future.
Severus Snape did not expect to be woken up by someone pouring water in his face, and he most certainly wasn't happy about it.
He surged to his feet, instinctively casting a curse, and whirled around furiously to face whoever had broken into his quarters. With the water making his hair stick to his face his vision was obscured, and thus for a moment was very afraid indeed that the ghost of James Potter had come back to haunt him.
But, no. Simply another man with messy black hair and glasses.
"How did you get in here?" Severus demanded, pushing his hair back. The Potter-look-alike stared back at him with a determined expression, his arms crossed over his chest. He must've deflected the potion master's curse, because the man most certainly wasn't missing a limb.
"You're such an asshole, you know that?" the man told him bluntly.
Severus looked at him incredulously. This wizard broke into his room, poured a bucket of water on his head, and had the nerve to call him an asshole?
"Get the fuck out," Severus snapped, no longer caring about why the other wizard was there. It was probably one of Dumbledore's newest attempts to get him out and about, or whatever. Severus had to commend the originality at least.
"No," the man said stubbornly, and didn't offer anything else.
They stared at each other for a long time, and Severus felt his outrage growing. It was a Saturday. Why did he have to be bothered by one of Dumbledore's pet projects on a Saturday? It was one of the only fucking days he got mostly to himself.
"So we're just going to do this, then?" Severus asked sarcastically, waving a hand around the room. "Stand here in my bedroom with me soaking wet in nothing but my underwear, you a complete stranger who's just broken in and disturbed my sleep? That's how we're going to spend Saturday morning?"
The man's stubborn expression didn't change, but the corners of his mouth did tilt ever-so-slightly upward. "It's a good look," he said. His tone was completely serious, but something sparkled in his eyes.
No. Fucking. Way. Was this wizard actually making fun of him after all of that shit? The goddamn nerve—
Severus opened his mouth to give the other man a piece of his mind, but the man got there before he could.
"You're an asshole," he repeated. "I never got a chance to really tell you that, you know? You are so awful to everyone you meet. And I get it, traumatic, abusive childhoods really fucking suck, but it doesn't give you an excuse to bully children. It doesn't give you an excuse to be so horrible that you become a child's boggart! Do you even understand how fucked up that is, Severus? Do you understand that that goes beyond being mean and goes firmly into evil territory?
"And you just hate everyone, even those who stand by your side. You show nothing but disdain for people who time and time again try to stand by your side, try to fight for you. You ignore the good deeds of others because you're so consumed by your fucking heartbreak or whatever when you're responsible for it all in the first place! Have you ever made an attempt to move past all this childhood bullshit? Did it ever—for a single fucking second—occur to you that James Potter was a dickwad but he wasn't evil incarnate, and you were the one to make the decision to go follow someone who wanted to kill everyone like your ex-best friend?
"You've been through a lot in your life, I get that, I do, and I have a lot of respect for all that you've accomplished. But it doesn't excuse all of the shit you've pulled, Severus. Not a single bloody moment of it." He sucked in a deep breath. "So I'm going to make sure you're better than all that this time."
Severus gaped at the man, his jaw dropped, his eyes wide. Words escaped him, and so did coherent thought.
What did one say to a tirade like that? A tirade that shouted all of his faults into the open, faults he didn't even think made sense (a child's boggart?) but somehow still felt real, felt true. Everything the man had just said came from a very real place of anger, and he hadn't made up anything he'd said, and yet there were some things that didn't fit—Severus hadn't even started teaching yet, he was just living in the castle.
"...Do you want some tea?" he asked, his voice squeakier than he would've liked.
The man blinked, taken aback. He'd been expecting an argument, expecting Severus to be all those things he knew he was and shout right back. And, really, that would normally be his reaction. But this time—this time he was tired from tossing and turning all night with nightmares, he hadn't eaten in a few days, and this wizard had just accused him of things that were and were not true, so.
So he asked if the man wanted some tea.
"I, er," the other wizard stumbled over his words.
Severus flashed him a smirk, and then began striding past him towards his little kitchen. "Ten points from whatever your house was for having an inarticulate alumnus."
He heard a pause and then a snort of amusement before footsteps started following him.
Severus went about putting water on to boil, and, after a moment's consideration, took out some biscuits as well. He could feel the other wizard watching him as he went through the motions but he didn't turn around. He didn't know what this shakiness he was feeling was, but he wasn't ready for the man to start insulting him again, which he was afraid would happen if he met his eyes.
"Sorry for shouting," the man said after a moment.
"You didn't quite shout," Severus replied easily, with far more calm than he felt. "Though you did come close."
What had the man been talking about, anyway? Pushing aside the things Severus did understand (and most certainly did not want to think about), there was so much that had been thrown in his face that he'd never done. And who was this man to insult him, anyway? What gave this random wizard the right to break into his quarters and say awful things, regardless of their truthfulness?
"Yeah, well," the man said awkwardly. "You did deserve it."
Severus' irritation spiked, and he turned around, glaring at the other wizard. "Who are you to say I deserved it? We've never met, and yet you broke into my room only to shout at me—"
"You said I didn't shout—"
"—Shout at me about things that make no sense. What child's boggart am I, hmm? I'm not even teaching yet—I haven't actually interacted with a child since I was one."
The man grimaced. "Yes, well." He stopped, glancing around. He looked so uncomfortable now, a drastic change from the confident man who had stood in his bedroom and forced him to look at all his failings. It made him look very young, despite the fact that he was probably a few years older than Severus himself.
"Do I get a name, at least?" Severus asked, turning back to his kettle when it began to whistle. "Yours, preferably, in case you were preparing some sarcastic comment about a name."
The man snorted again, and accepted the teacup Severus offered him with a quiet Thank you. "Hadrian Gaunt," he said. "That's my name."
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but not enough that Severus had any context to go with it. Maybe Dumbledore or McGonagall had mentioned it, or he'd read it in the paper, or maybe overheard it in Hogsmeade—didn't matter overly much.
"So why are you here, Hadrian Gaunt?" Severus asked. He watched Gaunt carefully, and subtly tried to glance into the other man's mind—he hit a very sturdy wall. He wasn't even all that surprised. "It couldn't just have been to spew nonsense."
Gaunt rolled his eyes, making Severus feel a flash of indignation. "Just because you didn't understand my accusations doesn't make them nonsense."
And the weird thing was, was it wasn't nonsense. Severus didn't know why though, which was a horrid thing. He hated not knowing things, especially when in relation to himself. Gaunt believed the things he'd said, and they'd been intertwined with things Severus did know. But they couldn't have even happened yet.
The potions master narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "What year were you born?"
Gaunt hesitated. "I'm twenty-five years old."
Severus smirked. "That's not what I asked."
And then, and then, Severus could actually see the other man doing some mental math. He felt a thrill run through him, because it suddenly made sense. And oh, how fascinating it all was.
He didn't give Gaunt a chance to tell him a lie. "You're from the future," he said firmly, taking a sip of his tea.
Gaunt's eyes went wide, and he sputtered. "What? No, no, no of course not. Why would you even say such a thing? That's not...no."
Severus rose an eyebrow. "No? Tell me—was I your boggart?"
The other man looked offended by the very notion. "I was never afraid of you," Gaunt said, setting his jaw, and Severus knew he was telling the truth. "You were an asshole, and it was very clear that if you wished to hurt us you would, but afraid? No, Severus. Fear was never something I felt about you."
Severus frowned at the elder man, at the familiar way he said his name. If this wizard had been—would be—his student, then they shouldn't be on a first name basis. Then again, it was possible the man had been very close in age to him (already at Hogwarts? Is his younger self running around somewhere?) and thus a transition would be easy from Professor to Severus.
"What year did you come from?" he asked curiously.
Gaunt smiled, his eyes crinkling. "Want to know something interesting? I spoke to Dumbledore a few days ago, and despite everything he'd been confronted with about me, he did not ask me if I was from the future."
Severus' eyebrows shot up, and then he felt something akin to pride. Coming to a (correct) conclusion that Albus Dumbledore hadn't reached? Well, that was quite a rare thing, and pretty spectacular.
"Does anyone else know the truth?"
"Who says your theory is the truth?" Gaunt shot back at him, but he was still smiling.
"You did!" Severus argued.
"No I didn't," Gaunt said stubbornly, and now that smile was becoming infuriating. "I don't believe I ever said I was from the future. What a ludicrous idea."
Severus sighed, exasperated. This was utterly ridiculous. They both knew the truth, what was this man's obsession with denying it?
"Oh, come on," Gaunt said, laughter in his voice, as Severus stormed off towards the living room. "I'm sorry, but I'm still making up for years of abuse, okay? A little teasing is warranted."
Severus' steps faltered, the breath going out of his lungs in a rush. He turned back to face Gaunt, examining his face intently, searching for the lie. It was important. He needed to know if that was an exaggeration, needed to know how far this went.
A child's boggart.
Gaunt's brow furrowed in confusion at the suddenly very intense look he was receiving, and then his features softened, his expression turning sad. "Ask."
"Abuse," Severus said. He was going for even, but his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. "I abused my students. I was truly horrid enough to be someone's boggart. How bad...?"
Gaunt knew what he was asking. "Verbal and emotional abuse were constant," he said, his voice quiet. "You were cruel to everyone, except for the Slytherin students. You degraded your students at every turn, made them feel like they were nothing if they were anything less than perfect. And even if they were perfect, even if someone managed to pull off something extraordinary, you still insulted them and gave them nothing higher than an A. I don't recall you ever giving someone not a Slytherin an O."
Nausea churned in Severus' stomach. But Gaunt wasn't done.
"You never hit any of us—I think if you did Professor McGonagall would've ripped you in two—but you never stopped your Slytherins from hurting everyone else, either. And when kids were injured, whether in your classroom or elsewhere, you almost always refused to allow them to go to Madame Pomfrey unless a life was literally hanging in the balance.
"The kid who had you as a boggart was a gentle person, but he was strong, and the fact that you were his worst fear did not surprise any of us. You were truly awful, Severus. I hated you almost the entire time I was at Hogwarts. All of us did."
Severus had a flashback to his own childhood, his own father who made his life a living hell. He'd sworn to never be like him. Why did I become like him?
"Why would I do that?" he murmured.
"Because you're angry," Gaunt said simply. "Because you've gone through a lot and you refuse to let yourself feel broken by any of it, so instead you got mad and lashed out at everyone. It's a common coping mechanism, really; anger in the place of grief. That doesn't excuse any of your actions—it really, really doesn't—but it makes it understandable."
Gaunt sighed, shaking his head, and watched Severus digest this information.
After a while of silence, Gaunt said, "I know you hate James Potter for all that he did while you were in school, and that's justified, because he was a bully who made your life hell. But an important fact is that he grew up and became a better person. He fought for the rights of everyone, fought to protect the world, and stopped being so much of an asshole. You though...You started as a nice kid, and grew up to be nothing more than a bully."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Severus demanded. He pressed his palms against his eyes, a headache settling into his bones. "Why do you care?"
"Because you need to be better this time," Gaunt told him firmly. "Because I'm not going to let you become that hateful creature you were when I was at Hogwarts. Everything is new to you right now, and you have a chance to be better. Don't become the monster in everyone's story, Severus; you have the capacity to be so much more than that, if you only tried."
"I'm the reason she's dead," Severus muttered, not putting down his hands. "She is dead because of something I did."
"Yes," Gaunt agreed, and Severus sucked in a sharp breath. "She is. You chose to sacrifice her husband and son in the hope that Voldemort would spare her, which was so very, very naïve of you. What you did was wrong. So much of what you've done has been wrong, Severus. So take this opportunity to make up for your sins, not add to them."
"What do you want me to do?" Severus snapped, looking back at Gaunt now. "How could I possibly..?"
"Well," Gaunt started, his tone dry, "you start with therapy."
Severus blinked at the other man. He must've misheard. "Pardon?"
"Remember how I mentioned speaking to Dumbledore? Well, he's the sole reason you're not being sent to Azkaban, as I'm sure you're aware. It is only his word keeping you free."
"Yes," Severus said slowly, suddenly feeling anxious. Was this man going to threaten to take his freedom away? "What does that—"
"So I spoke to Dumbledore, and it seems that the ministry now wants a bit more from you." He smiled blandly. "Your freedom is now dependent upon you attending weekly therapy sessions."
Severus gaped at him. "You can't be serious."
Gaunt hummed. "No, quite serious. The ministry is stepping up its game, it seems."
Not for a single moment did Severus believe that the ministry had made this decision. This stipulation came directly from Gaunt, and for some goddamn reason Dumbledore had agreed to it.
"Why in Merlin's name are you doing this?" Severus shouted.
Gaunt was unmoved in the face of his fury. If anything, he seemed to become even more determined. "I've already told you. It's not my fault you don't want to accept the reason or the solution."
Frankly, there was nothing Severus could say to that, because he was right. It didn't mean he had to like it.
"Fine," he grumbled, glaring at the wall because he didn't want to glare at Gaunt anymore.
"Great!" Gaunt said, smiling again.
"And I assume you'll be checking in to make sure I go?" Severus asked scathingly. He found he didn't much mind the idea of Gaunt popping in every once in a while.
"Oh, I know you'll go, I don't have to push you," Gaunt said easily, and Severus was confused by the pure, easy faith. "But we will be seeing a lot more of each other, Severus—Dumbledore just hired me, after all."
And with that Gaunt strode towards the door and out of it, Severus staring after him and wondering what the hell he'd just gone through, and still curious as to how Hadrian Gaunt had entered his room.
From the first moment Sirius had Harry in his custody, he loved him.
The boy was a couple months shy of two years old, and already looked like a miniature version of James, with some of Lily's features mixed in. He was a beautiful child, and a happy one, for all the stress of the last five and a half months. Having him around, being able to raise his godson with Remus at his side—so much pain had brought them to this point, but Sirius was very grateful for what he had.
Slowly but surely, the world began to calm down. More and more Death Eaters were caught every day, each morning the Daily Prophet proclaiming a new monster locked away for good. When Sirius read about Lucius Malfoy having confessed and sentenced to Azkaban, he actually crowed with joy.
And learning that Barty Crouch Junior wasn't actually dead showed just one more instance of the system failing, like it had failed with Sirius.
Frankly, Sirius didn't know how Hadrian Gaunt was doing it. Because that was the name whispered behind everything; The pair of Barty Crouches found out? Hadrian Gaunt was the one to discover them. An awful, horribly illegal dark object found in the Lestrange vault? Hadrian Gaunt destroyed it. Gilderoy Lockhart proven to be a fake? Hadrian Gaunt ensured credit went where credit was due.
And, of course, there was the fact that he'd found Peter Pettigrew, gotten Sirius released, and gotten Harry where he was supposed to be.
It was incredible, and astounding. Almost unbelievable.
Because of all this, Sirius made sure to keep contact with the man. Hadrian always seemed awkward when he came over for dinner, like he wasn't quite sure how to act, which just made Sirius even more determined to force the other wizard into being his and Remus' friend. He needed it, Sirius was pretty sure. The guy didn't seem to have a lot of friends, simply a lot of people who respected the hell out of him.
Hadrian wasn't even twenty-six years old and yet he seemed to carry the entire universe on his shoulders. James and Lily had looked like that when they learned about the prophecy. Sirius refused to let Hadrian get lost in the cracks of saving others. The man needed to have some real fun, needed to live a little, and so Sirius roped Remus into helping him (wasn't too hard, Remus liked Hadrian too).
Without Hadrian's explicit permission, Sirius and Remus had roped the slightly older man into doing various things with them, from as regular as seeing a muggle movie to visiting a dragon enclosure. Most of the time Hadrian seemed confused, like he couldn't quite figure out why they were doing this, and other times he looked so goddamn sad. Or maybe a better term was wistful.
There wasn't a doubt in Sirius' mind that this man had lost a lot in his life.
Something surprising that came out of his new friendship with the mysterious Hadrian Gaunt was reconnecting with his cousin Narcissa. Somehow Hadrian and Narcissa seemed to be friends, and apparently Hadrian was determined to have the cousins make amends and reconnect. Narcissa was still stuck up and still had a wide variety of prejudices, but for some reason she was working on them.
It made zero sense to Sirius—how had the wife of a Death Eater gone from hateful to the core to a classy woman attempting to not sneer at Remus' existence? When had she started calling muggles by that term and not the derogatory insult dark wizards tended to prefer?
And when in Merlin's name had Narcissa reconnected with Andromeda?
Sirius hadn't spoken to so many Blacks on a friendly level in such a long time. It was the weirdest experience of his life, and he had the ability to become a dog at will!
Playdates took place between Harry and Draco. Oftentimes, Nymphadora made an appearance around them as well. It was almost...domestic. Never something Sirius would've expected from Narcissa Black Malfoy.
Sometimes, when his cousins were over with their children and everyone was actually getting along, Sirius deeply missed his brother. Regulus had been a complicated boy, a strange mix of soft and hardcore. They'd never really seen eye-to-eye, which made sense considering their very different political views. But even through everything, Regulus had still been his little brother whom he'd loved.
He wished that Regulus had come to him. When he was in over his head, when he wanted to pull out of the Death Eaters—he should've reached out to Sirius. Sirius would've dropped everything in a single instant if his baby brother needed him.
Instead, he'd been killed by Voldemort for his desertion. Or at least, that's what Sirius heard. The body had never been returned to them.
Sometimes Hadrian really reminded Sirius of Regulus. Not just because Sirius felt oddly protective of him, which he did, despite the other man being older. Hadrian was soft and yet hardcore like Regulus had been. He was such a kind person and yet there was serious metal in his bones. Sirius wished that they'd gotten a chance to meet, really. Regulus could've used a friend like Hadrian.
Hadrian coming over to their house (12 Grimmauld Place for now; Sirius and Remus were searching for another place to leave the bad memories behind) for dinner became at least a weekly event, and soon enough a couple months had passed and it was the end of July.
They'd learned that Hadrian's birthday was the 30th, just one day before Harry's own, and thus had plans to do a joint birthday party. Hadrian had offhandedly mentioned that he hadn't really had birthday parties as a kid, which had—much to Remus' fond annoyance—set off Sirius' need to do something.
So, he invited everyone he knew who knew and liked Hadrian—even Snivilus, who didn't respond to the invite—and prepared to throw him a great little party. Remus pointed out that Hadrian didn't really seem like a big party kind of person, but in Sirius' opinion everyone needed at least one fantastic celebration for their birthday.
A couple nights before the (surprise) party was a night Hadrian said he'd be over for dinner. The man was extremely punctual so it was odd when he wasn't there at seven, and then not at seven thirty, and then not at eight.
Sirius and Remus shared a worried glance. Harry babbled unconcernedly on the floor.
"Maybe he forgot?" Remus suggested, but his tone was doubtful. Hadrian didn't just forget things.
When it hit 8:30, Sirius sent a Patronus to Albus asking if Hadrian had gotten caught up in something at the school, since he'd just moved in. The response from the headmaster provided nothing, only that Hadrian had left early that morning and not returned since.
At just about nine PM, the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place creaked open and footsteps made their way down the hall, slightly sluggish. Both Sirius and Remus popped to their feet, intent on seeing who had entered their house, and stopped short at what they saw.
Hadrian looked exhausted. He was practically swaying on his feet, his eyes heavy and dull. His hair was even more of a mess than usual and his clothes were in disarray. There was even—
"Is that blood?" Remus exclaimed, darting forward. Sure enough, there were red splotches on Hadrian's collar and shirt. Sirius' eyes instinctively moved past Hadrian, seeing if the threat had followed him.
"Not mine," Hadrian mumbled, patting Remus' shoulder as the werewolf checked him over for injuries. Other than a few scratches, Sirius couldn't see anything wrong with him. "Nag..." His voice trailed off, not finishing the word, as if his brain had decided it wasn't important enough to waste the effort on.
"What happened?" Sirius demanded.
"Sorry I'm late," Hadrian said instead of answering the question. He was sagging against the wall now, his exhaustion perfectly clear. "I was going to send a letter, but my owl was out for a flight. Thought it would be rude not to provide a reasoning, so here I am..."
"You need sleep," Remus said firmly. He and Sirius shared a quick glance, nodding at each other as they reached a decision. "Whatever you got yourself into, you need to rest now. There are a million empty bedrooms upstairs; take the night, sleep in late—tomorrow's a Sunday."
Hadrian put forth halfhearted denials, but he didn't put up much of a fight as Sirius and Remus steered him upstairs, depositing him in one of the bedrooms. He'd barely been horizontal for ten seconds when he fully passed out.
"What the hell?" Sirius muttered as they made their way back downstairs. Remus had no response for him, looking just as lost.
Later that night, in the early hours of the morning, Sirius crawled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, intent on grabbing a midnight snack. A few steps from the kitchen door he pulled up short, stopped by the voices inside.
"...lease, Kreacher," Hadrian said softly.
"It's my job," the house-elf growled back. "Master Regulus entrusted it to me."
Sirius' head jerked back in shock. What?
"I know," Hadrian replied. "And I commend your loyalty, because it's truly incredible. You've done so much to honor what he would've wanted. I understand your reluctance to give it to me, after everything Regulus went through to get it. But you must understand—I can destroy it, Kreacher. I've done it before. The locket wasn't the only one made; there were others, and now there aren't." He paused. "You know what it is, yes?"
"Of course," Kreacher replied, sounding offended at the possible slight to his intelligence.
"Regulus died to take this away from Voldemort," Hadrian said gently. "You know that better than most. So let me help you complete your task, Kreacher. Let me fulfill Regulus' last wish. The wizarding world might not know what he's done for them, but we do. Let me make sure it sticks."
There were a few moments of rustling, then a metallic clinking, and then Kreacher said, "Here, then. And if you dare to betray Master Regulus' memory—"
"I won't," Hadrian said firmly. Sirius could picture his determined expression in his mind. "I'll destroy this, and complete the mission. Would you like to keep the remains of it after?"
"No," Kreacher denied. "Bad luck. Best to throw away, let it all wash behind us. Keep Master Regulus' secrets."
"Thank you."
There was some more rustling, then footsteps towards the door, and Sirius backed up a few steps, crossing his arms over his chest.
The kitchen door swung open, and Hadrian pulled up short when he spotted Sirius, his eyes going wide.
"Er, Sirius," Hadrian said awkwardly, his attempt at a smile coming off more as a wince. "Come down for a midnight snack?"
"Did you know my brother?" Sirius asked, refusing to pretend like he hadn't heard what he had. That conversation made no sense.
"No! No, of course not. I—"
"Hadrian," Sirius growled, taking a step forward. "Don't lie to me. How did you know Regulus? Why didn't you mention it? Is that why you fought to get me out of Azkaban, loyalty to my brother? Did you—"
"Sirius!" Hadrian interrupted. Sirius closed his mouth. "I never met your brother," he said. Sirius opened his mouth to argue again but Hadrian didn't give him a chance. "I didn't know him! But I knew something about him that no one else did." He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, and then jerked his chin in the direction of the living room. "Come on, this is a sitting down kind of conversation."
After a moment's hesitation, Sirius headed towards the living room. He had to admit—he was burning with curiosity. He wanted so badly to know whatever information Hadrian had about Regulus, wanted to know if he was telling the truth about Regulus dying in the fight against Voldemort, and not just for desertion.
How much did he really know about his brother? How much could Hadrian tell him?
"Tell me what's going on, Hadrian," Sirius said when they were both settled. He couldn't find it in himself to actually relax back into his seat, but Hadrian collapsed against his own, boneless and tired.
"Do you know what a Horcrux is?" Hadrian asked. Sirius thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "A Horcrux is made when you split your soul and put part of it into an object. Horcruxes are dark, dark magic, and horrifying as well. The catalyst for the spell is murder, and splitting the soul..." He grimaced. "It changes you, chips away at you. It also makes you pretty close to immortal."
Sirius felt horrified. "Are you saying Regulus—?"
"No," Hadrian immediately interrupted. He leaned forward, meeting Sirius' gaze intensely. "No, Regulus never did anything like that. But Voldemort did." He looked down, then, frowning at the floor, letting Sirius take that information in in silence for a moment.
"You were right that at one point Regulus started to want to back out of Voldemort's service, but it wasn't because he was panicking. He realized what it truly meant to be a Death Eater, and he made the incredibly brave decision to do whatever he could to ensure that Voldemort didn't get his way.
"Regulus discovered the location of one of Voldemort's Horcruxes and he went there, bringing an exact replica of the item with him. There were traps along the way, and he had to drink a basin of what was basically the Cruciatus Curse in liquid form. The willpower to do that..."
Hadrian pressed his lips into a thin line, taking a moment, and then continued. "He gave the object to Kreacher and told him to leave immediately. Kreacher did so, and Regulus went to a surrounding lake to get something cleansing to drink, but there were Inferi in the water, and they dragged him down. Ever since then Kreacher has been trying to figure out how to destroy the Horcrux, with no success.
"That is how your brother died, Sirius. Not weakness, but strength. A truly incredible amount of strength."
Sirius knew his eyes were wet, but he couldn't quite care. His little brother...Regulus had only been eighteen when he died. Eighteen, and he'd endured all that. Why hadn't he reached out? Sirius would've gone with him to get the bloody Horcrux, he would've drunk the potion in his place, he would've made damn sure Kreacher got Regulus out of there...
But for how it had gone down—Regulus had a truly incredible amount of strength indeed.
"How did you know all this?" Sirius asked. "About the Horcrux, about Regulus—did Kreacher tell you all of it? Why didn't he tell me?"
Hadrian shook his head. "Regulus swore Kreacher to secrecy, and house-elves take their vows very seriously. And hey," he continued, offering Sirius a lopsided smile, "just add this to the list of shit I somehow know and fix, like fucking Wormtail." He stood up, stretched, and turned to head for the stairs.
Wormtail? How did Hadrian know that nickname? They hadn't shared that. And really, all the things Hadrian knew, the things that you'd have to be psychic or prophetic to know. And the way he looked at Remus and Sirius, so wistful. Longing for a connection after so much loss? Or...
And his appearance.
Sirius was a slow learner, but he always reached the right conclusion in the end.
"Goodnight, Harry," Sirius said easily, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.
"Goodnight Si—" Hadrian began, and then he froze. He didn't turn back around to face the other wizard, as if if he stayed very still Sirius would forget the revelation he'd just had.
There was so much Sirius wanted to ask, so much he wanted to say. But he could tell Hadrian (because that's who he was, now, that's who he'd chosen to be) didn't want that. The boy was exhausted, and truly carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sirius didn't need to make it any harder.
"Your parents would be so proud of the man you've become," he said quietly. "I am proud of the man you've become, and I feel privileged to know you."
A shudder ran through Hadrian's body and Sirius thought he heard something akin to a sniffle.
The animagus didn't think Hadrian was going to respond, and he was fine with that; he'd only needed the other wizard to hear it, and then they could forget it ever happened.
"Thank you," Hadrian whispered, and then he disappeared up the stairs.
Sirius' eyes were still wet, but he smiled.