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Chapter Text

Wool’s Orphanage, London 

December 31st, 1926

The old brick building stood against a twilight sky painted in fading hues. Inside, distant laughter and muffled celebrations for the upcoming new year echoed faintly. Dark clouds slowly covered the previously clear sky. The old building creaked under the force of the wind, and the city’s hum was drowned by the howling gusts. Inside, the muffled cries of newborns, the chatter of young children, and the hushed voices of attendants filled the air.

But in one dimly lit room, a different kind of anticipation grew. Merope Gaunt, a young, heavily pregnant woman, had taken shelter in the orphanage when her labour pains began.

Nurse Evelyn peered through a window. Her face darkened by the storm clouds gathering outside, and a few raindrops started to hit the ground below. “Another year’s ending, and with it, a new beginning awaits,” she said softly.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Cole adjusted a worn blanket on Merope’s bed. “Tonight, there’s more than one new beginning in this room.” 

The rain started to patter against the windows. Merope gazed intently at the ceiling, exhausted and drenched in sweat. Her laboured breathing matched the rhythm of an old clock ticking on the wall.

“Before the year ends…” Merope whispered through a searing pain, “he will be here.”

Nurse Evelyn took Merope’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, dear. And we’re here with you, every step of the way.”

Merope’s face contorted in pain as another contraction hit, more intense than the others. 

“It... ahh... he’s coming…” She groaned.

“Breathe, dear, breathe,” the nurse soothed. “It’ll be over soon.”

With tears in her brown eyes, Merope asked, “He will be... remarkable, won’t he?”

“Yes, dear,” Nurse Evelyn said, squeezing her hand again. “He will be.”

Mrs. Cole whispered, standing still at the end of the bed. “Every child is, in their own unique way.”

As the clock hands inched toward midnight, a lightning bolt lit up the room, casting eerie shadows. 

Merope’s labour intensified. 

With a final push, just as the old year gave way to the new, a cry pierced the room.

Nurse Evelyn cooed, cradling the beautiful baby boy with a pale complexion, dark brown eyes, and rosy lips. “Welcome, little one. Born at the cusp of a new year.”

“Tom... Marvolo… Riddle.” Merope weakly murmured with her last breath. “After his father and his grandfather—”

Mrs. Cole looked softly at the baby with dark brown eyes, perhaps the last time she would ever look at him with gentleness. 

“A new year, a new life. May he find his path.”

Nurse Evelyn gasped as she looked at Merope, who was no longer breathing. “Oh dear. The poor girl, so young. She truly gave her all to bring him to life.”

“A tragedy,” Mrs. Cole said, staring at the pale, lifeless body. “May she rest in peace. Amen.”

Outside, the storm seemed to subside momentarily, as if acknowledging the birth of the boy who would one day become one of the darkest wizards in history.

In the quiet moments before dawn, the orphanage held its breath, cradling the newborn boy who would grow up to be a legend, both feared and revered.

March 18th, 1931

The chilling winds of winter clawed at the old bricks of Wool’s Orphanage. Inside, the children whispered and exchanged worried glances, their usual games and squabbles silenced by the ominous presence in their midst. Father Callaghan, a tall, imposing figure with greying hair and piercing blue eyes, entered the building, clutching a leather-bound Bible. He was a priest from the local church. Mrs. Cole, her body trembling, led him to a dimly lit room.

She tentatively opened the door with a creak and stepped aside as the Father entered. “It’s this one, Father. The Riddle boy. There’s something... unnatural about him.”

Father Callaghan nodded grimly. “It’s the work of the devil, no doubt. But fear not, the Lord shall prevail.”

In the centre of the room, Tom Riddle, a boy of mere four years, sat bound to a wooden chair, his dark brown eyes wide with terror. Despite his fear, a fierce defiance simmered within his dark eyes.

“What are you going to do?” Tom asked, his voice trembling.

“I am here to save your soul, child,” Father Callaghan stated, opening the Bible. “To purge the darkness within.”

A few other children had gathered outside the door, peering in with wide, curious eyes. Among them was Annabelle, a girl of Tom’s age, who held a soft spot for him despite his often aloof demeanour.

“This isn’t right,” Annabelle whispered. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Please stop!”

As the exorcism began, Tom’s cries echoed through the orphanage. His pleas for mercy and understanding mingled with the priest’s fervent prayers. Father Callaghan was relentless, convinced the boy was possessed, attributing Tom’s strange abilities to dark forces.

“Please! I didn’t mean to! I just wanted the toy to come to me,” Tom sobbed, his body thrashing.

“Silence! Evil speaks through you,” Father Callaghan glared at him.

The ritual’s intensity grew, with Father Callaghan invoking stronger prayers. Tom’s anguish was palpable, his voice losing strength, replaced by quiet whimpers.

Annabelle looked at Mrs. Cole and the others. “Please! Someone stop this.”

But none dared interfere. The fear of the unknown, the unexplained magic that Tom had displayed, gripped everyone’s heart. They believed this cruel act was for the greater good.

Hours later, when the ritual was complete, a broken and traumatised Tom was left alone, the bindings around his wrists a painful reminder of his ordeal. The boy of only five years was put through a torturous incident that no child of his age should endure. In the darkness of the room, something in him stirred.

“They fear what they don’t understand, but I won’t forgive them. I will make them pay,” Tom whispered, his voice barely audible.

That fateful day cemented a deep-seated hatred within Tom, marking a turning point in his journey towards darkness. The world had shown him cruelty and ignorance; in return, he would show them power and vengeance.

September 6th, 1936

The hushed murmurs of children filled Wool’s Orphanage, spreading tales of Tom Riddle’s unsettling tendencies. Bill had accused Tom of pushing a boy down the stairs when it was actually Bill who had done it.

Tom didn’t prey on the weak; they could never harm him.

Mrs. Cole, of course, hadn’t believed Tom. He was punished with cleaning duties for two weeks. Billy’s false accusation stung deeply, fueling Tom’s growing resentment.

In the shadows, Tom whispered to himself, “Billy will pay for this.”

During the next two weeks, Tom’s anger and humiliation festered as he scrubbed floors, wiped windows, and endured the taunting glances of the other children. They saw him as weak, a boy to be blamed and punished.

Tom had other plans.

“It’s not right what Billy did, you know. I saw him push Jeremy down the stairs,” Annabelle said, cautiously approaching Tom.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tom said, eyes cold, voice devoid of emotion. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

Billy, meanwhile, basked in his newfound status. His rabbit, a fluffy white creature with bright eyes, was his most treasured possession. It symbolised his perceived innocence, a sharp contrast to Tom’s dark reputation.

One evening, as the sun cast eerie shadows on the orphanage corridors, Billy returned to his room to find a sight that would haunt him forever.

His beloved bunny dangled lifelessly from the rafters, a chilling note tied around its neck:

‘Liars should know the price.’

Billy’s screams echoed throughout the orphanage, drawing a crowd. Mrs. Cole rushed in, her face pale, realising they might have punished the wrong boy.

“Who did this?” Mrs. Cole shrieked.

Billy, teary-eyed and trembling, accused, “It was Tom! It had to be!”

The atmosphere grew tense, with many casting wary glances at Tom. Yet, despite the circumstantial evidence, no one had seen Tom near Billy’s room that evening.

Annabelle whispered to a friend, “Tom might be different, but this... this is something else.”

Tom watched the chaos from a distance, his face an inscrutable mask. Whether driven by revenge or a deeper darkness, the act cemented his place as the most feared child in the orphanage.

A title he wore with pride.

The chasm between Tom and the other children widened, with the incident becoming a legend whispered for years.

While some thought it was Tom’s cry for justice, others saw it as the beginning of the darkness that would eventually consume the wizarding world, and then the entire world.

July 3rd, 1938

The room was dimly lit, with the only light coming from a single window showing the gray skies outside. The walls were faded and peeling, giving the place a heavy feeling of neglect. In the centre stood a wooden table surrounded by a few rickety chairs. Sitting at the table was an eleven-year-old boy with dark brown hair, pale skin, and strangely knowing brown eyes that held a depth and intensity beyond his years.

The door creaked open, and a tall man with long auburn hair and a beard, wearing a plum-coloured velvet suit, a matching hat, and half-moon spectacles stepped inside–Professor Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, with twinkling blue eyes, said, “Good afternoon, Tom. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Tom looked at the oddly dressed man in surprise, but also with curiosity. “Who are you?”

Dumbledore blinked slowly and introduced himself. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I’m here from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Tom narrowed his eyes, incredulous, at the strange man with a strange name. “Hogwarts? Witchcraft? Is this some kind of joke?”

Dumbledore shook his head and said calmly, “No, Tom. It’s not a joke. You possess magical abilities, and I’m here to offer you a place at our school, where you can learn to harness and develop those abilities.”

Tom pondered this for a moment, then smirked. “Prove it.”

Dumbledore, without a word, pulled out a wand. With a swift flick, the chairs around the room began to float in the air. Another flick, and they gently set back down.

Tom’s eyes widened in surprise and fascination. “That... was real magic.”

“Yes, Tom,” Dumbledore nodded. “And you have the potential to do much more. Hogwarts can provide you with the tools and knowledge to become a powerful wizard.”

“And what does Hogwarts want in return?”

“Only that you learn, grow, and use your abilities responsibly.”

“Very well, Professor. I accept my invitation to Hogwarts. But know this: I intend to become the greatest wizard the world has ever seen.”

“Ambition is a powerful motivator, Tom. But always remember: it’s our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

There was a stretch of silence. Dumbledore, intrigued by Tom’s intensity, tried to learn more about the young boy’s past experiences.

“Tom, have you ever experienced any... unusual occurrences before realising you had magical abilities?” Dumbledore asked cautiously.

Tom smirked, hesitating before answering. “I can speak to snakes. They listen to me, obey me.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “You’re a Parselmouth?”

Tom leaned back with a confident smirk. “Is that what it’s called? Then, yes. I’ve always felt a special connection with them.”

Dumbledore’s gaze deepened, the weight of the revelation settling upon him. Speaking to snakes, or Parseltongue, was a rare ability, closely associated with Salazar Slytherin and darker aspects of the magical world.

“It’s a rare gift, Tom, but it’s important to understand that abilities themselves aren’t inherently good or evil. It’s how you choose to use them.”

Tom’s eyes gleamed with a hint of defiance. “And who decides what’s good or evil? The snakes have always been my friends when no one else was.”

Dumbledore sighed inwardly, sensing the depth of Tom’s isolation and the budding darkness within. “It’s important to find balance, Tom. While snakes might be your allies, it’s people who will shape your journey. Remember, magic is a tool, and like all tools, it can either build or destroy.”

Tom narrowed his eyes and said almost mechanically, “I will remember, Professor.”

Dumbledore gave him a long look, his suspicion of the darkness within Tom growing. He silently hoped that Hogwarts would be a guiding light for the boy, steering him away from the shadows that threatened to consume him.

July 14th, 1938

The sun blazed overhead, casting golden rays on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Shops buzzed with activity, windows adorned with magical trinkets that beckoned witches and wizards of all ages.

For Tom Riddle, everything was new, wondrous, and overwhelming.

His sharp eyes took in every detail: the shimmering emerald robes at Madam Malkin’s, the twirling broomsticks in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, and the aroma of freshly baked pastries wafting from Flourish & Blotts. Yet, amidst the wonder, something darker lurked.

A shopkeeper sneered at a young girl. “You’re Muggle-born, aren’t you? Bet you’ve never seen a Galleon before.”

The girl blushed and whispered, “I’m just trying to buy some school supplies, sir.”

Tom observed from a distance, his brow furrowing. The scorn in the shopkeeper's voice was palpable. The girl, embarrassed, quickly made her purchase and left, eyes downcast. Tom frowned at the shopkeeper's behavior. Shaking his head, he walked toward Gringotts Bank when he overheard another conversation.

An elderly wizard in simple robes murmured to his friend, “The number of Muggle-borns at Hogwarts is increasing. It’s not like the old days.”

The friend nodded. “Indeed. Diluting our proud magical heritage, they are.”

Tom felt a chill run down his spine. Here he was, in the world he desperately wanted to belong to, yet he could see the fractures and divides. As an orphan who had grown up in the Muggle world, Tom knew he’d be judged too, even if he was sure his blood was not entirely Muggle.

At Ollivander’s, while waiting for his turn, he overheard a conversation that deepened his resolve. Two boys were getting their wands before him; one dressed in immaculate robes, the other in a muggle shirt and pants, similar to Tom’s.

“My family’s been pure-blood for generations. What about you?” asked a white blonde-haired boy.

The other boy nervously looked at the piercing eyes and stammered, “I— I just found out about magic. My mum’s magic, and my dad’s a… Muggle.”

The blonde boy smirked, looking down at him. “Figures.”

Later, holding his new wand—13 and ½ inches, yew with a phoenix feather core, a brother wand to another, he was told—Tom made a silent promise.

“This will change. No one should be made to feel less. And I will be the one to bring that change,” Tom whispered to himself amidst the bustling crowd.

As he left Diagon Alley, the weight of his new wand in his hand and the fire of purpose in his heart, Tom Riddle stepped onto a path he believed would reshape the wizarding world.

Little did he know how far that belief would take him.

October 10th, 1940

The chilly corridors of Hogwarts buzzed with whispers, the stone walls echoing tales of Tom Riddle’s rise in Slytherin House. It was the start of Tom’s third year, but the past year’s events had already left a lasting mark on the students.

It all began in the Slytherin common room, a place where Tom was once mocked for his “impure, muddy” blood at the start of the term in 1939. What they didn’t know was that Tom was no mere Muggle-born. He hadn’t yet discovered his true heritage—a mix of the Muggle world he wanted to escape and the magical blood of the Gaunts. This mix had been a point of scorn for many pure-blood Slytherins.

Marcus Rosier, a fifth-year bully known for his broad build and sneering voice, had once tormented Tom, saying, “Little Riddle thinks he belongs here.” His beady eyes met the coolness of Tom’s dark brown gaze. “He may not be a Mudblood, but we all know he’s just a half-blood with delusions of grandeur.”

The common room had erupted in laughter, but Tom’s stoic demeanour had never wavered.

Those were the words, among many others, thrown at Tom in his second year.

That was last year.

This year, things were different. Rumours of Tom’s magical prowess, his ability to communicate with serpents, and his skill in mastering advanced spells had spread like wildfire. 

He was rumoured to be the Heir of Slytherin.

The teachers were in awe and immensely proud, except for Albus Dumbledore. Students were amazed, envious, and intimidated.

One evening, Marcus and his gang cornered a first-year Muggle-born in the darkest part of the dungeons. The terrified screams caught Tom’s attention as he was passing by. He quickened his steps and found a horrible sight: the first-year boy pressed against the wall, blood dripping from his nose, and five large boys surrounding him.

“Let him go, Rosier,” Tom said calmly.

Marcus turned to face him and scoffed. “Or what? You’ll hiss at me?”

Without warning, the torches lining the corridor went out, plunging the dungeon into eerie darkness. A chilling, oppressive force weighed heavily in the air, making it hard to breathe. The very stones of Hogwarts seemed to tremble, echoing the dread that gripped every heart.

When light returned, Tom stood unchanged, but Marcus and his gang were on their knees, gasping for breath, their faces twisted with terror.

Tom looked at them, his voice menacing. “Understand this: I am not to be trifled with.”

From that day on, the power dynamics in Slytherin shifted dramatically. The very students who once mocked Tom Riddle now avoided his gaze, fearing his wrath. His yearmates, who had made his life hell, were now fighting to get into his good graces.

Tom decided he would make them work for it.

The whispers no longer spoke of his mixed heritage, but of his unmatched power and potential.

Annabelle, a Gryffindor who had known Tom from the orphanage, whispered to a friend, “The Tom I knew is gone. In his place is someone... something much more formidable.”

As weeks turned into months, Tom’s influence only grew. Slytherins, both younger and older, either joined his growing circle of allies or avoided him entirely. The boy who was once an outsider had become the undisputed king of Slytherin House, his gaze set on even greater ambitions.

This was just one of Tom’s many achievements, however small.

July 28th, 1941

Gringotts Bank stood tall in the heart of Diagon Alley, its white marble front shining in the sun. Inside, witches and wizards moved about, and the clinking of coins echoed as goblins counted money.

Tom Riddle was now nearly fifteen and ready to start his fourth year, walked in with purpose, his black robes flowing. He approached a counter where a stern goblin sat with a quill over a large ledger.

“I’m here for a Heritage Test, Master Goblin,” Tom said firmly but respectfully.

The goblin looked down at the young wizard who showed a rare sign of respect. “Very well. Name?”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

The goblin nodded, scribbled down the name, and gestured for Tom to follow. Inside Gringotts, the air was cool and filled with soft murmurs and the diligent work of goblins. The marble columns, high ceilings, and golden chandeliers spoke of grandeur and age.

Tom was led to a private room, darker than the main hall, lit by green lanterns. Another goblin waited next to an ebony table holding an ancient parchment and a small, ornate knife.

“For the Heritage Test, we need seven drops of your blood.”

Tom extended his arm confidently. With a quick motion, the goblin made a small cut on his finger. Tom winced slightly but stayed composed as seven drops of blood fell onto the parchment.

Each drop sizzled and smoked, slowly forming intricate patterns and writings.

• A snake coiled around a sword – the emblem of Salazar Slytherin.
• The Gaunt family crest and a tarnished golden locket, the Slytherin Locket.
• Dark forests, indicating his connection with dark creatures.
• Ancient runes, signifying his magical abilities.

• Slytherin Bloodline: Half-Blood.
• Abilities: Parseltongue, Control of Dark Creatures, Advanced Legilimency, High Potential for Wandless & Wordless Magic.

Tom observed the parchment with pride and determination. He thanked the goblin silently, then smirked. “Just as I suspected.”

The goblin bowed slightly. “The parchment never lies, Mr. Riddle. Your lineage is ancient and your abilities are formidable.”

“Indeed. This knowledge will be of great use,” Tom said thoughtfully.

As he left the chamber, the weight of his ancestry and the confirmation of his powers settled in his mind, fueling his ambitions further.

December 18th, 1942 - January 3rd 1943

The winding corridors of Hogwarts held many secrets, none more coveted than the Chamber of Secrets, hidden by Salazar Slytherin himself. The chamber was said to hold vast knowledge and power.

Tom Riddle, armed with the knowledge of his lineage, had found the chamber. 

The cold, eerie silence of the chamber echoed with ancient whispers. Tom’s initial exploration uncovered a library filled with books and scrolls written in Olde English and Parseltongue, along with many unclaimed wands. But he sought Salazar Slytherin’s personal library, which still eluded him.

Back in the Muggle world, World War II raged on. Tom, working odd jobs until he could claim the Slytherin and Gaunt Lordship on his next birthday, found himself in London when the air raid sirens blared. Chaos erupted as buildings crumbled and fire filled the night sky.

Pinned under rubble, the weight pressed down on his chest. Each breath was a struggle, dust and blood filling his mouth. The boy who had conquered the Chamber and held Slytherin House in awe now lay vulnerable and desperate.

This would not be his end.

Tom whispered, choking, “Not like this... Not here…”

Gathering all his magic, his will and power dislodged the debris enough for him to crawl to safety. The experience left a deep scar. That summer, he learned how his mother died, despite being a witch with little magic.

The vulnerability of mortality and the fragility of life became clear to him.

Tom knew he had to find a way to overcome this.

***

Returning to Hogwarts, Tom felt a newfound urgency. He hurried back to the Chamber of Secrets, driven by his desperate need for immortality. Deep within the chamber, he found Salazar Slytherin’s revered library, filled with sacred texts on ancient and forbidden magic.

Tom scoured every shelf; searching for something, anything that promised eternal life. In the farthest corner, he discovered a small scroll that read:

‘To conquer death, one must embrace the shadows. Seek the realm of Necromancy, where souls are tethered and time is but a whim.’

Tom’s fingers traced the arcane symbols, his mind racing. Necromancy: the dark art of communing with and resurrecting the dead. Mastering it could hold the key to escaping death’s grasp.

His eyes gleamed with excitement. “With this, I can be eternal.” 

The path was dangerous. The text warned of the perils of tampering with the balance of life and death. Failure meant doom and destruction. But Tom, his fear of mortality intensified by the bombings, was undeterred.

He believed in his power.

As days turned to nights, the Chamber of Secrets became Tom’s sanctuary. By day, he was the charming, aloof yet helpful model student. By night, he delved into the dark arts, experimenting with spells and rituals, his ambition overshadowing any moral doubts.

While the world outside remained unaware, within the cold stone walls of the Chamber, Tom Riddle took his first steps on a path that would shape the destiny of both the wizarding and Muggle worlds.

At only sixteen, Tom Riddle had begun to conquer death. 

There was no stopping him now.

May 2nd, 1945

The Room of Requirement was draped in green and silver, the fireplace crackling warmly. In the middle stood Tom Riddle, tall and imposing, shadows casting a haunting silhouette around him. Behind him, a silver serpent banner with the Slytherin emblem fluttered. An eclectic group, the Knights, gathered from various bloodlines, all shared a common purpose.

“Those who stand here tonight recognize the need for change and power,” Tom said, his voice echoing through the stillness. “Power isn’t just in blood, but in unity and vision. Together, we will redefine the future.”

“We graduate in a week,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over each person. “I want to know what you all plan to do moving forward. I want a united front for what I aim to achieve. Swear your loyalty to me and come when I call.”

Abraxas Malfoy stepped forward, pride in his voice. “The Malfoys have always been at the forefront of power. I have spoken with my father, Lord Malfoy, and he stands with you. We recognize the winds of change, and they blow in your favour, My Lord.”

Tom smiled, devoid of warmth. “I am glad to hear that, Malfoy. Lord Malfoy has my regards.”

Orion Black nodded. “The Black family has always valued power and influence. Aligning with you, My Lord, seems the natural course.”

Tom nodded in approval as other pureblood families pledged their oaths.

“Half-bloods have the best of both worlds, don’t you think? A foot in each door.” Jasper Anson, a half-blood and Charms prodigy, said. The half-bloods with him nodded. “I believe in your vision, Riddle, as long as it means everyone gets a fair shot based on their talent.”

“Very true, Jasper.” Tom smirked. “Talent is what I most admire.”

Marrick Rosier, younger brother of his former tormentor, spoke thoughtfully. “The old ways have served us well, but maybe it’s time for a new world order, one that combines the best of every lineage.”

Eleanor Hepburn, a young and ambitious Muggle-born, took a deep breath. “I’ve been looked down upon since my first day here, not because I lack talent, but because of my blood.” A few other Muggle-borns nodded beside her. “If your new world values merit over lineage, then you have my wand, Riddle.”

Mulciber looked around, especially at the half-bloods and Muggle-borns. “Our world is on the brink of transformation. The Mulcibers will stand where power and vision converge.”

Tom Riddle leaned forward with intense focus. “Each one of you brings something unique to this alliance, be it old power, fresh perspective, or unmatched skill.” He saw the fire in their eyes. “Together, we will be unstoppable. This room, under this vast sky, will witness the moment the Wizarding World began its metamorphosis.”

The night deepened, but the gathering felt like the dawn of a new era. Their combined energies, pulsing with ambition and hope, promised to redefine the future of magic.

“Now go; gather alliances and strengthen yourselves. I will call for you, in time.”

February 17th, 1946

In a dim chamber at Slytherin Manor, old portraits watched silently as a single candle burned, casting long shadows. Tom stood at the centre, holding a silver locket with a serpent-shaped ‘S’ glinting ominously.

Tom raised the locket, his voice filled with triumph, his long fingers tracing the ‘S’ of the locket. “Centuries of legacy, back where it belongs.”

“Hepzibah Smith had a fine collection. Pity she had to... part with it,” Jasper smirked, leaning against a shelf.

“Yes, a tragic accident.” Tom said with dark humour. “How careless of her.”

Mulciber, looking at Tom with awe, added, “The locket’s power is palpable, even from here. With it, your strength will be unmatched, Tom.”

“It’s not just about power, Mulciber. It’s a symbol, a reminder of my birthright, my destiny.” Tom clenched the locket, determination in his eyes. “This locket has seen many rises and falls. Now it will witness the rise of the greatest wizard of all time.”

“And what do you plan to do with it?” Corvus Lestrange asked, stepping forward. “Surely, it’s more than a mere family heirloom to you.”

“You’ve always sought more than mere trinkets, Tom. What are you planning?” Mulciber asked, curious.

“Surely, you haven’t severed your soul in half…” Jasper trailed off.

“Not Horcruxes. Though I briefly considered it. Splitting one’s soul is crude.” Tom spoke with fervour. “Necromancy, the ancient and forbidden art, holds true power. Immortality without the cost of one’s soul.”

The room went silent, the weight of Tom’s words hanging heavily. The ancient portraits seemed to watch more intently, sensing the onset of a new era.

Corvus’s eyes widened. “Necromancy? That’s a lost art, believed to be a myth.”

“In the hands of a master, myths become reality. This locket will amplify my abilities, help me channel the energies needed for the rituals.”

“But Tom, Necromancy requires…” Jasper hesitated.

“Sacrifices. Yes, I’m aware.” Tom interrupted, his voice authoritative. “But the promise of eternal life, of ruling the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds for ages to come... isn’t that worth any price?”

The atmosphere grew colder, the gravity of Tom’s ambitions weighing heavily on everyone present.

“I will leave Britain for some time. A few years perhaps,” Tom revealed. “Continue gathering allies and avoid Dumbledore for now. The old man grows suspicious.”

Chapter Text

August 14th, 1950

Dumbledore’s ornate office at Hogwarts was lined with silver instruments humming softly. Shelves groaned under the weight of old books, their spines embossed with golden runes. The room’s magical ceiling mirrored the twilight sky outside. Near the grand wooden desk sat Fawkes, his red and gold feathers shimmering in the fading light.

Tom Riddle entered, looking changed from six years ago. His travels showed in his attire, his face more lined, his once dark brown eyes now blazing red. His aura was stronger, more dominant. 

“Albus,” he greeted, his voice dripping with false warmth.

Dumbledore looked up from his desk, blue eyes sharp behind his glasses, and responded, “Tom. It’s been a long time.”

“Indeed. The world outside has much to offer, much to teach.” Tom nearly sneered. “I’ve come for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.”

“You were always a brilliant student, Tom,” Dumbledore said, a sad smile touching his lips. “But the whispers of your... explorations suggest you’ve strayed far from teaching.”

“You are correct.” Tom smirked. “Teaching was never my endgame.” 

With a swift motion, he drew his yew wand, its wood engraved with ancient glyphs. Tom didn’t wait. Dark chains shot toward Dumbledore, aiming to bind, with a flick of his wand.

Dumbledore turned the chains into ethereal blue butterflies that vanished into the air  with an elegant sweep of his own wand.

“Tom,” he implored, “we don’t need to go down this path.”

Tom merely smirked at him.

“That is where you are wrong, Dumbledore. I am already set on this path, and you are but a little obstacle to me which I will remove. Immediately and permanently.”

Then the duel erupted with ferocity. Blue and green spells clashed, creating dazzling, dangerous light displays. The room’s artefacts rattled, some shattering from the sheer force. The portraits watched in anticipation of who’d win the duel which would be marked in the pages of history. Tom’s magic, fueled by arcane rituals, seemed unstoppable, every move a blend of various magical traditions.

Dumbledore, wielding the Elder Wand, summoned torrents of water, walls of fire, and gusts of wind. Yet, with every defence, Tom countered effortlessly, his spells infused with a power Dumbledore had never faced.

Tom made it seem like his duel with Grindelwald had been child’s play.

In a climactic moment, Tom uttered an incantation in a forgotten language, sending a wave of dark energy at the old wizard. Despite Dumbledore’s valiant efforts, the spell struck him, and he fell—defeated, dead—his half-moon glasses askew.

Tom, breathing heavily from the exertion, stepped forward, standing tall and victorious. Fawkes let out a mournful cry, shedding a single tear.

Looking around the once-sacred space, now scarred from battle, Tom announced with chilling confidence, “The old era has crumbled. I am not merely Tom Riddle.” 

He stared down at the fallen Dumbledore. “From this day on, I am Emperor Thomas Slytherin.”

The twilight deepened, casting a gloomy shadow over Hogwarts. The castle, sensing the change in power, resonated with an ominous hum.

The Slytherin Reign had begun; a new, darker age had dawned.

Next, Tom’s journey led him to Austria. 

More specifically, to Nurmengard Castle.

May 27th, 1951

The Throne Room of Slytherin Palace was a chamber of intimidating grandeur, its walls adorned with symbols of the Emperor’s victories across the United Kingdom and the surrounding countries. Tall obsidian pillars supported an enchanted ceiling displaying a sky filled with swirling dark clouds. Emperor Thomas Slytherin, in his opulent throne and dark robes, looked down upon Lord Charlus Potter and Lady Dorea Potter née Black as they stepped forward.

Lady Dorea was clad in a deep emerald gown embroidered with silver symbols representing the Black family’s lineage, stepped forward confidently, her gaze unwavering. Beside her, Lord Charlus Potter, in elegant robes of rich maroon and gold, stood tall, the weight of his family’s legacy evident in his demeanour. Thomas had attended Hogwarts with both of them, though they were older.

“Lord Potter, Lady Potter. You know why I called you,” Emperor Slytherin’s voice dripping with  authority, echoed through the grand room. “Your house has a complex history regarding its loyalties. Your predecessor, Lord Fleamont Potter, supported Dumbledore before his death, did he not?”

Charlus swallowed his nerves in front of the dangerous man but maintained a composed facade. “Yes, Your Majesty. My elder brother aligned the Potters with the Light. But our house, for generations, has been Grey-Aligned, bordering on Dark. We are descendants of the Peverells, a Dark family. Fleamont’s deviation was an… aberration.”

“The Black family has always recognized power and vision, Your Majesty.” Dorea added, voice clear and assertive. “My marriage to Charlus wasn’t just a union of two souls, but a reaffirmation of the true nature of the Potters. We wish to correct the course my brother-in-law set and return the Potters to their rightful alignment.”

“And how do I know your words are more than empty promises?” The Emperor leaned forward, his red gaze piercing. “That once outside these walls, your loyalties won’t waver?”

Charlus took a deep breath and responded. “Your Majesty, I cannot change the decisions of my forebears, but I can assure you of the path I set for my house, my family. My loyalty, and that of my future descendants, will always lie with you.”

“And as a Black, my family had aligned themselves with you from the very beginning, Your Majesty. Our loyalty, once given, is unyielding.”

Emperor Slytherin stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Your house’s allegiance is crucial, not just for its power but for the message it sends. The Potters have been influential for generations, hailing from the times of the Peverells, our shared predecessors. What tangible steps will you take to ensure your house’s shift in allegiance is felt throughout the realm?”

Charlus took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Firstly, Your Majesty, we will restructure the Potter holdings and investments. Any organisations or individuals loyal to Dumbledore’s ideals will no longer receive our support. Secondly, we will offer the resources of the Potter estate for the empire’s purposes, be it in terms of wealth, artefacts, or magical knowledge.”

“Additionally, the Potter and Black families have always held sway in the social circles of the magical realm,” Dorea interjected. “We will host gatherings, balls, and events that emphasise and celebrate the new world order under your reign, subtly influencing the elite and decision-makers.”

“And what of your personal beliefs?” The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “Aligning a house is one matter; ensuring its members truly believe in our cause is another. I do not wish for mere compliance; I seek genuine conviction.”

Charlus’s hazel eyes met the Emperor’s intense gaze. “My conviction lies in the prosperity and unity of the magical world, Your Majesty. I’ve seen the fragmentation and aimless struggles under Dumbledore’s ideologies. I genuinely believe that under your reign, the magical realm will reach heights it’s never seen before.”

“Growing up as a Black, I’ve been taught to value the traditions and legacies of the magical world,” Dorea added with a hint of passion. “Seeing them eroded over the years was painful. Your reign promises a return to those glorious days, and that is a vision I wholeheartedly believe in.”

The Emperor, after what felt like an eternity, finally smiled, albeit faintly. 

“Very well, Lord and Lady Potter. Your words resonate with sincerity. Ensure that your actions echo them. The empire watches,  and it remembers.”

May 23rd, 1952

The Grand Hall of Slytherin Palace was built on the ruins of Wool’s Orphanage, and was a blend of magical and Muggle craftsmanship. Emperor Thomas Slytherin, formerly Tom Riddle, sat on his grand throne carved with intertwining serpents. Courtiers, both wizards and influential Muggles, filled the hall, whispering about the new world order.

By 1952, Thomas Slytherin’s influence had spread rapidly. After securing the British Isles, he swiftly moved through Europe. Nation after nation fell under his control, thanks to his diverse magical knowledge and strategic genius.

Emperor Thomas didn’t just conquer; he integrated. Muggles, now aware of the magical world, saw him as a symbol of change and power. Old institutions crumbled, replaced by a unified government centred around magic.

Walden Avery, now a high-ranking General, stepped forward. “Your Majesty, the last resistance in Scandinavia has been crushed. Europe stands united under your banner.”

Thomas nodded, his eyes gleaming with the grandeur of his empire. “And the Muggle leaders?”

Jasper Anson, head of diplomacy, responded. “They’ve accepted the new order. Some willingly, others out of fear. But all recognize your reign.”

“Good. The division between Muggle and magical worlds was always fragile and unnecessary. Together, they will see a golden age like no other.” Thomas smiled, sending chills down everyone’s spines.

A witch from the audience, representing the integration council, spoke up. “With combined magical and Muggle technology, our advances in medicine, transportation, and communication have already been revolutionary.”

Emperor Thomas leaned back in his opulent throne, absorbing the updates. “Tell me about the integration. Any major challenges?”

“Many Muggles have embraced magic, but some resist,” Elina Rosier of the diplomacy council said. “Fear of the unknown has led to protests in some regions. With education and outreach, we can bridge this gap.”

“Our military and security forces are working with the integration council to maintain peace.” Walden added, “We are monitoring insurgent groups closely.”

Jasper, shuffling some parchment, said, “Diplomatically, many Muggle leaders see this as an opportunity for their nations to thrive. Their enthusiasm is encouraging, but they request more representation in the governing bodies.”

Thomas pondered this. “That is a fair request. Magic should integrate, not dominate. Arrange a summit with the Muggle leaders to advance this collaboration.”

He rose from his throne, addressing the hall. “This is just the beginning. We will build an empire where magic and Muggle innovation coexist, prejudice is eradicated, and our influence spreads through example, not conquest.”

As the courtiers erupted into applause, the setting sun bathed the palace in golden light. The world had changed, and at its helm stood Emperor Thomas Slytherin, once a boy from an orphanage, now the most powerful being in both the Magical and Muggle realms.

July 5th, 1952

The Grand Atrium of Slytherin Palace featured high arches and ornate mosaics depicting the history of magic. A vast crystal chandelier cast a radiant glow upon the gathering below. At the north end, on a raised dais, stood Emperor Thomas Slytherin, with an emblem of a snake coiled around a globe behind him. Below, wizarding nobility, ministry officials, and representatives from various magical communities awaited in anticipation.

Emperor Slytherin raised a hand, demanding silence. His voice echoed with authority. “For too long, our world has been fragmented, its history muddled with lost lineages and forgotten ties.”

A murmur of agreement swept the room.

“We know that in the past, Squibs were sent to live among Muggles, their magical heritage buried and lost to time. As a result, many Muggle-borns today may be descendants of these forgotten magical families.”

“It’s a disgrace, the number of true magical bloodlines lost in history,” said Dorea Potter, now working closely with the Emperor.

Emperor Slytherin unveiled a parchment with a golden seal. “Today, I decree that every Muggle-born and Muggle-raised half-blood, upon turning eleven, will undergo a Heritage Test. This will trace their lineage, uncovering any connections to wizarding families.”

“And what becomes of those found to have connections, Your Majesty?” Jasper asked.

“They will be reintegrated and given the choice to embrace their lost heritage, aligning themselves with their true wizarding families. This is not merely a search; it’s a reunification.”

A young half-blood representative named Elara Harold, her voice quivering but resolute, questioned, “And if they choose not to join these families, or if no connection is found?”

The Emperor’s gaze sharpened, but he acknowledged the vital query. “Then they continue their lives as they would have. This is not a mandate of force but of choice and discovery.”

Elina stepped forward, the silver embroidery on her robes catching the light. “Your Majesty, how do we ensure the Heritage Test’s accuracy?”

“The test requires blood, Lady Rosier, and blood never lies. It will be conducted at Gringotts Bank with Goblin oversight. They are thorough and meticulous. We will leave no room for error.”

“Your Majesty, how will this ensure stability?” Walden frowned while adjusting his military badges. “What about claims to titles and properties?”

Dorea spoke up before the Emperor could. “Walden, it’s not about stirring conflict over titles. It’s about acknowledging our history and ensuring those with wizarding blood know their roots.”

“This is about restoring identity and lost honour, not tangible assets.” Emperor Slytherin added, “But legal issues will arise. We’ll handle each case individually, with the Wizengamot addressing disputes.”

Elara cleared her throat before speaking, “Will the findings be public? Privacy is a concern for many, Your Majesty.”

“The results will remain confidential unless the individual wishes otherwise.” The Emperor reassured her. “This process is meant to enlighten, not to expose.”

Elara asked another question. “What about those from families with bad reputations?” Then followed, “Will they be judged for their ancestors’ actions?”

“Absolutely not.” The Emperor replied firmly. “We are reconnecting with our past to learn, not to punish. Every individual will be judged by their own actions, not their lineage.”

The atrium filled with murmurs of support and uncertainty. The implications of this decree were vast. As the assembly dispersed, the atmosphere was charged with expectation. The Emperor’s move was another step in reshaping the world, intertwining past and present, and shaping the future of the magical realm.

February 1954 - December 1957 

The Imperial War Room was a vast chamber centred around a large table with a detailed magical map of the Americas. Animated figures and markers moved across it, showing troops, magical barriers, and key territories. Emperor Thomas Slytherin stood at the head, surrounded by his council and generals.

Thomas scanned the map. “The Americas won’t escape us. They’re just another piece of our global puzzle.”

General Avery pointed at key locations. “We’ve taken important wizarding strongholds in Salem, MACUSA in New York, and Tenochtitlan.”

“The coasts are under our control. Our naval blockades have cut off external support,” added Admiral Burke. “The Muggle governments are in disarray, witnessing our might.”

Thomas nodded, satisfied. “And the ancient native magical communities?”

“Many have aligned with us, seeing the benefits of a unified magical world. Those resisting are few but powerful,” Elina responded.

Thomas contemplated. “Approach them with respect. Their magic is ancient, rooted in the land. We offer alliance, not subjugation.”

General Mulciber interjected. “Muggle resistance in the Americas, especially in the South, is fierce. They still have significant military power.”

The Emperor smirked. “They haven’t seen the full extent of our combined magical and Muggle warfare. Deploy the hybrid battalions. Show them the future.”

“Your Majesty, with more Muggles in our forces,” Dorea hesitated, “are we risking exposure of our secret magical strategies?”

Emperor Thomas considered her point. “That’s where the Obliviation Squads come in. Each battalion will have one. Any Muggle exposed to deep magical strategies will have their memories modified.”

“The hybrid battalions are more effective than we expected.” General Avery said. “Combining Muggle artillery with magical enhancement is unlike anything the world has seen.”

Thomas smiled, pleased with the progress. “Good. We are on the brink of a new era.”

Admiral Burke cleared his throat. “Our naval forces now use sea serpents and merfolk for underwater attacks. Muggle submarines and torpedoes are no match for these eldritch creatures.”

“I’ve seen a Kraken take down an entire fleet,” Mulciber smirked. “Their ‘naval supremacy’ crumbles before true magic.”

Elina raised an eyebrow, “Are these magical creatures participating willingly?”

The Emperor replied, his gaze sharp. “We have treaties. Their leaders see the vision of a united realm where magical beings are recognized and given rights. They fight with us, not for us.”

General Avery shifted in his seat. “Controlling such creatures in battle is a challenge. We’ve had incidents.”

Emperor Thomas leaned forward, stern. “Find solutions, General. We will not harm those who stand with us. Improve communication and coordination with our magical allies.”

“We must maintain their trust,” Dorea nodded, her grey gaze sharp. “Any lapse could cost us dearly.”

The room was thick with tension, the weight of their mission pressing down. 

“This is a new world we are forging, where magic reigns supreme.” The Emperor said, “We must move forward with power and compassion.”

As the council discussed strategies, outside the chamber, the skies were alight with phoenixes delivering messages, dragons being readied for war, and enchanted ships setting sail.

Within months, the resistance crumbled. Ancient magical communities, seeing the Emperor’s blend of reverence and power, joined him. Muggle governments, witnessing the unprecedented force, capitulated.

By the end of 1957, both North and South Americas, wizards and Muggles alike, flew the banner of Emperor Thomas Slytherin, a serpent encircling the continents.

March 1958 - November 1960

The Grand Balcony of Slytherin Palace overlooked the vast stretches of Europe and the Americas. The horizon glowed with the dawn. Thomas, in ornate robes, stood with his council as a new map—depicting Africa and the Middle East—was unfurled before them.

“Africa and the Middle East, where ancient magic pulses through every grain of sand and whispers of the wind, will be our next crown jewels,” Thomas declared.

“Africa is a mosaic of magical communities, many hidden deep within jungles, deserts, and mountains. Their magicks are old, raw, and deeply connected to nature,” Lady Camille Greengrass said, scanning the map.

“The Middle East is a nexus of magical history. Ancient spells, relics, and enchanted sites.” General Mulciber added, “But it’s also a powder keg of political tensions, even among the Muggles.”

The Emperor said, nodding, “Then we approach with diplomacy and strength. We respect their ancient magic and offer them a place in our new world order.”

“Our fleets are ready to navigate the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. Our scouts in the Sahara have made contact with nomadic wizarding tribes,” Admiral Burke reported.

“The Magi of Persia and the enchanters of the Nile are not to be underestimated. Their traditions are older than ours.” Camille interjected, “Direct confrontation might not be the best approach.”

“Then we start with the Magi. Establish a dialogue.” Thomas said, considering her words. “What about the sorcerers of the African interior?”

“Our scouts report they’re wary but curious. The shamans of the Sahel, the witch doctors of the Great Lakes region, and the enchanters of the Maghreb have varied magical traditions.” General Avery replied, “They might not see the benefit of a unified magical world immediately.”

Emperor Thomas pondered for a moment. “We must be aware of the magical creatures there. The Sphinxes of Giza, the dragons of the Atlas mountains, the Nundus of the savannah. Our forces must not provoke them.”

Admiral Burke cleared his throat, and spoke, “We’ve trained specialised squads to handle such situations. Beast-tamers who can communicate and, if necessary, subdue magical creatures without harm.”

Dorea tilted her head inquisitively. “What about the treasures of these lands? Myths speak of powerful relics and artefacts.”

“Ah, yes,” the Emperor’s eyes gleamed. “The Ark of the Covenant, the Scrolls of Alexandria, the Pillars of Hercules... We will seek them out to ensure they do not fall into the wrong hands.”

“Many have sought these treasures, few have found them,” General Mulciber smirked.

Thomas leaned forward. “Which is why we must be different. Our goal isn’t mere conquest; it’s unity, integration, and enlightenment.”

“If done right, this could be a golden age where the ancient magics blend seamlessly with the modern.” Camille said, nodding.

“Then let it be so. Let us move forward with respect and determination. The heart of the world awaits.”

In the following months, the Emperor’s forces moved swiftly. The deserts of Africa and the Middle East witnessed battles where sandstorms were conjured, and mirages deceived enemies. The Nile River saw enchanted ships, its waters parting to reveal hidden magical communities.

In Africa, ancient magical creatures joined the Emperor. Thunderbirds soared the skies, sending warnings; Nundus, with their devastating roars, cleared paths.

The Middle East, with its labyrinthine magical bazaars and ancient spells, initially resisted. But seeing the might and vision of the Emperor, many chose alliance over conflict.

By the end of 1960, from the markets of Marrakech to the enchanted oases of Arabia, from the pyramids of Egypt to the magical heart of the Congo, all hailed Emperor Thomas Slytherin.

April 1961 - December 1965

The Imperial Pantheon was a marvel blending designs from across Slytherin’s dominion. It was built by the Emperor for warfare. Vast windows offered a view of the East, where the sun began to rise. Emperor Thomas Slytherin stood overseeing holographic maps of Asia and Oceania, the last unconquered territories.

“Asia and Oceania are lands of ancient magic and Muggle innovation. They will be our final crown jewels,” Emperor Slytherin declared to his inner circle. “We merge magic with technology, tradition with vision.”

“Our forces have infiltrated major Muggle capitals: Tokyo, Beijing, New Delhi. Their technology, combined with our magic, will be formidable,” General Avery updated.

“Magical communities in Mongolia, the Himalayas, and the dense forests of Indonesia have been contacted,” Dorea Potter added. “Some resist, but many see the potential in our new world.”

“The Muggle militaries of Australia and New Zealand are formidable but not insurmountable,” Admiral Burke commented. “Their indigenous magical communities, however, are deeply woven into the land and sea. They’ll be our key.”

“Begin with a show of strength.” Thomas ordered, his gaze intense, “Demonstrate our combined might. But also extend a hand of partnership. We offer progress, unity.”

Camille opened a dossier. “India alone is a cradle of ancient magic. Their wizards practise arts unknown to the West. The rituals of the Brahmins, the spells of the Yogis, and the curses of the Aghoris are unknown and there’s high possibility of danger. We must approach with caution.”

“South Korea and Taiwan have technological advancements that, when combined with magic, could revolutionise our means of transport and communication.” General Mulciber added, “Their tech hubs are like modern-day magical guilds.”

“The South China Sea is a geopolitical hotspot even among the Muggles,” Admiral Burke rubbed his chin. “Not to mention the magical barriers set up by ancient sea witches. We need to tread carefully there.”

“The Aboriginal Dreamtime magic of Australia and the Maori enchantments of New Zealand are deeply spiritual. Their magic is tied to the earth, stars, and waters. Direct conquest will not work with them. We need to understand and respect their tales and traditions.” Dorea emphasised.

The Emperor nodded. “Then let us proceed with both strength and wisdom. Asia and Oceania will see the dawn of our united world.”

“The Philippines, Malaysia, and Thailand have their own spirits: engkantos, toyols, and phi. Each island and mountain has its guardian.” Jasper said. “We’re not just dealing with wizards but with entities that have protected these lands for ages.”

“The Silk Road wizards have pledged their allegiance. Their network spans Asia, bridging the East and West. They could be key in forging alliances.” General Avery interjected.

“The Shaolin monks in China, known for their martial arts, also guard ancient scrolls that blend magic and combat in ways we can’t imagine,” Camille added.

The Emperor paused, absorbing the information. “Asia isn’t just a landmass. It’s a tapestry of cultures, magic, and histories. Our approach must be as diverse and intricate as the continent itself.”

“We have our path set, but the journey will be unlike any before. This isn’t just about conquering; it’s about understanding, learning, and growing together.” Admiral Burke concluded.

Emperor Slytherin smiled. “Then let’s begin this journey with open hearts and sharp minds. Asia awaits.”

The campaign officially began in mid-1962 with a blend of awe and might. Magical drones, combining Muggle tech and enchantments, patrolled the skies. Golems, powered by machinery and spells, marched through cities, showing dominance.

The conquest was swift but methodical. Asia, vast and varied, saw a blend of battles and diplomatic unions. Dragons soared over China in a display of power. Samurai wizards of Japan, after dueling the Emperor’s champions, chose to join him.

In Seoul, tech giants and potion masters worked together, creating innovations that changed daily life. India, with its rich magic and spirituality, saw temples and tech hubs align, producing unparalleled feats. 

By the end of 1964, Asia was under the Slytherin reign.

In mid-1965, as Slytherin forces approached Oceania, they met a united front of Maori and Aboriginal magic, a mix of elemental forces and ancient spells. Through respect, dialogue, and promises to preserve sacred sites, an alliance was forged.

By year’s end, from the tech havens of Singapore to the magical bazaars of Bangkok, from sacred Uluru to Hong Kong’s skyscrapers, Asia and Oceania were united under Emperor Thomas Slytherin’s emblem.

Standing atop his palace balcony, Emperor Slytherin watched the sunrise, casting golden rays across a world now his. In this new dawn, the lines between Muggle and magical, old and new, tradition and innovation blurred. 

The world, in all its diversity, was reshaped under a single, all-encompassing vision.

1966

The Great Hall of the Celestial Palace was a grand chamber with an enchanted ceiling reflecting the stars. It was newly built for the Emperor’s Harem Selection, a tradition intended to last for many years. Intricate mosaics depicted magical conquests, and a vast golden dais awaited the Emperor. Noble families, courtiers, and hopeful participants filled the hall, the air thick with anticipation.

In March 1966, three months after the Conquest ended, Emperor Slytherin announced the Royal Harem. This surprise move introduced a yearly selection of elite members who would bear the Emperor’s children and rejuvenate the Slytherin Dynasty. The selection would take place every June, but there was no guarantee anyone would be chosen.

The criteria were strict, the challenges many, but the prestige was unmatched—an opportunity and privilege to connect their blood to the Slytherin bloodline. By mid-June, two emerged as the chosen ones of the 1966 Selection, earning the rank of Noble.

Eleanor Easterwood was seventeen going on eighteen. She stood out with her brown curly hair, glistening brown skin, and piercing grey eyes. Born to a Pureblood African-American mother and a Halfblood British mother. She had displayed unmatched grace, formidable magical skills, and sharp intelligence. Her blend of strength and empathy made her exceptional in every test.

Hayden Everfield was also seventeen with platinum grey hair and bright baby blue eyes. He exuded confidence and charm. Born to a Pureblood French wizard and a Halfblood British wizard. His duelling skills were impressive, his beauty unmatched, his strategic mind sharp, and his understanding of court dynamics remarkable.

Now, Eleanor and Hayden stood on either side of Emperor Slytherin atop the dais as the Emperor declared them the first members of the Royal Harem, the hall erupted in applause, marking a new chapter in the Slytherin Empire.

Chapter Text

Potter Manor, Sheffield

July 31st, 1980

Potter Manor lay deep in a secluded forest, untouched by time. The manor, a symbol of unity and strength, showcased the legacy of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter. Moonlight bathed the estate, highlighting the maroon and gold designs.

Inside, in a room adorned with tapestries depicting the house’s proud history, a significant event was unfolding. Floating candles cast a warm glow, their flames dancing gently. In the centre, a deep mahogany four-poster bed held Lily Potter, cradling her newborn son, Hadrian.

“He’s perfect, Lils. Our little Hadrian,” James whispered, his face a mix of relief and joy.

The baby had tufts of raven-black hair and bright, emerald green eyes. They seemed unusually aware for his age, his gaze darting around the room, absorbing the magic.

Sirius Black stood at the room’s entrance, a beaming smile on his face and an uncharacteristic serious gaze. As the godfather and soon-to-be blood-adopted father, his role in Hadrian’s life would be crucial.

Lily, exhausted but glowing, cradled her newborn closer. “He has your messy hair, James,” she teased, gently brushing Hadrian’s soft scalp.

James chuckled, leaning over to kiss his wife’s forehead. “And your stunning eyes. He’s going to be a heartbreaker.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Lily rolled her eyes but smiled. “Right now, all he needs to break are his swaddling clothes.”

Sirius stepped closer, grinning. “And probably some rules. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Oh, definitely.” James smirked. “Between the two of us, he’ll be quite the Marauder. Right, Pads?”

Sirius winked, grinning. “Only the best for little Prongslet here.”

“Oh, Merlin. Two of you are already enough trouble together.” Lily sighed dramatically. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“The adventure of a lifetime, Evans.” Sirius chuckled.

James took one of Hadrian’s tiny hands into his. “We’ll protect him, always. He’ll grow up surrounded by love, and when the time comes, we’ll teach him to stand strong.”

Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “Together. We’ll face everything together.” She whispered, kissing her son’s face.

Sirius, sensing the shift in the room’s energy, added, “We’re family. Nothing comes before that.”

James squeezed Sirius’ shoulder. “He’s not just ours. He’s yours too, Pads. Together, we’ll give him the world.”

***

Black Estate, Wiltshire

August 31st, 1980

A month later, in the ritual chamber of Black Estate, a blood adoption ritual was set to take place. This ancient ceremony was crucial for Sirius to declare Hadrian as his heir, despite Hadrian already being part of the Black family through his grandmother, Dorea Potter neé Black.

Sirius wore shimmering, white ceremonial robes, and stood before an altar. Beside him, James held young Hadrian, calm in his father’s arms and swaddled in a blanket embroidered with both the Potter and Black crests. Lily stood a few steps away, watching keenly.

“With the bond of blood, I bind thee. Hadrian Potter-Black, with this rite, you shall inherit the legacy, the blood, the power, and the responsibility of House Black. So mote it be.”

Sirius drew a silver dagger adorned with the Black family crest, making a small cut on his palm, then a similar cut on Hadrian’s tiny hand. 

Their blood mingled in a crystal chalice.

James held Hadrian while Sirius stepped forward to the duo. For the blood adoption to be completed Hadrian needed to drink from the chalice. As Hadrian’s lips touched the chalice. The room trembled with powerful magic as the air thickened, shadows danced, and the blood adoption ritual solidified the bond.

The tension around the room lightened as the ritual concluded. 

The prodigious child was now heir to two of the most influential and noble houses, and was destined for greatness beyond his knowledge.

Black Estate, Wiltshire

August 1st, 1981

The Grand Hall of Black Estate was a room of grandeur and dark elegance. High vaulted ceilings and walls adorned with portraits of Black ancestors keenly observing every move surrounded a long ebony table at the centre, where the Black family members had gathered.

Candles floated in the air, their flames dancing and casting shadows that seemed to come alive. Enchanted crystal chandeliers imitated a night sky, casting a gentle, starry glow. The room smelled of ancient wood and fresh parchment.

At the entrance, Sirius held the hand of toddling Hadrian and paused. The little boy wore a tailored robe of deep black with silver embroidery, looking every bit the Black heir. His slightly curled raven hair contrasted against his pale skin, framing a face with sharp, yet still chubby, cheekbones.

Conversations ceased as all eyes turned to the duo.

“Family, I present to you Hadrian Potter-Black, the heir of House Black.” Sirius announced with pride.

Arcturus Black III had silver hair and penetrating grey eyes. He stood tall and imposing at the head of the table. Slowly, he descended a few steps, his robes rustling softly. He studied Hadrian intently, a nod of satisfaction gracing his stern features.

“He has the look of the Blacks. Strong lineage runs in his veins.” Kneeling to Hadrian’s level, he offered a rare smile. “Welcome, young one.”

With all the intuition of a child, Hadrian reached out, touching the elder’s weathered face. Arcturus chuckled, a sound seldom heard in Black Estate.

Bellatrix Black stepped forward, draped in black silks, a departure from the colourful robes she wore in the Harem. She had been a Royal Concubine for five years without a child of her own. Special permission from the Emperor allowed her and Regulus to join the family gathering.

Her intense demeanour softened as she stared at the new heir. 

“Our little heir,” she cooed, tracing patterns on Hadrian’s suit. “A future as bright as the stars awaits you.” 

She pulled him close and whispered an old family incantation into his ear, a protective charm passed down through generations. 

The air shimmered briefly, sealing the spell.

Hadrian smiled sweetly, and Bellatrix returned the rare smile. “Call me Aunt Bella, little one.”

Hadrian nodded. “Yes, Aunt Bella.”

Sirius then stepped forward, with a young man following behind him, as Bellatrix moved away to talk with Cassiopeia Black, their aunt who rarely visited from France.

“Hadrian, this is your Uncle Regulus. Remember my little brother I talked about? Say hello.”

Hadrian’s green eyes brightened. “Merry met, Uncle Regulus!”

“Merry met, sweetheart,” Regulus greeted, scooping Hadrian up in his arms. “He’s just as lovely as you wrote me about, Siri.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

Regulus had joined the Harem right before Hadrian was born, making this his first time meeting his brother’s godson. As an Attendant, it was hard to leave his duties, but Bella persuaded the Emperor to let both of them visit.

The three conversed softly on the plush sofa when Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, with her golden hair cascading down her back, approached with grace. 

“Such a handsome young heir,” she said warmly. She sat beside Hadrian, joining their conversation.

The evening progressed with tales of Black family history, as the ancestors in the portraits nodded in approval. Each family member extended their affection and pledged support to the young heir.

In the family’s embrace, Hadrian found not just acceptance, but an unconditional love that promised to shield him in the turbulent times ahead.

Potter Manor, Sheffield 

1983

Potter Manor Gardens stretched out expansively; acres of land cultivated with magic and love. Blooming flowers, aged trees, and sparkling water bodies marked the estate. Ancient mahogany, willow, oak and holly trees stood sentinel, their leaves rustling in soft breeze. Birds flitted from branch to branch, and the soft glow of magical creatures occasionally lit up a shadowed corner. Maze-like hedges were enchanted to never trap a soul. Statues of previous Potter ancestors were strategically placed, some with gentle water features which sang soft tunes.

A central fountain depicted the three Peverell brothers, adding a melodious backdrop with its cascading waters. The air carried the mixed scent of roses, jasmines, and lilies. The gentle sound of water from the fountain and the chirping of birds were the only disruptions in the otherwise peaceful surroundings.

It was a sunny afternoon, but the warmth was countered by a gentle breeze. The sun hung high, casting dappled shadows through the dense foliage. It was a perfect day for young Hadrian to explore the sprawling grounds. James and Lily Potter, in a moment of distraction, realised that their precious little toddler had wandered off. Panic gripped them; the manor grounds were vast and filled with both wonders and potential dangers.

As they hurried through the manicured pathways, calling out for their son, Lily’s heart raced with worry while James tried to use a locating spell to no avail.

Coming around a bend, lined with ancient yew trees, they heard a soft, unfamiliar sound: a rhythmic series of hisses and soft murmurs. Following the sound, they discovered a scene that left them both amazed and profoundly moved.

In a sun-dappled clearing, their little Hadrian sat on the grass, surrounded by over a dozen garden snakes, their scales glistening. Their small, sleek bodies formed a protective circle around him. Some were coiled, while others slithered slowly, but all their beady eyes were fixed on the young heir.

The child was unaware of the panic he had caused, and was deeply engrossed in his conversation with the reptiles. While his speech was still the babble of a toddler, the underlying hiss and cadence unmistakably marked it as Parseltongue. The snakes seemed entranced, their heads bobbing in rhythm to his chatter, as if understanding every word.

James and Lily exchanged glances of astonishment. James, leaning close to his wife, whispered, “Parseltongue... it hasn’t shown up in our family for ages. I’ve only heard tales of it from my father.”

“Five generations, to be exact,” Lily’s eyes sparkled with pride. “It’s a rare gift, connecting him to his ancestor, Ignotus Peverell.”

“Our boy speaks Parseltongue, Lils.”

“I know, and we must—” Lily began.

“—keep it a secret as long as we can?” James finished.

Lily nodded, her green eyes protective.

Gently, so as not to startle the snakes or their son, they approached. James kneeled beside Hadrian, gently touching his shoulder. 

“Hadrian, buddy, you gave us quite a scare.”

Hadrian looked up, his emerald eyes wide and innocent. “Sssorry, Daddy. Look, I made new friends!”

Lily kneeled beside them, brushing a stray lock from Hadrian’s face. 

“You certainly did, my love. But let’s not wander off again, okay?”

Hadrian nodded, casting a last look at his reptilian friends. The snakes, sensing the end of their interaction, slithered away gracefully. The memory of that moment, when the young heir of Potter revealed a long-dormant family gift, lingered as the family walked away.

Grand Courtyard, Imperial Slytherin

Palace

June 2nd, 1988

The Grand Courtyard of the Imperial Palace was a masterpiece, celebrating both nature and art. Luxuriant gardens, meticulously sculpted, flaunted a myriad of blossoms, each emitting a symphony of fragrances. Their vivid colours contrasted sharply against the deepening shades of twilight.

Ornate marble fountains came alive in the fading light. Water danced gracefully, catching the last rays of the setting sun and creating fleeting rainbows before cascading into shimmering pools.

Anticipation filled the air, electric with the imminent arrival of the Emperor and his concubines. Attendees, dressed in their ceremonial best, whispered excitedly. Though it was a happy occasion—First Prince Aalto’s eighteenth birthday—the memories of the poisoned Primary Noble Consort and Secondary Noble Consort still lingered. The Emperor had raged, searching in vain for the perpetrator, and the realm had mourned for five months. 

Concubine Bellatrix Slytherin-Black had miscarried again, adding to the sorrow.

Eight-year-old Hadrian stood amidst the crowd of aristocrats, wizards, witches, and muggle leaders. His parents and other family members were nearby, socialising. Dressed in rich velvets in the colours of both the Potter and Black houses, Hadrian’s intense green eyes radiated intelligence and curiosity, setting him apart.

As the grand doors of the Imperial Palace began to open, all chatter ceased. The Emperor Slytherin, a tall and regal figure, exuded unmatched power. Dressed in deep green robes adorned with silver, each step he took was a statement of authority. Behind him, his Concubines, dressed in robes of varying jewel tones, moved with ethereal elegance. 

Their presence was breathtaking, like stars following the moon. Magical petals showered down, creating a shimmering carpet beneath their feet. The air pulsed with their combined energy, leaving the onlookers spellbound.

Hadrian was captivated. The raw power emanating from the Emperor was unlike anything he had ever felt. His heart raced, not with fear, but with a growing desire to be part of that world, to stand close to such immense power and perhaps wield a fragment of it himself.

He remembered the whispered tales of the Emperor’s inner circle, those chosen as confidants, allies, concubines. The prestige and influence they carried were undeniable. In that moment, a flame of ambition ignited in Hadrian’s heart. He didn’t want to be a spectator; he desired a place beside the Emperor.

Back at the Black Estate, Hadrian rushed to the vast library. With fervour, he pored over books and scrolls, not just about magic, but politics, diplomacy, and court life. “The Harem Life and Etiquettes: A Deep Dive” by a member of the German Royal Harem became one of his favourite reads. His studies became more focused, his practice more intense.

The library became his sanctuary. Day after day, Hadrian immersed himself in ancient books and scrolls, sometimes losing track of time.

One evening, as the soft glow of the fireplace cast dancing shadows on the bookshelves, Arcturus observed Hadrian from the shadows, sensing the change in the boy.

“What drives you, young heir?” he asked, approaching him after a moment.

Hadrian looked up from a tome on advanced magical theory. “I wish to stand beside the Emperor, Grandfather.” He replied with a determination that belied his age. “Not as a mere subject, but as someone he values.”

Arcturus smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. “Ambition ignites greatness, Hadrian. But remember, power demands a price,” his voice gravelly with age but passionate. “Power is a double-edged sword. It can elevate or destroy. If you desire the Emperor’s circle, learn not just to wield magic, but to navigate the treacherous waters of the court.”

Hadrian nodded, a steely determination in his green eyes. The year 1988 marked the beginning of Hadrian’s relentless pursuit of power, knowledge, and a place beside the most powerful man in the realm.

King’s Cross Station, London

1991

Platform Nine and Three Quarters at King’s Cross Station buzzed with its usual energy as families said their goodbyes to their young ones. The Hogwarts Express gleamed in the sunlight, periodically releasing steam that created an ethereal mist around the platform. Despite the Emperor’s many changes, the Hogwarts Express remained untouched, expanded to accommodate more students. Some said he didn’t care for an old train, but Hadrian thought it was nostalgia; the Emperor not wanting to alter what had marked the start of his magical journey.

The Potter family stood a bit apart from the crowd. James stood tall with his characteristic messy hair, and spoke to Hadrian about the importance of choices and friendships at Hogwarts. Lily pulled him into a tight embrace, her voice filled with emotion and her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. 

“Remember, Hadrian, our love will always be with you.”

“I know, Mum. I love you.”

“I love you too, my sweet boy.”

Sirius, ever the playful godfather, ruffled Hadrian’s hair and grinned, “Rule the school, pup, but remember to have some fun too.”

“I will, Uncle Sirius,” Hadrian laughed, his heart racing with excitement and nervousness.

Clutching his luggage, he boarded the train and found a compartment. Settling into the plush seats, he looked out the window at his family waving him off.

As the train started its journey, Hermione Granger joined him. Her bushy hair and wide, eager eyes were full of anticipation. They struck up a conversation about books, quickly finding common ground. The conversation shifted to their families, and Hermione revealed she was descended from a Noble House and had visited her newfound family over the summer.

“Really?” Hadrian asked curiously. “Which one?”

“Dagworth-Granger.”

“Your last name is Granger,” he noted politely.

“Yeah, a bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Hermione giggled. “I found it strange when I saw my Heritage Test. Mum and Dad were freaked out. They didn’t think our family had any magical lineage.”

Hadrian nodded. He couldn’t fully understand Hermione’s feelings, but he had heard his mother’s stories about discovering her ancestry with the Lestrange House. How overwhelming and fascinating it had been for her to be welcomed by them.

“Well, you’re a witch now, and that’s what matters. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

“I hope so.”

“Did you get the chance to visit the Dagworth-Granger Manor?”

“Oh, yes!” Hermione said excitedly. “It was marvellous! The Manor felt alive with magic. It was very comforting.”

“Ah, most manors of noble and royal families are old and sentient. It was the family magic welcoming you.”

“Can you tell me more about this, Hadrian?”

Some time later, Anthony Goldstein joined them, his refined posture and sharp features making him look every bit the noble heir. He introduced himself and shared his excitement about the magical subjects he was eager to study.

As they discussed the Potions curriculum, Susan Bones entered the compartment with her bright auburn hair and a warm smile. Neville Longbottom, Hadrian’s childhood friend and godbrother, took a seat beside him, their bond evident through shared laughter and inside jokes.

“It’s incredible,” Hermione murmured as the conversation mellowed down, “how much progress His Majesty has made. I don’t even want to think about how I’d be treated if he hadn’t established equality.”

Anthony nodded. “It truly is. I’m halfblood myself, but I know I’d have had it easier as a noble heir. Many others would have suffered.”

“I’m very fascinated by the harem!” Susan said, pouting slightly. “But I doubt my mother would let me join.”

“There have been deaths , right?” Hermione whispered.

“Yes,” Susan replied quietly, “two so far, but I hope there are no more.”

“You have relatives in the harem, don’t you, Hadrian?” Anthony asked, bringing Hadrian out of his thoughts.

“Yes, my Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Regulus.”

“Wow.”

“What ranks are they?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Aunt Bellatrix is the Primary Imperial Concubine, and Uncle Regulus is the Third Imperial Concubine.”

The atmosphere shifted when the compartment door slid open, revealing Draco Malfoy with his silver-blond hair and sneer.

“Hadrian,” he drawled, disdain in his voice as he looked at Hermione and Neville. “I see you’re mingling with the... less refined.”

Hadrian met Draco’s gaze evenly. “Cousin,” he greeted coolly, “I doubt that it’s any of your business who I mingle with.”

Draco scowled and retorted, “You are surrounding yourself with a mudbl—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, cousin, if you know what’s good for you,” Hadrian glared, his green eyes blazing. “Your hostility towards muggleborns is not only wrong, but it’s also quite illegal.”

“You—”

Before Draco could retort, Anthony cut him off swiftly. “This compartment is for friendly conversation and pleasant company, Malfoy. Perhaps you should find another.”

With one last glare, Draco left, leaving a tense atmosphere behind.

Hermione broke the silence with a nervous laugh. “First day and we already have stories to share. Here’s to seven years of adventures!” The group laughed, camaraderie evident.

“I don’t understand how Malfoy turned out like that,” Hadrian heard Susan whisper to Neville. “His mother is a great advocate for creature rights and a healer. She’s a force to be reckoned with.”

Neville shrugged and went back to petting Trevor, not knowing what to say. Hadrian, however, understood. The Blacks had adapted to the Emperor’s new order quickly, with Orion Black, Sirius’s father, being one of the earliest Knights. Though some, like Walburga and Pollux Black, had been angry and wished to rebel, a quick glare from Grandfather Arcturus had stopped any protests.

The Malfoys had followed suit like the Blacks and other pureblood families. But Abraxas Malfoy had married Belladonna Bruguiere, a French pureblood witch who refused to accept the new order and held onto her bigoted beliefs. Belladonna had instilled these beliefs in her son, Lucius, one of the Emperor’s advisors, who then passed them to Draco, despite Aunt Narcissa’s efforts. Hadrian hoped Draco would let go of these beliefs as he grew older.

The journey to Hogwarts continued with discussions about houses, classes, and future hopes. As Hadrian looked out the window at the passing scenery, he felt a mix of anticipation and determination.

This was just the beginning of his journey.

***

The grounds of Hogwarts Castle were grander and more majestic than ever. The Emperor’s touch was evident. With new towers piercing the sky and grand courtyards featuring intricate magical fountains. The Whomping Willow swayed in the distance, and the Black Lake shimmered, reflecting the school’s magnificence. The Forbidden Forest seemed denser and more mysterious.

As the first-year students embarked on the boats for their journey to the castle, a collective gasp filled the air. Many were seeing the castle for the first time, now even more awe-inspiring with its added wings and fortified structures. The spires gleamed in the moonlight, and enchanted torches lit the path to the main entrance.

Hadrian and his friends stepped off the boats, eyes wide with awe. The castle stood with its new wings and turrets as an evidence to the Emperor’s vision of a grander, more inclusive and thorough magical education.

Whispers rippled through the group as they neared the Great Hall. 

Hadrian walked alongside Hermione, Anthony, Susan, and Neville. They exchanged glances of excitement and nervous anticipation. The vast oak doors of the castle opened, revealing the grand Great Hall—its enchanted ceiling, a mesmerising display of the evening sky—now stretched even further. It accommodated the increased number of tables—two for each house.

As the Sorting Ceremony began, a hush fell over the Great Hall. The first years lined up, awaiting their turn with the Sorting Hat. The magical hat was old and patched, renowned for its wisdom, having seen generations of students and placed them where they best fit.

Today, it would decide Hadrian’s fate.

***

One by one, students were called forth. Hermione went to Gryffindor, her bravery clear. Anthony was placed in Ravenclaw, his love for knowledge obvious. Susan joined Hufflepuff, her kindness shining through. Neville, showing hard work and a gentle heart, also joined Hufflepuff.

Finally, the moment arrived.

“Potter-Black, Hadrian!” Professor McGonagall called out.

Hadrian took a deep breath and stepped forward, feeling the weight of his family legacies and his own ambitions. The Sorting Hat was placed on his raven-black hair, delving deep into his thoughts.

“Ah,” it mused. “Kind, yes, but your kindness must be earned. Not Hufflepuff, no. Brave too,” it said, delving deeper. “Powerful, ambitious, cunning... Slytherin would suit you very well. Yet, there’s more. A thirst for knowledge, a sharp mind. You’d do well in Ravenclaw too. You will find true friends there.”

“Slytherin might be natural, but I want people to underestimate me and not see me as a threat.” Hadrian communicated with the Hat. “Place me where I carve my plans out with no interference.”

The Hat took a moment, then finally boomed, “Better be— RAVENCLAW!”

Hadrian took his place at the Ravenclaw table, greeted by cheers and welcoming faces. Yet, deep down, the essence of a serpent flowed through him. The Hat’s choice might have placed him with the eagles, but Hadrian knew he always had the cunning and ambition of a true Slytherin.

Hogwarts, Third Floor Corridor

November, 1993

Golden sunlight from high windows cast a warm hue on the stone walls. Portraits of old wizards and witches whispered among themselves, watching students pass by. The sound of distant chatter and footsteps echoed through the expansive hallways.

Hadrian was deep in thought about his upcoming Alchemy lesson. He walked briskly, his black-and-blue robes billowed softly behind him. He was jolted from his thoughts by raucous laughter. Rounding a corner, he saw a group of five sixth-year Gryffindor boys surrounding a fourth-year Ravenclaw, Emery Lexington. 

Emery’s books were scattered, and his usually neat appearance was dishevelled, his pale hair a mess. The fear in his eyes contrasted with his attempt at defiance.

“Look at the little bird, all ruffled up!” one Gryffindor jeered, poking Emery with his wand.

“Maybe if you spent less time with your books and more with a wand, you wouldn’t be so pathetic!” another taunted, pushing Emery’s slender frame.

Hadrian stepped forward, his presence commanding. “Such courage,” he remarked icily, “intimidating someone younger and outnumbered.”

“Stay out of this, Potter-Black,” the lead Gryffindor sneered, baring his yellowed teeth. “This ‘bird’ needs to learn his place.”

“So this is how Gryffindors uphold their house’s honour?” Hadrian’s voice dripped with contempt, his eyes cold. “Bullying someone outnumbered?”

“This doesn’t concern you! I suggest you leave.”

Hadrian was undeterred. He stepped closer, his emerald eyes locking onto the lead bully’s. “And I suggest you gather your misplaced bravery and leave.”

Seeing the bullies about to raise their wands, Hadrian acted swiftly. With a flick of his wand, the Gryffindors were hoisted into the air, their robes tangled, legs kicking helplessly. Another flick sent a gust of wind, spinning them comically.

After a moment, Hadrian let them drop unceremoniously. 

“Consider this a lesson in humility. Think twice before acting disgracefully again.”

Red-faced and embarrassed, the boys scrambled to their feet and scurried away, avoiding the gazes of the students who had gathered to watch.

Hadrian extended a hand to Emery, helping him gather his books. Their fingers brushed as they both reached for one, exchanging a brief, understanding smile. 

“Are you okay, Lexington?” He asked.

“Thank you, Potter-Black,” Emery said, still catching his breath but clearly grateful. “They’ve been on my case for weeks.”

“Call me Hadrian.”

“Then call me Emery.”

They walked together towards their classes, discovering shared interests in advanced magical theories and rare potion ingredients. Their bond was forged in conflict, deepened through shared study sessions and discussions.

This encounter not only ended Emery’s troubles with the bullies but also marked the beginning of a lifelong friendship between two promising wizards.

Hogwarts, Room of Requirement 

1996

The Room of Requirement was a magical room in Hogwarts that adapted to the needs of those who entered. Tonight, the room transformed into a serene enclave. High ceilings shimmered with a constellation of stars, a replica of the night sky outside. A gentle, ambient glow came from crystal orbs. A rich, blue carpet, mimicking the depths of the night sea, spread beneath.

A soft, melancholic melody played faintly in the background, like the song of nightingales. It underscored the tension in the moment. Two plush armchairs faced each other, waiting.

Emery stood by a window, looking out at the starlit night. Hadrian stepped in, sensing the gravity of the moment. Over the past three years, they had grown attuned to each other’s moods.

Emery turned to Hadrian, his eyes holding a hint of sorrow. “Harry,” he began, his voice shaky, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Hadrian nodded. “Go on.”

“I’ve decided to join the Selection for the Emperor’s Harem next year, after graduation. It’s something I’ve been contemplating for a while.”

Hadrian was taken aback. “Emery... that’s a big decision.”

“I know,” Emery said, running a hand through his blonde hair. “And I know the challenges and competition I’ll face. But it’s a path I wish to tread. To be close to such power, it’s... intoxicating,” he grinned, “and I wouldn’t mind a kid or two.”

Hadrian laughed at Emery’s attempt at humour. Once their laughter died down, Hadrian bit his lip nervously. 

“I’ve been thinking of the same, for the Selection in ’98.”

Emery’s eyes widened. The weight of their decisions hung heavily between them. The room, sensing their turmoil, intensified the melody, each note echoing their heartbeats. The realisation of a potential year apart cast a shadow over their bond. 

Emery broke the silence. “A year, Harry. It seems daunting. But we’ll write, won’t we?” he questioned with vulnerable eyes, “We’ll share our experiences, our hopes, and our fears.”

“Every day if we can,” Hadrian nodded. “We’ve faced so much together; a year apart won’t break our bond.”

Emery took a step closer, placing a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder. “Promise me something, Harry. If I make it into the Harem, you’ll give it your all the following year. We found each other amidst the vastness of Hogwarts; we can find each other again in the Emperor’s Harem.”

“I promise. No matter where our paths take us, we’ll always find our way back to each other.”

Potter Manor, Sheffield 

July 1997

The Breakfast Room in Potter Manor was a spacious room bathed in the soft glow of morning light, filtering through tall, arched windows that provide an expansive view of the manor grounds. Delicate ivies weaved their way up the metal framework, and the room was filled with a variety of magical plants, some emitting soft, musical notes. The walls are adorned with portraits of past Potter generations, their faces animated in curiosity. 

A grand table stands in the centre, laden with an array of dishes;  a lavish breakfast spread was laid out on a grand, polished oak table with intricate carvings of the Potter family crest. Golden plates and goblets sparkle under the sun’s rays, and the gentle hum of floating orbs creates a soft, ambient glow. The soft clinking of silverware and the chirping of birds from the gardens punctuate the air.

James and Lily Potter sit at the head of the table, sharing the morning news and discussing plans for Hadrian’s 17th birthday. James looked regal in dark robes, was engrossed in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, while Lily, draped in a dark blue robe that complemented her fiery hair, was engrossed in a letter, presumably from a distant relative. Hadrian sat opposite of them, fidgeting with a silver fork, gathering the courage for the impending revelation.

Hadrian steeled himself for the conversation, cleared his throat, drawing the attention of his parents. “Mum, Dad,” he began, hesitating slightly. “There’s something I need to discuss."

James sensed the seriousness in his son’s tone, and put down his paper. “Go on, Hadrian.”

“Yes, what is it, darling?”

Drawing a deep breath, Hadrian revealed. “I’ve decided to join the Selection next year.”

The revelation hung heavily in the air, a momentary silence enveloped the room. Lily’s face paled, her maternal instincts flaring with concern. James appeared taken aback, searching his son’s face for any signs of doubt.

“Hadrian, that’s an important decision.” Lily responded first, her voice trembling. “The Harem isn’t just about luxury and power; it’s a world of intricate politics, alliances, and dangers.”

“I know, Mum.” Hadrian nodded. “But it’s a path I feel drawn to, especially after Emery’s selection.”

James rubbed his temples and said, “It’s not a decision to be taken lightly. Emery might have made it, but each person’s journey is different.”

“I’m aware, Dad,” Hadrian replied earnestly. “I’ve given it a lot of thought for years, I may add. The allure of the Harem, the chance to be close to such power, the experiences it promises... I want to be a part of it.”

Lily, her eyes misty, reached out to hold Hadrian’s hand. “But at what cost, my love? The Harem has its shadows. You’ll be stepping into an environment where trust is a luxury.” Lily gently probed, her hold tight yet not painful, never painful. “You can easily marry an heir of a Noble House or anyone you wish for, and carry your own children.”

“I’ll be cautious, Mum. I promise.” Hadrian reassured, squeezing her hand. “And I’ll carry His Majesty’s children, Mum, that is prestigious in itself. Imagine how powerful the next Potter and Black heirs would be!”

“I know, darling but a mother always fears.”

“I believe I can navigate the complexities and carve a place for myself.”

“It’s not just about carving a place, Hadrian.” Lily injected, softly. “It’s about preserving oneself amidst the storm. The Harem has witnessed betrayals, heartbreaks, and yes, even deaths.”

James took a moment to gather his thoughts, and spoke up. “Hadrian, you’re our son, and we’ll always support you. But remember, the Harem is a world where every move, every word, has consequences.” He sighed and looked at his little boy, so grown up. “Trust cautiously, son. The world of the Harem isn’t like Hogwarts or the Manor. Always be vigilant.” 

Hadrian felt a rush of gratitude, smiled. “I promise, Dad. I’ll always remember.”

“And Draco Malfoy had sent me a betrothal request—”

“Dad, what?”

“I’ve politely rejected it, of course,” James continued reassuringly, “the two of you are way too close in the family tree for my comfort. Not to mention, your dislike of him.”

“Why did he even—” Hadrian shook his head. “Thank you, Dad.”

“Oh, no problem, sweetheart,” James grinned, “I have no desire to make that brat my son in law.”

As the conversation drew to a close, the room, bathed in the gentle glow of morning, became a silent witness to the choices, challenges, and changes awaiting the Potter family.

Hogwarts, Astronomy Tower

May 1998

The highest tower at Hogwarts as a vantage point, has always offered an unparalleled view of the heavens above and the expansive grounds below. The night sky above the Astronomy Tower was a mesmerising tapestry of cosmic beauty.

As Hadrian gazed upward, the vast expanse stretched out like an infinite canvas painted with the dreams and mysteries of the universe. It had always been soothing, being at the highest point; to see the stars twinkle, an odd meteor shower or two and the moon…

The moon, in whichever phase it currently resided, casted a silvery glow upon the ancient stones of the tower. Its craters and valleys, visible to his naked eye from this magical location, seem to pulse with an ethereal energy. 

Hadrian sighed, already dreading the conversation he was about to have with Hermione. If she doesn’t hit his head with a thick tome for his stupidity as she would say.

Hadrian stood at the edge, slightly leaning against the railing. His posture pensive, looking out over the vast expanse. Hermione sits a little behind and could sense his internal struggle. Setting her book aside, she joined him, her gaze following his.

Breaking the silence with a sigh, Hadrian murmured.  “I’ve decided, Hermione. I’ll join the Selection  next month,” his voice, although determined, carried an undercurrent of nervousness.

Hermione had always been the voice of reason in Hadrian’s life. She tilted her head, her brown eyes studying him intently. “Hadrian, do you truly desire this path? The Harem... it’s not a playground. The power struggles, the politics, the dangers... are you ready for all that?”

“Emery made it, didn’t he?” His gaze hardened momentarily as he turned to face her. “I need to be there, by his side. The Emperor’s power, the inner workings of the court, it’s all so tantalising.”

“But at what cost, Harry?” Hermione leaned forward, her voice soft but urgent.  “The Harem has its allure, no doubt, but it’s also riddled with treachery. Six deaths, Harry! Isn’t that a warning sign?’

“I’ve weighed the dangers, ’Mione. But this... this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Hadrian, I know you. Behind those eyes lies a maelstrom of desires and fears. Tell me honestly, is this truly what you desire? Or is it the allure of the unknown?”

“It’s both. The allure, the challenge, Emery... and yes, even the possibility of standing beside the Emperor.”

“And what of love, Hadrian?” Hermione ventured further, her heart heavy with worry. “The genuine, heart-filling kind, not the transient passions of court life. Don’t you yearn for that too?”

Hadrian was taken aback, and met her gaze. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he seldom showed to anyone “Of course I do. But who’s to say I can’t find it there?”

“Can you truly see yourself sharing a genuine bond with the Emperor? To grow to love that man? Love isn’t something we can force.”

“I don’t know if I can ever truly love the Emperor. But I believe in possibilities, Hermione. Who’s to say what the heart will feel once it’s immersed in such an environment?”

Hermione sighed. “Life in the Harem can change you, Hadrian. It could make you forget who you are, what you truly want.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m not so gullible, Hermione. Please have some faith in me, and this doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other again. There are letters, birthdays and I’m sure we’ll find ways to meet. And once I’m in a higher rank, I’ll be able to visit you.”

Hermione, tears forming, reached out to hold his hand. “Promise me something, Harry. In this journey you’re about to walk on, never lose sight of yourself. And if ever your heart wavers, or you feel lost, remember all of us, our friendship, and the genuine bonds you’ve formed here.”

“I promise, ’Mione.” He nodded, his voice thick with emotion.

“Wanna join me?” Hadrian joked, lighting up the tense air around them, and grinned at her.

Hermione huffed, shoving him lightly on the arm. “You’re mad, Harry if you think I’ll go anywhere near those batty concubines!”

Chapter Text

June 3rd, 1998

The heart of the Celestial Palace is a sight to behold. Marble pathways glitter under the sun, reflecting like a starry night. Enchanted trees line the courtyard, their blossoms glowing softly. Fountains of pure sapphire shoot arcs of water that dance and shimmer with their own light.

Carriages hum gently as they arrive, their designs intricate and magical. Participants wear grey robes, symbolising humility and unity, but these robes are anything but plain. Hadrian sits in one such carriage, its majesty muted to match the occasion but still evident.

Hadrian’s carriage, gilded with gold and encrusted with moonstones, bears the marks of the Potter and Black families. As it stops, the wheels release a gentle hiss of magic, and the door opens on its own.

Hadrian stands on the carriage steps, wearing soft grey robes. The fabric flows seamlessly, almost ethereal. The intertwined sigils of the Potter and Black families are embroidered in liquid gold.

Taking a deep breath, Hadrian navigates through the sea of grey. Theodore Nott emerges from the crowd with slicked-back brown hair and piercing black eyes.

“Hadrian,” Theodore greets, his robes showing the Nott family crest, an owl with a scroll.

“Theo,” Hadrian responds, extending a hand. “Good to see you, my friend.”

“You too,” Theodore replies, clasping Hadrian’s hand. “I didn’t know you were joining the Harem.”

“Some things are better kept secret,” Hadrian teases. Theo laughs easily. “You didn’t mention anything either.”

“Touché.”

A light, melodic voice chimes in. “The stars predicted a gathering of great minds today.” Luna stands there, the Lovegood family sigil—crossed quills over an open parchment—etched on her robes.

“Always trust the stars, right Luna?” Hadrian chuckles.

She smiles, her dreamy eyes twinkling. “Always.” Luna keeps her gaze on him as if seeing his soul. “Hadrian, your aura today is a vibrant shade of determined lavender.”

Hadrian offers her a warm smile. While many find her oddity disconcerting, he only ever feels a sense of peace in her serene presence. Her silver-blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and her eyes seem to pierce through the superficiality of their surroundings.

She beams, her distinctive radish earrings swaying gently. “Oh, this is going to be such an exciting day, don’t you think?”

Before Hadrian can respond, a cool, crisp voice interjects. “Exciting if you’re not here merely as a formality,” says Daphne Greengrass. 

She stands impeccably in grey robes adorned with the Greengrass emblem—a verdant meadow with a rising sun. Her blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, and her cerulean eyes hold a glint of ambition.

Hadrian raises an eyebrow, offering her a nod. “Greengrass.”

“Potter-Black.” She returns tersely.

“Any ideas about the first test?” Hadrian glances around, seeking to dispel the thickening air.

Theodore muses, “I’ve heard whispers that it’s designed by the Emperor himself, so I don’t expect it to be easy.”

Hadrian knows, of course. 

Emery has told him that it involves a duel among other things. Hadrian feels grateful for his friend’s discretion.

“Perhaps a test of combat prowess in the form of a duel?” Luna adds, her eyes reflecting the lingering light of the sky, especially brilliant following yesterday’s rains.

Hadrian’s heart skips a beat at Luna’s intuitive comment. He wonders about the trials because being assessed by criteria set by the Emperor himself is no small matter.

Theodore turns to Hadrian, curiosity in his gaze. “Hadrian, you seem a touch unnerved. Any inklings you wish to share?”

Hadrian chuckles softly, deflecting with a light shrug. “Merely pondering the possibilities. With the Emperor’s hand in it, anything can be on the horizon.”

As Theodore opens his mouth to respond, the deep, sonorous sound of a gong reverberates, silencing all chatter.

“It’s time,” Daphne murmurs, her voice trembling slightly.

The quartet exchange final glances. Some of understanding, some of competition, some of genuine concern. But all are united by a palpable sense of anticipation.

“The Emperor’s challenges await. I wonder what dreams they might bring forth,” Luna muses, tilting her head.

Theodore chuckles, trying to lighten the atmosphere, “Dreams or nightmares, Lovegood?”

“We shall see.”

As they make their way to the starting point, Hadrian feels the weight of legacy and ambition on his shoulders. He can’t let his family or himself down. The Celestial Palace, with its luminescent beauty, stands not just as a testament to magical prowess but as a crucible where futures are forged. And as the next gong sounds, signalling the beginning of the trials, Hadrian takes a deep breath, ready to meet destiny head-on.

***

The anticipation is palpable, a thick blanket of tension over the participants. The Head Eunuch stands atop the dais, his presence commanding, making the grand announcement. “The first test will not just assess your knowledge but the essence of your magical core and your ability to apply it.”

Whispers erupt among the participants. Three parts, each unique, each testing different facets of their magical being.

Hadrian exchanges glances with his friends. The first part is straightforward: duelling—a physical demonstration of magical prowess. The second, potion brewing, requires precision, knowledge, and intuition. But the third part, the secret task given in a private setting, is enigmatic and could be anything.

Before they can display their duelling skills, they need to understand the strength of their magical core through the Core Test.

The courtyard transforms. 

Stone platforms rise from the ground, standing before ornate, rune-covered obelisks that pulse with mysterious energy. One by one, participants approach, placing their hands on the obelisk. A luminescent number appears above them, indicating the strength of their magical core. Murmurs fill the air as scores flash—52, 67, 73, 45, 80...

Silence falls as Hadrian approaches the towering obelisk. 

It stands, a monolithic testament to magical prowess, its aura pulsating, waiting for the next participant. Taking a deep breath, Hadrian presses his palm flat against the cold, beautifully carved surface. The obelisk shimmers for a split second, recognizing the depth of magic it is gauging.

The number ‘98.7’ etches itself into existence, glowing brightly. 

An audible gasp sweeps through the crowd. Whispers buzz like a hive of bees as people calculate the implications.

The implications of such a high score quickly dawns on the gathering. The rules stipulate that participants will duel a Knight corresponding to their score. Many in the audience quickly flip through their parchments, trying to correlate the score with the list of available Knights. But no Knight in the Emperor’s Palace has a magical core strength above 95. This presents an unforeseen complication.

The Head Eunuch steps forward, robes billowing in the gentle evening breeze, drawing the attention of the masses. 

He clears his throat with an air of authority and proclaims, “Given this extraordinary demonstration of magical prowess, an exception shall be made. Heir Potter-Black shall duel with the most revered and skilled Knight in the entire expanse of the Emperor’s realm.”

The atmosphere thickens with anticipation. The most skilled Knight is a legend, undefeated in combat, his skills honed to perfection over the decades. The duelling area materialises in the centre of the courtyard. A circular platform surrounded by protective wards, ensuring that the duel remains contained and spectators remain safe.

Hadrian steps onto the platform, his eyes focused, his posture relaxed but alert. From the opposite side, the Knight emerges. Clad in armour that seems to absorb the light around it, with a helm obscuring his face, he looks every bit the formidable opponent he is reputed to be.

The Head Eunuch raises his hand, and the duel begins.

“Expelliarmus!” The Knight shouts, initiating the duel with a disarming spell.

Hadrian responds with a “Protego!” creating a shield that deflects the spell.

Spells fly, a dance of light and shadow. Hadrian’s spells, precise and powerful, meet the Knight’s equally formidable defences. The Knight unleashes a barrage of advanced spells, pushing Hadrian to his limits.

But Hadrian’s high score isn’t just for show. 

He dodges, deflects, and counter-attacks, reading the Knight’s moves, predicting his strategies. The duel is a beautiful, lethal ballet—every feint, every spell, a testament to their skill and training.

There comes a moment when Hadrian’s restraint is tested. The Knight, recognizing Hadrian’s pattern of defence and offence, casts a rapid “Petrificus Totalus!” aiming to bind Hadrian in place.

Hadrian senses the danger, subtly deflects the spell without a word or wand movement, causing a brief flicker of confusion in the Knight’s eyes.

Time seems to slow. The crowd is on the edge of their seats, every eye fixed on the unfolding duel. Each explosion, each flash of light, echoes in the vast courtyard, a testimony to the power being unleashed.

Hadrian employs a series of complex spells. Using “Confundo,” he momentarily disoriented the Knight, followed by “Levicorpus,” lifting him off the ground. 

The Knight then counters with “Liberacorpus,” landing gracefully back on his feet.

The entire courtyard is ensnared in the electrifying pulse of the duel. Every flicker of spell light, every incantation uttered, is mirrored in the rapt faces of the audience. The air vibrates with the raw power the two duelists emanate, their figures illuminated by the stark contrast of the arcane energies clashing.

Hadrian concentrates deeply, sweat beading on his brow. He lets the ebb and flow of the duel guide his actions. Drawing on his knowledge, he conjures a barrage of spells, each more intricate than the last. They fly from his wand in a dazzling display, painting the evening in hues of blues, reds, and silvers, pushing the Knight back step by step.

The ground beneath them rumbles and cracks as Hadrian channels his magic, willing ethereal chains to rise and bind. These chains, gleaming with a soft iridescence, snake rapidly towards the Knight, their intent clear.

However, the Knight’s reflexes are impeccable. A chant, uttered in a deep resonant tone, creates a barrier that the chains collide with, bursting into a cascade of sparks. But in that very moment, that fraction of a second when the Knight’s defences are focused on the chains, Hadrian capitalises.

With dexterity that speaks of countless hours of practice, he executes a masterful feint followed by the Disarming Spell, catching the Knight off guard. The Knight’s wand soars through the air, landing several feet away.

A heavy, palpable silence blankets the courtyard, broken only by the soft panting breaths of the two combatants.

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Hadrian pants but stands tall, offers a hand to the Knight, who accepts it with a nod of respect. The Knight removes his helm, revealing a face marked by years of combat but eyes that mhine with respect.

The Head Eunuch steps forward and declares, “This duel will be remembered for ages. Not just for the display of magical prowess but for the spirit of respect and sportsmanship.”

Hadrian bows, acknowledging the applause and the cheers. But in his heart, he knows that the trials have only just begun. He has faced the mightiest Knight and emerged victorious, but the challenges ahead are unknown.

And he must be prepared for anything.

***

In the Celestial Palace’s grand potion chamber, rows of cauldrons sit on enchanted flames that flicker in unnatural colours. Vials and jars, filled with ingredients from the common to the magical, line the ornate shelves. The air is thick with the scent of herbs, minerals, and the elusive fragrance of magic.

Hadrian takes a deep breath, centering himself. He has always had a talent for potions, an art that requires precision, patience, and intuition. Much of his skill comes from his mentor, Severus Snape, or Uncle Sev as he calls him. 

Snape’s lessons have always been intense and demanding, with no room for error.

His mother, Lily, was delighted with the tutelage, often reminiscing about her own school days with Snape. His father, James, remained silent, unease flickering in his eyes whenever Snape was mentioned.

Today’s challenge is the Draught of Living Death, a potion that demands utmost precision and control. A single mistake can turn its intended effect from deep sleep to something far more dangerous.

Hadrian clears his mind, recalling Snape’s instructions. “Remember,” Snape’s voice echoes in his mind, “a potion is as much about intent as it is about ingredients.”

He starts by adding the sopophorous beans, using a silver knife to cut and squeeze the juice out of them. 

Timing is crucial. 

Too fast, and the essence is lost; too slow, and the potency diminishes.

As he crushes the wormwood, he remembers Snape’s firm but gentle grip, ensuring the right consistency. The cauldron’s contents shift from bright blue to muted lilac, signalling the next step.

Each ingredient is added with care: the valerian roots, the sloth brain, and a tiny petal from the rare Moonlily, which shimmers in the dim light. Every stir, clockwise and counter-clockwise, is done with precision.

Hours seem to pass in moments. The chamber, filled with bubbling cauldrons and the focused faces of participants, feels both tense and timeless.

Finally, as the last ingredient settles into the cauldron, Hadrian watches the liquid transform into the perfect shade of lilac, signalling the successful creation of the Draught of Living Death.

He draws a vial of the potion and submits it for evaluation. The potion mistress, an elderly witch with sharp eyes and a sharper mind, scrutinises it. Her eyes soften in appreciation as she nods at Hadrian.

His heart swells with pride. 

The meticulous lessons, the hours in Snape’s dimly lit potion lab, and the countless vials of failed attempts culminate in this moment of success. 

The Draught of Living Death is no easy feat, but under the guidance of one of the best Potion Masters and with his own determination, Hadrian prevails.

***

Hadrian steps into the dimly lit chamber, the weight of expectation heavy. The room is circular, with walls adorned in deep blues and golds. Stars and moons shimmer softly. At the centre stands the Head Eunuch, an imposing figure despite his age, dressed in intricate silken robes that whisper of ancient secrets.

“Heir Potter-Black,” the Head Eunuch begins, his voice a soft rasp that carries resonance, “The final test of the First Trial awaits.”

Hadrian draws a steadying breath and nods. “I am ready.”

In this world of magic, the Patronus Charm holds a special place. It is not just about casting a spell but summoning one’s deepest strengths and happiest memories to manifest a protective force. It reflects one’s soul. 

The only time a Patronus changes is when the caster falls in true love.

“Show me your Patronus.” The Head Eunuch instructs with sharp eyes.

Recalling his happiest memories, Hadrian focuses. 

The feeling of his mother’s embrace, his father’s proud gaze, playful banters with his friends, and moments of triumph. His wand moves rhythmically, the incantation forming on his lips.

“Expecto Patronum!”

From the tip of his wand erupts a blinding, silvery-white light. It takes shape, growing in size and form until a majestic Phoenix soars around the room, its wingspan casting vast shadows. Its light illuminates the darkest corners. The sight is breathtaking; the sheer size and luminosity of the Patronus speak volumes about Hadrian’s power and purity of spirit.

The Head Eunuch, usually unflappable, stares in awe. “By the ancient stars,” he whispers. “I have never seen a Patronus of such magnitude.”

The Phoenix glides smoothly, landing beside Hadrian, its ethereal form shimmering, eyes filled with wisdom and strength.

“The Phoenix represents rebirth, rising from ashes,” Hadrian says, gazing fondly at his Patronus, “and enduring even the harshest adversities.”

“Your Patronus, Heir Potter-Black, is not just a protective force.” The Head Eunuch nods in agreement, visibly moved. “It is a declaration, a statement of your spirit’s indomitable strength.”

As the Phoenix slowly dissolves into wisps of silver mist, Hadrian feels a swell of pride and determination. The Phoenix’s flight reaffirms his resolve. It is a symbol of his ever-burning spirit, ready to rise, always.

Whatever lies ahead, he is ready.

June 4th, 1998

The Grand Hall of the Celestial Palace, a masterpiece of gleaming alabaster marble interspersed with delicate veins of gold, hums with restless energy. Under the opulent chandeliers, the hopeful and anxious faces of participants exchange whispers. Their earlier confidence from the first trial now replaced with taut anticipation.

A herald, resplendent in deep emerald robes trimmed with shimmering gold, ascends the dais. As he raises his hand, an enchanting silence settles over the hall, so profound that one can almost hear the palace itself breathe.

“In this illustrious competition,” he begins, his rich baritone voice enveloping every corner of the expansive hall, “we have witnessed a plethora of talents. From duelling mastery to the delicate art of potion-making, many have showcased promise. Yet, only a select few have truly dazzled.”

He unfurls a scroll and starts announcing names. For each name not called, the weight of crushed dreams is palpable, their journey in the Selection ending there. For those named, it’s a mix of relief, pride, and renewed hope.

“Theodore Nott... Luna Lovegood... Daphne Greengrass…”

Hadrian feels a comforting warmth hearing his friends’ names. Yet, the mention of Greengrass brings a barely noticeable clench to his jaw.

“And... Hadrian Potter-Black.”

A murmur of appreciation ripples through the hall, recognizing the young wizard’s exceptional performance.

Once the herald’s voice fades and the final names settle, palace attendants gracefully approach those chosen, guiding them to their luxurious chambers. Those not chosen face the sombre reality of their journey’s end, their dreams of being part of the harem dissolved.

“I knew you’d make it through, Hadrian,” Theodore leans towards Hadrian with a smirk. “Didn’t think Lovegood had it in her though.”

“Every cloud has its silver lining, Theodore. Just as every Nargle has its Wrackspurt,” Luna responds, in her usual dreamy tone.

“Let’s hope your luck holds out, Potter-Black. The next round might not be as forgiving,” Daphne remarks, shooting Hadrian a challenging glance.

Raising an eyebrow with a playful glint in his otherwise steely gaze, Hadrian counters, “I’m always up for a challenge, Greengrass.” He leans in closer, his voice a hushed murmur, “It’s a memory you should keep fresh.”

Daphne shoots him a piercing look, but Hadrian’s smirk only broadens. She is all too aware of the incident he alludes to.

***

The grandeur of the Celestial Palace leaves Hadrian in awe. Every corridor pulses with ancient magic, winding and twisting in impossible patterns. Each room holds its own mystery, defying reality. As he wanders, the walls whisper tales of the past, adorned with moving portraits of distinguished Slytherin ancestors, each pausing to regard Hadrian with a curious gaze.

His quarters are the epitome of luxury. A vast canopy bed stands regally at the centre, draped in shimmering indigo and silver. Enchanted windows transform the ambiance at will, currently filtering silvery moonlight that casts ephemeral shadows on the room’s surfaces.

What truly captures Hadrian’s heart is the balcony. It overlooks the enchanted gardens, where rare moonflowers unfurl their petals under the moon’s glow and serene pools reflect the starlit skies. The gentle breeze carries whispers of ancient spells, making time seem to stand still.

Feeling the weight of the trials and expectations on his shoulders, Hadrian leans against the balustrade, letting the tranquillity envelop him. A soft melody reaches his ears–Luna is humming an old lullaby from the room next to his.

“Goodnight, Hadrian.” She calls out in her whimsical tone, “May your dreams be filled with moon frogs dancing on starlit seas.”

He chuckles, appreciating the comfort her words bring. “And may your night be Nargle-free and filled with dreams as wonderfully peculiar as you, Luna.”

As the night blankets the world around him, Hadrian eases into his bed, letting the events of the day drift away as he succumbs to a deep, restorative sleep.

June 5th, 1998

The sun’s first rays barely touch the spires of the Celestial Palace when Hadrian wakes to the soft chimes of an enchanted clock. The day of the second trial has dawned. Expecting a test of magic or skill, he is surprised to be led to a quieter, more intimate section of the palace.

The chamber he enters emits a gentle glow, its walls adorned with beautiful murals of tranquil meadows and streams. Despite the peaceful ambiance, there is a serious air to the room. At its centre stands the Royal Healer, a venerable figure with deep, understanding eyes. Beside him are two handmaidens, their faces neutral and professional.

“Heir Potter-Black,” the healer greets with a measured nod. “Today’s test is different but crucial. It is for the continuity of the Slytherin magical line.”

Hadrian frowns in confusion, but the healer continues, “We will be conducting a health and fertility assessment. The Emperor seeks not only powerful and intellectual individuals for his harem but also those who can perpetuate strong magical legacies.”

After a thorough examination to ensure Hadrian is free of any maladies or magical disparities, the Royal Healer begins the fertility ritual. This ancient tradition, crafted by top magical practitioners, assesses the potency and longevity of one’s bloodline.

Hadrian feels the gentle ebb and flow of the healer’s magic as he chants. It feels like cool water, flowing through him, seeking, probing, and assessing. It isn’t painful, but it is deeply personal, leaving Hadrian feeling exposed in a way he hadn’t expected.

When the ritual ends, the healer turns to a glowing crystal sphere. Figures and sigils swirl within, coalescing to present Hadrian’s outcome.

The Royal Healer studies the results with a mix of curiosity and professional admiration. “A commendable score of 94,” he announces, his tone full of praise and significance. “This indicates your remarkable health and high fertility, Heir Potter-Black.”

Relief washes over Hadrian, lifting a weight he hadn’t realised he’d been carrying, so he just nods.

After that the discussion about his intersex traits is handled with utmost professionalism, treated as just one facet of his complex genetic makeup. In the magical world, especially under the Emperor’s rule where talent and capability matter most, physical attributes are less of a concern than one’s magical prowess and legacy potential.

With this introspective trial behind him, Hadrian prepares for the forthcoming challenges, his resilience and spirit undiminished. Yet, he wrestles with the emotions evoked by this overwhelmingly intimate assessment.

***

Hadrian enters his assigned chamber in the Celestial Palace. A mix of emotions churning inside him. The lavish room feels suffocating with its silk hangings and gilded details. He feels like a specimen, dissected and observed.

A gentle tap on the door snaps him back to the present. It’s June, his loyal Potter family maid, holding a tray. On it sits a teapot with a cup and saucer. The soothing aroma of chamomile fills the air.

“You look like you could use this, master,” June says softly, pouring the tea. Her sisterly demeanour is just what Hadrian needs.

Gratefully, he accepts the cup, feeling the warmth spread through his hands. “Thank you, June. The examination... it was more intrusive than I expected.”

June nods, understanding. “It’s a deeply personal thing, Master Hadrian. Being judged on such criteria is never easy.”

Taking a sip, he lets the tea’s gentle flavour calm him. “It’s not just the evaluation. It’s the feeling of being so exposed, so defenceless. Like every part of me is under a magnifying glass.”

June reaches out in a rare gesture, and touches his hand reassuringly. In this private moment, societal norms fade away.

“Remember, Master Hadrian, you are more than a score on the board. You are the legacy of two great families, the culmination of generations of knowledge and power.”

“I know, June,” Hadrian smiles weakly. “It’s just... hard sometimes.”

“Everything worth having is hard-fought, young master,” June’s eyes twinkle. “You have faced challenges before, and you will face more. But in the end, you’ll emerge stronger, wiser. You always have.”

They sit in silence for a while, sipping the calming tea, letting its warmth fill the void. Moments like these, moments of vulnerability and support, reminds Hadrian that he is never truly alone.

***

After June leaves, Hadrian sits in the calm of his chamber, letting the day's weight settle over him. The tea’s warmth lingers, but his thoughts swirl. The test has probed not just his physical traits but also his deepest vulnerabilities.

He walks to the window, gazing at the Emperor’s domain, the moonlight casting a silver glow over the palace gardens. The sheer opulence is a testament to the power and prestige of being part of the Emperor’s Harem.

Being scrutinised is never easy, especially on such personal levels. Despite the discomfort, Hadrian knows this is just one of many trials he will face.

Amid the storm of emotions, a determined flame burns within him. He is here not just to find a place in the Harem but to carve his own legacy in a world defined by power and politics. The challenges are many, but Hadrian is no stranger to adversity.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, centering himself. The weight of his lineage, the expectations, his goals, and aspirations—all are stepping stones to his ultimate aim. 

With each passing day, he gets closer. 

Whatever the future holds, Hadrian Potter-Black is ready, armed with resilience, intelligence, and an unwavering spirit.

Chapter Text

June 8th, 1998 : The Third Trial

The Celestial Palace’s Examination Hall, a vast chamber with arched windows flooding it with sunlight, was arranged with rows of ornate desks, each accompanied by a quill that glowed faintly. The chamber’s grandeur and meticulous arrangement spoke of the importance of the test that lay ahead.

The room was buzzing with nervous energy as the participants settled at their designated desks. As Hadrian sat, the weight of the previous tests fresh in his mind, he took a few deep breaths to centre himself. He knew that while magical prowess was crucial, intelligence and the ability to apply knowledge were equally valued.

Beside Hadrian, Luna hummed a soft tune, seemingly unfazed by the impending challenge. “Do you think they’ll ask about Nargles?” she whispered whimsically to him, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on a fluttering quill.

Hadrian chuckled softly, “If they do, you’ll ace that question for sure, Luna.”

Across the aisle, Theodore muttered to himself, reviewing an advanced Arithmancy formula. Catching Hadrian’s glance, he remarked with a smirk, “Just imagine if they asked about the Flamel Paradox, Hadrian. Half the room would faint .”

“At least we spent that entire weekend unravelling it. Thank Merlin, we didn’t get that question in our NEWTS,” Hadrian grinned. “Though if they ask about the Wyvern’s Enigma, we might be in trouble.”

The written exam began with a soft chime, and a heavy parchment materialised before each participant. Hadrian took another grounding breath, remembering the words of his tutors: “It’s not just about what you know, but how you apply it.”

As he scanned the first question, involving a multi-layered Arithmancy calculation, his mind whirred into action. Each subsequent question was like navigating a labyrinth — some passages were familiar, some required a leap of intuition, and others demanded a deep dive into the reservoir of his knowledge. 

Pansy Parkinson, a few desks away, let out an audible sigh of frustration, her brow furrowing as she tried to decipher a particularly cryptic potion ingredient.

Hadrian was met with an array of complex questions from subjects spanning Arithmancy to Advanced Transfiguration, from the intricacies of Magical Law to the depths of Ancient Runes. The questions were designed not just to test knowledge, but analytical ability, critical thinking, and problem-solving skills.

Hadrian, channelling all his years of rigorous studies and his innate thirst for knowledge, delved into the questions with focus and precision. His quill danced across the parchment, answers flowing seamlessly. Complex mathematical problems, rune translations, and hypothetical scenarios in Magical Law – he tackled each with determination and flair.

Two hours into the test, he encountered a particularly tricky question about interdimensional travel in theoretical charms. Scribbling down complex diagrams and notations, he recalled a similar scenario discussed during one of his late-night study sessions with Hermione and Theodore.

As the chimes signalled the end of the written exam, the room let out a collective exhale and Hadrian felt a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. The questions had stretched the limits of his knowledge, but he felt confident in his answers.

Theo leaned over, whispering to Hadrian, “What did you make of the interspatial Apparition conundrum?”

“Ah, the joys of challenging one’s brain,” Hadrian grinned, “Let’s just say I hope I Apparated to the right conclusion.”

Theodore chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, that question had me stumped for a bit. Thought I’d lost my touch.”

Hadrian raised an eyebrow, teasingly. “Did the great Theodore Nott finally meet his match in a theoretical question?”

“More like a temporary blip in my otherwise flawless record,” Theo replied with mock arrogance, earning a laugh from Hadrian.

Luna, overhearing their exchange, dreamily added, “The spaces between spaces are always the most intriguing, aren’t they? I’d like to think there’s a realm full of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks just beyond our reach.”

Both boys exchanged amused glances. Hadrian responded, “And who knows, Luna? Maybe one day, we’ll find a way to get there.”

Theo nodded, “Until then, we’ll just have to content ourselves with these mind-bending exam questions.”

       The oral exam, held in a more intimate setting, was an even more intense experience. Facing a panel of eminent witches and wizards, each an expert in their respective fields, Hadrian was bombarded with questions. They ranged from moral dilemmas in potion-making to hypothetical situations in magical diplomacy.

“Mr. Potter-Black,” began one of the panellists, a stern-looking witch with sharp features. “If you were faced with a situation where breaking a law would result in saving lives, would you choose law over life?”

Hadrian, pausing to gather his thoughts, replied. “Laws are meant to serve and protect life. If a situation arises where the law hinders that very purpose, then one must prioritise life, all the while understanding the consequences of such a decision.”

The panel nodded, some visibly impressed.

Master Elphias, a legend in Magical Creatures’ studies, asked the next question. “If you were to encounter a Lethifold and a Dementor at the same time, which would you consider the more immediate threat and why?”

“A Lethifold, while lethal, primarily seeks sustenance. A Dementor not only feeds on a person’s very soul but spreads despair,” Hadrian responded. “I’d consider the Dementor the greater immediate threat due to its psychological impact, potentially incapacitating one’s ability to fend off the Lethifold.”

A murmur of agreement spread among the panel. The questions that followed were a whirlwind: intricate wand movements, the ethics behind certain dark spells, and situational responses to magical crises.

At one point, Lady Morgana Estwell, an Muggleborn witch expert in dark arts, leaned forward, her piercing gaze on Hadrian. “You come across a forbidden tome that holds the power to resurrect the dead. Would you use it?”

“The allure of such power is undeniable. But resurrection alters the natural order. I believe in moving forward, cherishing memories, not altering the past,” Hadrian replied, without hesitation.

Exiting the circular chamber, Hadrian found himself in a corridor adorned with moving portraits of past magical scholars. Their murmured discussions about arcane topics became a background hum as he processed the gauntlet of questions he’d faced. Each query had been a window into the vast world of magical philosophy and ethics, and his answers had revealed as much about him as they had his knowledge.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Luna, her usually dreamy eyes sharp with the day’s intensity. “That was quite the display, Harry,” she remarked, her tone filled with admiration.

“Thank you, Luna,” Hadrian replied, trying to keep his tone even. “I was surprised by some of the questions. They really dug deep, didn’t they?”

Theodore approached, nodding in agreement. “That question about the resurrection tome? Brutal. But you handled it with grace.”

Hadrian’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Well, Uncle Sev always said, ‘Know your principles, and you’ll find your answers’.”

The three walked side by side, discussing the various questions, comparing their answers, and speculating about the next phases. As they reached the grand courtyard, an enchanted scoreboard shimmered into existence. Participants’ scores began to materialise, the numbers gleaming like stars.

Hadrian, Theo, and Luna watched in tense anticipation. When “Hadrian Potter-Black: 290/300” lit up, a collective gasp echoed. Whispers filled the air, ricocheting off the grand walls of the Celestial Palace. “The highest score…” , “Truly a Potter and a Black…” , “The Emperor will surely take notice.”

Just as the murmurs reached a crescendo, a trumpet’s blare cut through the air, silencing the crowd. From the main archway, a herald, draped in the royal colours of the palace, strode forward with an air of purpose. Holding a scroll of parchment, he unrolled it with a practised hand, cleared his throat, and began to speak in a voice that commanded attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, wizards and witches,” he began, his voice echoing in the expansive courtyard, “the scores displayed bear testament to your abilities, your knowledge, and your magical prowess. However, in the quest for excellence, we must make the difficult choices.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing, “Those who have achieved a score below 150, I regret to inform you that your journey to join the Emperor’s esteemed Harem has come to an end. We commend your efforts and thank you for your participation.”

A palpable sense of disappointment permeated the air as those who had been eliminated made their solemn exit, heads held high, but the weight of their dreams momentarily crushed.

Turning to the remaining aspirants, the herald’s tone shifted from sombre to uplifting. “To those who continue in this esteemed Selection, I congratulate you. Prepare yourself, for the next trial awaits, and it promises to challenge you in ways you have yet to fathom.”

Feeling a mix of exhaustion, exhilaration, and trepidation about the subsequent stages, Hadrian was pulled into an embrace by both Luna and Theodore. The trio, standing strong amidst a sea of onlookers, embodied the spirit of unity, determination, and the relentless pursuit of knowledge.

As night draped the Celestial Palace, the twinkling stars seemed to mirror the glowing scores below, binding the participants in a tapestry of dreams, aspirations, and the promise of tomorrow.

June 10th, 1998 : A Little Respite

In the heart of the Celestial Palace lay its gardens — a sprawling tapestry of vivid colours, intricate designs, and magical wonders. Azure pathways snaked through beds of luminescent moonflowers and shimmering starpetals, while silver willow trees with cascading tendrils swayed gently, creating a symphony with the whispering winds. 

In a secluded nook, surrounded by a gentle babbling brook and a grove of night-blooming jasmine, three young wixens reclined on a soft blanket of enchanted grass that adjusted its cushioning based on their comfort.

Hadrian’s gaze was drawn to the fireflies that danced above the waters, their glow reminiscent of the spells cast during late-night practices at Hogwarts. Luna, in her usual ethereal demeanour, lay with her fingers interlaced behind her head, her silvery blonde hair spread out like a halo. Theodore, meanwhile, absentmindedly fiddled with a magical rose that changed colours based on one’s mood.

“Do you remember our first-year potions mishap?” Hadrian started with a chuckle, referring to the time when Neville’s potion turned luminescent and made everyone’s hair glow in the dark.

Theo laughed. “Oh, Snape wasn’t pleased. It took hours before the effect wore off. The Great Hall looked like a rave party that evening!”

Luna, with her characteristic dreamy smile, chimed in. “And then there was the time Gilderoy Lockhart tried to teach us how to dance for the Valentine’s Day Ball. Ended up turning his shoes into bouncy springs.”

Hadrian laughed heartily at the memory. “Poor Lockhart, he hopped around like a rabbit for hours around the Great Hall before Flitwick could reverse the spell.”

“And speaking of the Great Hall, who could forget the Yule Ball fiasco?” Theo mimicked a high-pitched voice. “When Cormac McLaggen ended up floating because he thought levitation would be a great dance move.”

Hadrian burst into laughter. “He hung from the ceiling like a Christmas ornament, swinging to the music.”

“And then there was the time we tried to study Nargles in the Room of Requirement, and it turned into a winter wonderland.” Luna’s lilting voice added.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the gardens in twilight hues, the trio cherished this rare moment of respite. Their shared laughter and stories were a balm, a reminder of their enduring bonds.

For in the looming shadow of the Selection, it was these moments, these shared memories, that would give them the strength to face whatever came next.

June 12th, 1998 : The Fourth Trial

The Celestial Palace’s grand ballroom, a venue often echoing with the laughter of grand feasts and elegant galas, had been magically transformed into an awe-inspiring replica of the Emperor’s court. Glistening chandeliers, resembling a cascade of moonlit raindrops, dangled from the ornate ceilings. The walls were enveloped in rich, velvety purples and shimmering golds, capturing the undeniable grandeur and opulence reminiscent of royal gatherings.

Around the perimeter stood tables, decadently laden with an array of culinary masterpieces and fine wines in crystalline goblets, each sparkling under the ambient light, a testament to the court’s boundless affluence. At the heart of it all, the mock court buzzed with activity. Nobles, diplomats, the elite of the society, both genuine and those assuming roles for the evening, weaved in and out of conversations. 

The atmosphere was thick with intrigue: laughter, hushed secrets, and the delicate chime of toasting glasses blended into a symphony of political theatre. Every shared smile concealed a strategy, every nod signalled a clandestine agreement.

Making his grand entrance, Hadrian looked every bit the royal heir. His intricately tailored robes, featuring the masterfully embroidered crests of both the Potter and Black families, trailed behind him, whispering tales of legacy and prestige. The glint of his robes and the commanding presence he held seemed to magnetically pull gazes towards him, exactly as he had intended. In this labyrinth of power play, appearances mattered greatly.

Recalling the stories of the Black family’s tactical genius and the Potter’s diplomatic finesse, Hadrian set his sights on his primary target for the night - Duchess Esmeralda Fell. Her reputation of having information channels running deep within the court’s underbelly was legendary. 

Approaching her with grace, he remarked, “Your Grace, your rose gardens are the talk of many courts. Truly, they are reflections of your impeccable taste and grandeur.”

“Why thank you, young Hadrian. Coming from a wizard of such stature, that means a lot,” The Duchess responded with a smile playing on her lips.

However, the night was not without its proverbial thorns. Lord Castellan, notorious for his sly tactics, clad in deep peacock blue robes that accentuated his piercing eyes, glided towards Hadrian. His reputation preceded him — a mix of charm and opportunism. With a suggestive tilt of his head, he tried to unnerve Hadrian, murmuring. “An heir of two houses, yet still so... untouched by the court’s games?”

Hadrian masked his distaste with a smile, and replied. “I prefer to play chess, my lord, not be a pawn in someone else’s game.” The surrounding nobles chuckled, clearly indicating a point scored for Hadrian.

The night progressed, and Hadrian’s dance through the court was a masterclass in politics. He brokered deals with the influential, sidestepped scandals set as traps, and skillfully manoeuvred through treacherous conversations. At one point, a certain Lord Percival, in a bold move, tried to corner him with an accusation about a supposed debt of the Potters. Hadrian, with a flick of his wand, produced an ancient scroll proving the debt’s settlement generations ago.

The pinnacle of the evening, however, was his unexpected yet insightful discourse on the delicate geopolitical balance amongst magical empires. Lord Wraith commented, “Your grasp on international relations is commendable, young Potter-Black. A true asset to any court.”

As the grand clock chimed half-past two, signalling the end of this magnificent charade, murmurs of admiration for Hadrian filled the air. It was clear that the dual heir had not just inherited titles and wealth, but also the strategic brilliance and allure that once made the Potters and Blacks the talk of many a court.

June 13th, 1998 : At Dawn They Go

The Celestial Palace’s quarters provided to Hadrian for his stay were nothing short of opulent. The room, bathed in hues of deep blue and silver, was adorned with artwork from around the empire. A canopied bed with intricate carvings of magical beasts stood in one corner, while an ornate desk holding a variety of quills and inks was placed by the window.

Hadrian awoke to the soft chirping of magical birds, their melodies resonating from a golden cage hanging near the balcony. The sun’s first light streamed through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a warm golden hue on everything. He stretched, feeling the weight of the past days’ events. Every muscle, every thought had been strained to its limits. And now, the ultimate challenge awaited.

The soft footsteps of June drew his attention. With a gentle knock, she entered, a tray in hand bearing a steaming teapot and cup. “Good morning, Master Hadrian,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “I’ve brought your favourite Earl Grey tea. Thought you might need it after yesterday.”

Accepting the cup gratefully, Hadrian took a moment to savour the familiar aroma. “Thank you, June. Any news about the participants?”

June hesitated for a moment, then said. “Ten participants were sent away at dawn. The palace is abuzz with whispers. Only twenty remain now, including you.”

Hadrian’s heart raced. The competition had been fierce, and every participant had been exceptional in their own right. That he had made it this far was a testament to his skills, but the final task was uncharted territory.

“And the final task?” He inquired, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice.

June cleared her throat. “You, along with the others, will be presented before Emperor Slytherin, his esteemed Concubines, and the entire royal court at the Imperial Slytherin Palace. It is said that the Emperor himself will judge this task.”

Hadrian swallowed hard. Standing before the ruler of the empire, the most powerful wizard in the known world, was a prospect that would unnerve even the bravest.

But as he sipped his tea, Hadrian found a strange sense of calm descending upon him. He had come this far, faced myriad challenges, and emerged stronger. The Emperor’s gaze would be intense, his judgement final. But Hadrian was prepared to face it with the same determination and poise that had carried him through every trial so far.

Gazing out of the window, watching the sun rise higher in the sky, a new day dawning, Hadrian felt a deep resolve forming. The final task awaited, and he was ready.

June 15th, 1998 : The Final Trial

The dawn of June 15th brought with it an air of anticipation and tension. The skies above the Celestial Palace were awash with soft hues of lavender and pink, but within its walls, the atmosphere was palpable with bated breaths and hushed murmurs.

Hadrian, ensconced in a robe of pure white that accentuated his lithe figure and sharp features, stood by the window of his quarters. The robe was simplistic, yet every fold, every stitch was exuded with elegance. His family’s sigils — those of the Potters and the Blacks — were embroidered near his heart in golden thread, shimmering softly. His vibrant green eyes, usually filled with mischief or determination, today held a mix of anxiety and excitement.

Outside, the gentle clopping of hooves signalled the arrival of the carriage that would ferry him to the monumental Imperial Slytherin Palace. Taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions within him, Hadrian stepped outside. The short journey was spent in reflection, memories of his Hogwarts days, of friends and challenges faced, flashing before him.

The Imperial Slytherin Palace was an architectural marvel, an epitome of magical craftsmanship. Tall spires reached for the heavens, gargoyles with piercing eyes stood sentinel, and large stained-glass windows depicted the great moments of magical history. As Hadrian’s carriage pulled into the grand entrance, he was greeted by the sight of rows of guards adorned in dark green and silver uniforms, their wands at the ready, standing in impeccable formation.

Within the palace, in an opulently decorated waiting chamber, other participants murmured among themselves. Some offered words of encouragement, while others practised deep breathing exercises, trying to control their nerves. Hadrian chose a silent corner, closing his eyes and mentally preparing himself. He visualised the grand throne room, the imposing figure of the Emperor, the scrutinising gaze of the concubines, and the hushed silence of the courtiers.

The minutes felt like hours. The weight of the moment, the magnitude of what lay ahead, pressed down on him. His heart raced, but deep down, a voice whispered words of encouragement, reminding him of his journey, his strengths, and his dreams.

Suddenly, the stillness was shattered by the sharp, crisp voice of a eunuch. “Hadrian Potter-Black, the Emperor awaits you.”

Hadrian’s breath caught in his throat. Every ounce of training, every moment of preparation had led to this. He rose, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound in the now silent chamber.

The double doors to the throne room loomed ahead, ornately carved and gleaming in the torchlight. As they slowly opened, revealing the grandeur within, Hadrian took a moment to gather himself. Beyond those doors lay his fate, his future.

Steeling himself, he took a confident step forward, ready to face the Emperor’s judgement. The doors opened wide, and Hadrian entered, his destiny just moments away.

Inside the grand throne room of the Imperial Slytherin Palace, an imposing figure sat on an elevated dais, the majestic Emperor’s throne cradling him. The throne room was bathed in a soft, radiant glow. Crystal chandeliers hung above, casting prismatic rays around the room, while the walls adorned with enchanted portraits of various Slytherin and Gaunt ancestors observed the ongoing event in silent contemplation.

The Emperor, Thomas Slytherin, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, was an enigmatic presence. Tall, with dark brown hair, piercing red eyes that seemed to penetrate the very soul, and a chiselled jawline that could cut glass. His regal robes, embedded with precious gems and intricate patterns, whispered tales of his unparalleled power and dominance.

As the participants presented themselves one by one, there was a familiar routine. They would approach, bow or curtsy, and wait for a nod of approval or a gesture of dismissal. Yet, as the night progressed, an air of monotony settled in. The Emperor’s visage remained unchanged, his features betraying no emotion. Some participants were promising, but none had the spark, the uniqueness he desired.

However, all that changed when Hadrian Potter-Black made his entrance.

“Hadrian Potter-Black,” the announcer’s voice echoed in the vast hall. “the son and heir of Lord James Potter of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. Blood Adopted son and heir of Lord Sirius Black of the Ancient and Noble House of Black.” 

Hadrian’s presence was magnetic. His vibrant green eyes seemed to glow, contrasting sharply with his raven-black hair. Those eyes, which had witnessed so much, held wisdom and innocence in a captivating dance. His features, delicate yet pronounced, were a testament to his lineage, showcasing the best of both the Potters and the Blacks and something truly unique to him only. 

The Emperor’s gaze fixed on him, observing every nuance, every detail. He noted Hadrian’s confident gait, the way he held his head high, meeting the Emperor’s gaze without flinching. Thomas was aware of the young man’s scores in the trials — they were remarkable, unprecedented. But more than that, there was an aura about Hadrian, a pull that was undeniable.

It wasn’t just the physical allure, although Hadrian was undeniably beautiful. It was the combination of strength, intelligence, and that indefinable charisma. Here was a young man who, despite his age, carried an air of maturity, of depth. Thomas knew of Hadrian’s connections to two of his concubines, and he was familiar with the whispers about Hadrian’s prowess and potential. But seeing him, witnessing his presence, was another experience entirely.

Lord Montague, a close advisor, leaned in, whispering, “He’s rumoured to be unparalleled in duelling and potion-making, Your Majesty.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Impressive scores in the trials, young Potter-Black,” he said, a hint of interest evident in his voice. “Tell me, why do you wish to join my Harem?”

Whispers ran through the court. The Emperor never questioned someone in such a manner. Hadrian, taking a deep breath, replied. “To serve, to learn, and to understand it,” he paused, then added. “And perhaps, to share in its brilliance.”

A subtle shift in the Emperor’s demeanour was observed by the keenest eyes in the room. A tilt of the head, a lingering gaze. The Emperor was visibly impressed, leaned back, absorbing Hadrian’s words. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting his decision. When the time came for the Emperor to make his selections, the court waited with bated breath. 

After a few names were called, a deliberate pause ensued. Then, with a voice that echoed authority and finality, Thomas announced, “Hadrian Potter-Black, I bestow you with the rank of the Sixth Noble.”

The room filled with murmurs. This was unexpected. The rank was a clear distinction, setting Hadrian above the others selected that evening, yet not positioning him at the very top, a calculated decision to placate the more temperamental among the Emperor’s concubines.

Hadrian, maintaining his composed demeanour, bowed deeply, his heart racing. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I promise to uphold the honour and responsibilities this rank demands.” As he rose, his eyes met the Emperor’s, red and green clashed, and in that fleeting moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them. 

This was just the beginning of their intertwined fates.

The selection ceremony had been a spectacle like no other. The grand throne room, with its towering ceilings and vast expanse, had witnessed history in the making. As the event concluded, the new members of the Harem were escorted to their designated chambers within the palace, reflecting on their newfound statuses. They will be transported to their designated palaces in the morning.

Hadrian, now bearing the title of the Sixth Noble, felt a surge of pride and accomplishment. His room, a testament to his newly acquired status, was opulent, with plush furnishings and a breathtaking view of the palace grounds. As he settled in, his thoughts wandered to his friends.

Luna, with her ethereal beauty and unique insights, was a shoo-in. Her naturally inquisitive nature and ability to see beyond the obvious would undoubtedly win her many admirers within the court. She was given the rank of the Third Attendant. 

Theodore, ranked as the Fifth Attendant, with his sharp intellect and keen understanding of courtly manners, was bound to rise through the ranks with time. They both had however received the rank of Attendant, the lowest rank, but Hadrian was sure that would rise above in the coming years.

But then there was Daphne, the Fourth Attendant. Her inclusion was a source of annoyance for Hadrian. Their history, rife with disagreements and confrontations, was no secret. However, even Hadrian couldn’t deny her cunning and charm. As an Attendant, she would have to navigate the intricate web of palace politics, she hadn’t expected such a low rank that much was clear, and Hadrian relished the thought of her struggling to find her footing.

Louis Harper, the Sixth Attendant, was a new face for Hadrian. Though he hadn’t interacted with him much, Hadrian had heard murmurs about Louis’ prowess in magical combat and his diplomatic skills. His inclusion, while not surprising, added an element of unpredictability to the mix.

As night fell, Hadrian stood by his window, wearing one of his most modest nightgowns, observing the palace grounds bathed in silvery moonlight. The weight of the day’s events settled upon him. The path ahead was full of challenges and intrigue, but Hadrian was ready.

The most significant revelation of the day, however, was the Emperor’s evident interest in him. Those intense red eyes that seemed to bore into his soul, the lingering gazes, and the subtle nods of approval – all indicated that Hadrian had caught the attention of the most powerful man in the world. 

The implications of this were vast and yet unknown.

As he drifted into sleep, Hadrian’s thoughts centred on the future, the palace, his friends, and the enigmatic Emperor Thomas Slytherin. He was at the cusp of a new chapter in his life, one that promised power, challenges, and perhaps, if the fates were kind, unparalleled greatness.

Chapter Text

June 16th, 1998

The sun was just beginning its ascent, casting a warm, golden hue over the sprawling grounds of the Imperial Slytherin Palace. Hadrian, freshly attired in robes befitting his new status, was led to the expansive front courtyard. There, a grand carriage awaited, painted in a resplendent shade of blue, with intricate white and floral patterns elegantly etched along its sides, the wheels shimmering with a subtle spell of protection.

The carriage’s opulence was not just superficial. The interiors were lined with plush velvet blue seats, and a small enchanted window allowed Hadrian to view the scenic journey. As the carriage began its journey, Hadrian caught a final glimpse of the Imperial Slytherin Palace in his rearview, its majestic towers touching the skies, reflecting the might and splendour of the Emperor’s reign.

The journey was peaceful, the rhythmic trotting of the Thestrals pulling the carriage providing a gentle backdrop to Hadrian’s thoughts. He pondered on the new chapter he was about to embark upon and the responsibilities that came with it.

After what felt like an eternity but was actually just a brief moment, courtesy of magical enhancements, the Palace of Noble Elegance loomed on the horizon. Constructed entirely from shimmering white marble, the sprawling structure was an epitome of grandeur. Vast courtyards intertwined with meticulously manicured gardens, punctuated by statues of mythical and magical creatures. 

This architectural masterpiece was ingeniously designed, ensuring each Noble enjoyed his privacy while still benefiting from communal spaces meant for socialising and grand events.

As Hadrian’s carriage rolled smoothly into the entrance of the eastern wing, the scene transformed into one of orchestrated chaos. His personal possessions, transported through magic, were already laid out for him. A trio of palace maids, identifiable by their crisply tailored uniforms adorned with the palace’s emblem, bustled about. They were joined by Hadrian’s own team of four maids. Among them was June, a familiar face and loyal handmaiden, who had been a steadfast presence in the Potter household for many years.

“Master, rest assured, everything will be set up according to your liking,” June said with confidence, swiftly overseeing the commotion around them.

Hadrian gave her an appreciative nod. “Thank you, June. Make certain all the magical artefacts find their place in the study.”

“Understood, Master,” she replied efficiently. “And what about your books?”

He paused for a moment, considering. “I’ll handpick a few for my personal chambers. The rest can be organised in the study.”

    Upon entering his chambers, Hadrian was immediately enveloped in the grandeur of a suite that masterfully blended timeless elegance with contemporary flair. Dominating the room was a magnificent four-poster bed, its stately pillars crowned with ornate carvings. The curtains draped around it flowed like waterfalls, while the bed itself was adorned with sheets that shimmered in silk and pillows that beckoned with their plush softness.

As he ventured further, his gaze was irresistibly drawn to the wall-to-ceiling windows. Positioned strategically in front of them were a pair of sumptuously upholstered chaise lounges, flanking a delicate centre table crafted from rich mahogany.

Beyond the windows, French doors led out to a private balcony. From here, the view was nothing short of enchanting. The meticulously manicured palace gardens sprawled out below, a verdant tapestry of flowering plants and winding paths.

Hadrian was then met by three attentive palace maids — Dana, Lyla, and Tara. 

Dana had a diminutive stature, rosy cheeks, and a warm smile that never quite left her face. She bowed gracefully in a polite curtsy. Lyla stood next to her, just a bit taller, her hazel eyes gleaming with mischief, her radiant smile as she too curtsied in greeting. Tara, the tallest and most imposing of the trio, had piercing eyes that constantly scanned their surroundings. Her raven-black hair flowed down her back, and while she too bowed in greeting, it lacked the warmth of the other two.

“Master,” Dana’s voice was as soothing as a gentle breeze, “our utmost aim is to ensure your stay is nothing less than the epitome of comfort.”

“I shall personally craft you robes that rival the stars, Master, a testament to your stature,” Lyla chimed in, her eyes dancing with enthusiasm.

Tara, with a measured nod and her keen eyes still sizing him up, added, “Whatever your needs, they are but a whisper away from being fulfilled.”

Maya, Freya, and Josie, the trio who, alongside June, had served Hadrian for years, exchanged a quick, meaningful glance. Their years of dedication had given them an innate ability to gauge people’s intentions. June, ever vigilant, stepped ahead, “We’re grateful for your help. Our Master, as you’ll come to understand, has very particular needs.”

Sensing the undertones in the room, Hadrian felt it was the right moment to clarify his stance. “I’m grateful for your support, Dana, Lyla, and Tara. I expect that you’ll collaborate seamlessly with June, Maya, Freya, and Josie. They’ve been integral to my family and are well-acquainted with my preferences.”

Dana’s eyes sparkled with genuine eagerness as she nodded, Lyla’s agreement mirrored beside her with a bright smile. “Without a doubt, Master. We aim for seamless collaboration.”

Tara, however, held Hadrian’s gaze a fraction longer than necessary before softly uttering her acknowledgment. There was an enigmatic aura about her — something in her posture, or perhaps the shadow of a thought fleeting behind her eyes, that struck Hadrian as too rehearsed. He decided it would be wise to be cautious, especially considering the delicate politics of his new position.

As the rest of the maids gracefully dispersed, each heading to their designated assignments, Hadrian discreetly motioned for June to linger by his side. Drawing her into the shadows, he leaned in, his voice barely audible, “Keep a watch over Tara, especially regarding any food she might handle.”

June, with her innate knack for reading situations, nodded subtly. “I sensed a similar unease, Master. Rest assured, any item she presents will be thoroughly checked.”

A grateful smile graced Hadrian’s lips, his heart warmed by the unwavering fidelity of his closest attendants. In a palace brimming with secrets and double-dealings, genuine trust was as precious as gold, and he was fortunate to find it in ample measure among his dedicated and loyal staff.

      The remainder of the day passed in a dizzying flurry of activity. Lavish rooms were meticulously curated, magical artefacts found their rightful spots, and wardrobes were filled with an array of richly embroidered robes. By the time dusk painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, Hadrian’s chambers had transformed. They now resonated with his essence — a harmonious fusion of the illustrious lineage he hailed from and the promising horizons he was poised to explore.

Drained but enveloped in a warm cocoon of fulfilment, Hadrian sank into an opulent chaise lounge in his new abode. The delicate amber light of the setting sun streamed through the ornate windows, casting a gentle glow over the room and marking the dawn of his next chapter.

June 17th, 1998

The sun hung near its zenith, yet its rays cascaded gently, casting a mellow glow over the surroundings. Hadrian strolled into the meticulously manicured gardens of the Palace of Noble Elegance, each step echoing a sense of tranquillity. Trailing a discreet distance behind were Maya and Dana, his ever-watchful maids. Their eyes darted subtly, ceaselessly surveying the lush expanse, ensuring no shadow or whisper threatened their master’s peace.

Navigating the ornate stone pathway that meandered through the garden, Hadrian’s gaze settled on a dark-haired figure, reclined on an elegant lounge chair. The area was an oasis of vibrant flower beds, each bloom was a testament to nature’s artistry. As the trio’s footsteps echoed subtly, the man pivoted, a hint of a smile gracing his lips, revealing a familiarity with his approaching guest.

Recognition dawned on Hadrian. This was Amarin Walter, the Tenth Noble, a resident of the palace’s east wing, much like himself.

“Noble Potter-Black,” Amarin intoned with a nod of respect, his voice smooth. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Noble Walter,” Hadrian responded, his voice carrying a note of genuine interest.

Amarin’s eyes held a flicker of curiosity as he asked, “How are you faring? I know the first steps in the harem can be quite the whirlwind.”

Hadrian paused, reflecting briefly. “It’s been fairly manageable, to say the least. Most of my time has been consumed with arranging and settling into my chambers.”

A wistful look crossed Amarin’s face, “Ah, I recall my own early days filled with a mix of anticipation and excitement.”

Intrigued, Hadrian inquired, “How long have you graced the harem, Noble Walter?”

Amarin hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering, “It has been roughly eleven years since I first…”

June 18th, 1998

The morning sun spilled into Hadrian’s private dining chamber, casting a mellow glow upon the elegant furniture and ornate tapestries adorning the walls. A delicately carved silver teapot gently steamed, filling the room with the fragrant aroma of Hadrian’s favourite brew. 

As Hadrian delicately sipped his tea, appreciating the comforting warmth and flavour, the soft rustling of robes announced the arrival of a visitor. He looked up to see a tall, slender eunuch, dressed in robes of pristine white adorned with the official insignia of the Primary Consort’s palace - dual serpents intertwined around  a crescent moon.

Hadrian set his tea down as the eunuch, with a practised grace, presented a beautifully embossed scroll, sealed with the Emperor’s seal.

“Noble Potter-Black.” The Eunuch began in a voice soft yet carrying an underlying authority. “By decree of Her Royal Highness, Primary Consort Bellatrix Slytherin-Black, you and the other new additions to the Harem are summoned for your inaugural harem meeting on the 21st of June at 9 in the morning. Her Highness also advises you to utilise the upcoming days to acquaint yourselves with your new residences.”

Hadrian nodded, his eyes reflecting his understanding. “Thank you. Is there anything specific I should be prepared for?”

The Eunuch, with a courteous smile, replied. “Merely your presence, My Lord. The meeting is a traditional initiation, allowing all members of the Harem to familiarise themselves with each other. It also serves as an opportunity for Her Highness to address any new directives.”

“I appreciate the information,” Hadrian replied, inclining his head slightly.

The eunuch bowed gracefully. “It is my duty, My Lord. If you have any queries or require assistance during your settling period, do not hesitate to summon any of us.”

“You have my  gratitude.” Hadrian said, a genuine warmth in his voice.

The Eunuch, with another bow, retreated from the room, leaving Hadrian to his thoughts. This was the beginning of a new chapter in his life, one that would bring with it the intricacies of court politics, the weight of expectations, and the thrill of new experiences. Taking another sip of his tea, Hadrian mentally prepared himself for the upcoming challenges and opportunities.

“Freya?” Hadrian’s voice carried softly, his silhouette framed by the balcony as he absorbed the expansive vista of the palace grounds below.

Freya turned, her attentive gaze meeting his. “Yes, Master?”

With a contemplative expression, he responded, “Would you fetch my sketch pad and pencils? I feel inspired by this view.”

“Certainly, Master,” she replied, her voice laced with eagerness. “I’ll bring them posthaste!”

Sinking into the embrace of his comfortable armchair, having been engrossed in sketching for the better part of the morning, Hadrian exhaled deeply, absorbing the whirlwind events of the recent days. The grandeur of the room with its intricate decorations, the newfound weight of his rank, and the dizzying pace of the Selection all melded in his thoughts.

It was both exhilarating and overwhelming.

Yet, the rhythmic movement of his fingers across the paper, transferring his emotions into art, had a grounding effect, helping to soothe his tempestuous mind.

Reaching out, he picked up a quill and two parchments. Drawing a deep breath, he began penning the first letter to his parents.

Dear Mum and Dad,

It is with great joy and pride that I write to you from the Palace of Noble Elegance. The Selection was an experience like no other. Through its trials and tribulations, I have been bestowed the rank of the Sixth Noble, a distinction I owe as much to my upbringing and your guidance as to my own abilities.

I hope this news brings you both joy and pride. The palace is grand, and my quarters are befitting the legacy of the Potter and Black families. Rest assured, I am well and in good company.

Do write soon. I miss you both dearly.

 

With all my love,

Hadrian.

—

To the Esteemed Members of the Black Family,

I hope this letter finds each of you in good health and high spirits. It brings me immense pleasure to inform you that the Selection has granted me the title of the Sixth Noble in the Emperor’s Harem. It is an honour I share with the Black family, whose teachings and legacy have been instrumental in shaping my journey.

While the palace is grand, it cannot replace the warmth of family. I eagerly await the day I can meet all of you again.

 

Until then, with utmost respect and affection,

Hadrian Potter-Black.

Sealing both letters with the combined emblem of the Potter and Black families, Hadrian summoned Hedwig, his loyal snowy owl. “Two letters, girl,” he whispered, attaching them to her leg. “To the Potter Manor and the Black Estate.”

Hedwig hooted softly, nuzzling his hand affectionately before taking off into the vast skies. Hadrian watched her until she was but a speck in the horizon, hoping his letters would bring joy to his families and assure them of his well-being in this new chapter of his life.

Amid the golden glow of the afternoon sun, Hadrian reclined on a plush chaise lounge, a tome of ancient magical theory in hand. The rustle of turning pages and the muted chirping of birds from the gardens were the only sounds in the room. 

However, his tranquil moment was interrupted by a soft tapping at the window. Looking up, he saw a royal-blue raven perched there, an elegantly sealed envelope clutched in its beak. Recognizing the raven as one of Emery’s, he had always been fond of ravens. Hadrian gracefully rose and opened the window to let the bird in. 

The raven hopped onto the desk, placing the letter in front of Hadrian before fluffing its feathers and waiting patiently. Breaking the seal, which bore Emery’s family sigil, Hadrian began to read:

My Dearest Hadrian,

I hope this letter finds you settling well into your new abode. While the palace offers many grand diversions, I find myself missing the camaraderie we’ve shared over the years, and long to see you after our year apart.

I would like to extend an invitation for you to join me for tea this evening in my chambers, located in the west wing. I assure you, it shall be just the two of us, a chance to catch up without the prying eyes of courtiers and fellow nobles. Our past shared experiences, laughter, and shared secrets beckon.

I look forward to our reunion. Until then, my best to you.

 

Warm regards,

Emery Lexington, Fourth Noble.

A soft smile graced Hadrian’s lips as he finished reading. It was just like Emery to infuse a formal invitation with the warmth of friendship. 

Reaching for a quill and parchment, Hadrian penned a swift response:

Dear Emery,

Your invitation brings me immense joy. I accept with gratitude and look forward to an evening of camaraderie and reminiscence. Until tonight.

 

Warmly,

Hadrian Potter-Black, Sixth Noble

Sealing the parchment with his own insignia, Hadrian handed it to the waiting raven. With a brief nod, it took off, heading back to its master.

Placing Emery’s letter on his desk, Hadrian returned to his chaise, a lightness in his heart. The evening promised warmth, friendship, and memories – a welcome break from the rigours and formalities of court life.

The grandeur of the west wing was evident in the intricate tapestries adorning the walls, the polished marble floors, and the glint of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceilings. Hadrian, dressed in his sophisticated blue robes, walked with a poised elegance with soft click-clack of his heels, with June trailing closely behind, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, ensuring her Master’s safety and comfort.

They were met by one of Emery’s personal maids, who led them down a series of ornate corridors to a luxurious private chamber. The room was bathed in the soft, golden glow of enchanted candles, and its centre was dominated by a low-set table surrounded by plush cushions. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air.

Emery rose from where he sat, a warm smile playing on his lips. “Hadrian!” he exclaimed, and the two friends embraced tightly, the weight of their year apart momentarily forgotten in the joy of their reunion.

Drawing back, Emery’s eyes scanned Hadrian, a teasing glint evident. “Look at you,” he remarked, “A Noble already. The Emperor must be quite taken with you to grant such an honour during the Selection itself.”

Hadrian chuckled softly, his cheeks tinged with a hint of red. “Now, Emery, you know better than to make such assumptions,” he replied, though inwardly he acknowledged the possibility. The intense gaze of the Emperor during the final task was hard to forget.

Emery leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hadrian, in all the years of the Emperor’s reign, only the first two members of his harem were bestowed Noble ranks during their Selection. And both of them,” he hesitated, a shadow crossing his face, “are no longer with us since 1988.”

A chill coursed through Hadrian's veins. The memories of their demise, still vivid despite the years that had passed and his tender age at the time, haunted the recesses of his mind. The weight of his new rank, and the challenges it might bring, became more evident.

Seeing his friend’s concern, Emery reached out, squeezing Hadrian’s hand reassuringly. “But times are different now, more safety precautions have been taken by His Majesty,” he said, his tone brighter, “And I have no doubt that you’ll navigate the intricacies of the court with the grace and intelligence you’ve always shown.”

As the two old friends settled into plush velvet seats, their conversation naturally gravitated towards the harem and Emery’s experiences over the past year.

Setting his finely crafted porcelain cup and saucer on the ornate side table, Emery leaned in, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Hadrian, you won’t believe the juicy tidbit my maid shared with me this morning.”

Hadrian, cradling his own cup, took a measured sip of the aromatic brew and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Oh? Do tell.”

He recalled Emery’s penchant for lighthearted gossip from their Hogwarts days. Emery always had a knack for picking up the most interesting news, keeping Hadrian both entertained and informed — a habit he had come to appreciate over the years.

Emery leaned in, his voice hushed yet gleeful, “Word has it that Imperial Concubine Rakepick was less than thrilled with the unmistakable intensity in the Emperor’s gaze when he looked your way.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “In a rather desperate attempt, she had requested the Emperor to spend the night with her, only to be promptly rebuffed.”

Hadrian’s eyes, wide with surprise and intrigue, met Emery’s gleaming ones. “Is that so?”

“I find the entire situation uproarious,” Emery chuckled.

Amidst soft laughter, the two continued their afternoon, tea cups in hand, relishing the deliciously scandalous tales that wove through the palace. They continued to catch up as the sky darkened, sharing stories and experiences, drawing comfort and strength from each other’s company, as they prepared to navigate the complex world of the Emperor’s harem.

June 19th, 1998

Hadrian’s eyes widened slightly as he recognized the insignia on the wax seal – the twined serpents surrounding a crescent moon, the official mark of Bellatrix Slytherin-Black. The heavy parchment, embossed with gold detailing, hinted at the importance of the invitation. Carefully breaking the seal, he unfolded the letter. 

Written in a delicate script, the letter read:

Dearest Nephew Hadrian,

I hope this letter finds you settling well into your new life at the Palace of Noble Elegance. Regulus and I have been eagerly awaiting an opportunity to see you again. Therefore, I extend an invitation for you to join us for lunch at the Palace of Charming Delight. It would bring us immense joy to have you with us and to discuss the new chapter that has begun in your life.

Awaiting your presence this afternoon.

 

With deepest affection,

Bellatrix Slytherin-Black, Primary Consort

Hadrian felt a rush of warmth. The Black family, particularly Bellatrix and Regulus, had been a constant source of guidance and strength for him throughout his life despite being so far away. With the weight of his new responsibilities and the intricacies of court life pressing on him, the prospect of seeing familiar faces was both comforting and grounding.

Not wanting to delay his response, Hadrian swiftly penned his acceptance.

Dearest Aunt Bellatrix,

Thank you for your gracious invitation. It would be my honour to join you and Uncle Regulus for lunch today. I eagerly anticipate our reunion and the warmth of family.

With deepest respect and love,

H adrian Potter-Black, Sixth Noble

Sealing the letter with the combined insignias of the Potters and Blacks, he handed it to June, instructing her to have it delivered immediately. As she left, Hadrian leaned back, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath. The thought of seeing his aunt and uncle, two pillars of the Emperor’s harem, and sharing with them the whirlwind of emotions and experiences he had been through, brought a mix of excitement and comfort.

He hoped their wisdom and insight would guide him in navigating the complexities of his new life.

Chapter Text

The Palace of Charming Delight was designed with intertwining elements of traditional and modern magic. Towers rose skyward, crowned with shimmering silver, and vast gardens teemed with enchanting flora that shimmered and changed hues as the sun arched across the sky. The main entrance was an elaborate affair, with cascading water features and statues of revered ancestors and mythical creatures standing sentinel.

As Hadrian approached, his soft pink robes flowed around him, the fabric reflecting the gentle sunlight in subtle, iridescent shades. His chosen accessories — a few delicate rings and earrings — sparkled with a subdued elegance. He was a picture of noble grace, the attire enhancing his natural beauty.

The palace guards bowed in respect as he passed, and a maid led him through a maze of ornate corridors to a grand dining hall. The room was bathed in a golden glow, large windows framing picturesque views of the palace gardens.

His aunt Bellatrix, ever the embodiment of regal elegance, stood to greet him, her curly dark hair cascading down in intricate braids adorned with tiny, glistening diamonds. She was draped in an elaborate robe of dark red, looking every bit the Primary Consort. Beside her, Uncle Regulus looked dashing in very muted yellow robes, his sharp features softened by a welcoming smile.

“Ah, Hadrian,” Bellatrix exclaimed with a radiant smile — so different from the frigid and mocking expressions she reserved for others — her arms opening wide in a welcoming gesture. “Your presence brings joy to my heart.”

Hadrian stepped into her embrace, the familial connection enveloping him in a comforting embrace. “Aunt Bella, Uncle Regulus,” he greeted warmly, the deep respect in his tone palpable. “It is indeed an honour to join you.”

Regulus let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing with warmth. “Always the picture of formality, Hadrian. Come, let us dine and relish the moments we’ve missed.”

Hadrian’s attention was irresistibly drawn towards the delicately crafted crib nestled in the corner. Inside, Princess Adara Slytherin lay swathed in velvety blankets, the epitome of peacefulness. Her tiny fingers flexed, capturing the wonder of new life, while her rosy lips twitched ever so slightly in dreamy contentment. Suspended above her, a mesmerising mobile of enchanted creatures rotated gracefully, casting ethereal, dancing patterns of light upon her cherubic face.

Gazing down at her child, Bellatrix’s voice was but a gentle whisper, infused with a mother’s profound love. “Meet Adara,” she murmured, every syllable laced with deep emotion. Having endured the heartbreak of numerous miscarriages, this child was a testament to her resilience. “She’s my long-awaited miracle.”

Drawing closer to the crib, Hadrian leaned in, taking a moment to truly behold the latest scion of the venerable Black lineage. 

“She is truly breathtaking, and Adara… such a fitting, beautiful name,” he murmured, entranced by the rhythmic cadence of her breathing. “I see a spark in her, akin to your own indomitable flame, Aunt Bella,” Hadrian commented, his eyes brimming with affection as he observed the slumbering infant.

“The name was His Majesty’s thoughtful choice,” she replied with a hint of gratitude and pride. “And I do hope she inherits your resilience, Hadrian. The Black line has always been celebrated for its unwavering resolve, and the Slytherin legacy coursing through her veins is a testament to the greatness she's destined for.”

“Speaking of spirit, Hadrian, do remember that while ambition can be a guiding light, it should never overshadow one’s values,” Regulus added. “The harem can be a tricky place.”

“I understand, Uncle,” Hadrian nodded thoughtfully. “I promise to tread carefully.”

Bellatrix then leaned forward, her voice a tad more serious. “Hadrian, the harem can dazzle, but it can also deceive.”

The weight of their words settled in, but the comforting presence of family made everything seem manageable. As the meal progressed, the room was filled with lively chatter, cherished reminiscences, and the unmistakable ring of heartfelt laughter.

However, as they relocated to the opulent sitting room of the palace, the ambiance perceptibly shifted. The plush tapestries, intricate carvings, and the muted glow of chandeliers bore silent witness to the transition into more serious deliberations.

Regulus, with a measured pause, set his ornate goblet filled with crystal-clear water onto the intricately designed table before him. “Hadrian, we need to discuss the upcoming Harem meeting.”

Hadrian nodded, setting down his hands on his lap, and giving his full attention.

Bellatrix interjected, her tone more solemn. “We’ve always been forthright with you, and this is no time to hold back. While many of the Concubines are kind-hearted and will support you, some may perceive your rapid ascent in rank as a challenge to their own standing.”

Hadrian swallowed. “I assumed as much, Aunt Bella. But I also know I have the support of my family.”

“Indeed, you do,” Regulus leaned forward, his eyes serious. “But you’ll be navigating treacherous waters. The politics within the Harem can be… intense to put it lightly.”

“There have been deaths, Hadrian,” Bellatrix added, her voice tinged with concern. “Accidents that were not accidents. Sudden illnesses. These are rare, but they’re not unheard of.”

Hadrian’s eyes widened slightly, taking in the gravity of his aunt’s words. “I understand. I promise to be cautious.”

Regulus continued. “While you have our full support, remember to also form alliances with the right people. Those who are genuinely good-hearted and trustworthy.”

Bellatrix interjected. “And always, always be alert. Graceful, yes. You have the natural charm and elegance. But never let your guard down. Not completely.”

Hadrian took a deep breath, absorbing the advice. “Thank you, both of you. I won’t forget what you’ve said.”

Bellatrix reached across the table, taking Hadrian’s hand in hers. “We only want you safe, my dear. You’re family, and you’re precious to us.”

Regulus nodded in agreement. “And while this might sound daunting now, remember that every challenge you face is also an opportunity. You’ve the wit, the charm, and the intelligence to navigate the harem’s complexities.”

The young Noble squeezed his aunt’s hand in response, feeling the weight of responsibility but also the warmth and strength of family ties. “I’m ready. And with your guidance, I’ll make our family proud.”

June 21st, 1998

Seated regally in front of an ornate mirror, Hadrian relished the gentle ministrations of Josie as she meticulously combed through his hair. Each soft curl was teased to perfection, reflecting a lustrous sheen. Once styled, a crown, subtle yet striking with its blue gem studs, awaited its rightful place atop his head. Meanwhile, Dana’s delicate touch adorned his slender fingers with intricate rings that glinted softly in the ambient light.

Clad in a robe of mesmerising blue and pristine white, its fabric flowed like a cascading river around him. The meticulous silver embroidery gracing the shoulders and sleeves shimmered with every subtle movement. Cinching his waist was a slender gold band, accentuating his svelte figure. The robe’s hemline was a masterpiece in itself, adorned with artful designs of azure trees, rhythmic sea waves, and gentle, rolling mountains.

Lyla, with her unparalleled skill, had outdone herself with the robe’s design — a garment that was not only eye-catching but also aptly suited for the significant inaugural harem gathering.

“Master, you’re absolutely radiant!” Dana exclaimed, her fingers delicately securing a pair of shimmering earrings to Hadrian’s lobes.

“The very epitome of elegance,” Josie added, her eyes shining with admiration.

Caught off guard by the flood of compliments, a warm blush painted Hadrian’s cheeks, eliciting gentle laughter from his doting maids. “Oh, enough with your flattery, you two!” He playfully retorted, trying to mask his bashfulness.

As the crown, with its intricate design and shimmering gem studs, settled perfectly on his head, Hadrian took a lingering look at his reflection. The image that gazed back was regal and commanding, filling him with satisfaction. Giving a nod of approval, Dana and Josie, with a final bow of reverence, gracefully exited the room to attend to their other responsibilities.

With practised ease, Hadrian deftly fastened the sleek black wand holster snugly beneath the billowing sleeve of his robe. Sliding his treasured holly wand into its secure embrace, he then seamlessly cast a wordless disillusionment charm, rendering the holster virtually invisible. With his wand now concealed but easily accessible, he gracefully exited his chambers.

Striding confidently to the entrance of the east wing, Hadrian found June poised and ready, her gaze locked on the opulent carriage that awaited its passengers. Flanking the grand entrance stood two resplendent royal Knights, their dark armour polished to a mirror sheen, wands ready and swords sheathed by their sides. As Hadrian neared, they dipped into a synchronised and respectful bow.

“Good morning, Master,” June intoned with a voice as soft as morning dew, her eyes reflecting a depth of loyalty. “Shall we begin our day at the Hall of the Goddesses?”

Hadrian responded with a resolute nod, his eyes carrying a hint of reverence. “Indeed,” he affirmed, intertwining their arms as they gracefully progressed towards the awaiting carriage. “It feels right to present my prayers and offerings before the meeting.”

       The carriage came to a gentle halt before the majestic Hall of Goddesses. June, ever attentive, swiftly alighted, extending her hand to ensure Hadrian’s graceful descent. Together, they made their way up the grand staircase leading to the Hall, with June maintaining a respectful distance, two steps behind her master.

Every individual blessed with the ethereal touch of magic had a chosen deity they held dear. It was a bond as ancient as the stars, woven into the tapestry of one’s very soul. The Potters and the Blacks, with their storied lineage and history, had always held a deep reverence for the Greek Pantheon. This devotion was shared by a majority of British Wixens, who found solace, guidance, and strength in the tales and teachings of these ancient gods and goddesses.

While Hadrian’s father, James, had always found a deep kinship with the goddess Athena, valuing her wisdom and strategic mind, his mother, Lily, felt a profound connection to the god Apollo, drawn to his domains of music, arts, and healing. Hadrian, however, felt a distinct bond with Hecate. The goddess of magic and crossroads had seemingly touched his life in myriad ways. He often sensed her guiding hand, her blessings evident in every endeavour he undertook.

As Hadrian neared the intricately carved double doors, they swung open, revealing the imposing figure of the Emperor emerging, flanked by three formidable knights in gleaming armour. The moment their eyes locked, Hadrian, instinctively lowered himself into a deferential bow. The Emperor paused, letting his gaze travel over Hadrian’s attire, a glint of appreciation evident in his eyes.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Hadrian intoned, his voice filled with respect, yet he hesitated to meet the penetrating gaze of the Emperor.

“A truly splendid morning, My Noble.” He paused, allowing a hint of a smile to play on his lips. “I must admit, I hadn’t anticipated encountering such an enchanting sight so early in the day.”

A warm blush tinted Hadrian’s cheeks, and he quickly shifted his gaze to the stern countenances of the Knights. Gratefully, they stood far enough away, their disciplined focus ensuring they weren’t privy to the intimate exchange. “I arrived early to offer my prayers. I felt it essential to centre myself before the inaugural meeting,” Hadrian explained, his voice soft yet assured.

“Ah, indeed,” the Emperor mused, a thoughtful look crossing his visage. “Bella did make mention of it.” He then inclined his head slightly. “I trust the day will be auspicious for you, My Noble.”

“With your kind words, I believe it shall be, Your Majesty,” Hadrian responded, offering another respectful bow. As the Emperor began to depart, he casted a fleeting, warm smile in Hadrian’s direction, leaving a lingering impression.

The Grand Hall of the Harem Court stood as a lavish monument to the Emperor’s unparalleled power and splendour. Towering pillars, carved from pristine veined marble, reached skyward, seamlessly blending into an expansive ceiling. This masterpiece overhead was adorned with meticulous paintings of celestial dragons and phoenixes, their vibrant scales and feathers captured mid-twirl in an eternal, ethereal dance. 

Along the hall’s vast perimeter, the walls bore a unique enchantment, allowing them to shimmer and shift, emulating the serene transition from day to twilight. Luxurious drapes, made from the finest silks and embroidered with golden threads, framed the arched windows, through which beams of sunlight danced, casting radiant patterns on the polished marble floor below. 

As Hadrian entered, a palpable stillness descended upon the once-chattering assembly. It wasn’t solely his newcomer status that commanded such attention; it was the intoxicating blend of his youthful allure, radiant beauty, and the surprisingly high rank he had been bestowed at such a young age. Whispers wafted through the air like fragile wisps of smoke, but Hadrian maintained his poise.

From across the expansive hall, Hadrian’s eyes landed on two familiar figures - Theodore and Luna. They were engrossed in a hushed conversation, but a shared glance and simultaneous recognition saw their exchange halt. His heart lightened; the presence of friends was a comforting anchor. 

The pair weaved their way to join him. It was then that Hadrian truly took in their attire. Theodore donned sophisticated grey robes, intricately embroidered with white patterns dancing gracefully along the hems and sleeves. Luna, in contrast, was a vision in pristine white. Her robes cascaded down, the purity of the colour interrupted only by delicate black gradients kissing the lower edges. 

The concubines of the attendant rank, holding the most low position, were restricted to wearing only shades of white, black, and grey.

“Theo, Luna,” he said, extending his hand in greeting.

Theo clasped Hadrian’s hand firmly, his eyes shining with pride. “Hadrian, my friend, well done! After the final trial, there was such a commotion. By morning, you’d already been whisked away to your palace.”

Hadrian’s eyebrows rose in a light-hearted gesture of surrender. “It’s been a whirlwind, to be honest. I never imagined I’d be honoured with the title of a Noble.”

“Oh, Harry,” Luna, ever the mystic, gave him a knowing look, her voice soft and lilting. “The universe has grand plans for you."

A warm smile spread across Hadrian’s face. “Your faith in me is unwavering, Luna. Thank you.”

Theo nodded in agreement, “You’ve truly earned it, Hadrian.”

Feeling a rush of gratitude, Hadrian replied, “Having friends like you makes everything worthwhile.”

Theo glanced up at the imposing clock that adorned the hall, noting its advancing hands. “We should find our places; the meeting is about to begin.”

With a final nod, he made his way to the section designated for the Nobles, leaving his dear friends to find their own spots.

Taking measured steps, the soft rustle of his opulent robes and the soft click of his intricately designed shoes echoed, he made his way to his designated seat – a plush chair adorned with dark blue and white motifs, symbolising his rank as the Sixth Noble.

Across the room, the dais, where the highest-ranking member of the harem would sit, was a sight to behold. An ornate throne, wrought in silver and encrusted with sapphires and pearls, awaited its occupant. It wasn’t just a chair, but a symbol of power and position within the harem. Flanked by two serpent statues made of pure white marble, the throne gleamed under the ambient lighting.

Directly beneath the dais, two majestic throne-like chairs flanked either side, designated for the esteemed Secondary Consort Arden Slytherin-Crawford and the Third Consort Helene Slytherin-Bexley. 

Both figures exuded authority, and they sat with an air of quiet confidence, a clear testament that they would brook no opposition in their rightful places. Arden, with his cascading golden locks reaching just past his shoulders, exuded a regal charm. His robes, a deep ruby red, clung gracefully to his frame, accentuating his stature. A crown, intricately designed with shimmering red gemstones, rested upon his head. Most notable, however, was the gentle curve of his swollen belly, which he cradled with a protective hand.

Indeed, the unmistakable curve of Arden’s abdomen revealed his advanced pregnancy. Hadrian recalled hearing whispers about the state of the Secondary Consort’s condition, and if the murmurs held any truth, Arden was approximately seven months along. 

This wasn’t his first experience with the wonders of childbirth, for he already had a bond with the Emperor solidified in the form of their first child — the radiant 4th Princess Calida Slytherin, born in 1978, was merely two years Hadrian’s senior. They had shared their years at Hogwarts, with Calida proudly donning the green and silver of Slytherin house. Hadrian remembered their short collaboration during his fifth year; he as the Ravenclaw Prefect and she as the Head Girl.

To the opposite side of Arden sat the captivating Helene Slytherin-Bexley. Her black hair, enriched with gleaming streaks of deep blue, flowed regally past her waist. This luxurious cascade was woven into an intricate braid, interlaced with radiant rubies and luminous pearls that caught the ambient light with every subtle movement. Nestled atop her head was a crown of crimson, its delicate craftsmanship in perfect harmony with the few loose tendrils that artfully framed her striking visage. She, like Arden, was elegantly draped in robes of rich red, the signature colours befitting the Consorts of the Emperor.

There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air. Conversations were hushed whispers, punctuated by the occasional soft tinkle of a goblet or the rustle of robes. The weight of the occasion was felt by all, but for Hadrian, it was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. He knew that today’s interactions and observations would shape much of his time in the harem.

Then, the large double doors at the end of the hall began to open, signalling the entrance of Primary Consort Bellatrix Slytherin-Black. The conversations died immediately, and all eyes turned to the entrance. All the concubines promptly rose to offer their bows. However, Arden and Helene, with an air of regal leisure, took their time to slightly incline from their seated positions, their gestures decidedly more reserved. 

Bellatrix entered the hall with an air of undeniable regality. Her robes, a deep shade of maroon red interwoven with threads of silver and gold, flowed gracefully behind her. Her black hair cascaded in elegant curls, adorned by a crown of red rubies that sparkled with every step she took.

She moved with a grace that demanded respect, and her piercing eyes surveyed the room, finally settling on Hadrian with a look of familial warmth. With a subtle nod of acknowledgement to her nephew, she ascended the steps to the dais and took her place on the throne, signalling the official commencement of the harem meeting.

All eyes were fixed on Bellatrix, who sat elegantly atop her throne-like seat, exuding an air of quiet authority. With a calm hand gesture, Bellatrix silenced the room, her voice gentle yet firm as she began to speak. “To all, old and new, welcome. As we gather today, there are no urgent decrees from our esteemed Emperor. However, he extends his blessings to his newest selectees. Additionally, I shall apprise our recent additions about the upcoming Midsummer festivities.”

Bellatrix’s voice rang clear and authoritative in the opulent chamber, “The celebration of Litha is scheduled for June 23rd, a mere two days from now. The rituals will commence at the stroke of midnight.” She paused, her piercing gaze scanning the gathered concubines. “Your presence is expected at the Imperial Palace grounds by no later than 8 in the evening.”

Arden, with a poised grace, delicately cleared his throat, drawing Bellatrix’s attention. “Indeed, Primary Consort,” he began, his voice laced with a soft, melodious tone, “It might be prudent to enlighten especially the newer members about the attire protocols for the occasion.”

“Indeed,” Bellatrix acknowledged, her chin tilting ever so slightly. Though a gracious nod was given, the fleeting spark of ire in the depths of her grey eyes did not escape Hadrian’s keen observation. Interruptions, he surmised, were not her favoured occurrences. 

Recomposing with elegance, she addressed the assembly once more. “For the occasion of Litha, a rare deviation is permitted from our strict hierarchy of colours. All are free to adorn themselves in hues that truly encapsulate the spirit of the festival.”

The concubines acknowledged with a nod. Hadrian observed that the more seasoned members abstained from such gestures. Naturally, they were well-versed in all the protocols.

She gracefully shifted in her seat, her gaze scanning over the new faces, lingering momentarily on Hadrian. “The Emperor also expresses his hope that all the recent additions to the Harem will find their stay fulfilling and harmonious. While many may view this court as a nest of vipers, he wishes to emphasise the importance of unity, understanding, and growth.”

She leaned back slightly, allowing a brief pause. “I reiterate his sentiments. The Harem is not just about pleasing the Emperor, but it’s a community. It’s essential that each member finds their rightful place, and for the new members, that they feel welcomed and understood.”

Bellatrix’s demeanour then shifted, a subtle change from a ruler addressing her subjects to a matriarch speaking to her kin. “Now the time is for you all. Mingle, converse, share experiences, and most importantly, foster bonds. It’s the connections we build that help us navigate the challenges of this palace.”

She cast a final glance around the room, her eyes resting briefly on the senior members, silently urging them to guide the newcomers. “Let today be the start of mutual respect and camaraderie.”

With a nod, Bellatrix signalled the end of the formalities. The room slowly came alive with the sound of soft conversations, the shifting of chairs, and the gentle clinking of goblets as concubines began to engage with one another.

The Grand Hall, once a nexus of tension and anticipation, began to hum with conversations as Bellatrix’s words settled. Conversations were interspersed with laughter, delicate sips of wine, and clinking of goblets. 

Hadrian, feeling somewhat out of his element, scanned the room. His gaze landed on Reina Durnam, who had a serene presence despite her recent elevation. She had entered as a mere Attendant three years ago, and now she was the Fifth Noble. Her short, auburn hair cascaded in soft waves to her shoulders, and her deep blue eyes sparkled with a sharp intelligence. It was said that she came from humble beginnings, and her muggleborn status had been a subject of much whispering, despite muggleborns being harem members, some high ranking as well. 

Though the magical community was near free of prejudice, sometimes it still lingered in the dangerous waters of the harem. But the respect she commanded now was unmistakable. 

Catching his gaze, Reina walked gracefully towards him, her dark blue robes flowing seamlessly behind her. “Noble Potter-Black,” she greeted, a small smile playing on her lips. “I must say, it’s an honour to meet the talk of the harem.”

Hadrian chuckled, extending his hand. “The honour is mutual, Noble Durnam. I’ve heard a great deal about your prowess. It’s not every day one rises above the prejudice to claim a Noble rank.”

She grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Well, when life gives you a wand, you make magic. And from what I’ve gathered, you’ve been doing plenty of that yourself.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, discussing everything from their experiences in the selection trials to their favourite magical beasts. The bond was instant, the two  from different backgrounds, both elevated to unprecedented heights.

As they talked, a familiar face approached them. Emery, dressed in cyan blue robes denoting his rank, joined the duo. His blonde hair neatly combed back and a mischievous glint in his eyes, Emery embraced Hadrian warmly. “You two seem to be getting along well.” He observed, pouring himself a goblet of wine.

Reina raised an eyebrow, her smile teasing. “Why, jealous that I might steal your best friend?”

Emery chuckled. “Well, the more the merrier. But I must admit, seeing both of you bond warms my heart. We’ll need all the allies we can get in this game.”

The trio continued their discussions, forming the beginnings of a bond that would surely play a pivotal role in the harem’s politics.

When Hadrian entered the sitting room of his palace after the meeting, the room was perfumed with the rich scent of the flowers, an intoxicating mix of roses, lilies, and exotic blossoms that Hadrian didn’t recognize immediately. The bouquet was undoubtedly one of the most magnificent he had ever seen, and the sight of it in his own quarters was almost surreal.

As he approached the bouquet, the fragrance became more pronounced, filling his senses. Hadrian’s fingers reached out, tracing the delicate petals of a particularly beautiful midnight-blue bloom.

“June,” Hadrian’s voice wavered slightly, betraying his inner turmoil. “Did the delivery come with any… message?”

“Yes, Master,” June nodded and hesitated for a brief moment before answering. “It was delivered by a eunuch from the Imperial Palace.” She handed him an ornate envelope, its seal bearing the unmistakable insignia of Emperor Thomas Slytherin.

Taking a deep breath, Hadrian delicately broke the wax seal, extracting a piece of fine parchment from within. The Emperor’s handwriting was elegant, every stroke deliberate and perfect.

Noble Potter-Black,

I trust you are settling well. I hope these blooms bring a touch of beauty to your day, just as you have brought to mine. The palace can be both a haven and a maze. If ever you feel lost, remember there are those who wish to guide you.

With regards,

Emperor Thomas Slytherin.

Hadrian felt his cheeks warm, the weight of the Emperor’s words and their unexpected meeting that morning settling heavily in his chest. A myriad of emotions swirled within him – surprise, elation, confusion, and a hint of trepidation. This simple gesture was far from ordinary, and Hadrian knew it held deeper meanings.

Taking another moment to compose himself, Hadrian turned to June. “Make sure to place the flowers in a vase with fresh water and cast a preservation charm on them. And... thank you, June.”

June nodded, a knowing smile touching her lips. “Of course, master. It seems the palace is full of surprises for you.”

Hadrian chuckled lightly, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was just the beginning of a series of events that would change his life forever.

Chapter Text

June 22nd, 1998

The morning sun seeped in through the translucent curtains, casting a soft, golden hue on Hadrian’s chambers. The first thing his eyes fell upon, as they fluttered open, was the vase with the flowers, their fragrance now a familiar and comforting scent in his room. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and an unbidden blush warmed his cheeks. The events of the previous day replayed in his mind, the bouquet, the short letter being the vivid reminders.

A gentle knock at the door broke his train of thought. “Come in,” Hadrian called out, stretching and pushing the covers away.

Freya entered, her usual composed expression in place, though her eyes held a hint of mischief. “Good morning, Master. I trust you had a restful sleep?”

“Surprisingly so, I did. How is the morning?” Hadrian chuckled.

“It’s beautiful outside.” Freya replied, walking towards the balcony doors and drawing the curtains wider. “A perfect day to start afresh.”

Nodding in agreement, Hadrian said. “Could you have a bath prepared for me, Freya? Something refreshing.”

“Of course,” Freya nodded, moving towards a bell to summon one of the palace maids. “I’ll have Dana prepare a bath infused with mint and eucalyptus. It should help rejuvenate your senses.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Hadrian replied, swinging his legs over the bed and standing up. As he passed the vase of flowers, he stopped momentarily, inhaling their fragrance deeply.

***

Freya adjusted a sapphire pendant around Hadrian’s neck, ensuring it lay perfectly against the soft fabric of his light blue robes. The hue accentuated the brightness of his green eyes, giving him an ethereal look. 

“Your attire suits you, Master.” She complimented, stepping back to appreciate her work.

“Thank you, Freya,” Hadrian chuckled. “Though I’m more concerned about filling my stomach than how I look at the moment.”

A playful smirk danced on Freya’s lips. “Very well. What would you like for breakfast, Master?”

Hadrian hummed thoughtfully for a moment, considering his options. “I’m in the mood for something light yet filling. Perhaps a spread of fresh fruits, some honey-drizzled oatmeal, and a side of toast with berry jam. Oh, and a pot of chamomile tea.”

Freya nodded, making mental notes. “A hearty choice, I must say. I’ll have it prepared and brought to your chambers immediately.”

Hadrian nodded his appreciation, “Thank you, Freya. After yesterday’s events, I find comfort in familiar tastes.”

Freya smiled understandingly. “Of course, my lord. Sometimes, the simple pleasures in life offer the most solace.”

“Exactly, Freya. They remind us of home, of the constants amidst the ever-changing tides of harem life.”

With a final nod, Freya made her way out of the chamber, intent on ensuring her master’s breakfast wishes were fulfilled to perfection.

As Hadrian savoured the rich aroma of freshly baked pastries and sipped his morning tea, he glanced at Freya. “Freya, once I’ve finished my breakfast, could you arrange for Lyla to meet me?” he asked, his voice gentle but carrying an undertone of authority.

Freya, her blue eyes reflecting her unwavering dedication, replied with a graceful nod, “Certainly, Master Hadrian.” She then bowed slightly, her neatly pinned hair catching a glint of morning sunlight, before stepping back, allowing him to enjoy his meal in peace.

    When the final morsels of his breakfast dwindled on his plate, Hadrian spotted Lyla gracefully entering the opulent sitting room. The morning light filtering through the tall, arched windows painted her silhouette in a soft golden hue. “Master, you summoned me?”

Looking up from his meal, Hadrian offered a warm smile. “Indeed, Lyla. The Litha festival is upon us, and I find myself in need of attire befitting the occasion. Traditional Litha colours, of course. Would you have any suggestions in that regard?”

Lyla’s eyes lit up, her passion for design evident. “Of course, Master Hadrian. Given the significance of the festival, I’d suggest a robe in a radiant gold to signify the sun at its peak, complemented with deep greens to represent the earth’s bounty. Embroideries of intertwined oak leaves and sun motifs would not only be symbolic but also emphasise your status.”

Hadrian’s eyes sparkled with interest. “That sounds wonderful, Lyla. But, ensure it’s comfortable for the evening’s festivities.”

“Absolutely, Master. Comfort will be paramount. I’ll ensure the finest, breathable materials are used,” Lyla assured, excitement evident in her voice. “I’ll get started on the designs right away.”

“Thank you, Lyla. I trust your expertise,” Hadrian replied, finishing his meal with a satisfied nod.

The Palace of Noble Elegance boasted gardens that seemed as if they were torn straight from a fairytale. As Hadrian wandered among the flowerbeds, he marvelled at the burst of colours, the fragrant breezes, and the hum of distant water fountains. He finally found a secluded spot between a lilac bush and a rose-covered trellis. The lounge chairs there were cushioned and placed in a perfect angle to receive the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

Opening his book, ‘A Treatise on Ancient Magical Theory’ , Hadrian soon lost himself in its pages. The book discussed the origins of magic, drawing parallels between various civilizations, a topic he had been deeply fascinated by for years.

After an hour or so, the sound of footsteps approached. Looking up, Hadrian found Nicholas Bellmore, the Secondary Noble, regarding him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Nicholas’s deep-set hazel eyes flicked to the book’s cover, and a smile crept onto his lips.

“Ah, ‘A Treatise on Ancient Magical Theory’. A dense read, but thoroughly enlightening. I delved into it last summer,” Nicholas began, taking a seat on the lounge chair opposite Hadrian’s.

Hadrian raised an eyebrow. “I’m a bit surprised, Secondary Noble Bellmore. Most people wouldn’t have the patience for it.”

Nicholas chuckled. “True, but I’ve always been a bit... unconventional, Noble Potter-Black. The nuances of ancient spells and their development intrigue me.”

Hadrian found himself smiling. “Indeed. I’m particularly interested in the chapter on the shared practices between the ancient Celts and the magical tribes of the Far East. The similarities are striking.”

Nicholas leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Exactly! It challenges so much of what we believed about isolated magical development. It suggests a connected magical world we’ve barely begun to understand.”

The two men delved deeper into their conversation, discussing theories, sharing insights, and challenging each other’s perspectives. It was evident to any onlooker that this was the beginning of a profound intellectual camaraderie. 

***

The hours had flown by as they delved into discussions on various magical theories and histories. The sunlight, which was previously dappling their lounge chairs, was now at a different angle, indicating the approach of noon.

Nicholas, realising how much time had passed, glanced at the sky and then back to Hadrian. “You know, we could continue our discussion over lunch. It would be an honour if you’d join me at my residence in the north wing, Noble Potter-Black. I’ve recently procured a rare manuscript on transcontinental magical trade routes that I believe you'd find fascinating.”

Hadrian’s interest piqued immediately. “A manuscript on magical trade routes, Secondary Noble Bellmore? That sounds incredibly insightful. I’d be delighted to join you.”

Nicholas smiled appreciatively. “Wonderful. Follow me.”

The Secondary Noble’s section of the Palace was an elegant blend of old-world charm and modern magical amenities. Stone pathways were adorned with hovering lanterns, and intricately carved statues stood guard by bubbling fountains.

They walked into a spacious dining area, where a long wooden table was set for two. As they settled, a group of maids swiftly appeared, laying out a sumptuous spread that included roast pheasant, a medley of vegetables, fresh fruits, and a pitcher of sparkling pumpkin juice.

“I hope this is to your liking.” Nicholas remarked, gesturing at the food.

“It looks delicious,” Hadrian responded, helping himself to a portion. “Your quarters are quite impressive.”

Nicholas chuckled. “A bit of personal touch here and there. I’ve always preferred a blend of traditional and contemporary.”

“You truly have an impeccable sense of aesthetics, Secondary Noble,” Hadrian remarked, genuine admiration lacing his voice.

Nicholas leaned back slightly in his ornate chair, a pleased glint in his eyes. “Your flattery is appreciated. And since we’re on the topic of informalities, you may address me as Nicholas,” he said, extending the courtesy with a gracious nod.

Hadrian responded with a warm smile, “In that case, please call me Hadrian.”

As they ate, the discussion continued, shifting from magical histories to personal experiences and aspirations. Hadrian learned more about Nicholas’s keen interest in ancient artefacts. In return, Hadrian shared tales of his time at Hogwarts, his close-knit family, and his ambitions within the palace, though he only revealed some.

Then Nicholas paused in the midst of their meal, setting his silverware down delicately. There was a weight to his gaze, a gravity that wasn’t there before. 

“Hadrian,” he began, his voice a shade graver than it had been, “during your Selection, I couldn’t help but take notice of you.” He dabbed at his lips with a fine linen napkin, embroidered with the crest of his family. “It’s a rare event to witness the Emperor being so overtly impressed by someone.”

Hadrian leaned forward, his brow furrowing slightly. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows over the lavish spread before them. “What exactly are you implying, Nicholas?”

Taking a deep breath, Nicholas met Hadrian’s gaze unflinchingly. “I urge you to tread carefully,” he cautioned, a hint of concern evident in his striking eyes. “Bellatrix — and yes, I’m well-aware of the blood ties you share — might have spoken fervently of unity and camaraderie yesterday. But always remember, this court is a veritable den of vipers.” There was a brief, pregnant pause. “And, as of now, she wears the crown of the most venomous among them.” 

The warning, though not spoken aloud, resonated deeply within the room’s walls. A sudden heaviness settled in Hadrian’s chest. The palace’s luxurious surroundings suddenly felt cold and distant compared to the weight of the conversation. He was well aware of his aunt’s ruthlessness, how far the weight of her ire went, but hearing about the losses she had — possibly — inflicted on others and how others have suffered at her hands was deeply unsettling.

Nicholas’s voice broke the silence, soft and trembling as he confessed, “I miscarried twice, you know?” His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he continued, “The first time, it was a natural loss. I didn’t even realise I was carrying a child until it was too late. But the second time, it was foul play.”

Hadrian’s heart ached for his new friend, and he struggled to find the right words. “Does he—” He began cautiously but couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Nicholas nodded solemnly. “Yes, he does,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But there’s no proof. All he could offer was comfort, and for that, I’m grateful. It was what I needed at that time, and he gave it to me.”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss, Nicholas,” Hadrian said, his voice filled with genuine sympathy. “I can’t— I won’t pretend to understand the pain of losing your child, let alone twice. But I am sorry for what you had to go through, for what was done to you and your unborn children.”

A soft, melancholic chuckle escaped Nicholas’s lips as he used a finger to wipe away a stray tear. “Thank you, Hadrian,” he said, his tone touched by gratitude. “You are quite sweet beneath that tough exterior of yours.”

A warm smile tugged at Hadrian’s lips. “And I promise, I’ll be careful.”

Nicholas met his gaze with a hint of newfound trust. “I have a feeling we’ll make great friends.”

“So do I,” Hadrian replied, the weight of their shared secrets forging a bond between them.

Walking through the grand hallways of the Palace of Noble Elegance, Hadrian’s mind wandered to the earlier conversation with Nicholas. The depth and scope of their discussion had been invigorating, and it left him with a sense of camaraderie. But arriving back to his side of the palace reminded him that not every interaction in the palace would be as genuine or friendly.

As Tara approached with the tea tray, Hadrian’s senses automatically heightened. He had been wary of her since their initial introduction. The set of her eyes, the almost imperceptible tension in her posture — something about her made him cautious.

She placed the tea tray on the ornate wooden table by the window, pouring the hot amber liquid into a porcelain cup. The delicate aroma of bergamot wafted through the room, typical of Earl Grey. “Would you require anything else, Master?” She asked, her voice gentle.

“No, thank you, Tara.” Hadrian replied evenly, nodding his head slightly. 

Once she had left the room, Hadrian subtly drew out his wand, casting a series of detection spells over the tea. Glittering runes appeared briefly over the cup before dissipating, indicating the absence of any tampering or poison. 

Reassured, he took a sip, the rich flavours warming him. Even in a place of luxury and power, he mused, one always had to stay alert. And in his position, with the blooming favour of the Emperor and the attention he had garnered, he could never be too careful.

He took another sip, allowing himself a moment of relaxation. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, and he needed to be prepared. 

For now, the serenity of his quarters and the warmth of the tea were enough.

June 23rd, 1998

As dawn's first light filtered through the opulent drapery, Hadrian stirred from a deep slumber. The sumptuous silks of his bed felt cool against his skin, but the moment he placed his feet on the lavish rug, a series of soft, rhythmic knocks resonated from the door.

“Good morning, Master,” greeted June with a deferential bow as she entered. The delicate scent of morning lilies accompanied her, a fragrance Hadrian had come to associate with the start of a new day. Maya, close on her heels, respectfully dipped her head before swiftly drawing back the heavy curtains. The room was instantly awash with a golden hue, revealing its intricate design and grandeur.

“I trust you had a restful night?” June inquired, a hint of concern in her eyes.

“As restful as can be,” Hadrian admitted, his thoughts still preoccupied with Nicholas’s words. The weight of their implications lingered, leaving a residue of unease.

“Would you prefer a warm bath to start your day?” Maya’s voice was soft, yet the suggestion seemed inviting.

“That would be wonderful,” Hadrian responded gratefully. As Maya gracefully glided towards the bathroom, the sound of water soon echoed through the chambers, filling the room with the promise of relaxation.

“While you enjoy your bath, I'll ensure your robes and necessary accessories are laid out,” June chimed in, her fingers delicately brushing over a collection of fabrics. “We mustn't forget today’s harem meeting.”

“Thank you, June,” Hadrian said, appreciating the diligence of his attendants. Their presence and attention to detail were comforting constants in an ever-evolving world.

As Hadrian entered the expansive ensuite, the opulent marble tiles felt cool beneath his feet, prompting a momentary shiver to course through him. Shedding his nightgown, he stepped closer to the grand tub that sat like a centrepiece, carved intricately and accentuated by gold leaf detailing.

Maya, noticing his arrival, ceased adjusting the ornate gold taps just as he trailed a hand through the water. The temperature was impeccable — a harmonious balance between warmth and refreshment.

“Do you have a particular essence in mind for the bath, Master?” Maya inquired, her hand poised over a selection of crystal decanters filled with various bath oils.

“You know my preferences,” Hadrian replied with a hint of a smile. “However, I’ll leave the final choice to you. Just keep it subtle, nothing overpowering.”

Nodding understandingly, Maya chose a light amber-coloured oil. As she poured a few droplets into the steaming bathwater, the soothing scent of lavender mixed with undertones of sandalwood wafted into the air. The aroma was calming, and it promised to melt away the weight of previous conversations and prepare Hadrian for the day’s upcoming events.

Hadrian stepped into the bath, feeling the day’s concerns start to ebb away as the fragrant waters enveloped him. Maya discreetly retreated, ensuring her master had a few moments of uninterrupted serenity.

Seated amidst the opulent surroundings of the meeting room, Hadrian felt a profound sense of detachment. As the chatter of the concubines filled the air with animated discussions, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. Today’s meeting, much like its predecessor, lacked any significant agenda, the anticipation of the Midsummer festival eclipsing any other concerns. 

Hadrian’s gaze meandered lazily to a side, settling on the section where the Attendants were seated. There sat Theodore, his posture relaxed yet slightly aloof, with a refined air as he inspected his meticulously manicured nails, seemingly untouched by the cacophony around him. Beside him, Luna seemed entirely entranced, perhaps by some whimsical thought or unseen celestial dance only she was privy to.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Hadrian’s mouth. Amidst the monotony, at least someone, he mused, was finding a slice of enchantment.

There was a tangible excitement in the air, an electrifying undercurrent of anticipation. And while Hadrian shared that eagerness — after all, this was his inaugural celebration as a member of the Emperor’s harem — he found no reason to indulge in frivolous banter. A weight of nostalgia pulled at his heartstrings, making it ache with longing.

Litha had always been special for him.

Childhood memories of Litha mornings flooded back. He'd spend them in the sunlit gardens of his childhood home alongside his mother, their fingers deftly weaving delicate wreaths of summer blooms — a medley of daisies, sunflowers, and wild roses. The delicate fragrances of the blossoms would mix with the laughter and gentle guidance his mother offered. His father, with his strong, reassuring presence, would then assist them in draping the manor with their floral creations, turning their home into an enchanting summer wonderland.

And then, as twilight kissed the sky, the grandeur of the bonfire at the Black Castle would await them. A beacon in the night, it symbolised the warmth and vitality of the longest day of the year, and for Hadrian, a bond of family that now felt worlds away.

Hadrian then felt a gentle nudge. It was Reina, her hazel eyes brimming with concern. “Hadrian,” she whispered delicately, her voice like a fluttering silk curtain, “Are you quite alright?”

Roused from his reverie, Hadrian met her gaze, feeling a rush of gratitude for her attentiveness. “Yes,” he murmured, pressing his lips into a thin smile, “Just got ensnared by my thoughts.”

Reina’s eyes softened with understanding, a glint of empathy evident. “It happens to the best of us. Just ensure you’re okay.”

Returning her kindness with a more genuine smile, Hadrian shifted the topic to something more festive. “Have you prepared your flower wreaths yet for the celebration? We need two, correct?”

Reina’s face brightened, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, “Absolutely! One to wear and another to offer to the bonfire.”

Before Hadrian could reply, Emery leaned over, momentarily halting his conversation with the dark-eyed Pippa. “Harry,” he began, mischief twinkling in his eyes, “let’s craft our wreaths together. I’d be dreadfully bored on my own.”

Chuckles escaped Hadrian’s lips. “Emery, I had the same in mind. Would you like to come to my wing after this?”

“Sounds delightful.” Emery grinned, revealing a hint of his pearly whites.

Reina’s hair, shimmering like autumn leaves, caught Hadrian’s attention. “Would you care to join us, Reina?”

She flashed a gracious smile, her fingers lightly touching a pendant at her neck. “That’s kind of you, Hadrian. However, I’ve already committed to Noble Varma. Perhaps another time?”

Hadrian nodded, the promise of future festivities clear in his gaze. “Indeed. We’ll await that day.”

As evening draped its silken shadows, Hadrian made his way to the Imperial Slytherin Palace, the grandeur of its architecture illuminated under the muted twilight. Flanking him, June and Josie maintained a discreet distance, their steps synchronised and purposeful. June cradled the delicate flower wreath with a gentle reverence, its petals subtly shimmering under the fleeting light, while Josie held a tray of meticulously arranged offerings, their fragrances mingling in the air.

As they approached the palace entrance, the intricately armoured guards, their uniforms gleaming, acknowledged Hadrian with a graceful bow, swinging the ornate doors open in seamless motion. Inside, a palace maid, draped in a uniform of rich hues, awaited them. Her posture erect and eyes forward, she beckoned Hadrian to follow, guiding him through labyrinthine corridors, each more opulent than the last, towards the verdant grounds where the festival’s lively hum beckoned.

Upon stepping onto the lavishly decorated grounds, awash in the warm hues of lanterns and intricate patterns of fairy lights, Hadrian breathed a sigh of relief to find the gathering still intimate, with only a few concubines in attendance. Entrusting his maids to their designated waiting area, where an assembly of other maids congregated, he moved gracefully towards familiar faces.

As he approached, the soft glow of the lanterns caught the intricate details of his robes, causing them to shimmer subtly. Emer’s eyes widened in appreciation, the twinkle in them mirroring the scattered starlight above. 

“Hadrian,” he exclaimed, almost breathlessly, “You’re a vision! Those robes... they’re simply exquisite.”

Reina, too, seemed momentarily lost, her gaze lingering appreciatively on the artful drapery of the fabric. “True, robes can elevate one's appearance,” she remarked with a teasing glint in her eyes, “but on you, they seem magical. I doubt anyone else, myself included, could wear them with such innate elegance.”

The robes that adorned Hadrian’s form were a spectacular blend of radiant gold and deep, forest green; symbolising the life-giving Sun and the nurturing embrace of the Earth. The material cascaded gracefully from his waist, swaying with his every move, while the upper portion clung perfectly, accentuating the contours of his torso. The slightly plunging neckline, designed with care by Lyla, revealed just enough to showcase his delicate neck and pronounced collarbones. 

Nestled against his skin was a necklace, sparkling with the fire of golden topaz stones, complemented by matching earrings that dangled delicately, as well as ornate rings and bracelets that added to his regal appearance. 

Resting gracefully amidst the soft waves of his hair was a flower wreath, meticulously woven by Hadrian’s own hands. It was adorned with vibrant marigold blossoms, signifying the sun’s radiant energy, interspersed with sprigs of fragrant lavender for calm and protection, and a sprinkling of chamomile flowers, often associated with Litha for their sun-like appearance and healing properties.

Chuckling at the compliments, cheeks flushed with modesty, Hadrian retorted, “Both of you are being too kind! You are visions yourselves. The shades you’ve chosen perfectly enhance your natural glow.”

However, amidst the amiable banter, Hadrian’s gaze shifted, locking onto Pippa Macmillan, the Third Noble. She regarded him with an intensity that was hard to miss. While her eyes skimmed appreciatively over the intricate details of his attire, there was an unmistakable glint of envy and a touch of avarice in her dark depths.

“You truly look… distinctive, Noble Potter,” Pippa remarked, her voice dripping with condescension as she flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The air around Emery and Reina thickened with tension as they registered her blatant slight. Emery’s eyes flashed with anger, his lips parting to deliver a sharp retort. However, a subtle, warning glance from Hadrian stilled him.

“Your compliments are always… appreciated, Noble Macmillan,” Hadrian replied, his smile never faltering but his tone unmistakably cool. “But for future reference, it’s Noble Potter-Black.”

“Ah, my mistake,” Pippa responded with a dismissive wave, her tone suggesting anything but true contrition.

With a nod, tinted with sarcasm, Hadrian watched as Pippa, with an air of faux dignity, made her swift departure. He then turned back to his companions.

Reina shook her head, her blue eyes wide with disbelief. 

“The nerve of that—” Emery started.

“Emery, don’t even,” Hadrian interrupted gently, placing a restraining hand on Emery’s arm as he sensed his friend’s rising anger. “Remember your position. As insufferable as she may be, she still holds a rank above yours.”

Exhaling sharply, Emery nodded, trying to recompose himself. “Right. Let’s not allow her to cast a shadow on tonight. After all, His Majesty and the upper harem will be gracing us with their presence shortly.”

From his elevated perch atop a grand dais, Thomas observed the festival unfolding below him. With every concubine and esteemed guest making their offerings at the sacred altar, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation for the bonfire ceremony scheduled at midnight.

To his immediate right and left sat his highest-ranking concubines, their chairs slightly less imposing than his own throne but still a testament to their status. Bellatrix and Arden, ever the rivals, subtly vied for his attention with discreet gestures and glances. The palpable tension between the duo had only heightened in recent months. On Arden’s further left, Helene occupied her own seat, seemingly lost in her own world, a stark contrast to the simmering rivalry beside her.

As the evening festivities continued unabated, Thomas let his gaze sweep over the lively scene. Everywhere he looked, there was mirth and laughter, with guests indulging in fine foods and the heady allure of elven wines. 

However, amidst the sea of faces, one figure stood out. Noble Potter-Black, in his impeccable robes, managed to capture the Emperor’s attention effortlessly. The deep neckline of Hadrian’s attire revealed just enough to make Thomas’s heart race. But it wasn’t just the attire; it was the genuine laughter, the spontaneous joy that radiated from Hadrian as he engaged in a lively conversation with Noble Lexington. 

It lent an ethereal quality to his already handsome visage, making him seem almost otherworldly in that moment.

A sharp, insistent tug on his arm pulled Thomas from his reverie.

“Your Majesty!” The urgent voice belonged to Bellatrix, and her nails, which seemed sharper than usual, dug insistently into his arm, even through the layers of his robes.

Drawing a slow breath, he turned towards her, his expression neutral. “What is it, Bella?” His voice was cool, betraying none of his irritation.

Her eyes darted towards the grand clock before resting back on him. “It’s nearing midnight, Your Majesty,” she said, a hint of impatience lining her voice. Arden, seated a bit further away, rolled his eyes in a rather exaggerated fashion and lazily rubbed his noticeably swollen belly, clearly uninterested in Bellatrix’s urgency.

“Very well. Let’s commence the bonfire ceremony.”

The rest of the evening proceeded without a hitch. Sacred verses were chanted, and flower wreaths, symbolising gratitude and hope, were gracefully tossed into the roaring fire. 

As the flames danced and music played, the festivities continued in full swing. Yet, amidst the sea of faces, laughter, and music, the image of Hadrian’s radiant smile continued to haunt Thomas, remaining imprinted in his mind long after the night was over.

Chapter Text

June 26th, 1998

Bathed in a radiant glow, the grand dining hall of Hadrian’s eastern wing exuded an aura of timeless elegance. The vast, high-ceilinged space was dominated by majestic arched windows stretching nearly from floor to ceiling, their clear panes offering unrestricted access to the golden sun outside. The sunlight streamed in, emboldening the room’s intricate mural designs, where mythical creatures and magical patterns played in harmonious loops.

Above, the gilded chandeliers, masterpieces of craftsmanship, hung in solemn pride. Their multifaceted crystals captured the sunlight, refracting it into mesmerising, kaleidoscopic patterns that danced vivaciously around the walls. 

Centrally positioned, the robust oak table, meticulously polished to mirror-like perfection, bore the weight of the finest porcelain dishes and gleaming silverware. A captivating centrepiece stole the show: a bouquet of magical blossoms, their petals gently swaying, as if moving to the rhythm of a whispered lullaby.

Gracing the room with his presence, Hadrian looked every bit the noble he was. His robe, a shade of deep steel blue, accentuated his fair complexion and set off the green of his eyes. His smile was warm and genuine as he rose to greet his friends. After a busy morning in the harem, he had invited Theodore and Luna for a lunch gathering in his palace.

His friends, clad in their black attendant robes, a stark contrast to the room’s brilliance, entered the hall, their faces alight with happiness. However, it was the figure behind them that caught Hadrian off guard. 

Daphne Greengrass, with her cascading golden locks and piercing blue eyes, stepped in, her presence adding an unexpected twist to the afternoon’s gathering.

Hadrian’s gaze locked onto Daphne’s, creating an electric tension that seemed to momentarily halt the air around them. Summoning his best diplomatic demeanour, Hadrian broke the silence. “Attendant Greengrass,” he began with measured politeness, sending a look at Theodore and Luna, “your presence today was unforeseen.”

”Attendants Nott and Lovegood believed it would be fitting for me to join,” Daphne replied, her voice cool and her words calculated. Her eyes held a flash of defiance as she continued, “I seldom let go of opportunities, especially if they present a chance to dine amidst such grandeur.”

Luna interjected in her ethereal, lilting tone, “The more, the merrier.”

Theodore looked slightly sheepish, casting a sidelong glance at Hadrian. “We should have informed you in advance, Hadrian. We didn’t anticipate it would cause any discomfort.”

Hadrian could sense the underlying currents in the room. He wished for a heads-up, but he also knew he could always count on the goodwill of his friends.

“Think nothing of it, Theo,” Hadrian replied, forcing a warm but restrained smile. “I’ll let my servants know to accommodate an additional guest. Do make yourselves comfortable.”

As they settled into their chairs, the weight of the atmosphere grew palpable. Daphne’s icy blue eyes locked with Hadrian’s, a silent challenge. “I must say, your presence graces our table today, Attendant Greengrass,” Hadrian remarked with a practised ease that masked his true feelings. “It’s always delightful to share fine dining with diverse company.”

As silverware clinked and dishes were presented, a delicate dance of words commenced. Daphne, always eager to establish dominance, couldn’t resist taking a jab. “The trappings of your rank seem to suit you remarkably well, Hadrian. One does wonder about the means by which you attained such luxury in such a short span.”

Savouring the rich flavour of his wine, Hadrian met her remark with a poised response, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “It’s often not about the actions, Attendant Greengrass, but the sincerity behind them. And for clarity’s sake, it’s ‘Noble Potter-Black’. I never gave you the permission to address me with my given name.”

Daphne, of course, ignored it and with a thinly veiled dig, she retorted, “Some of us have clawed our way here without the luxury of esteemed family names or influential kin to elevate our standing,” her gaze piercing, laden with unspoken accusation.

A sly smirk played on Hadrian’s lips as he retorted, “Oh? Have the illustrious Greengrass fortunes dwindled? What a sombre turn of events.” The glint in his eyes was unmistakable.

Daphne’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson, her voice shaking with fury. “You have the audacity—”

With a measured grace, Hadrian cut her off, “Indeed, I do, Attendant Greengrass.”

He delicately sliced a piece of the succulent pork, its juices glistening under the chandelier’s soft glow. Maintaining unyielding eye contact, he continued, “Your propensity for sanctimony never ceases to amaze me. Do remember that these palace walls aren’t the corridors of Hogwarts. Here, your petty manoeuvres hold no sway. They never did then, and they certainly don’t now.”

Luna, sensing the escalating tension, swiftly intervened with her ethereal charm, “Did anyone else notice the brilliance of the stars last night? They were particularly bright, almost as if they were celebrating something.”

Grateful for the change of subject, Theodore added with a hint of whimsy, “I’d like to believe they heralded new chapters and fates intertwining for us all.”

Yet Daphne, her eyes still burning with simmering ire, retorted sharply, “Fanciful musings aside, some of us have had to forge our own destinies without the cushioning of renowned surnames or the influence of two elite relatives in the harem.”

Hadrian, the grace in his posture undeterred, replied evenly, “Undoubtedly, my lineage played a part in the initial stages. But were I to rely solely on that, I’d hardly be sitting here, at a pinnacle which, I might add, is considerably higher than yours.”

He took a deliberate, slow sip of his wine, allowing the weight of his words to settle, before adding, “Names might open doors, Greengrass, but it’s one’s own mettle that ensures they remain so. His Majesty’s choice wasn’t merely a product of pedigree.”

Beside him, Theodore concealed an approving grin behind his goblet, while Luna elegantly swirled her wine, her eyes twinkling with unspoken amusement.

The distinct grating sound of metal on stone reverberated through the grand dining hall as Daphne abruptly pushed her chair back. Hadrian’s gaze remained cool, a subtle challenge dancing in his eyes as he met her furious glare, silently conveying that he held the upper hand in this setting.

A mix of emotions played across Daphne’s face - humiliation, rage, and the realisation that any further outburst here would have consequences she wasn’t willing to face. Retribution for disrespecting a higher-ranked member of the harem was a risk she wouldn’t dare take.

Casting one final venomous look at Hadrian, her heels clicked audibly against the ornate mosaic floor, resonating in the tense silence as she made her hasty exit from the hall.

Theodore’s gaze lingered on the closed door, his brow furrowing in contemplation. “I genuinely thought she’d matured beyond such pettiness,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Hadrian leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine thoughtfully. “Theo, when it comes to Daphne and me, rationality seems to take a backseat. Some old rivalries, it seems, are not easily forgotten.”

Theodore took a deep drink from his glass, the rich liquid not quite easing the bitter taste of the encounter. “Perhaps I was naive. I just assumed, given the gravity of our positions now, that old schoolyard animosities would be left behind.”

Luna mused dreamily, “Perhaps she has an infestation of Wrackspurts clouding her judgement.” Her fingers idly played with her necklace, eyes distant as if she could see the invisible creatures floating around.

As the meal continued, the air in the dining hall remained charged with an unspoken tension. Hadrian couldn’t help but reflect on the complexities of life within the harem. It wasn’t solely about garnering the Emperor’s favour; it was also a labyrinthine game of internal politics and ruthless power plays. 

Hadrian had a clear objective in mind, one he’d been planning and strategizing for since before he’d entered this world of opulence and intrigue. He understood that in this intricate dance of power, he had to play his cards with precision, making calculated moves to secure his position and achieve his ultimate goal.

As he watched his friends chat and enjoy their meal, Hadrian was resolute in his determination. He knew what he wanted, and he was ready to navigate the intricate web of the harem to attain it.

July 2nd, 1998

The Pavilion of Blooming Lilies, nestled just a leisurely stroll from the Palace of Noble Elegance, was a sanctuary of peace. Draped under the shade of flowering trees and edged by murmuring water streams, it served as a refuge for those in quest of solace or a spark of creativity. The very air seemed saturated with the intoxicating aroma of the lilies in full bloom, their pristine petals reflecting the soft luminescence of the midday sun. A subtle undercurrent of bees buzzing and distant melodies of birdsong played a harmonious backdrop to this idyllic setting.

Hadrian, seated gracefully on an ornate cushion, was deeply engrossed in capturing the essence of a delicate lily, its petal cradling a singular, gleaming dewdrop, on his parchment. The weight of his morning obligations lifted, he had chosen this serene escape to indulge in his passion for sketching. June and Dana sat a few steps away, engrossed in whispered conversation, their eyes occasionally drifting to admire the fluid strokes of their master's hand.

The pavilion’s ambience shifted subtly. The melodic sounds seemed to fade, replaced by an imposing stillness. Glancing up from his work, Hadrian found himself ensnared by the gaze of none other than the Emperor himself, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. Taken aback, Hadrian rose to his feet, the parchment slipping from his fingers, and lowered his head in a gesture of deep reverence.

“Your Majesty,” he intoned, his voice soft yet laced with surprise.

The Emperor, donned in resplendent robes of deep forest green, elegantly embroidered with gold, stood in stark contrast to the serene backdrop of the pavilion. His piercing red eyes, sharp and discerning, softened as they watched Hadrian’s artistry. A gentle, approving nod was his response as Hadrian momentarily paused, caught off guard. “Proceed, my Noble,” he urged with a gracious sweep of his hand. “I had no inkling of this talent of yours, but it is very… captivating.”

Caught between the awe of the Emperor’s presence and the pull of his craft, Hadrian took a steadying breath before settling back on his cushion. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Sketching has always been a haven for me — a way to immortalise transient moments of beauty.”

Choosing a spot adjacent to Hadrian, the Emperor gracefully descended into a seated position. The air around them seemed to pulse with a profound energy as he spoke. “Your artistry isn’t merely about the precision of your strokes. It’s about the depth of your vision — your innate ability to perceive and portray the very soul of the world around you.”

While Hadrian’s sketching resumed its graceful dance on paper, he and the Emperor engaged in a deep and meaningful discourse about art. Their voices, like whispers of the wind, resonated amidst the fragrant lilies and the gentle babble of water features.

The Emperor, uncharacteristically candid, regaled Hadrian with stories from his extensive travels, recounting encounters with talented artisans and the diverse forms of artistry he had witnessed. It was an exchange that transcended the conventional master-concubine relationship, offering a glimpse into the minds and hearts of two souls bound by fate.

As they conversed, the Emperor’s face lost some of its customary regal reserve, revealing a side seldom seen by others. It was a glimpse into the humanity behind the imperial persona, a moment of connection amidst the grandeur of their surroundings.

Little did they know that this conversation marked the beginning of a series of private interludes that would forever shape their relationship.

***

The serene ambiance of the Pavilion of Blooming Lilies was occasionally disrupted by the soft chuckles and insightful conversations between the Emperor and his Noble. As the conversation meandered from art to personal experiences, there was a palpable shift in the air.

The Emperor, leaning slightly closer to Hadrian, remarked. “I’ve seen many artists in my time, my Noble, but none with the passion and depth you exhibit. The way your eyes light up when you capture the world on paper is... entrancing.”

Hadrian’s pencil momentarily froze over the sketchpad as he felt the weight of the Emperor’s penetrating gaze. Lifting his eyes, they met a pair that bore into him with an intensity that made his heart skip a beat. The genuine warmth of the compliment tinged his cheeks a soft shade of rose.

Clearing his throat, Hadrian responded, slightly taken aback, his cheeks reddening by the minute, “I… Thank you, Your Majesty. Your words are truly gracious.”

A playful smirk adorned the Emperor’s lips as he replied, “Am I not allowed to voice the obvious? Besides,” he added, his voice a velvety whisper that brushed against Hadrian’s ears, “you wear that blush beautifully.”

Caught off guard, Hadrian tried to gather his composure. “I’m not used to such compliments, Your Majesty, especially from someone of your stature.”

Leaning back, the Emperor’s eyes danced with a teasing glint. “Then, perhaps, it is high time you get used to them. I might find myself praising you more, just to see that delightful blush adorn your features.”

Hadrian’s laughter was light, its melody floating through the pavilion. “Your Majesty, your eloquence is truly unparalleled.”

The Emperor leaned in slightly, the rich fabric of his robes rustling gently. His eyes, reflecting the myriad shades of a twilight sky, held a warmth that was rare. Hadrian would have never expected to be at the end of such a gaze. “And you, Noble Potter-Black, have an uncanny ability to captivate my thoughts and intrigue my mind. I am eager for the many conversations our future promises.”

July 5th, 1998

As the sun’s first rays painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, Hadrian’s quarters were a hive of activity. The memories of the previous day’s encounter with the Emperor, their light banter, the undercurrent of attraction, were still fresh in his mind. There was a spring in his step, a glow on his face that was hard to miss.

June noticed the change immediately. “Our Master is in good spirits this morning,” she remarked with a playful smile as she laid out Hadrian’s robes for the day — a sleek ensemble in a deep shade of indigo, with silver embroidery of flowers and vines that ran across the back of the dress.

Hadrian chuckled, unable to hide his happiness. “Let’s just say yesterday was... enlightening.”

Josie, brushing Hadrian’s slightly curled hair, smiled knowingly. “The Emperor, was it?”

Hadrian blushed, confirming her suspicion. “He’s... different from what I expected.”

June, adjusting the silver clasp on Hadrian’s robe, said. “Emperor Slytherin has many facets. It’s very rare for him to show interest in someone so quickly, but when he does, it’s genuine.”

Hadrian nodded, pondering her words. “I sensed that. His words weren’t just flattery. There was depth to them.”

Josie, finishing with his hair, said. “Well, today’s meeting is important, and you’ll be facing many curious eyes. Wear that confidence, Master. You’ve caught the Emperor’s attention, now it’s time to show the harem why.”

Hadrian straightened up, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, both of you. Let’s face the day head-on.”

And with that resolve, Hadrian left his chambers, ready to navigate the intrigues of the court with the memory of the Emperor’s piercing gaze as his secret armour.

***

The hall was filled with soft murmurs and the rustling of robes as the harem members settled into their respective places. Primary Consort Bellatrix Slytherin-Black had a commanding presence, her rich voice effortlessly carrying through the vast chamber. As she read the decrees, everyone listened with rapt attention.

Most of the decrees were as expected — affirmations, appointments, or simple housekeeping matters for the harem. However, as Bellatrix read out the Emperor’s more personal sentiments regarding Noble Potter-Black, a hush fell over the assembly. Whispers spread like wildfire as heads turned towards Hadrian.

“...And His Imperial Majesty finds Noble Potter-Black to be quite ‘entrancing’. He eagerly anticipates the pleasure of engaging in further conversations with him.”

Hadrian’s cheeks turned a shade of pink. He wasn’t expecting a personal acknowledgment, especially in a formal setting like this. He could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on him — curious, envious, speculative.

Bellatrix continued, though she cast a sly, knowing look towards Hadrian. “It seems the Emperor has taken a special interest. Noble Potter-Black, you have indeed made quite the impression.”

“It does appear that way,” Arden commented, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the swell of his belly. Helene, seated gracefully beside Arden, sent Hadrian a soft, encouraging smile, her jewelery glinting subtly.

Bellatrix’s gaze bore into Arden like a sharpened dagger. Her well-known aversion to being overshadowed, especially by the likes of Arden, was evident. The tensions between the two had been brewing and escalating over recent months, their power play evident to all in the court.

Lifting an eyebrow, Arden fixed Bellatrix with a look of self-assured confidence, the corners of his mouth lifting ever-so-slightly. “Any insights you’d care to share, Primary Consort?”

Ignoring their exchange and rising gracefully, Hadrian offered a deep bow, his heart full of gratitude. “I thank His Majesty, for his unparalleled benevolence,” he expressed with sincerity before reclaiming his seat. The opulent hall, alive with whispered conversations, carried the discreet murmurs of fellow Nobles. From his vantage point, he could discern fragments of their hushed exchanges.

“Truly?” Jiyeon, the Eleventh Noble known as Noble Kim, remarked with a tone dripping in derision. “He’s been here for only a fleeting moment, and already he’s sinking his claws in.”

Amarin, his attire shimmering in the ambient light, shot her a frosty look. “Hold your tongue, Jiyeon.” His voice a silken warning, its chill contrasting with the warmth of the room.

“So you’re just going to stand by and watch this charade?” She responded, her frustration evident.

He leaned in closer, the gold embroidery on his robes catching the light, “Our preferences are of little consequence in the grand scheme of things.”

Jiyeon’s glare was met by Hadrian’s calm, steady gaze. The weight of the moment hung heavy between them. With a haughty huff, Jiyeon flicked her elaborately braided hair over her shoulder and deliberately looked away.

The atmosphere in the room crackled with undercurrents of rivalry and intrigue. Though a multitude of faces turned towards Hadrian with gracious nods and gestures, there were a few whose eyes shimmered with envy, Jiyeon’s being the most conspicuous among them.

“Seems you’re the star of today’s gathering.” Theodore whispered, leaning slightly towards Hadrian from his seat in the back.

“It’s the start of something special, I can feel it.” Luna remarked with her usual dreamy tone.

Daphne Greengrass, not one to be outdone, shot a scathing look towards Hadrian. “Entrancing, is it? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Hadrian took a deep breath, managing a polite nod in response to the stares and comments. While the Emperor’s words were flattering, they also meant that Hadrian would now be under even greater scrutiny. 

The games of the harem had only just begun.

Chapter Text

July 6th, 1998 (After the meeting)

Jiyeon’s heels clicked with a fury against the marbled stairs of the Palace of Noble Delicacy, each step echoing her simmering anger. Her long, flowing robes billowed behind her like a storm cloud, as her maids struggled to match her brisk pace. Before the ornate gates even had a chance to be opened by the awaiting guards, she threw them open herself, the force making them clang loudly in protest.

Her breaths came fast, and her once graceful hands trembled with unrestrained emotion. Memories of Potter’s smug expression flitted in her mind, fanning the flames of her indignation.

The moment the thick wooden doors of her private chambers closed behind her, sealing her away from prying eyes, Jiyeon’s facade cracked. She released a guttural scream that echoed through the opulent room, voicing the tempest of rage and humiliation she felt.

“He dared to belittle me!” Jiyeon’s voice was shrill, her usually poised demeanour unravelling. “That audacious upstart dared to—” But her words dissolved into another series of vehement screams and colourful curses.

“Mistress, you must calm down—” A timid voice belonging to a young maid tried to intervene.

Jiyeon’s gaze, which would have once dazzled with a gentle sparkle, now pierced through the room with incandescent rage. “I said silence!” She snapped with a chilling edge.

“That whore—” Each word she mentally spat regarding Potter was dripping with venom. He had dared to step above his station, to challenge her established authority. He had no inkling of the games played within these palace walls.

Jiyeon’s tenure with the Emperor had spanned more than a decade. She had endured countless challenges, schemes, and tests to earn her coveted place, and now, it felt like she was being overshadowed by a mere child. A boy who, until recently, was probably engaged in petty schoolyard squabbles.

Potter, with his self-assured confidence, likely believed he could simply saunter into the palace and beguile his way into the Emperor’s heart and bedchamber. Those alluring green eyes, bestowed upon him by his mudblood mother, were undoubtedly captivating, but it didn’t change the fact that he was a filthy halfblood. Adorned in the finest silks and glittering with diamonds, he carried the weight of two Noble Houses’ legacies. Likely coddled and pampered, Potter probably never knew a day of hardship in his life.

In stark contrast, Jiyeon’s beginnings were humble. Hailing from a modest noble pureblood lineage in Korea, her life had been void of sprawling manors, opulent banquets, and doting relatives. Her ambitions had been born from sheer tenacity and dreams, not privilege. She had yearned for grandeur and royalty since the tender age of ten, when she first beheld the Emperor. With stars in her eyes, she had envisioned herself as the reigning Empress, with the world bowing at her feet and the palace echoing with her commands.

Suddenly, a painful memory clawed its way to the surface of her turbulent thoughts. 

“If only,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat, the weight of anguish evident in her tone. A maid, sensing her mistress’s vulnerability, cautiously stepped closer, offering silent support.

“If only my child had lived,” Jiyeon’s voice trembled, and her once fiery eyes now brimmed with tears. “If only she had been a son!”

A heart-wrenching secret that few knew: Jiyeon had been forced to make an unthinkable sacrifice, ending the life of her unborn daughter, all for the twisted politics of the harem.

July 7th, 1998

Hadrian was savouring a midday repast in the intimate dining chamber of his ornate wing. The sumptuous spread, an array of tantalising dishes, was interrupted by the distinct sound of a knock, disturbing the quiet elegance of the moment. Pausing, he gently placed his silver fork and knife onto the porcelain plate.

“Enter,” he beckoned.

The ornate door, with its finely detailed carvings, swung open with a soft, deliberate creak. Dana, dressed in her impeccable servant’s attire, gave a respectful bow before stepping inside. “A missive for you, Master.”

Offering her a nod of acknowledgment, Hadrian carefully dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a finely embroidered napkin. 

Dana gracefully approached, extending the delicately folded parchment towards him. As he took the letter, his fingers brushed over the cool, grey wax seal, impressed with an emblem he recognized. With nimble fingers, he broke the seal and scanned the content. It bore an invitation for a tea soirée, hosted by Primary Attendant Beatrice Eker at the illustrious Palace of Graceful Beauty.

“Arrange the carriage, Dana,” Hadrian instructed, his voice carrying a touch of anticipation. “It seems I’ll be gracing the company of the Attendants this evening over tea.”

“At once, Master!” Dana responded promptly.

“And fetch the robe, the special one tailored by Lyla just last week. The one with the intricate embroidery.”

“Of course, Master,” Dana replied, her eyes reflecting her understanding. “Everything will be set and ready to perfection.” She bowed gracefully, her movements fluid and practised.

***

In the soft glow of the room, Maya carefully clasped a delicate pearl collar necklace around Hadrian’s neck, drawing attention to its graceful curvature. As he observed his reflection in the ornate vanity mirror, the light of the near-setting sun caught the gentle waves of his hair, styled to cascade just to the nape of his neck, with a few tendrils rebelliously draping over his forehead, artfully concealing a prominent scar.

“Master, you truly are a vision,” Lyla remarked appreciatively, securing a bracelet around his wrist, its sapphire blue stones intermingled with pearls shimmering in harmony.

Maya, her eyes gleaming with admiration, added, “If only His Majesty could behold this sight. He’d surely be spellbound by your elegance, Master.” The hint of a daydream playing on her lips.

Hadrian chuckled warmly, shaking his head in amusement. “Oh, stop it!” He exclaimed playfully. “There will surely be countless occasions where I’ll need to present myself before His Majesty.”

Lyla’s eyes sparkled with determination, her hands animatedly emphasising her words. “Master, I promise you this— every time you adorn one of my creations, His Majesty's gaze will be riveted solely on you. Each piece will be a testament to your elegance and stature.”

Hadrian’s lips curled into a genuine smile. “I’m counting on it, Lyla.”

He studied the robe he was currently wearing, appreciating the intricate embroidery and the luxurious fabric that draped flawlessly around his form. Lyla truly was an artisan in her own right. And in that moment, he felt a surge of gratitude towards the Emperor for placing such a talented seamstress in his care.

The robe was an exquisite shade of blue, transitioning seamlessly from the ethereal lightness of the sky at dawn to the deep, mysterious hues of twilight. The bodice, a pristine white, was adorned with meticulous golden embroidery, reminiscent of constellations on a clear night. The lower part cascaded like liquid silk, embodying the undulating waves of an ocean with shades of azure and sapphire interspersed with white. The hem was masterfully embroidered with intricate blue blossoms intertwined with golden vines and branches, a silent testament to Lyla’s expertise.

Attached to the robe was a finely-crafted cloak, its collar positioned just below the luminous pearl necklace, creating a contrast that drew attention to Hadrian’s delicate neck. The embroidery on the cloak mirrored that of the robe’s hem, establishing a harmonious symmetry.

Hadrian’s fingers, adorned with rings that captured and refracted the gentle sunlight, traced the details of the robe’s design. Each touch affirmed the luxury and precision of the craftsmanship.

“You both have outdone yourselves today,” Hadrian praised, his gaze shifting from the robe to Maya and Lyla. Both maids bowed deeply in appreciation. “Now, please have June and Josie join me by the carriage. We’ll be heading to the Attendants’ Palace shortly.”

“As you wish, Master,” they replied in unison, their voices harmonising in their shared dedication.

***

The Palace of Graceful Beauty, while modest in stature compared to the imposing Noble Palaces, held an air of intrigue. But Hadrian was well-versed in the ways of magic; understanding that size was often a mere illusion, manipulated at will by those skilled in the arcane arts.

The gentle jolt of the carriage halting roused Hadrian from his reverie. June and Josie were swift, disembarking before extending their hands to assist him. They were a flurry of motion, with Josie meticulously attending to the trailing train of his robe, ensuring no speck of dirt would mar its splendour. Meanwhile, June, with her hand delicately wrapped around Hadrian’s, gracefully guided him up the ornate staircase leading to the palace.

As his eyes took in the surroundings, he couldn’t help but note the distinct lack of marble underfoot, a luxury staple in the Noble Palaces. The differentiation in grandeur was palpable, emphasising the hierarchy even in architectural nuances.

As the ornate palace doors creaked open, a young maid with her hair pulled back into a neat bun approached Hadrian, offering a respectful curtsy. “Greetings, Noble Potter-Black.”

Hadrian acknowledged her with a slight dip of his head.

“If you’d please follow me, I’ll escort you to the sitting room,” the maid offered, her voice as soft as the rustling of leaves.

Walking alongside her, Hadrian’s eyes wandered, taking in the aesthetic of the corridor. A stark contrast to the opulent Noble Palaces and those of the upper harem – particularly Aunt Bellatrix’s, which shimmered with lavish hues – the Attendants’ Palaces exhibited a more subdued palette. Walls adorned solely in monochromatic shades of black, white, and varying greys hinted at a deliberate choice, perhaps symbolising the hierarchy he wasn’t privy to.

His contemplations were interrupted when the maid gently pushed open the double doors to the sitting room. Inside, four individuals were already comfortably settled.

A tall woman, her skin a rich shade of brown, stood gracefully. Her hazel eyes twinkled with warmth, and her luscious black curls cascaded freely down her shoulders, dancing with every movement. As Hadrian stepped further into the room, she offered a delicate curtsy.

“Welcome, Noble Potter-Black,” she began, her voice as melodious as a songbird. “I believe we have not been formally introduced. I am Beatrice Eker, the Primary Attendant.”

Hadrian dipped his head in recognition. “A pleasure, Primary Attendant Eker.”

Beatrice’s gaze shifted to the other individuals, each rising from their respective seats. Hadrian’s eyes landed on a familiar face, Noble Meera Varma. Her light brown skin seemed to glow, her wavy black hair perfectly framing her face, and her brown eyes sparkled with recognition. 

“Indeed, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Noble Varma,” Hadrian acknowledged as Meera offered a graceful curtsy.

Turning her attention to a striking man with black hair tied meticulously in an elegant bun, Beatrice introduced, “Here we have Secondary Attendant Orion Sallow.” Orion’s golden brown eyes met Hadrian's briefly as he offered a respectful bow.

“And lastly,” Beatrice gestured to another man, his stature imposing. His white blond hair was closely cropped, contrasting starkly with his deep-set eyes. A brief flash of recognition passed through Hadrian’s mind, pondering the possibility of his lineage being tied to either the Malfoys or Lovegoods. “This is Attendant Andre Hearst.”

“Delighted,” Hadrian responded, offering a subtle nod of acknowledgement. Given his superior rank in the room, a full bow would be inappropriate. 

“Please,” Beatrice motioned towards the exquisitely carved chairs around the room, “make yourself comfortable.”

Once comfortably seated, Hadrian cast a curious glance towards his fellow concubines. “Will anyone else be gracing us with their presence this evening?”

Beatrice paused for a moment, adjusting the silver bangle on her wrist. “Indeed,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of anticipation. “Noble Huang Dingxiang is expected to join us shortly.”

Hadrian raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. His interactions with Noble Huang had been brief, limited to their initial meeting arranged by Noble Walter and the occasional exchange of courtesies during the harem gatherings.

“Have you had the opportunity to converse with Noble Huang at length?” inquired Orion, leaning forward slightly, his interest evident.

“We’ve had only fleeting exchanges so far,” Hadrian responded, shifting his attention to the delicate china teacup before him.  It remained untouched and empty, reflecting the group’s anticipation of one more awaited arrival.

As if on cue, the room’s door opened with a soft whisper. Framed by the doorway stood Noble Huang, his silhouette accentuated by the ambient lighting. The familiar maid who had previously escorted Hadrian was just a step behind him, her posture the epitome of professionalism.

“My apologies for the delay,” Dingxiang announced, his eyes alight with a touch of sheepishness, yet that infectious grin never faltering.

Beatrice waved away his concerns with an elegant flick of her wrist. “Nonsense, Noble Huang. You’re perfectly on time for the most delightful part.” Her eyes twinkled in jest.

Upon noticing Hadrian, Dingxiang’s already bright eyes seemed to shine even brighter. “Noble Potter-Black, it’s a pleasant surprise to find you here. It warms my heart to see you again.”

“The feeling is mutual, Noble Huang,” Hadrian responded, the corners of his lips lifting subtly.

Beatrice, eager to keep the gathering lively and congenial, clapped her hands lightly. Almost immediately, the room filled with the soft sounds of porcelain clinking and the rich aroma of freshly brewed tea. Maids gracefully streamed into the room, bearing silver trays laden with an array of culinary delights. 

Dainty finger sandwiches filled with fresh cucumber and smoked salmon were positioned neatly beside golden-brown sausage rolls. Freshly baked scones, their tops glistening with a light sheen of butter, awaited clotted cream and strawberry jam. Nearby, an assortment of eclairs, their tops drizzled with chocolate, sat alongside a colourful array of cakes, pastries, and delicately iced biscuits. The entire spread was a feast for both the eyes and the palate.

As the maid gracefully poured Hadrian’s tea, the room was infused with a unique aroma. The liquid shimmered in a rich shade of reddish-brown, exuding a scent that was simultaneously earthy and comforting, with underlying warm, woody notes. As Hadrian leaned closer, a subtle whisper of vanilla graced his senses, perfectly complemented by a trace of fruity sweetness.

He raised the cup slightly, letting the warm steam play against his face, and inquired, “Primary Attendant, this tea’s fragrance is both novel and captivating. Might I ask its origin?”

Beatrice’s eyes lit up with a blend of pride and nostalgia. “Ah, Noble Potter-Black, I’m delighted you appreciate it. This is Rooibos tea, often referred to as ‘Red Bush’ tea. My roots trace back to South Africa, and this particular tea is a cherished gift from my homeland. Every time my family sends it to me, it feels like receiving a warm embrace from the place I once called home.”

Meera, after taking a delicate sip from her cup, chimed in, her voice laced with appreciation, “It truly is a unique experience for the palate.”

Hadrian, intrigued by the conversation, delicately picked up a finger sandwich, the softness of cream cheese blending seamlessly with the rich flavour of smoked salmon, as around him, nods of agreement signified shared sentiments.

Dingxiang leaned forward, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “Have any of you caught wind of the latest scuttlebutt?” He took a sip from his teacup, revelling in the rapt attention from his peers. “What I heard will surely pique your interest.”

“Oh?” Hadrian, intrigued, responded with a playful smirk, “Do share, Noble Huang. Especially if it’s as tantalising as you make it sound.”

Dingxiang’s expression turned slightly apologetic, his gaze locked onto Hadrian’s. “This pertains somewhat to you, so please, forgive any inadvertent offence.”

Hadrian gestured generously for him to proceed. “No reservations here. Speak away.”

With a dramatic pause, Dingxiang began, his voice dripping with mischief. “It seems that after yesterday’s meeting, Noble Kim was... less than pleased. Particularly after His Majesty’s commendations towards you, Noble Potter-Black.”

“Truly? How scandalous!” Meera’s eyes widened, her voice filled with faux shock.

Dingxiang nodded vigorously, “Oh, it’s all true, Meera.”

Orion, after a deliberate sip of his tea, added, “It aligns with what I observed. From my vantage point, I could see her practically seething with each passing commendation.”

“Such behaviour is not only undignified but disrespectful.” Beatrice clucked disapprovingly.

Hadrian, maintaining a facade of indifference, mused, “Her reactions were hardly covert. I felt as if her piercing gaze alone would have rendered me lifeless then and there.”

The table erupted into laughter, appreciating Hadrian’s wry sense of humour. The conversation shifted to more amiable subjects thereafter. However, one thing was certain to Hadrian: Every slight, every challenge would be catalogued in his mind. After all, he was no pushover, and the intricate dance of court politics was just beginning.

July 8th, 1998

From her elevated seat on the dais, Bellatrix’s voice rang clear and commanding, “An update from the Royal Palace: His Royal Highness, Prince Cain Slytherin, will be celebrating his 16th year on the 17th of July.” Helene, seated in her ornate chair, couldn’t help but radiate pride; Cain was, after all, her beloved son. Bellatrix continued, “It’s imperative that all Concubines adorn themselves in accordance with the occasion’s significance and their respective rank. However, it’s to be noted that only Official Spouses are privy to attend the royal birthdays. This regrettably means the exclusions of our esteemed Nobles and Attendants.”

Murmurs of discontent rustled through the hall, like a wind disturbing the calm of a forest. Hadrian sank slightly in his plush chair, a shadow of disappointment darkening his eyes. He had been secretly nursing a hope to be present for such momentous occasions, even though he was fully aware of the limitations of his current rank.

But ambition burned in him. Soon, he vowed silently, he would claim a position as a Concubine.

The husband of the Emperor.

Bellatrix, sensing the shift in the room’s energy, pressed on. “Moving forward to our next agenda…”

Chapter Text

July 13th, 1998

Emery swirled the rich wine in his glass, the amber liquid reflecting the room’s subtle lighting. “This morning’s meeting felt endless,” he remarked with a hint of weariness, taking a measured sip.

Reina chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Couldn’t agree more!” She said, skillfully skewering a succulent piece of chicken with her fork and savouring its flavours.

Nestled in Hadrian’s luxurious wing within the Palace of Noble Elegance, the three Nobles were a picture of relaxed camaraderie. After enduring the morning’s tedious proceedings, they had sought solace in each other’s company, immersing themselves in engaging conversations, reading, and simply lounging amidst the plush interiors of Hadrian’s sitting room. As the clock signalled the approach of midday, Hadrian, playing the gracious host, extended an invitation for a sumptuous luncheon, which both Emery and Reina gladly accepted.

Emery rolled his eyes, spearing a tender piece of lamb with his fork. He shot Hadrian a knowing glance. “With all due respect to family ties, Harry, Bellatrix does have a tendency to prolong these sessions. It’s as if she revels in the sound of her own voice.”

Hadrian offered a lighthearted shrug, his lips quirking up in a half-smile. “No offence taken, Em. And trust me, I’ve noticed. Just remember you’re in a safe space here; the privacy wards are up. Speak freely.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if these meetings were bi-weekly, but four times a week?” Reina sighed, swirling her wine. “It’s practically a test of endurance at this point.”

Hadrian shifted slightly, tilting his glass to catch the light. “The tensions between Aunt Bella and Arden have become more pronounced of late.”

Reina nodded, swirling the wine in her goblet thoughtfully. “The impending birth might reshape the hierarchy of the harem. Currently, it seems the scales are tipping in Arden’s favour, but the final decision still rests with His Majesty.”

Hadrian nodded slowly, absorbing the implications. “It’s a delicate balance of power.”

Emery took a bite of his food, pausing to savour it before speaking. “Considering Arden’s advanced pregnancy, I’d wager today might have been the last time he attends another meeting. He’s nearly at full term.”

Hadrian arched an eyebrow. “So, the baby is due soon?”

“By my reckoning, early August,” Reina confirmed.

Hadrian settled deeper into his chair, pondering the unfolding drama. “The next few weeks will certainly be quite interesting,” he mused, lifting his wine glass for another sip.

July 16th, 1998

“No meeting today,” Hadrian murmured, a hint of relief evident in his voice as Freya carefully brushed through his soft curls, teasing them into perfection.

Instead of the grandeur he usually adorned, Hadrian had opted for understated elegance that morning. His dark blue robes, which in certain light appeared almost black, were simply cut, but the fabric was of the finest quality. The only embellishment was the intricate silver embroidery that framed the sleeves and hem. The robes flowed gracefully around him, providing both comfort and a regal bearing. 

Such leisurely days, without the pressing schedule of harem meetings or courtly engagements, had become a rare luxury for him.

“Master, what would you prefer for breakfast this morning?” Maya inquired, her fingers deftly slipping rings onto Hadrian’s outstretched fingers.

Pausing to consider, Hadrian’s thoughts drifted to a dish he hadn’t indulged in for a while. “How about some smoked salmon on toasted rye bread with a soft poached egg and a dash of hollandaise sauce?”

Maya’s eyes lit up with approval. “An excellent choice, Master. I’ll have it prepared right away.”

***

Hadrian observed with keen attention as Tara and Josie meticulously laid out his breakfast before him. Every subtle movement of Tara’s hands was noted - the slight tremor, the hint of hesitance as she poured the tea, and the aura of unease that seemed to envelop her. 

He needed to address this, soon. Walking on eggshells, constantly second-guessing every interaction with Tara was becoming a strain, keeping his shields up in her presence was exhausting. Yet, as much as he trusted his instincts, they alone weren’t concrete evidence to present to the Emperor for Tara’s reassignment. 

Moreover, his current standing with the Emperor—while cordial—lacked the depth and trust that came with time. He’d been a part of the harem for a mere month, and while their interactions had been nothing but amicable, he hadn’t yet established that profound rapport that would allow him to make such requests.

“Thank you, Tara,” he acknowledged softly.

As Tara offered a quick bow and retreated from the room, Josie moved to stand alongside Maya and Freya. The three of them formed a quiet, supportive presence to Hadrian’s right, casting occasional glances his way, sensing the undercurrent of thoughts that occupied his mind.

“Master, I’ve ensured the tea and food are safe,” Josie’s voice carried a reassuring undertone as she spoke. “There has been no tampering. I also kept a vigilant watch on Tara as we made our way here.”

Gratitude flickered in Hadrian’s eyes. His maids were proving to be invaluable, consistently looking out for his well-being. He contemplated rewarding them for their unwavering loyalty–perhaps gifting them each a purse filled with galleons–he’d mull it over later.

“I truly appreciate your vigilance,” he expressed with genuine warmth. “Thank you, all of you.”

Freya stepped forward slightly, her eyes meeting Hadrian’s. “Master, your well-being is our topmost priority,” she declared, and the nods from Maya and Josie echoed her sentiment. “Your kindness towards us has never wavered since our childhood.”

A soft smile touched Hadrian’s lips, memories of sunlit days playing with them on the vast grounds of the family estate flooding back. Simpler times, filled with joy and innocence.

Shifting his focus back to the present, Hadrian picked up his cutlery and delved into his breakfast, each bite as delectable as he had come to expect.

A sudden recollection made Hadrian sit up a bit straighter, his brow furrowing. “Prepare the carriage for me,” he said. “I need to keep up with my duelling practice. I refuse to let my skills wane.”

Josie’s eyebrows knitted in concern, “Are you certain, Master? The War Chamber is not exactly nearby. It’s a significant journey, almost half an hour by carriage.”

His voice was gentle but unyielding, “Yes, Josie. And afterward, perhaps we can spend some time in the Garden of Singing Roses. I’ll have three of you accompany me.”

Maya, her fingers wringing her apron slightly, interjected, “We just worry about you being on your own, Master. It’s just that... What if something were to happen, or you needed—”

Hadrian could almost visualise the parade of potential mishaps marching through Maya’s mind. With a small chuckle to himself, he lifted his teacup, letting the steamy aroma envelop him. “Relax, Maya. It will be alright. Just ensure the carriage is ready when I am.”

Maya’s posture relaxed just a touch, her dedication evident. “Of course, Master. Consider it done!”

***

With a sharp, practised flick of his wand, Hadrian intoned, “Reducto!”

A burst of blue light shot forth, slamming into the training dummy with immense force. As he manoeuvred gracefully around the chamber, he cast an array of spells with ease. “Expelliarmus!” he cried, and the dummy’s simulated wand flew out of its grip.

“Stupefy!” The stunning spell caused the dummy to momentarily freeze, immobilised by the magic.

Maya, Josie, and Freya observed from a safe distance, their eyes wide with a mix of respect and fascination. The elegance with which Hadrian moved, his powerful command over his spells, was nothing short of mesmerising. Every swish and flick of his wand was deliberate, every spell pronounced with crisp clarity.

Though he didn’t typically flaunt his abilities, there was a part of Hadrian that secretly relished the moments when he could demonstrate his prowess. He took pride in his mastery over magic, and it showed.

As he continued his intricate dance with the dummy, he conjured a silver shield with “Protego!” deflecting a simulated curse. With another rapid motion, he summoned tendrils of binding energy, “Incarcerous!” which coiled around the dummy, restraining it. 

Taking a deep breath, he then decided to end the demonstration with a flourish. Pointing his wand at the dummy, he declared, “Confringo!” causing a controlled explosion that sent pieces of the dummy scattering in all directions.

Dusting off his hands, he turned to his maids, the gleam of satisfaction pronounced in his eyes.

Hadrian never noticed another pair of eyes watching him.

***

Hadrian strolled along the meandering path that wound through the enchanting Gardens of Singing Roses, a sanctuary of botanical wonder. The name was fitting, for roses in every hue graced the surroundings, their vibrant colours and fragrant blooms seemingly composing a harmonious symphony in the air. Each variety of rose lent its unique fragrance to the garden, creating a fragrant tapestry of melodies that filled the atmosphere.

As he walked, Josie, Maya, and Freya followed a couple of paces behind him, their eyes filled with fascination at the ethereal beauty that surrounded them. They were vigilant in their watch over him, discreetly ensuring his safety while allowing him to savour the garden’s offerings.

This particular garden was closer to the Imperial Palace, and as he continued to stroll, he could catch glimpses of the grand palace complex in the distance, its opulent domes and spires commanding the skyline.

“What a pleasant surprise, My Noble.”

As the Emperor’s footsteps echoed closer, Hadrian felt a mix of emotions swirl within him. The Emperor’s voice reached his ears, its tone remaining steady with a hint of warmth, yet carrying a mysterious undercurrent that left Hadrian intrigued and slightly apprehensive.

His maids, displaying unwavering respect, gracefully knelt before the approaching Emperor, their heads bowed in reverence. The garden was silent now, save for the soft rustling of robes and the subtle scent of the Emperor’s presence filling the air.

Hadrian, feeling his heart pound within his chest, paid his respects by lowering his head in a respectful bow. With every second that passed, the tension seemed to thicken, adding to the suspense.

The Emperor continued his approach, drawing nearer to Hadrian, while the servants at their feet remained humbly in their positions. Hadrian dared to look up, his gaze cautiously meeting the enigmatic and captivating figure of the Emperor, who was now just a step away.

“You are quite far away from your palace,” The Emperor observed, his voice tinged with curiosity as they strolled through the garden. Their arms were linked together, Hadrian’s hand resting against the firm muscle of the Emperor’s bicep. The fragrance of the roses hung in the air, an enchanting backdrop to their conversation. “Let’s walk together, shall we?”

Hadrian nodded, his emerald eyes meeting the Emperor’s with a mix of reverence and intrigue. “I was in the War Chamber, practising my duelling.”

The Emperor responded with a knowing smile, “A great endeavour. You were quite the duelist in Hogwarts, weren’t you, My Noble?” The roses seemed to respond to their presence, their colours and fragrances shifting as if enchanted by the Emperor’s aura.

Hadrian acknowledged the Emperor’s observation with a nod. “Yes, I’ve been part of the Duelling Club hosted by Professor Flitwick since my Fourth Year.”

The Emperor showed genuine interest, “Defence or Dark Arts, which one did you like the most?”

A contemplative look crossed Hadrian’s face. “Both, I suppose,” he replied. “Dark Arts came naturally to me, surprisingly. Professor Lestrange wasn’t that shocked; she said I was like my mother on that front.”

A faint smirk graced the Emperor’s lips, and his eyes sparkled with amusement.

July 20th, 1998

The hall buzzed with excitement as the Emperor’s concubines  gathered for the morning harem meeting. The gold-and-emerald drapery of the room reflected the opulence of the Harem Court.

Primary Consort Bellatrix Slytherin-Black sat poised and majestic, her raven-black hair meticulously styled into a sophisticated bun, with loose tendrils gracefully cascading around her alabaster face. Resting atop her head, a crown of gleaming rubies, each stone meticulously chosen, served as a testament to her stature. The twinkle in her eyes, usually masked by her stern demeanour, was clearly evident today, revealing the weight of her imminent proclamation.

The conspicuous absence of the Secondary Consort Slytherin-Crawford further piqued Hadrian’s interest. In the past week, he had observed a marked lightness in his aunt’s step, her mood noticeably uplifted and serene. It seemed today’s assembly might provide an explanation for her buoyant spirit.

“Good morning,” she began, her voice echoing in the spacious hall. “I bring joyous news today. In two weeks, on the 1st of August, we shall celebrate Lammas, the first harvest festival, right here on the grounds of our magnificent Imperial Slytherin Palace.”

Murmurs of appreciation filled the room. Lammas, or Lughnasadh, was a sacred time, marking the beginning of the harvest season. The festival was celebrated with much fanfare, symbolising gratitude, abundance, and the interconnectedness of nature and mankind.

Hadrian reclined gracefully in his chair, the usually composed emerald green depths of his eyes shimmering with a hint of excitement and anticipation. Memories of past Lammas celebrations with the Black Family came flooding back. The traditions, the laughter, the familial bond - he remembered it all. This year, for the first time in almost two decades, the familiar comfort of home felt miles away, tugging at his heartstrings, inducing a pang of bittersweet nostalgia.

Yet, this was the path he had consciously chosen.

He had made the deliberate decision to leave behind the comforts of his home, the warmth of his family. Embracing this new life was his choice, and by Merlin, he was determined to experience every moment of it to the fullest.

Bellatrix continued, “It is a time to celebrate the early fruits of our labour, both in the fields and in our personal endeavours. We shall have a grand feast with the finest dishes from our kingdom, dancing, and traditional rituals.”

“It sounds like a splendid celebration, Primary Consort,” Hadrian spoke up, feeling the significance of the moment. “It is essential, especially in these times, to pause and appreciate the fruits of our efforts.”

“Indeed, Noble Potter-Black.” Bellatrix nodded in acknowledgment at her nephew. “This celebration is also an opportunity for unity, bonding, and to strengthen our connections.”

“And let’s not forget the traditional Lammas bread. Last year it was spectacular and I’ve heard the palace bakers have a special recipe this year.” Emery added with a grin.

Bellatrix laughed at the young Noble. “Yes, Noble Lexington, there will be bread, freshly baked and golden, shaped in the figure of the Sun God, Lugh, from whom this sabbath gets its name. The bread will symbolise the harvest and the cycle of life.”

Luna, her eyes dreamy as always, chimed in, “And the bonfires. Dancing around them, making wishes, and releasing them into the flames, letting go of what no longer serves us.”

The Primary Consort nodded. “Indeed, Attendant Lovegood. Bonfires, traditional dances, and perhaps even a friendly competition or two. Lammas is a time of joy, gratitude, and togetherness. I expect all to participate wholeheartedly, and let this be a festival to remember.”

The meeting concluded with a sense of anticipation in the air, everyone eagerly looking forward to the Lammas celebrations.

Bellatrix Slytherin-Black had taken charge of ensuring that the Lammas celebration went off without a hitch. Therefore, she had assigned specific duties to each of the concubines, ensuring their roles matched their strengths and personalities.

One such duty fell on Hadrian the next day after the announcement was made. He received his assignments via an elegant scroll, sealed with Bellatrix’s royal insignia.

Noble Potter-Black,

I am giving this assignment to you and accept you to fulfil it with flying colours. You are entrusted with overseeing the creation of the ceremonial altar, and ensure it was adorned with the season’s first grains, fresh fruits, and late summer flowers.

 

Warm Regards,

Bellatrix Slytherin-Black, Primary Consort

July 25th, 1998

Thomas reclined gracefully on an plush chaise, set in the dimly lit corners of his private office. His dark robes hung loosely, unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white shirt and tailored black slacks underneath. The weight of bureaucracy and the monotonous drone of the council meeting had worn on him, making every muscle ache for relaxation.

Nestled near the fireplace, the flames casting hypnotic dances of light across her scales, was Nagini. The majestic serpent, his faithful familiar, lay coiled and content, basking in the ambient warmth. Her rhythmic breathing was a calming soundtrack to the room’s heavy stillness.

Lost in contemplation, Thomas’s thoughts swirled around the recent Selection. It had been a significant deviation from his norm. He usually opted for just one or two individuals, or sometimes none, if the participants failed to intrigue him sufficiently. This time, however, he had chosen five, a decision driven by more than mere whimsy or attraction.

Above all others, there was Hadrian. Merely thinking of him brought a soft smile to Thomas’s lips. The pull he felt towards Hadrian was undeniable. But circumstances demanded subtlety and tact. Choosing only Hadrian would have sent ripples through the court, creating waves of speculation and potentially unfavourable consequences towards Hadrian especially . So, to balance the scales and obscure his true intentions, he had brought in four others, all while his true interest lay primarily with one.

The heirs of the Lovegood, Greengrass, and Nott families had thrown their hats into the ring this selection season. Their participation was no minor event; each hailed from influential pureblood lineages that could further bolster Thomas’s already vast network of allegiances. He was no stranger to power plays, having manoeuvred through the treacherous waters of court politics with ease. Still, having these families in his corner through matrimony—if they managed to become his Official Spouse at all —meant consolidating his power with less... unpleasantness involved.

Yet, even with such notable figures in contention, none managed to shine quite as brightly as Hadrian. The paradox that was Hadrian, the Halfblood prodigy of two ancient pureblood lineages — one notorious for its dark leanings, the other straddling the line of neutrality with a tendency towards dark — was an enigma Thomas found utterly captivating. 

Hadrian wasn’t the timid, retiring figure he presented in the Emperor’s august presence. Thomas had seen, albeit covertly, a glimpse of Hadrian’s true mettle. A week prior, in the secluded duelling chamber, those striking green eyes of his had blazed with an indomitable spirit and an unquenchable fire. 

The memory alone stirred something deep within Thomas.

As he watched Hadrian’s prowess from the shadows, Thomas was overcome by an urge almost too powerful to suppress. He had felt a compelling need to step into the light, draw his own wand, and challenge Hadrian in a dance of magic. He yearned to gauge the depth of Hadrian’s strength firsthand, to determine if Hadrian could truly match him, move for move, in a ballet of spells and counter-spells. 

This fervour, this raw, consuming intensity he felt, was a sensation Thomas hadn’t experienced in years. It wasn’t just about duelling. Thomas envisioned himself shaping and moulding Hadrian, unlocking potentials and revealing the depths of magic only few dared to explore. The possibilities of what he could impart to Hadrian seemed boundless.

But patience was a virtue Thomas had mastered over the years. All things would come to fruition in their own time. For now, he’d remain the observer, quietly analysing from the sidelines, waiting for the opportune moment to emerge.

The soft, rhythmic knock on the door shattered Thomas’s introspective reverie. A swell of irritation rose within him, a dark storm cloud ready to burst. He had been explicit in his instructions: he wished for solitude and didn’t want any disturbances.

With a voice as cold as a winter night, he said, “Enter.”

The door creaked open to reveal Casimir, his trusted Head Eunuch, whose unwavering service spanned over twenty years. The loyalty etched in Casimir’s visage usually comforted Thomas, but now, it was met with the Emperor’s smouldering displeasure.

With a trace of anxiety in his eyes, Casimir began, “Your Majesty—”

Thomas’s gaze, sharp and fiery, met Casimir’s, cutting him off. “Did I not make myself clear about wanting to be left in peace?” The weight of his voice, heavy with authority, filled the room.

Casimir lowered himself into another bow, the lines of worry evident on his usually placid face. “Your Majesty, Imperial Concubine Slytherin-Carrow insists on—”

Thomas dismissed the matter with a flick of his wrist, before Casimir could finish. “Inform her that my time is presently occupied and that I am not in a state to entertain her whims.” 

He walked over to an ornate bookshelf, its dark mahogany catching the light, making the golden inlays shimmer. Each spine told a story of wisdom and history. Thomas’s fingers brushed over the titles, searching, until they halted on four particularly unique ones. 

Two books were the prized first editions by a renowned Brazilian Master Duelist, their covers worn but still resonating with power. The third was an antiquated volume, penned by a sagacious Irish witch of the sixteenth century, delving into the nuances and limitations of spells in duels. The final one was a beautifully illustrated tome on charms, crafted by a famed French enchantress.

Gathering them in his arms, he passed them to Casimir. “Ensure these are delivered to Noble Potter-Black,” he instructed, scribbling a brief note on a parchment with a flourish of his quill. The ink glimmered momentarily before drying. “And convey my message to my Noble that he may take his leisure in pursuing them.”

Casimir accepted the books and note with care, the gravity of the responsibility evident. “It shall be done immediately, Your Majesty.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, a shadow of a smirk on his lips. “And Casimir? Make certain Alecto takes her leave. She does have a knack for lingering far beyond her welcome.”

July 31st, 1998

The room was bathed in the soft morning light, filtering through the ornate draperies, as Hadrian stretched languidly under the plush blankets. The chirping of the birds outside seemed to be wishing him a happy birthday. 

There was a magical air to the room, an air of anticipation. This was his first birthday away from his family and friends.

As he sat up, his eyes widened at the sight before him. Spread across the floor in a corner were a myriad of exquisitely wrapped gifts, varying in sizes from small delicate boxes to larger parcels. Each had a ribbon and a card attached to it. Beside his bed was a small table filled with letters, the wax seals of various prominent families and friends glistening in the morning light.

The first letter he opened was from his parents. 

To our dearest son, 

We wish you the happiest birthday. May this year bring you endless joy, opportunities and the love you deserve. We are so proud of the man you are becoming.

Words can’t convey how much we miss you; the manor feels empty without your presence. We hope that we can see you soon.

Be happy, and be safe.

 

With all our love, 

Mum and Dad.

A slightly messier script adorned the next letter. 

Happy Birthday, Prongslet! 

It feels like it was only yesterday I had you nestled safely in my arms. How time flies. How are you? Is the court treating you well? I know I’ve been sending a little too many letters to Bella and Reg about you. I know they are ready to hex me to the next week.

Anyway, take care and and always remember, you have an old Marauder looking out for you. I love you.

Cheers, 

Padfoot.

He picked up a gift with a familiar sigil - the Black family crest. Unwrapping it, he found a sleek, polished wooden box. Inside lay an exquisitely crafted silver pendant, a merging of the Potter and Black family symbols. A note inside read: 

Dear Grandson,

I wish you the happiest name day. This old man finds himself missing your company far more these days. You’ve made me so proud, my heir, and I know you will continue to do so.

Wear this with pride, for you embody the best of both families. 

 

With immense pride, 

Grandfather Arcturus.

Aunt Bella, in her characteristically lavish fashion, had sent Hadrian a trio of gifts. Every year, as if to mark each aspect of his life, she would send him not one, but three meticulously chosen presents. It was a tradition she upheld with a dedication that left Hadrian both bemused and touched. That she had continued this for eighteen years was a testament to her unwavering affection for him.

Uncle Regulus, always with a keen eye for elegance, had gifted Hadrian a resplendent navy blue robe, its fabric whispering luxury. The robe shimmered under light, catching various hues and reflections. To complement it, he’d also sent a matching jewellery set, with cufflinks, a brooch, and a pendant, each piece delicately inlaid with sapphires that mirrored the depths of a night sky.

Emery, Reina, and Nicholas, each had their tokens of affection delivered. Wrapped with care and sealed with their unique personal touches.

Among the gifts, a beautiful owl feather quill from Hermione, a rare magical plant from Neville, and an ornate pocket watch from Theodore caught his eye. Luna, in her whimsical style, had sent a dreamcatcher, “to keep away the nargles,” her note cheerfully mentioned. There were more gifts from Anthony, Susan, Blaise, Hannah, Fred and George, and many others.

What truly caught Hadrian off guard was the influx of gifts from the many members of the harem. It was expected, perhaps, from those below his rank to send their well-wishes or tokens of respect. Each present and card was an affirmation of the relationships he was beginning to build within the palace’s intricate web of power and politics. 

However, it was the gifts from the upper echelons of the harem that genuinely surprised him. Notably, there were elegantly wrapped packages from Helene Slytherin-Bexley, whose gift bore the distinct fragrance of exotic flowers - a hint to what might be inside. Penelope Slytherin-Haywood, known for her impeccable taste, sent a box with intricate gold leaf detailing. Cassandra Slytherin-De Florian’s gift came with a feathered quill, hinting at the scholarly or literary nature of her present. And two others, whose interactions with Hadrian had been limited, went out of their way to send him tokens of acknowledgment. 

As Hadrian sifted through the outpour of love, a special package stood out. It bore the emblem of the Imperial Palace. Carefully unwrapping it, he found a first edition of a rare magical book he had once mentioned wanting to read in passing. Hadrian didn’t think the Emperor would remember. The initials left no doubt in his mind about the sender - Emperor Thomas Slytherin.

Filled with gratitude and warmth, Hadrian felt truly cherished. This birthday, in the midst of the opulence of the Harem and away from home, he felt surrounded by love and memories, both old and new.

Hadrian was lounging in his private parlour, sipping on a mid-afternoon tea that June had thoughtfully prepared, when a rustle of silk announced the arrival of an official palace eunuch. Clad in intricate robes that signified his status, the eunuch carried an ornate silver tray which bore a single, beautifully crafted scroll.

“From the Imperial Palace, Noble Potter-Black,” the eunuch announced in a resonant voice.

Accepting the scroll, Hadrian unrolled it to reveal exquisite calligraphy on fine parchment. The words written with an ink that shimmered, indicating the importance of the message.

“His Imperial Highness, Emperor Thomas Slytherin, humbly requests the honour of your presence this evening at a celebratory dinner in honour of your 18th name day. The dinner shall commence at the hour of twilight within the Emperor’s private dining hall.”

Hadrian felt a twinge of surprise mixed with curiosity. It was not common for the Emperor to extend such an invitation for a personal birthday celebration since only Official Spouses’ birthdays were celebrated with grandeur. This was not just a gesture of courtesy; it held significance.

“Please relay my deepest gratitude to the Emperor, and convey my acceptance,” Hadrian said, managing to keep his voice even despite his inner turmoil.

The eunuch bowed deeply. “Your words shall be conveyed, Noble Potter-Black.”

As the eunuch departed, Hadrian turned to June, who had been watching silently, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Well, this certainly is an unexpected twist to the day.”

“Indeed, master. It seems the Emperor holds you in quite the regard.” June said with a bright smile.

Hadrian shook his head, the weight of the evening’s event sinking in. “I need to be prepared. My robes, everything needs to be perfect.”

June nodded, understanding the implications. “We shall ensure you look the part, master.”

As the afternoon sun cast its golden hue, Hadrian began his preparations for an evening that promised to be anything but ordinary.

The Imperial Slytherin Palace, an architectural masterpiece of elegance and grandeur, stood illuminated under the velvet canopy of the night sky. The ethereal glow of enchanted chandeliers floated above, while soft melodies from distant instruments filled the air, creating a perfect setting for the evening’s celebration.

Hadrian’s attire was a testament to elegance and style, an artful blend of blue and gold. The upper half of his robe featured intricate floral patterns, meticulously embroidered with threads of shimmering gold. This exquisite design enhanced the silhouette of his chest, revealing a subtle hint of his neckline - a tantalising tease that balanced modesty with allure. 

The lower half of his robe cascaded gracefully, its hues of blue and gold merging in fluid waves that trailed behind him. Each step he took created a mesmerising dance of colours, with the golden accents catching the light in a captivating display.

Hadrian’s accessories were equally exquisite. His fingers bore the weight of gold rings, each unique and meaningful. His wrists were adorned with bracelets that chimed softly with his movements, and the earrings he wore glimmered under the warm, flattering light, accentuating his features and adding an air of mystery to his ensemble.

Hadrian was escorted by palace guards, and entered a private dining hall adorned with silken drapes and walls etched with intricate designs telling tales of old. At the centre stood a long dining table set with glistening crystal and gold.

Emperor Thomas Slytherin rose from his seat at the head of the table, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes streaking over his form. “Hadrian,” he began, his voice smooth. “It is a pleasure to celebrate this day with you.”

“Your Majesty,” Hadrian bowed slightly. “I’m honoured by your graciousness.”

The dinner itself was a culinary feast, with dishes representing the finest the empire had to offer. As they dined, the conversation flowed seamlessly, from politics to literature and everything in between. The Emperor, ever the charmer, navigated the conversation with ease, ensuring Hadrian felt both relaxed and honoured.

As the two sat opposite each other, the atmosphere was thick with both tension and curiosity. The Emperor took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving Hadrian’s. “Did you like the book that I gifted you?”

“Yes, I did,” Hadrian replied sincerely. “I’ve only had a chance to read a few pages so far, but it's already quite intriguing.”

The Emperor smiled. “I’m pleased to hear that. I had hoped you would find it engaging.”

Hadrian chuckled. “I’ll always have a soft spot for books. Even the one about pranks that two of my friends sent me.”

Thomas leaned forward, amused. “Pranks, you say? Ever participated in one?”

Hadrian grinned, recalling a particularly fond memory. “Once or twice, with the Weasley twins. I may or may not have been involved in turning a corridor into a swamp.”

The Emperor laughed, genuine and hearty. “Ah, mischief always did have its charm. And what about studies? Any favourite subject?”

“I have a wide range of interests, as I mentioned before,” Hadrian replied with a smile. “But Potions did have its charm, even though I was only average at it.”

“I find that hard to believe, especially considering your performance in the Selection,” the Emperor said. “What were your grades in O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S.?”

“I received an ‘Outstanding’ on both occasions,” Hadrian admitted, a touch bashful.

“See, I was right,” the Emperor said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Blushing slightly, Hadrian quickly changed the subject. “What about you, Your Majesty? Do you have any notable memories from your time at Hogwarts?”

A distant and somewhat hard look appeared in the Emperor’s eyes. “Many memories, but not all of them are fond.”

Hadrian realised his mistake and decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “Did you ever play Quidditch, Your Majesty?”

The Emperor’s red eyes snapped to Hadrian’s. “Quidditch? No, not really. Did you play?”

“Yes, I did,” Hadrian responded. ‘I started in my second year and became the Captain in my sixth and seventh years.”

“Quite impressive,” the Emperor remarked. “But you were rather young, weren’t you?”

“My cousin, the Heir Malfoy, dared me to join,” Hadrian explained. “He said I couldn’t make it to the tryouts and become the Seeker. I needed to prove him wrong, so I did.”

The Emperor couldn’t help but smirk. “The Malfoy Heir, huh…”

As the final course was cleared, Emperor Slytherin signalled a servant who presented a blue velvet box. Opening it, he revealed a breathtaking diamond necklace, with three rare blue diamonds encrusted in its centre.

“For you,” the Emperor said, holding out the necklace towards Hadrian, “A token of appreciation and admiration.”

Hadrian, taken aback by the gesture, whispered, “It’s exquisite, Your Majesty. I’m truly humbled.”

The Emperor’s fingers brushed Hadrian’s as he clasped the necklace around his neck. The room’s atmosphere shifted, becoming thick with tension and unspoken words.

Drawing closer, the Emperor murmured. “There’s something captivating about you, My Noble.” 

Before Hadrian could react, the Emperor’s strong fingers enveloped his hand, and his heart raced as their hands entwined. The Emperor’s thumb caressed the back of Hadrian’s hand gently before lifting it to his lips. His warm, soft mouth pressed a delicate kiss to Hadrian’s hand, causing a shiver to travel down his spine.

The Emperor’s intense gaze bore into Hadrian, and it was filled with want that sent waves of desire through him. 

It was clear that Hadrian had truly captured the Emperor’s attention.

Chapter Text

August 1st, 1998

The grand hall was buzzing with whispers as members of the harem began filling in, exchanging pleasantries and taking their seats according to rank. The room was a blend of rich purples and golds, with enchanted chandeliers providing a soft, ambient glow. The large stained-glass windows gave a breathtaking view of the imperial gardens outside.

Hadrian had a faint smile playing on his lips. The prior evening’s encounter with the Emperor had left him in high spirits, and the lingering warmth of the kiss, albeit only on the back of his hand, was like a secret he guarded closely.

As Hadrian entered, a ripple of attention swept through the room, with many eyes following him. He exchanged brief nods with some familiar faces, including Luna and Theodore. When he caught Emery’s gaze, his friend sent him a beaming smile which Hadrian gladly returned.

“Morning, Hadrian,” greeted Theodore, smiling as the Noble Joined them. “You seem especially radiant today. Anything special?”

Hadrian chuckled softly, replying. “Just a good night’s sleep, Theo.”

He took his seat, but not before catching a few knowing looks and smiles from those around, some looks he received were pathetically envious. News travelled fast in the harem, and it was clear that some whispers of the one-on-one birthday celebration had already made their rounds.

“Harry!” Reina turned to Hadrian with a broad smile on her face. “Did you like my gift?”

Hadrian returned her smile with genuine gratitude. Reina had gifted him a beautiful set of quills. “Yes, they are absolutely gorgeous. Thank you so much.”

Emery chimed in, and the three of them engaged in a hushed conversation. They shared their thoughts and feelings in low voices until Bellatrix and Helene entered the hall, at which point the conversation fell silent.

As Bellatrix began reading out the Emperor’s decrees, most in the room listened in rapt attention. Most of the announcements were routine, pertaining to palace protocol and upcoming events, the Lammas festival tonight in particular.

However, when Bellatrix announced the next decree, a murmur went through the crowd. “The Emperor has decided to promote Noble Potter-Black to the esteemed rank of 5th Noble,” she proclaimed. “His Majesty has found him to be not only remarkably talented but also very pleasant and captivating.”

The murmurs grew louder. Hadrian could see the varied expressions in the room - some of surprise, a few envious glares, but also many nodding in agreement. Regulus in particular looked at him with amused yet prideful eyes. The swiftness of Hadrian’s ascent was unprecedented, but then again, he had always been one to defy expectations.

Bellatrix, pausing for a moment to let the news settle, looked directly at Hadrian. “Congratulations, Noble Potter-Black,” she said, her voice carrying an undercurrent of warmth and pride.

Overwhelmed, Hadrian stood up, bowing slightly. “I express my gratitude to His Majesty for this opportunity. I will fulfill my responsibilities in accordance with my rank.” He replied, his voice steady. Though on the inside, he was a storm of emotions: pride, happiness, and a growing realisation of the unique position he held in the Emperor’s eyes.

Luna leaned over, whispering to Hadrian. “Seems you’ve caught the Emperor’s eye.”

Hadrian blushed. ”It’s an honour, nothing more.”

“The honour of being called ‘pleasant and captivating’ by the Emperor himself? That’s no small feat!” Theodore teased.

Bellatrix, noticing the whispers, said with a hint of amusement. “It appears Noble Potter-Black’s charm is indeed working its magic, wouldn’t you all agree?”

A chorus of agreement, some genuine and others dripping with envy, filled the room. “It’s a well-deserved promotion,” remarked Emery, joining the conversation. His next words were more hushed, “Though I must say, I never thought I’d see the day when the Emperor would openly commend someone like this.”

“Neither did I.” Hadrian responded, still trying to process the turn of events. He then turned to Reina, who had just passed on her former rank to Hadrian.

“Harry, congratulations,” Reina said, her eyes crinkling in a genuine smile. Hadrian could sense the sincerity in her words, knowing they had maintained their friendship despite the changes in harem dynamics.

“Thank you, Reina,” Hadrian replied, his voice reflecting his appreciation.

“You’ll always have a friend in me, no matter what.” She reassured him.

As the meeting wrapped up, Daphne approached him, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Congratulations, Noble Potter-Black. You must be ecstatic.”

“I am grateful, Attendant Greengrass. Thank you.” Hadrian replied with a slight grin.

Nicholas, the Secondary Noble, came forward, offering a hand. “Congratulations on your promotion, Hadrian.”

Hadrian smiled, shaking his hand. “Thank you, Nicholas.”

The hall slowly emptied, but the whispers persisted. The young Noble had indeed become the talk of the palace, his star on the rise.

As Hadrian walked down the steps to reach his carriage, he turned to face the imposing figures of Alecto and Patricia, both powerful witches in their own right and close confidantes to each other in the Harem. Their gazes locked onto him like serpents stalking their prey.

“Ah, Noble Potter-Black,” purred Alecto, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “It seems the Emperor has taken quite a shine to you.”

Patricia chimed in, her voice equally smooth but with an undercurrent of menace. “It’s not every day a Noble, especially as young as you, captures the Emperor’s attention so quickly. Such a quick promotion too, you must be ecstatic.”

“I’m humbled by his kind words.” Hadrian replied, carefully choosing each word. He was well aware that one wrong move with either of these women could lead to a great deal of trouble.

“Join us for lunch at my palace,” Alecto offered, her tone more demanding than inviting. “It would give us an opportunity to get to know one another better.”

Hadrian hesitated for a split second, weighing his options. Declining might be seen as an affront, especially in the ever-shifting sands of harem politics. Yet, accepting meant potentially walking into the lion’s den. 

“I’d be honoured, Secondary Imperial Concubine Slytherin-Carrow,” he said finally, opting for politeness. “And you too, Imperial Concubine Slytherin-Rakpyke.”

The two women exchanged glances, the corners of their lips curling into faint smiles. “Excellent,” Patricia murmured. “Follow us.”

As they walked side by side, Hadrian could feel the weight of the situation. The next few hours would be a test of his wit and charm. While the Emperor’s favour was a blessing, it also put him squarely in the crosshairs of those who might see him as a rival.

The dining room in Alecto’s palace, Palace of Volatile Shadows—very aptly named as the witch who resided there—was a marvel of opulence, with high, vaulted ceilings and intricate mosaics adorning the walls. A long table sat in the centre, covered with a lavish spread of dishes, their aroma wafting through the air. The table settings, with their gilded cutlery and porcelain plates, spoke of wealth and power.

As they settled into their seats, Patricia began the conversation, her voice dripping with feigned politeness. “It must be such a novelty, Noble Potter-Black, to find yourself in the Emperor’s favour so quickly. How do you manage it?”

Hadrian, taking a moment to compose himself, replied with a measured tone. “I’m as surprised as anyone. I simply aim to be genuine and hope that my merits speak for themselves.”

Alecto shot back with a smirk. “Or perhaps it’s simply your youthful charm that has ensnared our Emperor’s attention?”

Choosing to avoid a direct confrontation, Hadrian responded. “If that is the case, I hope I can also offer substance behind the exterior.”

Throughout the lunch, the two women threw veiled insults and backhanded compliments Hadrian’s way. Every dish served, every toast made, was an opportunity for them to assert their dominance. The tension in the room was palpable.

However, Hadrian navigated the treacherous waters with grace. He complimented the chefs on their exquisite dishes, inquired about Alecto’s and Patricia’s interests, and shared anecdotes from his own upbringing, always maintaining a polite demeanour.

Yet, inside, his anger simmered. He had expected challenges, but the blatant hostility from two of the harem’s most powerful members was something else entirely.

As the lunch drew to a close, Patricia remarked. “Well, Noble Potter-Black, it’s been... enlightening getting to know you. Do remember your place in the grand scheme of things.”

Hadrian, rising gracefully from his seat, replied, “Thank you for your hospitality, Secondary Imperial Concubine Slytherin-Carrow, Third Imperial Concubine Slytherin-Rakepike. I assure you, I have no intentions other than to serve and honour the Emperor.”

As he left the palace, Hadrian took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of the lunch. He knew that this was only the beginning and that more challenges awaited. But for now, he had weathered the storm and emerged unscathed.

The moment the grand doors of Hadrian’s palace closed behind him, the weight of the afternoon pressed down on him, making his steps heavy. He barely noticed the opulence of his surroundings as he made his way to his private chambers.

Before he could fully enter, Emery, always with an uncanny ability to sense when his friend was in distress, came rushing. The two shared a look, the kind that said more than words ever could. Emery approached him cautiously, the concern evident in his eyes.

“Harry,” Emery began, “what happened? You never arrived back after the meeting.”

“Lunch with Carrow and Rakepick. Hadrian took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “It was... intense.”

Emery snorted, knowing very well how those two particular concubines could get. “That’s putting it mildly, considering the look on your face.”

Hadrian grimaced. “They made it very clear what they thought of my... sudden attention from the Emperor. It was a minefield, Em. Every word, every gesture, was a potential trap.”

Emery took a moment, processing the information, before placing a comforting hand on Hadrian’s shoulder. “They’re threatened by you, Harry. You’ve achieved in such a short time what they probably took years to gain. Jealousy can make people act in... undesirable ways.”

Hadrian chuckled weakly. “Undesirable? You have a way with understatements.”

Emery smiled. “It’s one of my many talents. But seriously, you’ve always been one to rise above pettiness. This is just another challenge, and knowing you, you’ll navigate it with the same grace and wit you always have.”

Hadrian smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Em. I needed that.”

Emery’s eyes softened. “Anytime, my friend. Remember, we’re in this together.”

They shared a moment of silent understanding, finding comfort in their shared journey amidst the complexities of court life.

The evening sun bathed the Imperial Palace grounds in hues of orange and red, casting elongated shadows and giving the scenery an ethereal touch. Aromas of freshly baked bread, roasting meats, and blooming late-summer flowers wafted through the air.

Hadrian stood before the beautifully adorned ceremonial altar, beams of sunlight making the grains and flowers seem to glow. He quietly murmured a blessing, “May the fruits of our labours and joys of this season sustain us through the coming winter.”

Emery approached, a radiant smile on his face. “The dances are all set, Harry. We’ve got a group ready to lead the traditional Lammas circle dance.”

Reina, with her script of the story of Lugh in hand, nodded towards both of them. “The story is prepared, and I think it’ll help everyone appreciate the significance of today even more.”

Pippa approached the gathering with a stern face but a hint of excitement in her eyes. “The feast is ready. It’s been set up perfectly. The Lammas bread is quite the masterpiece this year.”

“Everyone will love it,” Nicholas interjected, looking towards the bonfires that began to roar with life. “Once the sun sets, the fires will light up the celebration, and we can begin the release ceremony.”

Daphne, spotting Luna and Theodore, called out with a hint of mirth, “I hope you two have prepared well for the wishing ritual. There’s already a line of attendees eager to cast their wishes!”

Luna, with her dreamy smile, replied, “Every wish will have its moment. Theodore and I have everything sorted.”

Theodore nodded, a scroll in his hand. “I’ve got the instructions for everyone. We’ll guide them properly.”

As twilight settled, the Emperor Thomas Slytherin entered the grounds. His eyes searched and found Hadrian. Approaching him, he whispered so only Hadrian heard his words, “Everything looks beautiful, especially you.”

Hadrian blushed, the memory of their first kiss last night fresh in his mind. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Lammas is about celebrating the first harvest, the fruits of our labours, both in terms of actual food and metaphorically in life. I hope tonight we can all appreciate and celebrate our hard work and blessings.”

The Emperor chuckled, “With you here, I’m sure it will be a night to remember.”

    The gathered crowd formed a large circle around the central area, a space reserved for the ritual. An intricately designed altar stood prominently, decorated with ears of corn, freshly baked loaves of bread, and a large chalice of wine.

Bellatrix stepped forward, her white robe billowing gently. “Lammas marks the time of the first harvest, the beginning of autumn. Today, we come together to acknowledge the blessings and labours of our world.”

Arden, holding a sheaf of wheat, stepped forward. Despite the Secondary Consort’s child being due soon, he had participated in the Lammas ritual. “With this grain, which has grown under the summer sun and the nurturing rain, we give thanks for the abundance of our lands.”

Arden took his wand out, and then with whispered incantation crushed the grain, a symbolic gesture of turning it into flour, which Helene took and started kneading with water, with a flourish of her wand and crafting it into a small dough. “From the earth’s offerings, we create sustenance,” she said.

Regulus approached the altar with a small, ornate oven. “And with fire,” he intoned, placing the dough inside, “we transform it.”

As the bread baked, Alecto stepped forward, holding a goblet of wine high. “This wine represents the spirit, the essence of life. Just as grapes are crushed to make it, life’s challenges shape and refine us.”

The Emperor, now stepping into the circle. “Tonight, as we stand at the threshold of seasons, we acknowledge the cycle of life. Growth, harvest, and rest.”

“Let’s now partake in the first harvest.” Bellatrix broke the freshly baked bread, giving a piece to everyone present. As the bread was shared, attendees whispered their thanks and blessings for the coming season.

Patricia, holding a small basket of corn dolls, said softly, “With these, we honour the spirit of the crop. May it bring protection and prosperity.” Attendees each took a doll, whispering wishes to it.

As the ritual concluded, Hadrian and the Emperor locked eyes once more. The former whispered, “Blessed Lammas, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor, in a voice dripping with meaning, responded, “The pleasure of this evening has just begun, Noble Potter-Black.”

August 5th, 1998

“Master!” Josie’s voice was frantic as Hadrian’s chamber doors slammed open. Hadrian was sitting in front of his vanity, his maids - June, Dana, and Freya - surrounding him as they helped him dress for the morning meeting.

“Josie, why are you shouting like that?” June reprimanded sternly. “Are you looking for a punishment?”

“Forgive me, Master,” Josie said, her voice quivering as she dropped to her knees. “But the Secondary Consort has gone into labour! You must— You must leave for his palace at once and pray for his and the child’s well-being.”

Before Hadrian could even process the information, there was a flurry of panic among the maids who had been dressing him. Thankfully, he was already fully prepared.

Arden was in labour, expecting his second child with the Emperor in two decades.

“Quick! Prepare the carriage!” Hadrian ordered urgently.

This left Hadrian and the entire harem gathered in the grand hall of the Palace of Serene Harmony for nearly seven hours. Despite the passing time, there was still no news of the child’s birth. From Arden's muffled screams, it was evident that he was still deeply immersed in the throes of childbirth.

The Emperor had arrived many hours earlier, but protocol dictated that he could not enter the birthing chamber until the baby was born. While these rules seemed archaic, no concubine had ever pushed for a change.

Hadrian pondered that perhaps the concubines preferred to keep their moments of sweating, screaming, and vulnerability hidden from the Emperor, preserving an image of perfection and strength in his eyes.

As the clock neared four o’clock in the afternoon, an unusual calm settled, drowning out Arden’s earlier screams. Hadrian could only hope for the well-being of the Secondary Consort and the newborn child.

A maid, adorned in maroon red with a crisp white apron, entered with a warm smile. “His Royal Highness, Secondary Consort Arden Slytherin-Crawford, has given birth,” she announced. “The harem may proceed to the chambers.”

Her words set off a flurry of movement. Bellatrix strode forward, a determined pace in her steps, jaw ticking, and hands clenched at her sides. Helene and Regulus followed closely, with Hadrian and the rest of the harem trailing in their wake.

  As the group approached the chamber, two imposing guards, adorned in the Emperor’s livery, stood sentry in front of the ornate doors. Bellatrix, the picture of regality, led the way, and with a nod from her, the guards opened the doors, granting entry to the anxious harem members.

Hadrian walked in, flanked by Emery and Nicholas. Sensing his nerves, Emery gently took hold of his hand, the fabric of their robes concealing the reassuring gesture.

Hadrian shifted his gaze to Arden, who sat wearily but radiated joy. The man’s exhaustion was apparent, but a bright smile adorned his face, hinting at the happiness the arrival of the baby had brought. The Emperor, cradling the newborn protectively, traced gentle paths on the infant's rosy cheeks.

Bellatrix approached the Emperor cautiously, earning a stern glare from Arden. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the child. The gender of the baby remained a mystery, shrouded in the anticipation of the moment.

Bellatrix’s throat cleared with a delicate sound. “Your Majesty, have you settled on a name for the child and their title?”

As per protocol, the Emperor held the authority to choose the names for royal offspring, with the Concubine having the privilege of selecting the middle name. Hadrian recalled a peculiar tradition: Princesses adorned names associated with fire, whereas Princes were bestowed names linked to water. The air buzzed with the anticipation of the imminent announcement.

The Emperor sent a meaningful glance at Bellatrix. “Indeed, I have.”

A hush fell over the room, and every gaze remained fixed on the Emperor, awaiting the revelation.

“Allow me to introduce Princess Bridgette Anastasia Slytherin,” the Emperor announced with a touch of paternal pride. “The Fifteenth Princess of the Slytherin Dynasty.” 

As the proclamation hung in the air, a subtle sigh of relief escaped Bellatrix. Her demeanour shifted, revealing a certain satisfaction that it was a princess and not a prince. Hadrian, while comprehending the intricacies of harem politics, found the emphasis on gender perplexing. The Emperor had never shown partiality between his sons and daughters.

Boldly, it seemed the Emperor harboured a preference for his daughters, evident in their elevated positions. Second Princess Aprina, holding a seat at the Royal Council, and her resolute decision to remain unmarried demonstrated this favour. Third Princess Eliane and Fourth Princess Calida shared similar distinctions, underscoring the Emperor’s apparent inclination toward his daughters’ involvement in the royal affairs.

The Emperor’s proclamation hung in the air, causing a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Bellatrix, initially relaxed, visibly stiffened as the Emperor continued. “And Secondary Consort Arden Slytherin-Crawford is to be given—” His words trailed off, and a hush fell over the room. Bellatrix’s posture straightened, rigid as a rod. “the title of the Honoured Mother. He has given me two healthy and beautiful daughters. There is no one more deserving of the title.”

Arden’s face lit up with a smile, gracefully bowing his head. “I’m deeply honoured, Your Majesty. Thank you very much.”

“You’ve earned it, my Consort,” the Emperor declared, gently placing the newborn princess into Arden’s waiting arms. The room held a moment of profound significance as the title was bestowed upon the deserving Secondary Consort.

Hadrian couldn’t help but smile at the heartwarming scene of Arden cooing at his newborn daughter. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability from the Secondary Consort, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely open without the usual defensive demeanour. As Hadrian enjoyed the tender moment, he suddenly sensed a heated gaze directed at him.

Turning to meet the Emperor’s eyes, Hadrian felt a subtle shift within him. There was a depth in the Emperor’s gaze that prompted a quiet contemplation. What if it were Hadrian in Arden’s place—experiencing the exhaustion of childbirth yet radiating with joy, cradling his own child close to his chest? 

The thought lingered, leaving Hadrian with an unexpected sense of reflection.

Oh.

Chapter Text

August 7th, 1998

Hadrian felt a mixture of relief and anxiety as he read the elegantly scripted invitation from his Uncle Regulus. The golden seal of the Primary Imperial Concubine was stamped at the bottom, making it all the more official. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see Regulus outside of meetings, and he had missed him. But Hadrian was aware it wasn’t a mere familial gathering—his Uncle would definitely want to talk about his promotion and certain lunch invite from a week ago.

However, the fact that it was Regulus, and not his aunt especially, gave him some comfort. They shared blood, and while the harem’s politics could be treacherous, Hadrian believed his uncle would not lead him astray.

As the sun began its descent, casting an orange hue over the Imperial grounds, Hadrian dressed in a high collared silvery blue robe, adorned with subtle silver embroidery. His reflection in the mirror showed a young man, not just by age, but by the weight of the world he now carried on his shoulders.

It hasn’t even been two months.

The Primary Imperial Concubine’s palace—the Palace of Twilight Whispers—was grand, as one would expect. As Hadrian entered, he was met with the intoxicating aroma of exotic incense and the gentle strumming of harps. Regulus, looking as regal as his position demanded, waited at the end of the long hall.

“Ah, Hadrian!” Regulus exclaimed, his eyes softening as he approached his nephew. “You look well.”

Hadrian bowed slightly. “Thank you, Uncle. You look... radiant as always.”

Regulus chuckled, “Flattery will get you everywhere. Come, let’s eat.”

They walked side by side into the opulent dining room. The table was set for two, surrounded by floating candles that provided a soft, ethereal glow.

As the dishes were served, an array of delectable magical and muggle cuisines, Regulus got to the point. “I’ve heard about your lunch with Alecto and Patricia earlier this week. Such petty squabbles.”

Hadrian sighed. “It was... challenging.”

Regulus nodded. “It always is. But remember, in this place, power shifts. Alliances are made and broken. But family? Family is forever.”

Hadrian looked at his uncle, gratitude evident in his eyes. “Thank you, Uncle. Your words mean a lot.”

Regulus smiled, reaching across the table to pat Hadrian’s hand. “Just remember, while you have to play the game, don’t lose yourself in it. And know that I will always be here for you.”

The weight that Hadrian had been feeling lifted slightly. He realised that in the vast, intricate web of the harem’s politics, there were still a few threads of genuine loyalty and love.

A while later Princess Ember, the Fifth Princess, burst into the room, a ball of energy with her raven black hair bouncing and her grey-blue eyes twinkling mischievously. The striking resemblance to both the Black and Slytherin families was evident in her youthful features.

“Cousin Hadrian!” she exclaimed, rushing forward and wrapping him in a surprisingly strong embrace for a girl of her age. 

Hadrian chuckled, returning the embrace with equal affection. “Ember! Growing taller each time I see you!” She was still a head shorter. While Hadrian was near five feet and ten inches, Ember was barely five feet. She definitely didn’t get either of her parents’ height.

She pulled back, giving him an exaggerated eye roll, “Obviously! And you’re growing older!” She giggled, playfully poking his side before turning to her mother. “Mother, you didn’t tell me Hadrian is here.”

Regulus watched the exchange with a warm smile, his love for his daughter evident. “I wanted it to be a surprise, Ember.”

Ember looked at her mother, feigning annoyance. “You always do that! Keep the best surprises from me.”

Hadrian ruffled her hair affectionately. “Well, now you know I’m here. How have you been? And how’s your magical training going?”

Ember’s eyes lit up, always eager to talk about her magical exploits. “Oh, Hadrian! It’s been going splendidly. Father tells me I’m a prodigy!”

Hadrian smirked at Regulus, who just rolled his eyes in response. “Of course she is,” Hadrian teased. “Just like every Black and a Slytherin.”

Ember pouted but then grinned. “True. But just wait till I show you this new spell I’ve learned.”

“I can’t wait.”

“I’m sad you won’t be there at Hogwarts this year, cousin.” Ember said, sitting on the sofa beside Hadrian.

“Oh, darling.” Hadrian’s eyes softened. “You knew this was coming. I’m glad I was there for you the last three years.

Ember nodded. “Me too!”

“And you’ll be entering your fourth year this September,” Regulus supplied. “Isn’t that exciting!”

As the night deepened, Ember’s energetic tales filled the room. Both Regulus and Hadrian listened, sometimes with amusement, sometimes with pride. It was clear that, amidst the politics and power games of the palace, moments like these—genuine and filled with familial love—were what truly mattered.

August 10th, 1998

The Gardens of Vibrant Gardenias were aptly named. Rows upon rows of gardenias in every conceivable colour stretched as far as the eye could see. Reds, pinks, yellows, and even rare blues blossomed under the gentle sunlight, their fragrance filling the air. The soft sound of a nearby fountain added to the serenity, making it a perfect place for quiet conversations.

Hadrian and Emery walked side by side, both in comfortable robes. They often came here, drawn to the natural beauty and the respite it provided from the intricacies of court life.

As they strolled, Emery suddenly chuckled. “Do you remember that time in your fifth year at Hogwarts?” he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “When I was doing my prefect rounds and heard some... interesting noises from a broom closet?”

Hadrian’s face turned an interesting shade of red, much like the roses around them. “Emery!” he exclaimed, trying to feign innocence. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Please! I clearly remember catching you two in that broom closet,” Emery laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You looked so guilty, while Cedric just tried to stand in front of you, as if that would hide anything.”

Hadrian chuckled, his cheeks taking on a hint of pink. “Oh, Merlin, it was embarrassing. We thought we had found the perfect spot!”

“It seemed like the entire castle knew about it by the next morning,” Emery reminisced, the memory playing in his eyes. “And how Professor McGonagall had to stifle her laughter when she ‘reprimanded’ you two.”

Hadrian laughed heartily at that, the sound echoing softly in the gardens. “I swear, that was the only time I saw her fight back a smile. Cedric was mortified!”

“I remember the look on Cedric’s face!” Emery said, a smirk painting his lips. “The way he turned a shade that matched the Gryffindor banners!”

Hadrian laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t believe you caught us. We really thought that was the most secluded spot in the castle!”

“It would have been,” Emery teased, “had I not made it my business as a Prefect to know all the nooks and crannies.”

Hadrian playfully nudged him. “Traitor.”

“You loved it,” Emery chortled. “Gave you and Cedric something to giggle about during those late-night Come and Go Room chats.”

Hadrian sighed, a wistful smile on his face. “Cedric was...”

Special.

Their romance had a whirlwind and short-lived, only lasting five months. Though short, they had kissed… a lot. In any places they could find. Some light petting over the clothes had been involved as well. They had called it off when the pressure of their respective OWLS and NEWTS came head-on.

Emery and Hadrian had been so engrossed in their conversation, they hadn’t noticed the Emperor’s approach. He walked in with a grace that belied his power, his green robe flowing gently with each step. His presence was always felt even before he made himself known.

“Speaking of past conquests, are we?” The Emperor’s voice was laced with a touch of danger. He now was only a few feet away from them.

As he slowly approached them, the very atmosphere shifted, the playful memories giving way to an electric tension. The Emperor’s gaze was penetrating. Those deep-set red eyes observed everything, missing nothing. As he listened to Hadrian’s words about Cedric, a cold fire ignited in them. There was possessiveness, a raw jealousy that wasn’t usually seen from such a composed ruler.

Emery, sensing the shift in atmosphere, inclined his head respectfully. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, stepping back to allow the Emperor closer to Hadrian. “We were merely reminiscing about Hogwarts days.”

The Emperor’s gaze then rested on Hadrian, though the underlying intensity was hard to miss. As if he hadn’t heard a word Emery had uttered. “Noble Potter-Black,” he began, his voice smooth, “I couldn’t help but overhear your little trip down memory lane.”

Hadrian stiffened slightly, his instincts on high alert. He hadn’t expected the Emperor to join them, let alone comment on their private conversation. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” Hadrian began, choosing his words carefully. “It was a mere reminiscence of the past.”

The Emperor moved closer, the distance between them closing. “And do you often reminisce about your past... entanglements?”

Emery could sense the tension in the air and discreetly took a step back. He subtly excused himself under the pretence of looking at a particularly beautiful flower, leaving Hadrian alone with the Emperor.

Traitor, Hadrian thought, leaving him alone under the Emperor’s ire.

Hadrian swallowed, searching the Emperor’s face for clues. “They are but memories, Your Majesty. The past cannot be changed, only remembered.”

There was a pause as the Emperor held Hadrian’s gaze, the weight of the unspoken words palpable. “And what of the present, my Noble?” the Emperor finally asked, a challenging glint in his eyes.

Hadrian took a deep breath, his green eyes meeting the Emperor’s. “The present,” he began slowly, “is where my loyalties and attention lie.”

“And you are here now,” he whispered, “with me.”

Hadrian swallowed, the intensity in the Emperor’s eyes making his heart thump against his chest. “I am, Your Majesty,” he replied, bowing his head slightly.

The Emperor smirked, his earlier jealousy giving way to amusement. “Good. Just remember, dear Hadrian,” he whispered, leaning close enough that his breath brushed against Hadrian’s ear, making him shiver, “the past might be set in stone, but the present... the present is malleable.”

With that, the Emperor pulled back, giving Hadrian one last intense look before departing, leaving Hadrian slightly breathless and Emery looking on with wide eyes.

Emery rejoined Hadrian moments later. “That was... intense,” he commented.

Hadrian nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “It was.”

Upon returning to his chamber in the Palace of Noble Elegance, Hadrian immediately closed the door behind him, ensuring a barrier between the bustling outside world and his private sanctuary. He walked to the window, drawing back the curtain slightly to gaze out at the starry night, the soft silver glow of the moon reflecting on the serene water of the palace’s fountains.

He thought about the Emperor – the most powerful man in the world. The weight of his gaze, the unmistakable hint of jealousy, the tension that lingered in the air earlier when Cedric’s name was mentioned. It was disconcerting. Cedric had been a youthful romance, a stolen moment of happiness during his times at Hogwarts. 

How did such a memory affect someone as mighty as the Emperor?

Taking a deep breath, Hadrian moved to the chaise lounge, sinking into the plush seat. The flickering candles around the room painted shadowy patterns on the walls. His heart rate began to normalise as he thought about Cedric, his gentle eyes, the warmth of his laughter. The memory was both sweet and melancholic, a reminder of simpler days.

But now, things were far from simple. The Emperor’s unexpected reaction stirred feelings of both excitement and unease within Hadrian. The intensity, the unmistakable attraction... Yet, why did the mention of a past relationship elicit such a reaction?

Drawing his knees to his chest, Hadrian tried to decipher his feelings towards the Emperor. Was it the allure of power? The undeniable magnetism between them? Or something deeper? The questions kept tumbling, intertwining with memories of Cedric, contrasting the innocence of the past with the complexities of the present.

He wished he could talk to Emery about it, but even his closest friend might not understand the whirlpool of emotions within him.

Finally, with a sigh, Hadrian got up, deciding that a good night’s rest might give him clarity. But as he drifted off to sleep, the Emperor’s eyes – intense, probing, and slightly envious – lingered in his thoughts.

August 12th, 1998

Hadrian’s heart raced as he read the Emperor’s invitation, holding the ornate piece of parchment in his hand. The letter was written in now familiar elegant cursive, the ink glistening slightly in the light. The Emperor’s personal seal, a coiled serpent wrapped around a crown, was stamped in dark green wax at the bottom.

June, seeing Hadrian’s slightly dazed expression, approached cautiously. “Is everything alright, master?”

He handed the letter to her, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. June skimmed through the contents, and her eyes widened in understanding. “Another invite to the Imperial Palace! This is an honour, but also…” her voice trailed off, the weight of the situation evident.

Hadrian nodded, taking a deep breath. “I need to prepare. It’s not every day one is invited by Emperor Slytherin himself.”

So many times , Hadrian almost said out loud. He was well aware not everyone had the same privilege as him. Luna and Theo (even Daphne) haven’t seen the Emperor more than in passing or in events.

June hesitated for a moment. “Do you think it’s about the… incident in the garden?”

Very likely.

The Emperor had been jealous.

He had been jealous of another man Hadrian had a very brief entanglement with; a man he barely thought of. But it was enough to make the Emperor furious in jealousy.

It filled Hadrian’s heart with sudden giddiness.

Hadrian pondered. “Possibly. Or it could be something else. Either way, I have to be ready.”

Maya walked in, sensing the tension in the room. “I heard. Let’s get you dressed impeccably. The Emperor might have seen you in formal attire, but tonight’s dinner demands something more… personal.”

The hours leading up to the dinner were a flurry of activity. Hadrian tried on several robes, each more exquisite than the last. He finally settled on a silver white robe with hints of black here and there and delicate embroidery. The sleeves were long but made of a sheer fabric with cherry blossoms printed on them. The top and long shirt at the bottom were separated, creating a small gap, showing his soft belly a little. The robe highlighted his figure while maintaining the decorum expected of his rank.

June carefully arranged his hair, letting a few strands fall artfully over his forehead. A silver collar pendant of moon and star, a family heirloom, clung tightly but comfortably on his neck, and a three set matching rings on his left hand and two simpler diamond rings on his right hand.

As the time neared, Hadrian took a moment to collect his thoughts. The dinner with the Emperor was not just a meal. It was a test, an opportunity, and more, so much more . He had to be perfect. This was a golden opportunity to solidify his position, but also a potential minefield if he made any missteps. He knew he had a bit of the Emperor’s favour, but he needed to make sure that- that favour stayed with him.

Finally, the appointed hour arrived. With a deep breath and his head held high, Hadrian made his way out of  his palace and got onto the carriage, ready for whatever the night had in store.

The Emperor’s private chamber was an awe-inducing sight, bathed in a golden glow of the magical candles. The table, an intricately carved masterpiece of dark wood, adorned with silverware and the finest porcelain. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, casting intricate patterns of light across the room. The aroma of a sumptuous feast that seemed almost too artful to consume, wafted through the air, tantalising Hadrian’s senses. 

As Hadrian stepped in, he caught the Emperor's gaze. The older man’s eyes widened momentarily, clearly approving of Hadrian’s choice of attire. A soft smile played on Emperor Slytherin’s lips as he stood to greet him. “You look... ravishing, Noble Potter-Black.”

Hadrian bowed slightly, cheeks colouring. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It’s an honour to dine with you.”

The two sat, the Emperor’s gaze lingering on Hadrian a moment longer before turning to the dishes set before them. As the courses were presented, they spoke of various matters - the state of the kingdom, the latest magical advancements, and more.

“Tell me, Hadrian, what are your thoughts on the recent advancements in potion-making?”

Hadrian, eager to impress, replied. “I find them fascinating. Especially the work on memory potions. It’s a delicate balance, capturing a memory without altering its essence.”

“Indeed. Memory is such a fragile thing.” There was a pause, then he added. “Though some memories, like this evening, I imagine, would be hard to forget.”

A bit taken aback but choosing to play along, Hadrian shot back with a playful smirk, “Assuming the night lives up to its promise.”

At moments like that, the line between ruler and subject, an emperor and his concubine, blurred. Slytherin’s comments grew more flirtatious, his gaze more intense. “I must say, Noble Potter-Black, there’s an aura about you that is truly captivating.”

Hadrian, flustered by the attention, replied. “I merely reflect the company I’m in, Your Majesty.”

The night deepened, and with the dessert course, a rich chocolate tart, the atmosphere grew more intimate. Their conversation turned personal, touching upon hopes, dreams, and aspirations. The barrier of their stations seemed to melt away, replaced by a palpable tension between them.

As the night drew to a close, the Emperor stood, extending his hand to Hadrian. “It was truly a pleasure, Hadrian.”

Taking the offered hand, Hadrian replied. “The pleasure was all mine, Your Majesty.”

“Thomas.”

“Huh?” Hadrian was confused. Surely the Emperor was not-

“Call me Thomas, Hadrian.”

Hadrian gaped, stammering his words. “Your Majesty, I will not dare—”

“Ah, ah.” The Emperor, no , Thomas pulled him closer. Their chests were flush against each other, their breaths mingling. Thomas could surely feel his erratic heartbeat. “I command you to call me by my name, Hadrian.”

“Your Majes—” Thomas sent him a look. “T-Thomas. I can’t do that. If the other concubines—”

Hadrian stopped short, not able to finish his sentence. Because how could he? Bellatrix, the ruling concubine who has been in the harem for over two decades was not allowed to address the Emperor informally, let alone the others. If he called the Emperor by his name in front of any of the concubines, the repercussions will not be pleasant.

Thomas winged his arms around his waist, his hands circling his lower back. He looked at Hadrian, and he understood his hesitancy. “How about in private? When it’s just the two of us. Is that acceptable to you, my Noble?”

“That would be acceptable, yes.” Hadrian swallowed thickly. Thomas was so close, too close .

“I’m glad, my dear.” Thomas’s thumb swiped across his bottom lip. Hadrian’s eyes fluttered close at the touch. 

“I should go. It’s quite late now.”

Thomas nodded, not quite letting him go.

As Hadrian turned to leave, the Emperor leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek, but close to the corner of his lips. It was as if Thomas controlled himself to not give into the temptation. The unexpected gesture left Hadrian stunned, his heart racing. He touched his cheek, the warmth of the Emperor’s lips still present.

Without another word, Hadrian made his exit, the night’s events playing in his mind, and the weight of that single, intimate gesture heavy in his heart.

August 17th, 1998

Hadrian navigated the ballroom, aware of the inquisitive gazes fixed upon him. The air buzzed with the scrutiny of nobility, lords, ladies, and various ministry officials, all observing the lone Noble amidst the gathering. It was his Aunt Bella’s birthday celebration, and the exclusionary tradition of not inviting those below the Concubine rank to upper harem birthdays seemed to hang in the atmosphere.

Soft excuses from June and Josie reached Hadrian’s ears as they discreetly withdrew.

His choice of attire bordered on the daring side. The deep blue velvet dress cascaded gracefully, featuring a sweetheart neckline that accentuated his slender neck and revealed a hint of cleavage. The sleeves, styled in a Juliette fashion, combined tightness with a puff at the top, adorned with an array of pearls—some large, some small. Pearls adorned the entire dress, creating an elegant ensemble. The back , however, dared to be bold—a backless design revealing most of his upper back. To complement the outfit, Hadrian opted for simple blue sapphire and pearl earrings, paired with a matching blue sapphire, diamond, and pearl choker.

“Quite the… dress you have chosen, Potter.” Came Patricia’s snide voice, cutting through the air, Hadrian faced her with a confident smile. 

“Thank you, Imperial Concubine Slytherin-Rakepick. It’s my aunt’s birthday, after all.”

Patricia sneered, exchanging a look of disdain with Alecto. “Surely, you’d have some—”

“Harry, dear!”

Aunt Bella’s entrance was nothing short of grand, her hips swaying with each step. The gold fabric of her dress caught the light, shimmering along with the elaborate jewellery and headpieces adorning her. A cascade of bright smiles from Aunt Bella faltered as she noticed the disdainful expressions on the faces of the two older witches. “Whatever is the matter, Imperial Concubines?”

Amidst the tense atmosphere, Alecto simpered, “Oh, Happy Birthday, Primary Consort.” 

While Patricia murmured her greeting, fixing a sharp look on Hadrian. “We were just questioning Potter-Black on his choice of outfit.”

Bella arched an elegant eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Hadrian. “My nephew looks quite beautiful, I might add.”

Patricia attempted to protest, but Bella’s hiss cut through. “Enough. Hadrian is here not as a concubine but as my nephew, my family. And you will watch how you speak to him here. He is also the heir to two ancient houses.”

Hadrian gently interjected, “Auntie, it’s all right. Let's go see Sirius and our family.”

Bella smiled, gracefully hooking her arm with Hadrian’s as they walked away from the duo. “Yes, yes. Everyone was looking for you.”

Hadrian engaged in conversation with Sirius, his attention diverted momentarily from the Emperor, Thomas, who had just arrived. Surprisingly, he had eased into addressing the Emperor with his given name within the confines of his mind. Observing Thomas approaching Bellatrix, his aunt swooning at the attention. 

Hadrian quickly averted his gaze when he sensed them leaning in for a kiss.

He had no desire to witness that.

Thomas displayed, at best, mild disinterest as he smiled charmingly at Bella, twirling her around the dance floor. The routine felt monotonous to him. Bella had once captured his attention; he had enjoyed her company both in and out of bed. However, the passing years had revealed her true colours—a power-hungry witch, much like most of his concubines—excessively fixated on him.

Despite harbouring suspicions about her involvement in the deaths of his past spouses and the demise of his unborn children, Thomas hadn’t eliminated her. Lack of concrete proof hindered any decisive action.

Yet, she had her uses.

Thomas entertained her with two dances before gracefully handing her off to another partner. Quietly distancing himself from the revelry, he navigated toward where he had spotted Hadrian. Hadrian, clad in his daring attire, idly sipped white wine, displaying a disinterest in the gathering—a sentiment echoed by Thomas.

“Bored, my dear?” Thomas inquired, catching Hadrian's attention.

Green eyes, vibrant and expressive, swiftly shifted toward him. Hadrian then lowered himself in a respectful bow. “Your Majesty.”

“Rise, Hadrian.”

Hadrian handed his now empty glass to a passing manservant as Thomas smoothly slid in beside him.

“Are you bored, perhaps, Your Majesty?” Hadrian remarked with an absence of fear.

It was like a breath of fresh air.

Thomas couldn’t recall someone being so intriguing to him. His hands always itched to touch whenever the young man was near, as if they had a mind of their own. Thomas, surrendering to that persistent feeling, let his fingers graze Hadrian’s lower back. To his surprise, he wasn’t met with the velvety material of Hadrian’s dress but rather the warmth of his bare skin.

Soft and unblemished.

“Not anymore.”

Hadrian blushed as Thomas ran his fingers across the canvas of his back.

“Well, I’m glad you found your entertainment then.”

Thomas leaned in closer to his Noble’s ear, his breath sending a shiver down Hadrian's spine. In a hushed tone, he whispered, “You look exceptionally beautiful, Hadrian. I’m tempted to shield you from the prying eyes that don't deserve the privilege of laying eyes on you.”

Oh, how Thomas longed to do just that.

Because he had witnessed the shameless, lust-filled gazes that had rudely roamed over Hadrian’s body, eyes that didn't deserve to appreciate such beauty.

“Oh, Thomas,” Hadrian whispered, savouring the sound of Thomas’ name like a secret melody, “That wouldn’t do.”

Thomas suppressed a growl, his desire evident. "I'm tempted to rip that dress off and indulge in some very inappropriate activities, my dear."

“I wouldn't resist,” Hadrian smirked.

“You are a teasing minx.”

Hadrian giggled, the melodic sound tinkling through the air. “Control yourself, Your Majesty. My family is present. I doubt they'd appreciate witnessing their heir being defiled so publicly by you.”

Thomas could sense the magic surging within him, adamant that he wouldn't allow anyone but him to witness Hadrian in the vulnerability of passion. No, that exquisite sight was reserved for his eyes alone.

Giving Hadrian’s waist a final, possessive squeeze, feeling the warmth and softness beneath his fingertips, Thomas withdrew abruptly. Bending down, he placed a lingering kiss on Hadrian’s cheek. 

Though maintaining their proximity, he whispered, “You’ll pay for this later, My Noble. Prepare yourself.”

A smirk played on Thomas’ lips as he savoured Hadrian’s audible gasp, the anticipation lingering in the air.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

August 18th, 1998

Emery’s eyes widened, the rich hues reflecting his disbelief. “He didn’t!”

A subtle, satisfied smile graced Hadrian’s lips as he leisurely savoured a sip of the perfectly steeped tea. “Oh, believe me, he did.”

The opulent sitting room held an atmosphere thick with a blend of shock and amusement, the air heavy with the weight of unexpected revelation.

“Wow,” Emery breathed, the plush cushions of his seat embracing him as he sank back.

“I may have teased him rather boldly, but I hadn’t anticipated such a fervent response,” Hadrian confessed, his demeanour still tinged with delight.

Emery shook his head slowly, still in a state of incredulity. “I don’t—Merlin! Harry, my friend, he’s smitten with you!”

Hadrian scoffed, attempting to dismiss the notion. “No, he’s not.”

“You don’t understand,” Emery insisted, leaning forward, the warm glow of the room casting shadows on his intent expression. “His Majesty is never like this. That too in public.”

“You don't know that,” Hadrian replied, leaving a pause in the air pregnant with unspoken possibilities.

Emery hesitated, a momentary conflict playing out on his features before he decided to divulge more. “Well, I remember when I—” He stopped abruptly, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his expressive face.

“What, Em?” Hadrian inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“I slept with him,” Emery confessed in a rush, dropping the revelation like a delicate secret. “Once.”

Hadrian’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. Emery, entangled in an intimate encounter with the Emperor? He hadn’t been aware of this.

Despite his astonishment, Hadrian managed to articulate, “When?”

“Earlier this year,” Emery revealed, biting his lip nervously, as if uncertain of how this revelation might be received.

Hadrian, processing the unexpected admission, finally spoke, “How are you not…”

“Pregnant?” Emery completed the unspoken question, his tone laced with a mix of assurance and vulnerability. “Well, I asked him to use the contraceptive charm. I wasn’t, or am, ready to be a mother.” He took a deliberate sip of his tea, as if the act could lend a semblance of normalcy to the conversation. “He had no qualms about it, of course. He said it was my body, and I had full control over when or if ever I wanted to conceive.”

“That’s… nice of him,” Hadrian acknowledged, though the sentiment carried a nuance of expectation met rather than surprise. The Emperor’s magnanimity in such matters seemed almost characteristic.

Emery smiled warmly. “His Majesty is a cruel man to many, but he only takes what is given freely.”

Hadrian sighed. “I know. ’Tis not he who takes forcefully.”

“No,” Emery agreed, “not he.”

“I still find myself pondering Nicholas at times,” Hadrian mused, setting his delicate cup down with a thoughtful air. “He didn’t deserve the fate that befell him. Losing his unborn child, twice even. The pain must have been unimaginable.”

“He truly didn’t,” Emery empathised, his expression reflecting a deep sadness. “You know, it's the grimy politics of the harem that terrify me the most. It’s always the innocents who bear the brunt.”

Hadrian turned his gaze towards Emery, a silent understanding passing between them as he reached out to gently hold his friend's hand. “I’m grateful to have you here. Luna and Theo are dear, but you’re my best friend.”

“Likewise,” Emery affirmed, returning the squeeze with a warmth that spoke of shared experiences. “I can’t fathom how I endured a year without you by my side.”

***

As they strolled down the marbled path encircling the palace garden, Emery’s sudden question caught Hadrian off guard.

“Your aunt didn’t notice?” Emery inquired, his tone pitched low, referring to the previous night’s encounter with the Emperor. The garden’s tranquillity provided a stark contrast to their hushed conversation.

“Huh?”

“Your aunt. Last night with the Emperor,” Emery clarified, his words veiled in discretion. “She didn’t notice? You two weren’t even trying to be discreet.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hadrian responded, a subtle shake of his head emphasising the rapid pace of the unfolding events. “It all happened really fast, Em. Even then, she was very much the centre of attention last night.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Ha. Me too.”

***

“Ah, Noble Potter-Black, Noble Lexington. What a surprise,” Marietta Edgecombe’s snotty voice resonated through the air, her orange-red hair artfully pinned up in a high bun adorned with an elegant headpiece.

Hadrian and Emery offered shallow bows in acknowledgment. Marietta, the Primary Noble, held the highest position among the Nobles, and protocol demanded the customary show of respect. The duo had inadvertently strolled further than intended, finding themselves face-to-face with Marietta, who was leisurely sipping tea with Nicholas.

“Primary Noble Edgecombe, Secondary Noble Bellmore. A pleasure,” Hadrian greeted with a diplomatic tone, a hint of formality in his demeanour.

“Likewise,” Marietta replied, a smile playing on her lips, though it failed to reach her eyes.

“Hadrian, Emery.” Nicholas, with a bright smile that contrasted Marietta’s more restrained expression, invited, “Why don’t you two join us?”

“Yes, of course,” Hadrian replied with a subtle smile, accepting the invitation.

“We’d love to,” Emery added with the politeness in his tone.

Seated, Nicholas’s personal maid gracefully served their tea. Hadrian took a moment to observe Marietta, two years his senior, and someone he had only encountered in passing at Hogwarts. He acknowledged the opinions others held, notably Hermione and Ginny’s accounts of her rudeness, but Hadrian hadn't formed a personal opinion yet.

Marietta’s sour expression and the elevated angle of her nose made it abundantly clear that she held very little warmth for Hadrian. While he was not naive enough to expect universal popularity in the Court, the blatant hostility in Marietta’s demeanour caught him off guard, adding an unexpected layer of tension to the genteel setting of their tea gathering.

“How was Primary Consort Slytherin-Black’s birthday celebration, Hadrian?” Nicholas inquired, taking a bite of a scone.

“It was wonderful. I got to meet my family members after quite some time,” Hadrian responded, his tone carrying a genuine note of appreciation.

“Such a privilege,” Marietta muttered into her cup, injecting a hint of sarcasm. Nicholas shot her a light glare, prompting Hadrian to choose silence over rising to the bait.

Aware of Marietta’s deliberate provocations, Hadrian recognized the game being played. However, he remained composed, refusing to provide the satisfaction of a reaction. Emery, on the other hand, visibly glowered at Marietta, his magical aura threatening to lash out.

“What d—” Emery began, his frustration evident.

Hadrian intervened, gripping Emery’s hand to redirect his attention. With a subtle shake of his head, he communicated a silent message of restraint.

Don’t give her what she wants.

“None of us are prisoners here, Primary Noble,” Hadrian asserted with a calm that masked the underlying tension. Controlling his temper had always been a challenge, and the Harem was now an arena testing his patience in the most trying ways. And Hadrian never backed down from a challenge. “We can all visit our families while following the proper protocols. And after a certain rank, our families can even visit us here.”

Marietta stiffened, attempting to interject, “Well, yes—”

“I hope you’re not implying that His Majesty is imprisoning us here,” Hadrian continued, his tone unwavering, and cutting through her attempted justification.

“I could never,” Marietta bit out through clenched teeth, her forced composure revealing the strain of the exchange.

“Of course, Primary Noble.” Hadrian smiled.

Nicholas, observing the exchange with a measured gaze, shifted his attention to Emery and Hadrian, softening his expression. “Have I told you about the time when I visited my family? It was some time before this year’s Selection.”

“Oh?” Hadrian raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Where are you from, Nicholas? I’m afraid I never asked.”

“South of London. My fathers are half-bloods, actually, but they prefer living in Muggle London. It’s more calm there,” Nicholas shared.

“I‘ll have to agree with them,” Emery chuckled. “I, myself, prefer that.”

Fortunately, Marietta chose to remain silent for the remainder of the conversation, allowing a sense of ease to settle over the tea gathering.

August 21st, 1998

Bellatrix reclined in her throne-like chair, legs crossed, a commanding presence as she gripped the scroll parchment. Her voice resonated in the chamber as she read aloud, “A shift in rankings as decreed by His Imperial Majesty. Ninth Attendant Dolan is promoted to the rank of the Eighth Attendant due to her recent exemplary behaviour.”

Bellatrix’s gaze lifted from the parchment, fixing on the woman of interest. Attendant Dinah Dolan—previously holding the lowest rank in the harem—had now ascended a step. “Congratulations, Attendant Dolan.”

Dinah gracefully rose to her feet, a subtle acknowledgment of gratitude evident in her bow. “I express my thanks to His Majesty for this bestowed opportunity.” 

Hadrian observed Dinah’s hands trembling at her sides. She was a striking woman, just a few years his senior. Her dark, curly hair was artfully pinned up, allowing a few curls to cascade gently around her face. The ivory white and grey robe she wore served as a stunning contrast against her rich, dark brown skin.

“Congratulations, Dinah!”

“About time!” echoed another voice in the hall, signalling a collective sentiment.

A flurry of congratulations swept through the grand hall. Concubines turned in their seats to offer Dinah their heartfelt felicitations, creating an atmosphere charged with celebration and camaraderie.

However, Hadrian couldn’t overlook the palpable bitterness emanating from Merula Snyde, the former Seventh Attendant. The anger simmering in her violet eyes was like an unspoken storm, a turbulent undercurrent beneath the surface of the celebratory atmosphere.

“Onto the next promotion,” Bellatrix declared, her voice cutting through the air and reclaiming everyone’s attention. “His Majesty promotes Fifth Noble Potter-Black to the rank of Fourth Noble. Though He doesn’t divulge a reason. Nonetheless, congratulations, Noble Potter-Black.” Bellatrix’s smile was directed at her nephew, Hadrian.

What?

Hadrian’s eyes widened imperceptibly, the announcement sending shockwaves through him. The Emperor had elevated his rank seemingly on a whim, offering no explanation or even bothering to state a reason.

Hadrian rose from his seat with a grace that belied the tumult within him, his eyes meeting Emery’s supportive gaze. A sigh of relief escaped him.

“I express my gratitude to His Imperial Majesty for his benevolence,” Hadrian stated with a dignified bow before settling back into his seat. The unspoken questions lingered, the unexpected promotion casting a shadow over the celebratory atmosphere.

“I’m curious about the reason for your promotion, Noble Potter-Black,” Arden remarked with a crisp edge to his voice.

Hadrian, caught off guard by the Secondary Consort’s unexpected hostility, responded, “I’m not privy to His Majesty’s thoughts, Secondary Consort, so I can’t assume his reasoning.”

“His Majesty would have provided reasons if he deemed it fit,” Helene interjected calmly, her poised demeanour offering a counterbalance to the tension. Hadrian shot her a thankful glance.

“I think—” Arden began, but Bellatrix's voice sliced through the unfolding dialogue.

“Enough!” Bellatrix's hiss sliced through the room, her closed fist landing firmly on the arm of her chair. “We are not to question His Majesty. He doesn’t need a reason to promote or demote anyone. This is his harem, and he can do as he wishes!”

“Of course, you’d say that,” Arden scoffed, his scepticism evident.

Bellatrix drew a measured breath, her shoulders squaring. “What are you implying, Secondary Consort?”

“He is your nephew,” Arden retorted, crossing his arms defiantly. “Of course, he is above all rules to you.”

“Choose your words carefully, Secondary Consort,” Regulus interjected, his calm voice barely masking the simmering anger beneath.

Arden laughed dismissively. “Your lap dog is here, Bella.”

“I said, enough!” Bellatrix roared, her patience wearing thin. “I advise you to shut your mouth, Arden. I will speak with His Majesty about your disrespectful behaviour.”

Arden turned his head away, a silent acknowledgment that the discussion was now halted, though the tension lingered in the air like an unspoken storm.

Huffing audibly, Bellatrix turned her attention to the rest of the concubines, her cold grey eyes radiating anger.

“Any other protests?” Bella questioned mockingly, her tone cutting through the tense air. Silence hung in response. “No? Pity. Now, congratulate Noble Potter-Black on his promotion like civilised witches and wizards.”

Waves of congratulations echoed through the air in Hadrian’s name. Some were genuine, while others’ words and stares were tainted with envy and resentment. Hadrian was acutely aware that his dual promotions this month hadn’t been well-received by many in the harem.

“The meeting is adjourned.” Bella’s voice cut through the lingering tension with a cold finality. She descended from the dais, marching out of the Court, with Helene and Regulus in tow.

“Well, that was a shit storm,” Emery whispered into Hadrian’s ear, capturing the essence of the tumultuous proceedings.

August 24th, 1998

Thomas teetered on the verge of a raging headache. The past three days had devolved into utter chaos: Arden’s disruptive behaviour, the subsequent punishment involving penning apology letters to those he had offended at the Friday meeting, and Thomas’s decision to confine Arden to his palace for a week. The latter, at least, had a silver lining—it meant Arden could spend more time with his newborn daughter.

However, the aftermath had been far from serene. Bella stormed into his office after the incident, pushing for a harsher punishment for Arden. Thomas had firmly stood his ground. Written apologies and a week of confinement were sufficient to drive home the message. Besides, he had personally addressed the matter with Arden.

Thomas seethed with anger; Arden’s audacity to question his reasoning for promoting Hadrian was an affront. The very notion that Arden had the right to humiliate Hadrian in such a manner infuriated Thomas.

Despite the intense desire to deliver a harsh punishment, Thomas exercised restraint, choosing not to penalise Arden severely. Arden had recently given birth, and this aberrant behaviour was uncharacteristic. Thomas, considering the circumstances, opted against a more severe consequence.

For the time being.

As if the week’s drama hadn’t reached its peak, a new bill emerged at the council meeting that morning. Dolores Umbridge was pushing for its passage—a creature bill—to be precise. A creature regulation bill. Thomas rejected it outright before Umbridge could even finish her reading.

It was atrocious.

Absolutely atrocious.

The scratching of his pen against parchment ceased abruptly as a single knock disrupted his thoughts.

“Enter.”

Casimir stepped into the room with a bow. “Your Majesty, Her Royal Highness, Princess Aprina, is requesting an audience.”

Thomas set his pen aside and leaned back. “Certainly, allow my daughter to enter.”

“Right away, Your Majesty.”

In moments, his second eldest daughter graced the room with elegance in every step. Aprina’s dark brown hair, mirroring his own, fell in gentle curls reminiscent of her mother’s. Her light brown skin complemented the rich green robe she wore. Soft red eyes met his gaze as she entered.

“Your Majesty,” Aprina greeted with a graceful bow.

Thomas rose from his seat, moving around the table to stand in front of his daughter. They shared a warm embrace—with Aprina lightly kissing her father on the cheek—before settling into armchairs positioned in front of the crackling fireplace.

“Dad, there’s something I need to talk about,” Aprina said, her lips pursed in concern.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Thomas responded.

“Madame Umbridge is attempting to push the creature regulation bill—”

“I'm aware,” Thomas interjected, drumming his fingers against the arms of his chair. “I’ve already rejected the bill this morning.”

“Yes, Dad.” Aprina nodded. “After you left, she insisted on tweaking the bill and presenting it to you again. She wants to regulate all creatures. Every bit of progress you've made will be for nothing.”

Thomas’s jaw tightened. Aprina’s insight struck a chord; indeed, everything would be for naught. However, all bills and decrees required Thomas’s approval, and they would only pass with his stamp.

“Don’t worry, Aprina. I have no desire to pass that bill.” His reassurance carried a determined resolve, a pledge to protect the strides they had made in the realm of creature rights.

Aprina released a sigh of relief, ready to continue the conversation when a distinct knock echoed through the room.

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, muttering, “Enter.”

Casimir opened the door with a bow. “His Royal Highness, Prince Afton, is requesting an audience, Your Majesty.”

Aprina’s red eyes sparkled with joy. “Affy is here?”

Thomas nodded. “Send him in, Casimir.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Casimir bowed again before retreating to usher Prince Afton into the room.

Afton, Thomas’s second eldest son, made a grand entrance, his immaculate silver robe, adorned with diamond jewellery and a small tiara, shimmering in the chandelier’s light. Afton’s silvery grey hair, reminiscent of his mother Hayden’s, cascaded in waves akin to Thomas’s own. Among Thomas’s children, Afton was one of the rare few to inherit not only his red eyes but also the distinct sharpness in their shape.

“Dad!” Afton joyfully bounded into Thomas’s arms the moment he rose from his seat. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, honey. How was your trip?” Thomas planted a kiss on Afton’s forehead, embracing the warmth of their reunion.

“France was incredible! Grandmère and Grandpère nearly didn’t want to let me go!” Afton beamed, his eyes lighting up as he spotted Aprina. “Sister!”

“Affy!”

Aprina and Afton embraced as if they had been separated for years. Thomas shook his head, amused by their theatrics. Afton had only been gone for a month.

After the embrace, Afton turned to his father, chuckling. “Is this an impromptu family gathering?”

“Not even close, honey.” Thomas reclaimed his seat and gestured for Afton and Aprina to do the same. “Aprina was just filling me in on Madame Umbridge and her absurd creature regulation bill.”

“Creature regulation bill?!” Afton’s tone betrayed a mix of disbelief and indignation. “What decade does she think she’s in?”

“Exactly!” Aprina fumed. “I was on the brink of unleashing a crucio on that bitc—”

“Ah, ah. Control your anger, both of you. I won’t be allowing that abomination of a bill to pass. If she attempts it again… well, she’ll understand what it’s like being on the other side of my wand.”

Afton and Aprina exchanged smirks with their father, mirroring his resolve.

Chapter Text

August 26th, 1998

Bellatrix scrutinised the assembly of concubines from the elevated dais, her expression adorned with a bland smile that masked the turmoil beneath. Her gaze honed in on Arden seated to her right. The blonde man, however, remained wholly indifferent, immersed in a book while Bellatrix proceeded to read out the decrees.

The audacity of him, choosing to bury himself in a book rather than heed her. Her fist clenched involuntarily. Bellatrix berated herself for not pressing for a harsher punishment. Arden seemed to believe he could insult her, her cousin, and her nephew with impunity.

A mere punishment of unsavoury apology letters wasn’t enough.

Arden should have faced more severe consequences—he should have endured lashings, hundreds of them, for daring to speak out of turn.

Or, perhaps, his tongue should have been severed as a lesson—no, that wouldn’t suffice—perhaps…

Yet, it warmed Bella’s heart to witness His Majesty’s fury on her behalf. If her anger hadn’t clouded her judgement at that moment, she might have been swept away by the sight of His anger.

For her.

Oh, the depth of his love for her.

Bella was certain of His love. He never uttered the words, but he didn’t need to. Bellatrix knew she held the most special place in his heart. She had given him a daughter after twenty-two years of anticipation. All she had to do was wait a little longer.

Soon, she would ascend to the position of Empress, with her daughter—her precious Adara—as the next Heir to the Imperial Throne. His Majesty would then abolish the harem, fulfilling Bella’s desires. As for the other royal children, she cared little about them; she would request His Majesty to send them away. The concubines were even less significant to her—Bella could contemplate their executions—except for her cousin and nephew; they would return to their families. Hadrian, as an heir, would be fine. Bella would herself look for a good match for her nephew, after all, her sweet Harry only deserved the best. 

Anyhow, he was just a passing fancy for the Emperor.

And then finally, they would become a family...

A genuine one.

“...—highness…”

Bellatrix shook herself out of her reverie and turned her attention to the eunuch bearing the decrees.

She sniffed. “Yes. Gratitude.”

Bella briskly unfurled the thick parchment scroll. “From His Majesty’s desk, he extends his gratitude to his concubines, conveying that…”

An hour or so later, Bellatrix gracefully descended the marbled stairs of the Harem Court, Regulus and Helene following a few paces behind. Amid the descent, she couldn't help but catch snippets of the conversation between Cassandra, the Primary Concubine, and Penelope Haywood, the Secondary Concubine.

“Did you hear, Penny?” Cassandra giggled behind her lace gloves. Despite a twelve-year age difference between the two witches, their camaraderie was palpable.

Penelope leaned in, linking her arm with Cassandra. “About what, Cass?”

“His Majesty and…” Cassandra paused dramatically, “and Nicholas.”

What?

Bellatrix nearly halted in her tracks, a sudden realisation threatening to make her falter, and she quickly resumed her descent, narrowly avoiding a collision with Regulus and Helene.

Penelope gasped. “Did they…?”

Cassandra shrugged elegantly, her emerald crown glinting under the sunlight. “Perhaps. The Emperor did summon him twice this week.” She smirked then. “I am foreseeing a promotion soon. Nicholas’, of course.”

“He has undeniably served the harem well,” Penny nodded. “Despite his relatively brief tenure of two years.”

Nicholas’ promotion? It couldn’t be, Bellatrix refused to believe it. If Nicholas were to ascend to the rank of Primary Noble—or, Merlin forbid, Concubine—then he would become an official spouse. Her competitive field would expand.

Bella couldn’t allow that to happen.

August 28th, 1998

Hadrian sighed, closing his book with a snap. Boredom consumed him. The past few days had dragged on, painfully slow. The only glimmer of interest was the Emperor. The day after the “incident” with Arden, they had strolled through Thomas’ private gardens— and just yesterday, Hadrian received an invitation to the Emperor’s office. They talked for what felt like hours.

He sighed again, but this time it wasn’t due to monotony. If someone had predicted that he'd relish the Emperor’s company, he would have laughed. After all, this was the Emperor, the most potent figure capable of instilling fear with the mere mention of his name.

Yet, Hadrian found himself enjoying their time together.

He relished every moment spent with Thomas. The feeling seemed mutual, evident in Thomas’ inability to keep his eyes or hands to himself when Hadrian was around.

Not that Hadrian had any complaints. Not at all.

A hint of a smile toyed with the corners of his lips as a knock echoed through the room.

“Enter,” Hadrian said, setting the book aside.

“Master.” Freya walked in, bowing gracefully, and handed him an envelope. “A missive has arrived.”

The parchment was soft and delicate to touch, clearly made of the finest material, befitting a communication from Primary Concubine Cassandra Slytherin-De Florian. The edges of the parchment were adorned with gold filigree, and the scent of jasmine wafted from it, a signature fragrance associated with Cassandra.

Opening the letter, Hadrian’s green eyes scanned the gracefully written words:

Dearest Noble Potter-Black,

It has come to my attention that we have not had the opportunity to converse much since your arrival. I wish to rectify this oversight. Would you honour me by joining me for tea this afternoon in my chambers at the Palace of Moonlit Serenity? I believe that a conversation between the two of us is long overdue.

Warmly,

Cassandra Slytherin-De Florian, Primary Concubine

Hadrian felt a flutter of curiosity. Cassandra was known to be a woman of great influence, intelligence, and grace. An invitation from her was not something to be taken lightly. It was an indication that he was gaining importance in the court’s intricacies and politics. What the esteemed Primary Concubine desired to discuss, however, remained a mystery.

He softly ordered Freya to get his personal stationary and  then penned a reply, expressing his gratitude for the invitation and confirming his attendance.

Dear Primary Concubine Cassandra Slytherin-De Florian,

I am honoured by your kind invitation and would be pleased to join you for tea. I look forward to our conversation.

With regards,

Hadrian Potter-Black, 4th Noble

Sealing the letter, he handed it to Freya to be delivered promptly. Hadrian then resumed his reading, but his thoughts were already wandering to the upcoming evening, pondering the nature of Cassandra’s invitation and the topics their conversation might encompass.

The entrance to the Palace of Moonlit Serenity—where Primary Concubine Cassandra Slytherin-De Florian resided—was adorned with delicate silver arches and hanging moonstones that glowed subtly, living up to its name. The soft chirping of birds and the gentle sound of water fountains added a layer of serenity to the atmosphere.

As Hadrian stepped into the receiving chamber, he was greeted by the sight of Cassandra seated gracefully on an ornate sofa, surrounded by a soft halo of ambient light. Her robes, made of shimmering green fabric, flowed like water around her, while her long, wavy blonde hair cascaded down her back. Her eyes, sharp and icy blue, were studying him intently.

“Ah, Noble Potter-Black, punctual as always,” Cassandra remarked with a half-smile, her voice smooth and clear, like the chime of a silver bell. “Please, take a seat.”

Hadrian nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you for the invitation, Primary Concubine.”

The servants immediately served a fragrant tea, its aroma hinting at rare herbs and exotic fruits. The tea set itself was exquisite, made of fine bone china with intricate designs of moon and stars.

As Hadrian took a sip, Cassandra began. “I’ve heard a lot about you, young Noble. Your rapid rise in the ranks, your accomplishments, and, of course, the Emperor’s particular interest in you.”

Hadrian met her gaze, trying to gauge the intention behind her words. “I’ve been fortunate,” he replied carefully.

“Modesty suits you. But let’s not pretend it’s all just luck.” Cassandra chuckled softly. “You have a certain… charm, a magnetism that isn’t common.”

Hadrian’s cheeks tinted slightly. “Thank you for the compliment.”

As Hadrian delicately set his tea cup on its saucer, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the enigmatic woman before him.

“Why did you invite me, Primary Concubine? Surely it wasn’t just for tea and pleasantries,” Hadrian asked candidly.

Cassandra smiled slightly, her eyes shimmering with mischief. “Straight to the point. I like that. While I do appreciate good company, I must confess I had a secondary motive.”

Hadrian raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue.

“I’ve watched you, Noble Potter-Black,” she began, her voice measured. “Your rapid ascent is impressive. But, with rise comes envy, and with envy comes danger.”

Hadrian’s gaze hardened, memories of Arden’s rudeness towards him fresh in his mind. “I’ve learned that lesson well.”

Cassandra nodded. “Good. You must be vigilant. There are those in the harem, even among the higher ranks, who would see you fall.”

“I am aware,” Hadrian replied, thinking of Alecto and Patricia, and jealousy in the eyes of other concubines. “But why warn me? What do you gain?”

She took a slow sip of her tea before responding, “In this palace, alliances shift like sand. It’s always beneficial to have friends in strategic places. Moreover, I have a soft spot for those who defy the odds.”

Hadrian regarded her for a moment, pondering her words. “Thank you for the counsel. Should you ever need a friend, know that I don’t forget favours.”

Cassandra’s lips curved into a genuine smile, the coldness in her eyes melting away momentarily. “Duly noted, Noble Potter-Black. Now, let us speak of happier things. Tell me about the outside world, your time at Hogwarts.”

Hadrian chuckled, the tension dissipating, “Ah, Hogwarts. It feels like a lifetime ago. Let me tell you about the time Peeves decided to flood the Great Hall with bubbly blue potion.”

The conversation continued, ranging from court politics to personal interests, arts, and the latest magical discoveries. Throughout, Hadrian found Cassandra to be shrewd and insightful. She was cold, yes, but there was an underlying passion for knowledge and power that was evident in her words and actions. Their discussion was a dance of intellect, a subtle challenge and acknowledgment of each other’s capabilities.

As Hadrian stepped into the main hall of his wing, Josie trailing a few steps behind, the evening sun cast long shadows. His conversation with Cassandra had extended beyond his expectations. Surprisingly, the stoic woman proved to be good company, revealing that she was a Royal halfblood witch from France—the Second Princess, to be precise. She was also the sister-in-law of First Princess Alinta Slytherin, who had married Cassandra’s younger brother, the Crown Prince of France. The union had brought forth Thomas’ only grandchild, a sweet baby girl.

Pushing open the doors, Hadrian encountered an anxious June pacing with Freya and Maya wringing their hands nervously.

June’s eyes met Hadrian’s, relief flashing through them. All three maids visibly relaxed. “Master, you’re here!”

Hadrian arched an eyebrow in question. “Yes, I am. Why are you three so anxious?”

June handed him a rich green envelope sealed with the Emperor’s mark. “This came while you were away, Master.”

Breaking the seal with trembling hands, Hadrian’s eyes widened as he read the contents. “Dear Merlin! His Majesty has requested my presence at…” With a swift motion, he pulled out his wand and cast the tempus spell, “... at seven in the evening. It’s nearly six now!”

All four maids’ eyes widened.

“Come on! Help me get ready,” Hadrian said, striding towards his chambers. His maids followed suit.

Hadrian fidgeted nervously as the guards escorted him through the grand halls of the Imperial Palace. Lacking the usual time for his meticulous dressing, he settled for the nearest blue robe after a swift bath. The garment, a harmonious blend of blue and white, felt soft against his skin, providing both comfort and a touch of elegance.

As he was led through the palace, Hadrian couldn’t shake the worry of appearing underdressed. The unexpected change in direction left him slightly disoriented, culminating in his arrival at a door made of dark wood. The Knights standing guard executed a respectful bow, and one of them graciously held the door ajar.

“My Lord,” they intoned with reverence.

Hadrian nodded in acknowledgment as he stepped into the office. Although he had visited Thomas’ more ‘public’ office on numerous occasions, this one, however, held a distinct ambiance—an intimate atmosphere that resonated with a personal touch. The emerald green walls provided a rich backdrop for the array of books that adorned the shelves. Several magical paintings of landscapes and one painting of Nagini, slithering about. A central dark wood desk, accompanied by matching furniture featuring green cushioning and throw pillows, dominated the room.

There stood Thomas, positioned in front of a large window, his back turned to Hadrian. The sight of Thomas’ broad, muscular figure encased in a black shirt elicited a sharp intake of breath from Hadrian. For a moment, he was tempted to merely observe in silence.

But duty called.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured, gracefully lowering himself in a bow.

Thomas turned, a subtle smile gracing his lips as his red eyes softened. “Harry.”

Hadrian had initially perceived Thomas’ eyes as cold and intimidating due to their red colour. Despite this, from the very beginning, Thomas had gazed at him with a subtle softness that mitigated any fear Hadrian might have felt.

“Your Majesty, I—” Hadrian paused, catching the raised eyebrow from Thomas. “Thomas— I meant, Thomas.”

“I’m sure you did, my dear,” Thomas chuckled.

“Well, it takes some time to get used to,” Hadrian huffed slightly with a playful air.

Thomas closed the distance between them in long strides. “I like it when you do that.”

“Do what?” Hadrian questioned, tilting his head.

Thomas didn’t respond immediately; instead, his hands naturally encircled Hadrian’s waist. “When you talk to me like that, Harry, with no fear or inhibitions, it’s rather refreshing.”

Hadrian’s mouth fell open in surprise. Had he been doing that? “I didn’t—”

“No, Harry.” Thomas leaned down to meet Hadrian’s green eyes, slightly squeezed his waist. “I like it. You also don’t take compliments well, my dear.”

Hadrian blushed, stammering, “I don’t— I don’t know what you— ugh.”

Thomas burst into laughter, and Hadrian wished to savour the sound for an eternity. “You’re a lovely, brilliant boy,” Thomas said, then planted a tender kiss on Hadrian’s forehead.

Hadrian’s heart shuddered against his chest as he felt the firm press of lips on his skin. Gazing up at Thomas through his lashes, he couldn't help but murmur, “Do it again, please.”

“You want another kiss, my dear?” The adoration in Thomas’ gaze was unmistakable, and all Hadrian could manage was a fervent nod.

Thomas leaned down, bestowing a tender kiss on Hadrian’s blazing cheek. “Here?” He moved to the other cheek. “Or here?” Another gentle press of lips against Hadrian’s forehead. “Maybe here again.” In an instant, Thomas' hands shifted from Hadrian’s waist to his face. Fingers gripped Hadrian’s chin, while red eyes locked onto green. Thomas’ thumb traced the contours of Hadrian’s bottom lip, their eyes locked in an intense gaze. “How about here, Harry? Your lips are practically begging to be kissed.”

“Please,” Hadrian whispered, his tone almost a whimper.

Without hesitation, Thomas seized Hadrian’s lips with his own. Initially, it was a gentle press of their mouths together, a chaste introduction, until Thomas boldly licked at Hadrian’s bottom lip, subtly seeking entrance. Succumbing to the sensation, Hadrian slid his hands into Thomas’ hair, decidedly messing up the impeccably styled strands, and willingly opened his mouth, granting Thomas access.

Their tongues engaged in a passionate dance, neither yielding in a display of dominance. It was a heated conflict that Thomas ultimately triumphed over. Hadrian couldn’t help but groan as Thomas’ hands found their way back to his waist, gradually descending lower, sending a thrill of anticipation through him. This kiss felt like a revelation, eclipsing all the others Hadrian had shared with past companions.

“Fuck,” Thomas swore as they parted, a glistening trail of saliva lingering between their previously joined mouths.

Hadrian panted, his chest rising and falling against Thomas. “Oh, Merlin.”

“Are you all right, my dear?” Thomas inquired, cupping Hadrian’s face in his hands, gently tipping his head upward, his thumbs tenderly caressing the tops of Hadrian’s cheeks.

Hadrian nodded, a hint of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. “I’m fine. I hope I met your expectations. I don’t have much—”

Thomas interrupted him with another kiss. “You were brilliant, you gorgeous boy.” The words were punctuated by the warmth of Thomas’ lips against Hadrian’s, a reassuring affirmation.

September 2nd, 1998

Patricia adjusted the sleeves of her golden silk robe, reclining in her Imperial Concubine seat. Her dark red hair cascaded down her back, a few strands secured with a golden hairpin. A subtle smirk adorned her lips as her cold blue eyes surveyed the room.

Bellatrix occupied the seat atop the dais, exuding regality in her red robes—and all Patricia could think was that it should be her. She should be the one ruling as the highest-ranking in the harem, the Consort. Yet, Patricia couldn’t seem to capture the Emperor’s attention for long.

There was always someone standing in her way.

Lately, it was that half-blood.

That wretched Potter boy — Hadrian Potter-Black.

The mere mention of his name ignited a fire within her—a seething, envious fire. Patricia had sensed trouble from the first day, predicting that this boy would create complications. The way the Emperor gazed at him during the Selection, as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Potter, fueled Patricia’s jealousy. How dare that boy?

Consumed by jealousy, Patricia had demanded the Emperor spend the night with her, only to be met with a surprising refusal—for the first time, he denied her. Patricia, as his wife, believed that His Majesty should attend to her needs. However, the Emperor remained adamant, refusing to entertain anyone in his bed that night.

“All Hogwarts-aged royal children were dispatched via royal carriages early yesterday morning in the presence of His Majesty and his Concubines,” Bellatrix smirked, then continued, “His childbearing Concubines, that is.”

Another absurd rule, instigated by a deceased concubine—Eleanor Slytherin-Easterwood, the former highest-ranked member who had met a suspicious demise along with Hayden Slytherin-Everfield. Eleanor had enacted a rule dictating that only Concubines with children could be present during the departure of the royal children to Hogwarts. Patricia recalled Eleanor’s perpetual paranoia—and how it couldn’t save her life.

Patricia stifled a laugh.

“Changes in the rankings,” Bellatrix announced, her voice a blend of confusion and agitation. Whispers rippled through the hall.

Patricia sat up abruptly. A promotion? It couldn’t be real.

“His Imperial Majesty bestows the esteemed rank of Fifth Concubine to…” Bellatrix read each word deliberately, her hands trembling as she clutched the parchment. “... Secondary Noble Nicholas Bellmore. The wedding and ascension ceremony will take place in three weeks’ time.”

Bellatrix raised her gaze from the parchment, her eyes fixed on Nicholas, who looked wide-eyed. Nicholas stood up gracefully, though his legs betrayed a slight tremor. “I thank His Imperial Majesty for the opportunity and promise to fulfil my duties as his Spouse.”

“Congratulations, Nicholas,” Bellatrix said, her tone icy. Patricia shared the sentiment.

Nicholas met her gaze with sharp eyes, his lips pursing at the chill in her voice. “Thank you, Consort Slytherin-Black.”

Bellatrix snapped the parchment closed, her steely grey eyes reflecting her displeasure. “Third Noble Macmillan, you now assume the role of Secondary Noble by default, and Fourth Noble Potter-Black takes the position of Third Noble. All Nobles, except Primary Noble, have been elevated by one rank.”

Nods circulated among the Nobles. Their expressions varied from impassive to slightly intrigued, with Pippa and those in the lower ranks showing more visible reactions. Patricia fixed her gaze on Potter, awaiting a reaction, but his face betrayed no signs of anger. Instead, the boy observed his aunt with an unreadable expression.

Interesting.

“Meeting adjourned.”

As Patricia entered her chambers in the Palace of Astral Secrets, a trembling rage consumed her. Gripping the edge of her bed, her knuckles whitening under the pressure, she couldn't escape the overwhelming fury that surged within her.

For eighteen years...

Throughout this time, Patricia had poured her all into the harem, committing heinous acts without a shred of remorse. Her careful manoeuvring had ensured that her misdeeds remained hidden, leaving no trace for anyone to connect back to her.

One dark secret haunted her more than others. Patricia had orchestrated the demise of Madeline Johanson, an Attendant. Employing a slow and insidious curse, she had watched as Madeline withered away from the inside, the girl oblivious to the fatal force at work. Unbeknownst to Patricia, Madeline had carried a life within her. Upon discovering this unintended consequence, Patricia merely shrugged, indifferent to the collateral damage. In her pursuit of power, she had callously taken two lives with a single malevolent act.

The dark shadows of Patricia’s past whispered haunting tales as she reflected on the unthinkable act she had committed. Her own daughter, Nuria, had fallen victim to Patricia’s merciless hands, devoid of grief or second thoughts. 

The crime?

Being born a girl, not a boy.

It wasn’t that Patricia hadn’t wanted Nuria. On the contrary, her daughter had been a vision of loveliness with dark red hair and bright blue eyes—features Patricia had taken pride in watching them blossom.

Yet, beneath that pride, simmered a deep-seated resentment. It festered towards Emmeline and her son, Eaton who had entered the world just a month before Nuria. Patricia harboured a bitter sense of injustice, convinced that it should have been her—carrying the Emperor’s son—and indeed, she had, but fate had cruelly dealt her a stillborn child.

Her unnamed, dark haired boy who never breathed.

Now, as she saw Nicholas entwining his perceived halfblood influence around the Emperor, Patricia’s anger and bitterness resurfaced, seething like venomous claws sinking into the very heart of her ambitions.

September 6th, 1998

Their tongues engaged in a mesmerising dance. Thomas’ hand tightened in Hadrian’s soft curls, his long fingers caressing the strands. The other hand asserted a possessive grip on Hadrian’s waist. Seated on Thomas’ lap in the private confines of the older man’s office, Hadrian clung to Thomas’s shirt collar with a desperate intensity.

It had been just over a week since their first kiss, and their meetings had become a near-daily occurrence. While much of their routine remained unchanged—conversations, shared meals—now, it was punctuated with frequent and fervent kisses.

Their lips parted, gasping for breath, chests heaving. A shiver coursed through Hadrian as Thomas traced the hand that had been entwined in his hair down the side of his neck. Following suit, Thomas’ lips kissed and nipped at Hadrian’s jaw and neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“Thomas.” Hadrian’s moan escaped as his head instinctively tilted back, granting Thomas unrestricted access to the sensitive pulse point on his neck. Thomas, seizing the opportunity, sucked on the tender skin, deepening the mark he left behind.

“Hmm?” Thomas hummed, his tongue flicking over the mark he'd created.

“Kiss me.”

“You don’t have to ask twice, my dear.”

Kissing Thomas was an experience Hadrian cherished. The man’s taste was exquisite, and he possessed a skill for kissing that left Hadrian a breathless, malleable mess on his lap. Thomas’s tongue explored and probed into Hadrian’s mouth with an intensity that felt almost criminal.

“You’re leaving too many marks, Thomas.” Hadrian protested as yet another mark was bestowed upon his neck.

“You are mine, my dear,” Thomas declared with a possessive solemnity. “Mine to mark.”

“Yes.” Hadrian’s response was breathy, the declaration of ownership reverberating through him, before his mouth was once again claimed by Thomas.

Chapter Text

September 8th, 1998

Softly, Calida tapped on her mother’s chamber door, greeted by Arden’s warm invitation. Upon entering, a familiar lullaby filled the room, and Arden, holding baby Bridgette, looked up with a smile. The timeless lullaby, once Calida’s nightly companion, now cradled the newest addition to the family.

“Mama,” Calida’s grown-up voice retained a hint of the little girl she used to be.

Arden’s eyes held the same tenderness as always, and he welcomed her. “My darling girl. Come to mama.”

Though in her twenties, Calida found solace in her mother’s presence. Rushing to the sofa where Arden sat, she embraced him with care, making sure not to disturb baby Bridgette.

“I missed you, mama.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” Arden’s hand gently caressed Calida’s blonde hair, a mirror of his own. “How have you been? How was Spain?”

“I’m good, mum. Spain was breathtaking; more politicking than leisure,” Calida laughed. “I'll share all the details later, but first, let me get acquainted with my new sister!”

Arden gracefully handed Bridgette, swathed in a rich red blanket, into Calida’s eager arms. “Your sister, Bridgette Anastasia Slytherin.”

“What a beautiful name!” Calida cooed, her warm breath against Bridgette’s soft blonde hair as she nestled her cheek against the baby’s delicate features.

Arden’s smile widened, a mother’s joy emanating from his eyes as he observed his daughters. “I’m just grateful she’s healthy. I can't fathom what I'd have done if—”

“Mama, she’s here with us. That’s all that matters.” Calida’s voice carried a touch of nostalgia, accompanied by a gentle smile. “I’m relieved you’re not one of those who disown their children based on gender.”

“Oh, my sweet.” Arden’s arm encircled Calida’s shoulder, his free hand tenderly grazing Bridgette’s tiny head. “All I ever wished for was children, regardless of gender. I was overjoyed when I first held you in my arms twenty years ago. I love you both so much.”

“I love you too, mama.” Calida turned, giving her mother a gentle kiss on the cheek. “But are you bothered that you didn’t receive a promotion this time after Bridgette’s birth? I know Father honoured you with the title of Honoured Mother, but you might have expected more.”

Arden sighed, shaking his head. “Your father made the right decision, but yes, I did anticipate something more. But a promotion wouldn’t have sat well with Bellatrix. He didn’t elevate me to avoid stirring further discord with her, and I understand that.”

“I'm relieved she didn’t receive a promotion either after baby Adara’s birth. It might have been due to her initial dissatisfaction when the midwife revealed the baby’s gender. Father certainly didn’t overlook her reaction.” Calida huffed. Arden smiled, aware of Calida’s aversion to Bellatrix, despite the woman’s attempts to forge a connection with his daughter. “But mama, why did I hear that you faced consequences? What happened?”

“Not my finest moment, my love,” Arden admitted, his expression showing regret. “I might have let my emotions get the better of me and vented on Noble Potter-Black and Regulus.”

“On Hadrian? Why, though?”

“He received a promotion, and I insisted on knowing the undisclosed reasons stated in the decree,” Arden clarified.

“Ah.” Calida nodded, absorbing the details. “Father didn’t punish you too severely, I hope?”

Shaking his head, Arden replied, “No, dear. If anything, I’d say he wasn’t strict enough, given that I insulted his favoured concubine.”

“Father favours Hadrian that much?” Calida inquired. “Well, it’s understandable. Hadrian possesses charm, power, intellect, grace, not to mention his beauty. It’s hard not to be captivated by him.”

“You knew him, my love?” Arden inquired. “And yes, your father greatly favours him, although some concubines dismiss it as a passing fancy. I, however, know it’s more than that. I’m well acquainted with how His Majesty treats his ‘passing fancies,’ and it’s not the same with Hadrian.”

“I’d say we’re acquaintances,” Calida replied, soothing Bridgette as she fussed a bit. “We worked together during my last year at Hogwarts; he was the fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect.”

“I see.”

“Mama, he’s not someone you want as an adversary,” Calida warned, her tone serious. “You haven’t witnessed his magical prowess. The last time I saw it, I felt suffocated by the rawness of his power. He’s an adult now, and his magic has only intensified,” Calida shook her head. “And, he’s the Potter and Black Heir; he’ll be in the House of Lords one day. Now that Father favours him as well, he should be one of your allies, mama.”

Arden nodded. “Yes, I made a mistake venting on someone undeserving. Honestly, I didn’t even mind Hadrian’s promotion, but Bellatrix was particularly irksome that day, especially before the meeting. But don’t worry, my love, I'll rectify it.”

“Just—just be cautious, mama,” Calida cautioned, her grey eyes filled with concern.

September 13th, 1998

The sunlight that filtered through the ornate drapes warmed Hadrian’s face, pulling him out of his slumber. Blinking his eyes open, the first thing he noticed was an elegant envelope resting on his bedside table, its seal shimmering. 

The Greengrass family insignia. 

Opening it, Hadrian read:

Noble Hadrian Potter-Black,

You are cordially invited to join me for evening tea at the Palace of Graceful Delicacy today at sunset.

 

Yours,

Attendant Daphne Greengrass

His eyebrows knitted in surprise. Why would Greengrass want to invite him, especially after their previous interactions? 

But curiosity won over his hesitation.

“June,” he called, just as she entered the room with a fresh set of clothes. “I’ve been invited for tea by Attendant Greengrass.”

June’s eyes widened a fraction. “The Palace of Graceful Delicacy?” She inquired, her voice laced with surprise.

“Yes,” Hadrian replied. “I’m curious about her intentions. I’d like you and Freya to accompany me.”

June nodded. “Of course, master. Let me help you get ready for the day.”

She laid out an ensemble that exuded elegance: a blue and silver robe , long sleeves, and embroidered with intricate designs. A pair of silver heels shoes and a matching set of earrings and necklace. As June worked her magic, arranging every detail with precision, Hadrian pondered the impending meeting, wondering what it would bring.

Hadrian along with June and Freya approached the Palace of Graceful Delicacy, its grand spires piercing the sky and its walls adorned with mosaics of pastel hues. The serene sounds of gentle water fountains and the scent of blooming roses surrounded them. It was an odd location, Hadrian mused, for a meeting that might not be so serene.

As they entered, they were led through a labyrinth of corridors till they reached an open courtyard, at the centre of which sat Daphne Greengrass in her white-and-grey ensemble. She sat elegantly, her posture perfect, next to a table adorned with an array of delicate porcelain tea cups and an assortment of pastries.

“Noble Potter-Black.” She greeted with a nod, her eyes giving away nothing.

Hadrian responded with a tilt of his head. “Attendant Greengrass, thank you for the invitation.”

She gestured for him to sit, which he did gracefully. June and Freya stood a few steps behind him, ever watchful.

As the tea was poured, a silence hovered, interrupted only by the distant sounds of songbirds.

Finally, Daphne spoke. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to accept my invitation.”

“I almost didn’t, if you may know,” Hadrian replied simply, sipping his tea. “But I wanted to see if there’s more to you than mere jibes and provocations.”

A hint of a smile touched Daphne’s lips, but it was devoid of warmth. “Sometimes, Noble Potter-Black, one has to resort to certain tactics to assert oneself in this den of vipers.”

Hadrian studied her, realising that, perhaps, Daphne’s animosity wasn’t purely personal but a result of the environment they both now navigated.

“Yet, we find ourselves in the same den,” Hadrian mused. “It might benefit us both to understand rather than antagonise.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you suggesting an alliance?”

“Merely understanding.” Hadrian clarified, his green eyes piercing into hers. “The harem is a treacherous place, and having one less enemy might serve us both well.”

“You may call me Daphne then.”

Hadrian nodded. “Call me Hadrian, Daphne.”

As Daphne prepared to speak, Hadrian’s next words cut through, halting her in her tracks. “Daphne, should you attempt to betray me, the repercussions won’t work in your favour. Take this as a cautionary note.”

A chill settled in the air, marked by the palpable intensity of Hadrian’s magic. Daphne swallowed nervously, her hands trembling as she lifted the teacup before her.

The room seemed to tighten with an unspoken tension, shadows dancing around Hadrian as if responding to his warning. Daphne, meeting his piercing gaze, felt a shiver run down her spine.

“But, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Hadrian continued, his tone almost casual, yet carrying a weight of authority. “I value loyalty, and it would be a shame to see such potential wasted.”

Daphne nodded, the unease lingering, and for a moment, the delicate clinking of teacups was the only sound in the room.

The tranquil atmosphere of the tea was suddenly disrupted by the loud entrance of Merula Snyde, the Eighth Attendant and Marietta Edgecombe, Primary Noble. The disdain in their eyes was evident, their postures oozing superiority and malice. 

Merula, with her sharp purple eyes and a smirk that never quite reached her eyes, glanced at Hadrian’s attire. Her eyes gleaming with greed as she stated at his robes and jewellery. “Did the Emperor bestow that upon you as well? Or did you borrow it from a real Noble?” she taunted.

“Such rapid promotion.” Marietta added with a sneer. “I wonder what you did to earn it so quickly. Surely not through merit?”

Daphne, her face turning a shade of crimson, intervened. “Ladies, surely we can keep our personal opinions to ourselves. This is neither the time nor place.”

Merula turned her venomous gaze to Daphne. “Oh, are you defending him now? After all your not-so-subtle insults before?”

Daphne’s jaw tightened, but she maintained her composure. “I merely respect the Emperor’s decisions. Perhaps we all should.”

Hadrian reclined in his chair, casually crossing his legs, exuding an air of nonchalance. “Attendant Snyde, how many years have you graced the harem?”

“W-what?” Merula stammered, taken aback by Hadrian’s composed demeanour amid their attempts to provoke. Marietta observed the exchange, while Daphne simply observed the unfolding drama.

“You heard me,” Hadrian retorted, declining to repeat himself. “Now, provide an answer.”

“With pride, over five years,” Merula responded.

“Regrettable,” Hadrian sighed, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Half a decade and still confined to the role of an Attendant. Tut, tut.”

“How dare you—” Merula seethed.

“Here I am, a mere three months in, holding the Third Noble position, and yet, do you see me insulting those above my station? You, Snyde, rank far beneath me. And I hold more of His Majesty’s favour than both you and Noble Edgecombe combined,” Hadrian asserted, casting a cutting glare at Marietta, who visibly paled under his sudden attention. His patience for her unwarranted jibes had worn thin. While she might outrank him, both he and Marietta knew who Thomas valued more. “I could easily have you punished within minutes, but I choose not to…”

Merula and Marietta visibly eased at his words, thinking the confrontation was over. Little did they know, Hadrian had more to say.

“...yet,” he added, leaving a lingering threat in the air. “Next time, think twice before crossing me.”

Disregarding the two shaken women, Hadrian gracefully rose, offering a polite nod. “Attendant Greengrass, my gratitude for the tea.”

September 16th, 1998

Seated on Thomas’s lap in the privacy of the imperial office, Hadrian felt the gentle caress of the Emperor’s fingers tracing the golden embroidery on his dress. Despite the intimate setting, Hadrian’s thoughts seemed to wander elsewhere.

“Is everything well, my Noble?” Thomas inquired, concern etched on his features. His touch sought to draw Hadrian’s attention back to the present.

“Nothing of consequence, Your Majesty,” Hadrian replied, his gaze distant. “Just lost in thought.”

In response, Thomas gently turned Hadrian’s face towards him, a playful nuzzle against Hadrian’s cheek attempting to coax out the elusive thoughts. “Share it with me, my dear. It must be quite captivating to distract you from my presence.”

“Not captivating, Thomas, but rather peculiar.”

Encouraged by Thomas’s curious expression, Hadrian continued, “Secondary Consort Slytherin-Crawford extended an invitation to his palace yesterday.”

A subtle tension rippled through Thomas, imperceptible to an outsider. “Oh? I trust the conversation was amicable,” he said, his voice holding a hint of guarded concern. Hadrian sensed the potential danger, knowing that any hint of disrespect towards him from Arden would elicit a forceful response from Thomas.

“Indeed, it was,” Hadrian reassured, his hands moving to soothe the grip of Thomas’s fingers on his belly, tracing comforting circles.

Thomas observed him, a frown etching his brows. “Then, why this tension, my dear?”

“Arden offered an apology,” Hadrian explained, a hint of disbelief colouring his words. “Totally unnecessary, but he expressed a desire to clear any ill feelings between us, to start anew.”

The crease in Thomas’s forehead softened. “Arden is sincere, my dear. Apologies don’t come easily from him, but when they do, they're genuine.”

“I did sense that,” Hadrian acknowledged, turning in Thomas’s lap to face him directly. “Now, why are you carrying this tension, Your Majesty?”

Thomas sighed, a hint of exasperation on his face. “Dealing with fools, my dear. If only they possessed a fraction of your intelligence.”

A scoff escaped Hadrian, a smirk playing on his lips. His hand trailed along Thomas’s clothed chest. “No need for flattery, Your Majesty. I’m quite literally in your lap.”

“It’s no mere flattery, my dear. You wound me,” Thomas bantered, his gaze lingering on Hadrian’s rosy-red lips, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

Hadrian began to respond, but his words evaporated as Thomas sealed his lips in a fierce, unrelenting kiss. This wasn’t the tender, chaste exchange from their first kiss; it was a dominating, intense convergence. Thomas’s tongue invaded Hadrian’s mouth with a possessive force, leaving him breathless, every taste, every exploration setting his senses ablaze.

The undeniable evidence of Thomas’s arousal pressed against Hadrian’s backside, igniting a thrill of realisation.

“Oh.” Hadrian couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction—it was because of him.

Thomas, his lips now claiming Hadrian’s neck with a fervent urgency, spoke with a gritted intensity, “One of these days, I’m going to make you mine on this desk, Harry.”

Hadrian’s gasp was met with Thomas’s fervent response, “Why don’t you,” he teased, his fingers tightening in Thomas’s hair, “I’m certainly not stopping you.”

“Oh no, my dear,” Thomas, wearing a near manic grin, countered, “The first time I claim you, it’ll be on my bed. Slow and tender, as it’ll be your first. After you’ve rested, then I’ll take you hard and fast. So intense, you’ll plead for mercy.”

“I won’t—” Hadrian’s protest was interrupted by Thomas’s tongue tracing his pulse point.

“What was that, dear?” Thomas taunted.

“I won’t tell you to stop,” Hadrian asserted louder. “Take me however you wish—on my back, from behind, on my sides, bent over on any surface in your chambers—the possibilities are endless, Your Majesty.”

Thomas’s gaze darkened, molten fire in his eyes. “You grow more perfect by the day, my dear.”

September 23rd, 1998

Beneath the opulent canopy of the Imperial Chamber, bathed in the warm glow of gold and deep burgundy, Nicholas Bellmore stood in resplendent green—the symbol of his Concubine rank creating a vivid contrast against the ceremonial backdrop.

Today marked the union of not just two individuals but the merging of names and titles. Nicholas, embracing the Slytherin name, would now stand as the Emperor's Official Spouse. From this day forward, he would be known as Nicholas Slytherin-Bellmore, His Royal Highness, the Fifth Concubine of His Imperial Majesty, Thomas Slytherin.

In contrast, Hadrian donned a more subdued robe in shades of blue with delicate white and golden accents. He had chosen not to outshine Nicholas on this momentous occasion, a silent tribute to the friend who was now embracing a new chapter.

As he stood there, witnessing Thomas marrying Nicholas, the weight of the moment pressed upon Hadrian’s heart. Bravery, something his mother always credited him with, felt elusive in that instance. Instead, he grappled with a sense of foolishness, a self-inflicted wound.

The ceremony unfolded, and Hadrian, in his quieter attire, grappled with conflicting emotions. It wasn’t the bravery he thought he possessed, but a more complex interplay of loyalty, heartache, and the realisation that the path he had chosen was not without its painful twists.

When Hadrian walked into the merciless, tumultuous harem, he knew the rules, the shared affections, the ruthless competition. Sharing one man with others was a foreseen reality. What blindsided him, however, was the depth of his own emotions for Thomas—an unexpected revelation that reshaped the narrative.

He had stepped into this harem, lured by Emperor Slytherin’s power, craving the influence it promised. Yet, somewhere along the jagged path, the focus shifted. It was no longer just about Slytherin’s power; it had transformed into a profound yearning for Thomas’ affection.

A sense of foolishness lingered in the air as Hadrian grappled with this unforeseen attachment. The hunger for Thomas’ touch, the imprint of his hands on Hadrian’s body, the warmth of his lips leaving a trail of kisses—these desires surfaced unexpectedly, like a voracious appetite that couldn’t be sated.

In the midst of ruthless games and power dynamics, Hadrian found himself craving more than supremacy; he craved the tenderness, the thoughtfulness encapsulated in every book Thomas sent his way. What started as a quest for power had evolved into an intricate dance of emotions, leaving Hadrian feeling like an unwitting participant in the tangled web.

Initially, Hadrian envisioned contentment in being Thomas’s husband, bearing powerful royal offspring to fortify their lineage. However, a new purpose had crystallised within him. He rejected the notion of being just ‘one among many’ for Thomas. No, he aspired to be the sole focus of Thomas’ affection.

In Hadrian’s determination, he envisioned a future where he alone held the key to Thomas’ desires. His touch, his understanding—these would become the exclusive solace for Thomas, akin to a man yearning for a drop of water in a desolate land. Hadrian aimed to be the oasis, the only source that could satiate Thomas’s deepest longings.

He knew this goal might take time, but Hadrian committed to it unwaveringly. As Nicholas pledged himself to the Emperor and his dynasty, Hadrian’s gaze, intense and focused, betrayed the silent resolution within him.

Emery’s concerned inquiry pulled him momentarily from his thoughts. “Harry! Everything okay?”

A tight nod accompanied Hadrian’s response, the fabric of his robe gripped tightly, fingers tense against the calming blue. “Yes. It will be.”

Chapter Text

September 24th, 1998

“Harry!”

Hadrian lifted his gaze from the golden threads he was absentmindedly picking at on his white dress, Lyla’s handiwork likely falling victim to his restless fingers. Emery stood before him, concern etched on his face, a hand gently resting on Hadrian’s arm.

“Are you all right?” Emery inquired, his tone filled with genuine worry.

A half-hearted nod escaped Hadrian. “I’m fine.”

Emery’s scepticism was evident as he continued, “Are you, though? You’ve been in another world since yesterday.”

“I said I’m fine,” Hadrian snapped, immediate regret washing over him at the flinch in Emery’s expression. “I— I’m sorry, Em. Didn’t mean to snap.”

Emery chuckled, dismissing the apology with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, you’re definitely not okay. Come on, spill to your best friend.”

“I... was foolish,” Hadrian admitted, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

Emery questioned, perspective as ever, “Why would you say that?”

“I never thought I’d grow fond of the Emperor. He’s always been this almighty and powerful figure, untouchable in every sense,” Hadrian confessed, biting his lip. “But I’ve glimpsed a different side of him, and it feels like I’m peeling away layer by layer of his carefully crafted facade. And then yesterday…”

“His Majesty and Nicholas got married,” Emery finished, a soft understanding in his eyes. “Oh, Harry…”

“I felt my heart break a little,” Hadrian admitted, swallowing the thick lump of emotion in his throat. “I shouldn’t feel this. I have no right whatsoever, but I can’t help it . Nicholas is probably with child already,” he murmured the last part, aware that Emery heard him. A wave of guilt and regret washed over him. Nicholas deserved the happiness of having a child, especially after the pain of his two miscarriages.

“Harry…” Emery began, squeezing Hadrian's hand.

“I don’t want your pity, Em.”

“It’s not pity, my friend,” Emery insisted, shaking his head. “Never pity. I’m just glad my ever-so-sceptical best friend is finding love, even if it’s a bit complicated. And I’m a little sad it had to be Him. You’ve fallen for a man who can never be exclusively yours.”

“I’m not— I’m not in love, Emery,” Hadrian protested, nearly bolting up from his seat in the private sitting room. “I’m not falling for or in love with Tho— the Emperor!”

Emery fixed him with a deadpan stare, clearly unconvinced by Hadrian’s assertion.

“I’m not, you twat!” Hadrian insisted. “I like him and find him attractive, but that’s it.”

“So you’ve been moping around since yesterday over a person you just happen to like,” Emery remarked, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“Well, yes,” Hadrian huffed, crossing his arms defensively, momentarily forgetting his earlier sorrow.

Emery shook his head, a mix of amusement and exasperation on his face. For all of Hadrian’s intelligence, he could be remarkably obtuse. Here he was, deep in love and staunchly in denial.

“How about inviting Luna and Theo for lunch?” Emery suggested later on. “They’ll help take your mind off things.”

A small smile tugged at Hadrian’s lips. “Okay.” He rose from his seat, swiftly writing an invitation before calling for June.

The head maid entered with a bow, her greeting carrying an air of respect. “How may I be of service, master?”

“Please send this invitation to the Palace of Graceful Beauty for Attendants Lovegood and Nott,” Hadrian requested, handing over the envelope.

“As you wish, master. Should I anticipate a party of four for lunch this afternoon?” June inquired.

“If both Attendants agree to the invitation, then yes, there will be four of us,” Hadrian confirmed.

June nodded, offering another bow before gracefully exiting the room to carry out the task.

“Your aura is rather dim today, Harry,” Luna observed as she gracefully entered the opulent dining hall, Theo trailing behind her. Luna’s eyes held a distant, hazy look, as if glimpsing something beyond the realm of human sight.

“I’m fine, Luna,” Hadrian reassured, rising to greet his friends.

“He’s not,” Emery muttered under his breath, a comment Hadrian chose to ignore.

“How are you two doing?” Hadrian asked, embracing Luna first and then Theo.

“Quite well, Harry,” Theo replied. “And what’s Emery going on about?”

Hadrian sighed. “You know, the usual, Theo. He's just spouting nonsense.”

“Hey!” Emery protested. “I’m right here, you wankers.”

“Language, Em,” Hadrian smirked, settling back into his seat. “What would the Imperial Concubine Carrow say about your foul language?”

“Oh, she can keep her foul language and shove it up her a—” Emery scowled at the mention of the woman.

“Shh, Emery,” Theo interrupted, a cautious look in his eyes. “What if someone heard you?”

“Don’t worry, Harry warded the room well, and our friend here has an O in Warding, so you’re good. Talk to your heart’s content,” Emery assured.

“Shut it, Em,” Hadrian quipped, clapping his hands once to signal the maids to come in and plate the food.

As the maids efficiently set the table with an array of delicious dishes, including buttered roast pheasant, steamed dragon kale, and treacle tart for dessert, the friends settled into a lively conversation, the atmosphere in the room brightening with laughter.

September 27th, 1998

Thomas’s pen glided across the thick parchment, addressing the last bill that demanded his attention. The document, seeking an exorbitant sum from the American Ministry, awaited rejection or, more precisely, required extensive amendments. The lack of specificity regarding the purpose of such a substantial funding request troubled Thomas.

In the midst of his bureaucratic duties, Thomas anticipated Hadrian’s arrival. The demands of Nicholas’s wedding and ascension ceremony had claimed much of Thomas’s focus.

Nicholas’s elevation in ranking had become a topic of discussion throughout the Court and among his Concubines. Bellatrix, true to expectations, had stormed into his office on the day of Nicholas’s promotion. She implored Thomas to reconsider the decision, cautioning against hasty choices, especially regarding Nicholas’s potential role as the Official Spouse.

Thomas harboured no surprise at Bellatrix’s opposition; he had expected it. Her disdain for Nicholas had been evident since his arrival in the harem. It was an open secret that Bellatrix held a deep-seated animosity toward Nicholas and felt threatened by his presence.

Thomas suspected Bellatrix’s involvement, if not outright orchestration, in at least one of Nicholas’s miscarriages—perhaps both. The favour Nicholas had gained in the last two years—a position now occupied by Hadrian—had fueled Bellatrix’s resentment. It wasn’t a secret that Bellatrix loathed Nicholas for displacing her in Thomas’s affections.

Moreover, Thomas was well aware that neither of Nicholas’s miscarriages occurred naturally; the Royal Healer had confirmed foul play. In response, Thomas had executed three maids and two eunuchs involved, yet the mastermind had skillfully obscured their tracks.

A sudden knock interrupted Thomas’s thoughts, signalling Hadrian’s anticipated arrival. 

Setting his papers aside, Thomas prepared to greet him, but his anticipation turned into confusion. It wasn’t Hadrian at the door; instead, one of his maids stood there. The maid’s name eluded Thomas momentarily—Jenny or  was it Jill?

No. It was June.

Wondering why June was here and not Hadrian, Thomas frowned. The maid bowed respectfully. “Your Imperial Majesty, I am Ju—”

“Where is my Noble?” Thomas interjected, his frown deepening with concern.

June’s fingers nervously twisted the dark blue fabric of her uniform, adorned with the Potter crest on the left chest. Her voice quivered with fear as she spoke, eyes cast down in trepidation. “Noble Potter-Black sends his apologies. He hasn’t been feeling well since this afternoon, and his health hasn’t improved, so he won’t be able to—”

“Enough,” Thomas interjected, concern evident in his expression. “Is he... Is he well? Or does he require a healer?”

“N-no, Your Majesty. He doesn’t need a healer,” June stammered. “Master was asleep when I left, but he seemed rather tired.”

“I hope he gets well soon. Send him my best wishes,” Thomas said, a furrow forming on his brow. “You may leave.”

June nodded, swiftly exiting his office.

Leaning back in his seat, a deep unease settled in the centre of Thomas’s chest. It felt as though he had inadvertently done something wrong, but what was it?

Thomas didn’t know.

September 30th, 1998

“Good morning, everyone,” Bellatrix greeted the assembly of concubines. “This marks the last meeting of the month, and as per His Majesty’s recent communication, there are no changes in the rankings.”

A collective sigh emanated from a few concubines, their aspirations of promotion dashed for the month. Hadrian observed their slumped postures, acknowledging the disappointment that lingered in the room. Despite the evident yearning for advancement, Hadrian leaned back comfortably; he found contentment in his current position as the Third Noble. For now.

Yet, a subtle ache tugged at his heart. Purposefully avoiding encounters with Thomas for nearly a week, Hadrian resisted the Emperor’s persistent attempts to arrange an audience. He wasn’t ready to face Thomas, fully aware that the Emperor might be perplexed by his unexplained withdrawal. The uncertainty surrounding Hadrian’s motives left Thomas undoubtedly at his wits’ end.

Now, as Hadrian reflected on his recent actions, he couldn’t help but find his own behaviour rather foolish. Why was he deliberately pushing Thomas away when, in truth, he desired to be the Emperor’s husband and eventually be the singular focus of Thomas’s affections? It dawned on Hadrian that distancing himself from Thomas wouldn’t bring him any closer to achieving those aspirations.

Determined to rectify his recent choices, Hadrian vowed to mend the strained connection with Thomas.

“...First Princess Alinta Slytherin, her husband Crown Prince of France, Damien de Florian, along with their daughter, First Granddaughter of His Imperial Majesty, Princess Haylène Louise-Thoméa, will be visiting on the 18th of October for a stay of two weeks,” Bellatrix announced, reading the decree with a hint of surprise in her voice.

Hadrian observed the announcement with curiosity. The revelation that the First Princess, her husband, and Thomas’s granddaughter , would be visiting next month piqued his interest.

Rumours circled about Princess Haylène, whispered speculations that Hadrian had only heard secondhand, as he hadn’t yet had the chance to meet the little princess in person. According to these whispers, it was said that Princess Haylène shared a distinctive feature with Thomas — her eyes bore the same striking shade of red.

Chapter Text

October 1st, 1998

“Your Majesty, may I suggest—” Bellatrix paused, meeting Thomas’s intense fiery red eyes.

“Bella,” Thomas said, his jaw clenched. “Aprina has made her wishes clear.”

“But you should be strict with the Princess, Your Majesty,” Bella implored. “She’s twenty-five now. She has toyed enough with the Council, not to mention the speculations about Prince Afton—”

“I made the decision about Aprina’s marriage three years ago, Bellatrix, and I said we wouldn’t revisit it,” Thomas stated firmly.

“But—”

”It’s not fair to bring up her marriage when I’ve given Aalto free rein. When she’s ready for matrimony, we’ll talk.” Thomas declared, his patience wearing thin. A week had passed without seeing Hadrian, and anger brewed within him. The last he heard, Hadrian was at yesterday’s harem meeting. Was he well now?

Thoughts swirled as he glanced at Bellatrix; once attractive, she barely registered in his thoughts. Although Thomas fulfilled his duties with her, he discreetly cast a contraceptive charm each time, unknown to her. ”Until then, this matter is closed.”

Bellatrix gripped her hands tightly, tension evident. She opened her mouth to speak, but Thomas’s next words silenced her.

“Aprina is my daughter, Bellatrix,” Thomas whispered, his red eyes narrowing.

“This would’ve been her mother’s responsibility, but sadly, Eleanor is dead, and this is none of your concern,” Thomas spoke cuttingly. “I’m alive and capable, so let me handle matters regarding my daughter.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I didn’t intend to…” Bellatrix began, lowering herself with a demure smile, tension lingering.

“Yes, your apology is accepted. You may leave now. I have work to attend to.” Thomas dismissed her, focusing on the documents before him.

Bellatrix left, her hopes shattered as the Emperor didn’t spare her a second glance.

“Casimir,” called Thomas, addressing what seemed to be an empty space in the office. The Head Eunuch materialised from a concealed corner where he had been hidden by disillusionment and silencing charms.

“Your Majesty,” Casimir bowed deeply.

“Keep an eye on her,” Thomas ordered firmly.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“And there’s another task I need you to complete…”

***

Thomas enjoyed a tumbler of scotch, his eyes fixed on the sunset painting the sky shades of orange, pink, and purple streaming through the tall windows. Lost in thought, he pondered the day's events. Despite Bellatrix’s outburst in his office about Aprina’s marital affairs and the usual court formalities, the day had been productive.

Bellatrix had been notably agitated, testing Thomas’s patience. Usually, he would let her vent while he turned her out, more for his own peace of mind than anything else. However, today, her behaviour had grated on him more than usual.

He recognized the source of his frustration too well and knew he needed to address it before it spiralled out of control. He couldn’t risk his bottled-up emotions inadvertently hurting an innocent bystander. While he wasn’t entirely opposed to that idea, it was crucial for him to regain his composure, confront the root issue directly, and prevent the situation from escalating further.

Hadrian.

That young man never failed to stir up a whirlwind of emotions within Thomas, a fact he begrudgingly found both maddening and strangely exhilarating. Hadrian had a way of getting under his skin like no one else ever had, leaving Thomas feeling simultaneously infuriated and inexplicably drawn to him.

And now, Hadrian had suddenly detached from him.

Thomas longed to stride into the Palace of Noble Elegance, seeking out Hadrian’s presence. He yearned to inquire about Hadrian’s well-being, offer his assistance, and perhaps indulge in the simple pleasure of holding him close in his arms, stealing kisses in the quiet moments shared between them. 

Yet, the constraints of tradition and protocol held him back. 

It was unheard of for the Emperor to single out one Noble for a visit when others resided in the same palace. It would have been simpler if Hadrian had his own palace, but that would necessitate his promotion to an Official Spouse status.

Yet, such a solution wouldn’t alleviate any issues, especially given the current circumstances. In fact, it would only introduce a host of new challenges, particularly for Hadrian. Besides, Hadrian wasn’t prepared for such a significant advancement in rank at this time.

Thomas grunted in frustration, taking another sip of his scotch as he pondered the delicate balance of his emotions. He had already given Hadrian more attention than he had ever given any other Concubine, and he couldn’t risk further exacerbating tensions among them. Yet, the protective instinct he felt towards Hadrian was undeniable.

Little did they know, Hadrian’s safety was of paramount importance to Thomas, evident in the discreet measures taken to ensure his well-being. The Knights discreetly monitored Hadrian’s surroundings, their presence serving as a silent shield against any potential threats.

Soft knocks on the door disrupted Thomas’s contemplation, prompting him to straighten in his seat. A familiar voice followed, accompanied by a blonde head peeking into the room. 

“Dad?”

Setting aside his glass, Thomas rose from his chair with a small smile. “Come in, Alon.”

Alon entered, his lilac eyes sweeping the room before settling on the fireplace, his gaze searching. 

Thomas couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia mingled with sorrow whenever he looked at his son. Alon’s resemblance to his late mother, Maurice, was uncanny—from the blonde hair to the gentle lilac eyes and the serene demeanour. It was a constant reminder of the past; a bittersweet echo of what once was.

Maurice. 

Kind, gentle yet formidable Maurice.

It was Maurice’s tragic demise five years prior that had rocked Thomas to his core, following the losses of Eleanor and Hayden. Maurice had served as the Primary Consort at the time, a role he had fulfilled for three years since Alon’s birth in 1990. 

The memory of finding Maurice’s lifeless body, throat slashed open, still haunted Thomas. Unlike the supposed “accidental” deaths of his other Concubines, Maurice’s murder had been deliberate and brutal. Thomas had raged and raved. He had killed all of Maurice’s maids and guards for their incompetence, not before he had thoroughly and torturously questioned each one of them. But the murderer had been smart. Too smart. They had erased themselves from the minds of the maids and guards that had been involved in the conspiracy.

Alon, his beloved son, had only been three years old at the time of Maurice’s death. His boy was understandably confused and frightened, struggling to grasp the sudden absence of his mother. Just that night, Maurice had tucked him into bed and bid him goodnight with tender kisses and then he was gone by the next morning.

“Dad, have you seen Nagini?” Alon’s voice broke through Thomas’s reverie, his small hands seeking comfort in his father’s grasp. 

Alon had been residing with Thomas at the Imperial Palace since Maurice’s passing, and Thomas couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go when the time came for him to move to the Palace of Radiant Youth upon turning eleven.

Thomas shook his head. “Is she not under the table in the sitting room?”

“No, Dad. I’ve already checked there,” Alon replied, a hint of disappointment in his voice and his lower lip jutting out. “I’m done with my lessons, so I wanted to play with her before dinner.”

“She must be out in the garden, perhaps?” Thomas suggested, lifting Alon into his arms. “Let’s go have a look, shall we?”

“Yes!” Alon cheered, his face lighting up with excitement. He wrapped his arms around his father’s neck as Thomas made his way towards the office door. “Can you do that spell, Daddy? The one with sparkles and butterflies? Please! I’ll even finish my carrots at dinner!”

Ah, the infamous spell with butterflies and sparkles that entertained his children to no bounds.

Thomas couldn’t help but indulge a smile at Alon’s enthusiasm. “Of course, my boy.”

Who could have predicted that one day he would be inventing new spells simply to amuse his children? Certainly not Thomas Slytherin.

Once, the idea of dealing with children was unimaginable to him. Thomas had viewed them as nothing but bothersome hindrances during his time at the orphanage. He despised those whining, needy little creatures. However, when he first cradled his Alinta in his arms, he experienced a profound realisation—it was completely different when the child was his. His own flesh and blood.

Deep within his darkened heart, an emotion began to stir—a sentiment that had eluded him for years—it hadn’t made sense to him then, but now, with several children of his own, it finally became clear to him.

It was love.

Thomas loved his children.

Maybe he wasn’t adept at romantic love, and perhaps he never would be. Maybe he loved his children for all the wrong reasons in his own possessive and overprotective ways, but one thing was definite—he did love them.

October 2nd, 1998

Hadrian sighed, his fingers gently tracing the delicate petals of the vibrant white lily in the Pavilion of Blooming Lilies, refraining from plucking any petals out of respect for Thomas. The flower poignantly reminded him of his mother’s love for lilies, a memory he held dear. The weight of Thomas’s absence, by his own choice despite repeated requests to meet, weighed heavily on Hadrian, causing his shoulders to slump in sorrow. Leaving the fragile flower alone, he started to pick at the threads of his blue robe.

Noticing their master’s despondent demeanour, the maids - Freya, Dana, and Lyla - exchanged concerned glances. Though eager to offer comfort, they stayed silent, not wanting to disturb his thoughts.

In the past week, they had seen a notable change in their master’s usual calm attitude, replaced by an underlying anger. This transformation began on the day of His Majesty’s wedding to Concubine Slytherin-Bellmore. Freya, a lifelong servant of the Potter family, recognized signs of turmoil in Hadrian’s eyes. Having served the Potters for generations, she understood her role within the Potter-Black household, a legacy passed through her family.

Despite her closeness to her master, Freya had never seen him so visibly angry, which unsettled her and brought a sense of fear.

Dana had seen the storm brewing within Master Hadrian as she served him breakfast the morning after the ceremony. His hands clenched the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned pale, a clear indication of the turmoil raging within him. In the brief four months she had known him, Dana had never seen her master exhibit such seething anger. She silently thanked the stars that his wand was safely on the bedside table; if it had been within reach, Dana shuddered to think of the consequences.

Despite her unwavering faith in her master’s inherent goodness, Dana couldn’t deny the palpable intensity of his emotions, amplified by the crackling aura of his magic.

Hastily, Dana made her way (more like ran) to the kitchen, urgently instructing her fellow maids and palace staff to steer clear of their master’s path. Their prompt compliance allowed Master Hadrian the space he needed to regain his composure, avoiding any unnecessary confrontation.

Dana observed her master’s efforts to maintain a facade in front of his friend, Noble Lexington—temporarily setting aside his anger to show only the underlying sadness and bitterness. Later, he entertained Attendants Lovegood and Nott for lunch, but once they left, the walls came crashing down, and his fury resurfaced.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, it was Lyla who noticed the anger slowly dissipating as she served her master his evening tea—a blend of chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm with a hint of mint. She watched the dullness in his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual vibrancy. Lost in thought and distracted, Master Hadrian seemed to drift away. Lyla couldn’t help but feel a preference for the anger. It meant that Master Hadrian was still present, rather than being reduced to a mere shell of himself.

Then illness struck...

Their master hadn’t misled the Emperor; he had indeed fallen ill. It wasn’t anything severe, thankfully. Yet, their master suffered from terrible headaches and struggled to keep his meals down due to an upset stomach. He even missed the harem meeting on Monday. However, his health began to improve rapidly after that, much to their relief.

The three maids exchanged glances having heard the commotion approaching their way, before Lyla gathered the courage to speak. “Master!”

Hadrian sat up, turning his full attention to Lyla. “Yes, Lyla. What is it?”

“Master, Primary Concubine Cassandra Slytherin-De Florian and Third Concubine Dorian Slytherin-Avery, along with their entourage, are on their way here,” Lyla informed him.

“Ah, I see.” Hadrian followed Lyla’s gaze to see Cassandra, holding her twin daughters’ hands on either side, while Concubine Slytherin-Avery cradled his almost-one-year-old daughter in his arms. Behind them, a small retinue of maids and guards followed. “Thank you, Lyla. Let’s go greet them.”

Giving a nod to his maids, Hadrian strolled down the stone pavilion decorated with lilies to greet the two concubines.

***

“Ah, Hadrian, what a pleasant surprise,” Cassandra greeted, a warm smile gracing her lips. One of the maids stepped forward to escort the twin princesses toward the nearby fountain. “You seemed a bit under the weather during the meeting. Are you feeling better now?”

Hadrian chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m feeling better than I look, I assure you. A bit of fresh air always helps, and I do adore lilies.”

His gaze shifted to Concubine Slytherin-Avery, who observed them with keen interest. Hadrian offered a respectful bow. “Greetings, Third Concubine Slytherin-Avery.”

Dorian returned the greeting with a nod. “Greetings, Noble Potter-Black. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

“You as well,” Hadrian replied with a courteous nod.

Cassandra observed the two men, her perfectly arched brow raising in elegant curiosity. “It seems you two haven’t had the chance to get acquainted properly, have you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Hadrian admitted, his expression thoughtful. He had noticed that Dorian, the younger brother of the current Lord Avery, tended to keep to himself, perhaps focusing most of his attention on his daughter. It wasn’t surprising, considering Princess Soleil was less than eleven months old.

Dorian became a member of the harem in 1989 at the age of nearly twenty-one. However, he didn’t welcome his daughter into the world until November of the previous year. Rumours suggested that Dorian had experienced only one documented miscarriage in 1995, occurring at six weeks.

“No matter!” Cassandra exclaimed, a glint of excitement in her usually cold blue eyes. “We can rectify that right away.”

Hadrian’s gaze drifted to Cassandra’s daughters, the twin princesses. The slightly taller one was engaged in animated conversation with her younger twin, who appeared more reserved but responded with subdued enthusiasm.

“Hadrian, you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my daughters yet,” Cassandra remarked, following his gaze.

Hadrian shook his head, recalling the last time he visited Cassandra’s palace. In all honesty, besides Ember, he hadn’t crossed paths with any of the Emperor’s younger children or those significantly older than him. “Indeed, the princesses were at Fourth Concubine Slytherin-Harrding’s palace, playing with Princess Enya, if I recall correctly.”

“Come then, I’ll introduce you. My girls need to meet their new Uncle,” Cassandra said, linking their arms with a sly smirk. “And their mother's newest ally, of course.”

Hadrian returned her smirk with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Of course, Cassandra.”

As they walked, Hadrian caught a curious glance from Dorian, who was gently cradling his daughter. It seemed he would need to find a separate opportunity to get better acquainted with Dorian.

“Mais filles! Come to maman, please!” Cassandra called out.

The princesses abandoned their conversation and darted towards their mother. Identical in appearance, they differed only in height, resembling Cassandra more than anyone else. Hadrian couldn’t discern any resemblance to Thomas except for maybe their noses.

“Darlings, say hello to your new Uncle, Hadrian Potter-Black,” Cassandra announced. “And Hadrian, these are my daughters; Solana and Salana Slytherin, the Ninth and Tenth Princesses.”

“Hello, Uncle,” the twins chorused in unison, looking up at him with soft blue eyes.

Hadrian chuckled warmly. “Hello, Your Highnesses.”

“You’re really pretty, Uncle.” Salana’s cheeks flushed as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

Solana chimed in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Yes, your dress is stunning! And your jewellery, too. Your locket is so—"

Cassandra gently interrupted her daughter’s rapid chatter. “Easy now, Sal. Uncle Hadrian isn’t going anywhere. You can take your time and enjoy the conversation.”

Salana nodded eagerly, her smile widening. ”Of course, Mama.”

Dorian then extended an invitation to Hadrian. “Why don’t you join us for tea, Noble Potter-Black? I'd love for you to meet my Soleil.”

“Marvellous! You took the words right out of my mouth, Dorian,” Cassandra exclaimed, her eyes bright with excitement. She then turned to Hadrian with a warm smile. “Join us, Hadrian? Of course, only if you are still feeling well.”

Hadrian nodded graciously, hiding his inner turmoil behind a polite facade. “I’d be delighted,” he replied smoothly, though he couldn't deny the reluctance in his tone.

It wasn’t that the company was unpleasant; far from it. However, Hadrian felt a sense of obligation to accept the invitation. How could he refuse the hospitality of two Concubines who outranked him? So, he masked his true feelings and focused on entertaining his hosts and their children throughout the tea gathering.

Hadrian couldn’t fully immerse himself in the enjoyment of the moment, his mind burdened with weighty thoughts. It wasn’t the company or the atmosphere that dampened his spirits; rather, it was his lingering concerns about Thomas.

He knew he couldn’t delay any longer. It was time to confront the issue head-on. Hadrian had allowed the distance between him and Thomas to grow for far too long. He refused to let anything, not even his own doubts and fears, sabotage what he and Thomas had, or what they could become.

Hadrian made a silent vow to himself. Before the night was over, he would take the necessary steps to mend the rift between them, to set things right once and for all.

***

A knock reverberated through the serene atmosphere of Thomas’s office, where he sat nestled by the crackling fireplace, engrossed in a book. An involuntary grumble escaped his lips at the unwelcome interruption, his desire for solitude clear.

“Enter,” Thomas muttered, his gaze still fixed on the pages before him.

Casimir entered, bowing respectfully. “Your Majesty, there’s—”

Thomas abruptly closed his book, his annoyance palpable. “I explicitly ordered not to be disturbed, Casimir.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but you also requested to be informed of any developments concerning Noble Potter-Black,” Casimir replied calmly.

Thomas”s irritation softened as he recalled his previous instructions. “And?”

Casimir straightened his posture further. “Noble Potter-Black is here, Your Majesty, and he wishes to know if he is welcome for company for a few minutes.”

Thomas masked any hint of his inner turmoil, maintaining his stoic demeanour. The news of Hadrian’s arrival stirred something within him, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling such emotions, especially in response to another person’s presence. Nevertheless, he composed himself.

“Escort him in person, Casimir,” Thomas instructed, his tone measured.

His Head Eunuch bowed respectfully, a subtle knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Right away, Your Majesty.”

  Thomas stood up as soon as the door slammed shut again. Hadrian was here. The sentence reverberated in his mind like a mantra, echoing with a blend of longing and relief. For over a week, he had yearned for this moment, craving Hadrian’s presence more than anything else.

Lost in his thoughts, Thomas didn’t hear the door open and shut again until a melodic voice broke through his reverie. “Your Majesty.”

Turning, Thomas was met with the sight of Hadrian, whose presence seemed to fill the room with a sense of urgency and anticipation. Despite his captivating beauty, Hadrian appeared anxious and slightly pallid, his hands fidgeting nervously.

“Hadrian,” Thomas acknowledged, his voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of emotion.

“I know you aren’t up for company tonight, but I needed to—” Hadrian began, his words faltering slightly as he glanced at Thomas.

“Come here,” Thomas interjected, his expression inscrutable.

Hadrian jumped subtly at his tone, a reflexive reaction to the unexpected shift in Thomas’s demeanour. Though Thomas hadn’t intended to startle him, the urgency in his voice conveyed a silent plea that Hadrian couldn’t ignore. Biting his sweet lower lip, Hadrian finally mustered the courage to step forward, closing the distance between them until they were mere feet apart.

“How are you, Hadrian?” Thomas inquired, his expression still inscrutable, masking the tumult of emotions swirling within him.

“I-I’m quite well now, Your Majesty—” Hadrian began, his words faltering slightly as he met Thomas’s gaze.

“Hadrian,” Thomas interjected firmly, his gaze piercing yet gentle.

“Thomas,” Hadrian corrected quickly, his voice softening. “Um. As I was saying. I’m well.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Thomas regarded Hadrian, his eyes searching for something beneath the surface.

“That’s good to hear, Hadrian,” Thomas replied with a curt nod, though inwardly, he debated whether to prolong the facade.

Hadrian swallowed thickly, his nerves palpable as he shifted uncomfortably. “I just wanted to let you know in person. Which I have done now. So. I’ll— I’ll go and leave you alone.”

Not so fast.

With a swift movement, Thomas reached out and caught Hadrian’s elbow, preventing his departure. He pulled Hadrian close, their bodies now intimately aligned.

“Not so quickly, my dear,” Thomas teased, his hands finding purchase on Hadrian’s waist. “Where’s the rush?”

Hadrian frowned, his fists tightening against Thomas’s clothed chest. “Well, you clearly—” He paused, catching himself before continuing.

“‘I clearly’, what, my dear?” Thomas prompted, his warm breath grazing Hadrian’s cheek.

Hadrian exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. “You clearly don’t want me here. That’s what I was going to say until I stopped myself so I’m not disrespectful.”

So brave.

Thomas couldn’t help but admire Hadrian’s audacity, even in the face of his own apprehension. Only Hadrian had the courage to challenge him in such a manner and still maintain his dignity.

“My dear Hadrian,” Thomas began, his voice softening as he caressed Hadrian’s cheek. “Of course, I want you here. I wanted you here a week ago, I wanted you here all the days after that, and I still want you here.”

Hadrian’s eyes widened at the sincerity in Thomas’s words, his heart fluttering at the admission. “Then why would you talk to me like that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I was jesting, my dear,” Thomas reassured him, his thumb tracing gentle circles on Hadrian’s cheek. “Forgive me?”

Hadrian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away before meeting Thomas’s again. Those captivating green eyes held him in a trance, reminding him of his favourite spell. “Fine. You’re forgiven. Only because I missed you,” he relented, a soft smile gracing his lips.

Thomas’s ego swelled at the admission.

“May I kiss you now, My Noble?” Thomas breathed against Hadrian's lips, his voice a soft whisper laden with longing.

“Yes, please,” Hadrian replied, his voice equally hushed, his eyes shimmering with desire.

Without further hesitation, Thomas closed the gap between them, capturing Hadrian’s lips in a fervent kiss. He savoured the taste of Hadrian, each brush of their lips igniting a flame within him. As their kiss deepened, Thomas’s hands roamed Hadrian’s back, tracing the contours of his body with tender reverence.

“Thomas…” Hadrian’s moan sent shivers down Thomas’s spine, urging him to explore further.

With a gentle nudge, Thomas guided Hadrian's head to the side, trailing a path of kisses along his jawline and down his neck. ”I missed you, my dear,” Thomas confessed between kisses, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Hadrian's neck.

Hadrian’s smile was like a beacon of light in the darkness. 

“Me too,” Hadrian murmured, drawing Thomas into another embrace, their lips meeting once more in a passionate union.

Chapter Text

October 2nd, 1998

“Are you sure you’re completely healthy now, Hadrian?” Thomas’s concern was evident in his voice as he held Hadrian close on his lap, their bodies entwined before the crackling fireplace. “I can call in my personal healer to check.”

Hadrian smiled, his gaze meeting Thomas’s with unwavering assurance. “Thomas,” he said, his hand reaching up to cup Thomas’s cheek, “I’m fine, I promise. It was just a little headache and some nausea. My magic has already fought off the worst of it.”

Thomas’s brows furrowed in lingering worry, his fingers tracing patterns on Hadrian’s back. “If you say so, my dear,” he conceded reluctantly. “But if you fall ill again, I won't hesitate to call my healer.”

Hadrian chuckled softly, the sound like music to Thomas’s ears. “Alright, Your Majesty,” he replied, his tone laced with amusement.

Thomas pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss, their lips moving with fervent passion. When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the air between them, Thomas’s eyes bore into Hadrian's with intensity.

“Was that all, my dear?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

Hadrian blinked, still reeling from the intensity of their kiss. “Hmm?” he hummed inquisitively, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Was your illness the only reason you distanced yourself from me?” Thomas pressed, his gaze piercing.

Hadrian felt a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. Thomas deserved the truth, but revealing his vulnerabilities felt like stepping into a den of hungry wolves. He couldn’t afford to show weakness to Thomas, not in the cutthroat world of the harem. 

Not yet, at least. 

Hadrian remained acutely aware of the cutthroat dynamics within the harem, where alliances were fleeting and betrayal lurked around every corner. He knew better than to let his guard down. The harem was a viper’s nest, where trust was a luxury and vulnerability could be fatal. Concubines vied for power with ruthless determination, employing deception, manipulation, and even violence to ascend the ranks.

But Hadrian was no naive pawn in their deadly game.

He refused to become another casualty in the harem’s long history of treachery and bloodshed.

He refused to let himself be lured into complacency or false security.

He had goals, ambitions that burned within him like a fierce flame. And he would stop at nothing to achieve them. Every action, every decision he made was calculated with precision, driven by the singular purpose of fulfilling his ambitions and securing his future.

Hadrian knew that only the strong and the cunning would prevail in the harem’s deadly game of power and survival. And he intended to prove himself as both.

“Yes,” Hadrian replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. “That was all. I was still recovering, and I didn’t want to burden you with my bad company. I thought it best to keep my distance until I felt better.”

As Thomas searched his face, Hadrian sensed a subtle intrusion against his mental barriers. With practised ease, he gently pushed Thomas back with his Occlumency shields, concealing his thoughts and emotions from the probing gaze of the Emperor. Thomas’s red eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before it vanished. It was clear that Thomas hadn’t anticipated encountering such resistance. 

Hadrian almost smirked at the thought. 

Of course, he kept his mind meticulously guarded against Legilimency; it was a skill he had honed under the tutelage of his grandfather, Arcturus. As the future heir to the Potter and Black families, it was imperative that he shielded his thoughts and intentions from prying eyes. He was also taught Legilimency by his mother, Lily, a prodigy in Mind Arts, and who was also the Head of the Department of Mysteries.

“Alright,” Thomas finally responded, his tone betraying no hint of his earlier surprise. “You’ll join me for dinner, then?”

“Of course,” Hadrian replied smoothly, maintaining his composure. 

If Thomas wasn’t going to address the matter, neither was he.

They’ll both get there in time.

October 5th, 1998

“Well. Good morning, everyone,” Bellatrix greeted as she finally entered the Grand Hall of the Harem Court, a good ten minutes late. She settled herself into her throne-chair atop the dais. Hadrian couldn’t help but stifle a smile behind his gloved hand as he witnessed Arden sending an exaggerated eye roll in Bellatrix’s direction. Their ongoing rivalry never failed to amuse Hadrian.

“My apologies for my tardiness. I was held up by His Majesty,” Bellatrix added with a simpering giggle, earning a collective eye roll from most of the upper harem, excluding Regulus.

“Oh, don’t mind us, Primary Consort,” Arden retorted with a mocking smile, his grey eyes icy. “We are but your lowly servants, waiting for you to grace us with your presence.”

Bellatrix flushed with anger but managed to maintain her composure. “You are anything but servants, Secondary Consort.”

“Of course,” Arden replied with feigned understanding.

“I think it’s prudent, Primary Consort,” Helene interjected diplomatically, “that you proceed with the reading of the decrees given the eunuch is waiting for you to take it from him.”

Bellatrix nodded curtly, gesturing for the eunuch to hand her the scroll containing the decrees. Opening it with a huff, she began to read monotonously, “His Imperial Majesty commends his Concubines for their unwavering dedication and service to the Empire,” her voice turned cold as she continued, “especially Fifth Concubine Slytherin-Bellmore, who has admirably fulfilled his newest role as a Concubine with grace and distinction.”

The Hall fell silent as Bellatrix halted, her gaze fixed on Nicholas with simmering fury.

“Congratulations on the personal commendation, Concubine Slytherin-Bellmore!” Arden chimed in with a broad smile, finally shattering the tense silence.

Nicholas offered a grateful smile to Arden as he gracefully rose from his seat, his verdant robes cascading elegantly around him. “I express my gratitude to His Majesty for the commendation and pledge to uphold my duties with dignity.”

“Congratulations, Nicholas!” exclaimed Secondary Concubine Penny Slytherin-Haywood, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

“As expected from Nicholas!” echoed Primary Concubine Slytherin-De Florian in agreement.

Numerous concubines joined in to offer their congratulations to the now blushing Nicholas, including Hadrian.

“Congratulations, Concubine Bellmore,” Bellatrix finally uttered, her tone frosty.

Nicholas returned her coldness in kind, his hazel eyes hard. “Thank you, Primary Consort.”

Emery leaned in close to Hadrian, his voice barely a whisper. “Your aunt is not exactly subtle about her disdain for Nicholas.”

Hadrian nodded slightly, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think she’s ever made an effort to conceal it.”

“Hey,” Emery whispered again, catching Hadrian’s attention, “did you and His Majesty—”

“Shh, not here,” Hadrian interrupted, glancing around the crowded Hall. “I’ll tell you later.”

Emery gave a tight nod and leaned back in his seat, understanding the need for discretion.

“Moving on,” Bellatrix declared, her voice cutting through the whispers that had settled over the Hall. Her gaze swept over the assembled concubines, each one feeling the weight of her stare. “The preparations for the arrival of the First Princess, her husband, the Crown Prince of France, and their daughter are well underway. His Majesty has entrusted me with overseeing most of the arrangements.”

A sly smirk tugged at the corners of Bellatrix’s lips. His aunt was definitely proud to be given this responsibility. “In light of their impending visit, there will be a grand ball held in their honour on the 20th of October. His Majesty has graciously extended an invitation to all his Concubines to attend, provided they adhere to the appropriate attire and standards befitting their rank.”

Excited murmurs rippled through the Hall, smiles blooming on the faces of the Nobles and Attendants who rarely had the opportunity to partake in such grand events, given their lack of spousal status within the harem.

“Furthermore,” Bellatrix continued, her tone tinged with anticipation, “Samhain will be observed on the night of the 31st of October. All members of the harem are invited to participate in the festivities and are expected to attire themselves in the traditional colours of the occasion.” 

A hush fell over the Hall once more, anticipation hanging in the air like a thick fog.

“And,” Bellatrix added, drawing out the suspense, “in keeping with the spirit of the season, the Samhain Ball will take the form of a masquerade. Prepare your masks accordingly.”

Gasps of surprise and excitement echoed through the Hall as the concubines exchanged eager glances and whispered amongst themselves.

***

“It’s truly a rare opportunity,” Emery remarked, his tone filled with genuine excitement as they made their way down the grand staircase of the Harem Court, their arms interlocked. “I mean, can you believe it? We’re actually going to attend the ball!”

Hadrian returned Emery’s smile, his own excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. “Why is that surprising? Didn’t the First Princess visit the Capital not too long ago?”

The memory of the First Princess’ previous visit in January flickered in Hadrian’s mind, coinciding with the anniversary of Hayden’s tragic death—ten years had passed since that dreadful day when two of the highest-ranking concubines were allegedly murdered (they were, Hadrian knew now, and he had a suspect of who the conspirator was). Although Hadrian had been at Hogwarts during that time, focusing on his N.E.W.T.S, his family and other relatives had attended the ball.

Emery shook his head, a wistful expression crossing his features. “No, Harry. We’ve never been allowed to attend such events. The festivals and the Emperor’s birthday are pretty much the only occasions we’re permitted to join, along with any official business, of course. And unless we’re invited by someone from the upper harem—which, let’s face it, is extremely rare—we usually miss out on the festivities.”

“Ah, I see,” Hadrian murmured, a tinge of disappointment lacing his words.

A hand gently landed on Hadrian and Emery’s shoulders from behind, halting their steps near the bottom of the staircase. They turned to find Reina, her face adorned with a bright smile, standing behind them.

“What’s got you two whispering like schoolchildren?” Reina inquired, her tone playful.

Hadrian exchanged a knowing glance with Emery before replying, “Just discussing the upcoming ball.”

Reina inserted herself between them, seamlessly fitting into their little trio, and looped her arms through theirs. “Ah, yes. The ball and all the festivities this month. It’s going to be quite the whirlwind, isn’t it?”

They resumed their descent down the stairs, drawing curious glances from the other concubines nearby.

Emery chuckled, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “October always brings something exciting, doesn’t it? Two balls in one month—it’s unprecedented!”

Hadrian suppressed a grin at Emery’s enthusiasm, nodding in agreement.

“And speaking of excitement,” Reina interjected, her voice laced with enthusiasm, “how about we all meet for lunch this afternoon? At my palace?”

Hadrian and Emery exchanged a glance, silently communicating their approval, before Hadrian replied, “That sounds wonderful, Reina. We’ll be there.”

“Excellent!” Reina exclaimed as her carriage pulled up beside them. “See you both at noon!”

October 6th, 1998

Hadrian sank into the luxurious warmth of his bath, his head nestled against the plush towel behind him. The opulent marble and gold-leafed tub enveloped him, offering ample space for relaxation and indulgence.

Today, being a Tuesday with no harem meeting on the agenda, Hadrian allowed himself the luxury of a later start. As dawn gently broke, his dedicated attendants—June, Josie, and Maya—had quietly entered his chambers, deftly preparing for the day ahead. It was Maya who, upon Hadrian’s awakening, took charge of setting up the bath, meticulously adjusting the water temperature to his liking and infusing it with the soothing scents of coconut and vanilla.

Now, as steam rose lazily around him, Hadrian closed his eyes, surrendering to the tranquil embrace of the fragrant waters. Each ripple of warmth seemed to wash away the cares of the world, leaving him immersed in a blissful sanctuary of relaxation.

Hadrian released a contented sigh as his fingers trailed delicately over his own skin, igniting a fervent desire that pulsed through him with a renewed intensity. It had been too long since he allowed himself this kind of intimate indulgence, and now, enveloped in the tranquil sanctuary of the bath, his body clamoured for release.

Gratefully, the sanctuary of the bathroom was enhanced by a silencing charm, ensuring his private indulgence remained just that—private; granting him the freedom to lose himself in the throes of passion without fear of intrusion.

With a slow, deliberate movement, his right hand slipped beneath the water’s surface, tracing a path of tantalising caresses along the contours of his body. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure coursing through him. His skilled fingers danced over his sensitised flesh, teasing and coaxing as they descended lower, seeking the source of his burgeoning arousal. With a delicate touch, he found his swollen clit, sending shivers of pleasure radiating outward.

Meanwhile, his left hand found purchase on one of his teats, fingers kneading the soft flesh with gentle insistence. A gasp escaped his lips as he teased his honey-brown nipple, revelling in the exquisite blend of pleasure and arousal that pulsed through him.

“Oh, Merlin,” Hadrian moaned softly, his breath hitching as he intensified the pressure on his nipple, sending sparks of pleasure deep within his core. With a tantalising pause, his fingers ceased their ministrations on his clit, descending instead towards his eager entrance.

Deliberately, he began to tease himself with just one finger, the sensation both familiar and electrifying after what felt like an eternity. It had been too long, he admitted to himself, and he knew he couldn’t rush the process. Starting with just one finger allowed him to ease back into the rhythm, to reacquaint himself with the sensations that danced along his nerves.

And he relished every moment of it. 

With no pressing obligations demanding his attention today, Hadrian luxuriated in the unhurried exploration of his own pleasure.

Today was his, and he intended to savour every exquisite sensation.

Hadrian’s body glistened with moisture as he delicately eased his index finger into his eager cunt. Each measured thrust rippled a surge of pleasure through him, igniting a primal hunger that only intensified with each passing moment.

“Ahh,” he moaned softly, his movements growing more fervent as he surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm. The slick sensation of his finger sliding in and out of his slick folds sent waves of pleasure crashing over him. “F-fuck. Oh—”

With a gasp of anticipation, Hadrian gently inserted a second finger into his slick, craving cunt, the sensation sending tremors of pleasure coursing through his body. As he continued to explore himself, he indulged in the exquisite torment of squeezing his teat and teasing his nipple, the dual sensations amplifying the pleasure radiating from his core.

Each movement caused the water to cascade around him, its rhythmic splashes echoing against the marble floor of the bathroom. Yet, despite the newfound depth of sensation from the two fingers inside him, Hadrian couldn’t shake the lingering sense of emptiness. It was a peculiar feeling, considering he had never allowed anyone beyond the confines of his own touch to explore his body. Cedric, his former flame, had never ventured beyond innocent caresses above Hadrian’s waist, their brief relationship ending before intimacy could deepen.

Indeed, Hadrian remained a virgin—a fact that held little significance to either himself or his parents. In their household, the concept of ‘purity’ held no sway; instead, they encouraged him to explore his own desires as long as he prioritised his safety and happiness above all else. To them, virginity was merely a societal construct, devoid of any real meaning.

Yet, the emptiness within Hadrian persisted. It wasn’t a matter of purity or societal expectations; rather, it was a primal longing that stirred within him.

His cunt ached with a hunger that transcended physicality, yearning for something more substantial, more fulfilling. He craved the sensation of being filled to the brim, of experiencing the primal ecstasy that came with being penetrated by something bigger, longer, thicker—something that would reach deep within him and ignite every nerve ending with pleasure.

With an urgent need for release consuming him, Hadrian intensified the thrust of his fingers into his slick, soapy pussy, his movements fueled by a desperate craving for satisfaction. “Bloody hell.” He cursed, each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through him, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of his own arousal echoing in the tiled confines of the bathroom.

As he chased after his climax, Hadrian’s moans filled the air, mingling with the satisfying sploching sounds of his fingers working diligently inside of him.

Merlin, how he yearned for Thomas in that moment. The image of the Emperor, bathed in warm water and enveloped in steam, filled Hadrian’s mind with an intensity that matched his desire. He could almost feel Thomas’s strong arms around him, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the storm of sensation.

Hadrian fantasised about Thomas joining him in the bathtub, their bodies entwined as he straddled the Emperor’s lap. He craved the feeling of Thomas deep inside him, thrusting relentlessly as if there were no tomorrow. He craved the sensation of Thomas’s cock plunging deep into his aching cunt, filling him to the brim with every powerful thrust—the thought of Thomas fucking him with abandon, painting the walls of his cunt with his seed—ignited a primal hunger within Hadrian.

Images of Thomas’s strong hands gripping his hips, guiding Hadrian to impale himself on Thomas’s cock, danced through Hadrian’s mind like a fevered dream. With each stroke of his fingers into his slick pussy and each rhythmic rub of his thumb against his swollen clit, the fantasy grew more vivid, more intoxicating.

“Yes, yes,” Hadrian moaned fervently, his voice thick with desire. “It feels so bloody good.”

As the waves of pleasure crashed over him, Hadrian’s body tensed before surrendering to the overwhelming release of his orgasm. His thighs quivered with the intensity of it, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he rode the waves of pleasure, lost in the euphoria of his own climax. 

Gradually, as the sensations ebbed, he sank back into the embrace of the warm water, his body tingling with the aftermath of his release.

***

Lyla entered the elegant sitting room with a soft knock, interrupting Hadrian’s indulgent breakfast. Before him lay a sumptuous feast crafted by Freya and Dana: eggs Benedict adorned with thinly sliced ham on buttery, toasted English muffins, crowned with a luscious hollandaise sauce. Alongside, a golden array of hash browns and roasted potatoes infused the air with the fragrance of fresh herbs. Tara had thoughtfully selected a delicate porcelain teacup filled with Imperial Keemun tea, its rich aroma mingling with the tantalising scent of the morning meal, and drizzled with a touch of honey.

“Master,” Lyla greeted with a graceful bow as Hadrian savoured a roasted potato. “How may I be of service to you this morning?”

Setting down his cutlery, Hadrian savoured a sip of the robust black tea before addressing Lyla. “As you are aware, we have two imminent balls approaching,” he began, noting Lyla’s attentive nod. “I find myself in need of two robes suitable for such grand occasions.”

“Is there a specific vision you have in mind, Master?” Lyla inquired, ever attentive to Hadrian’s preferences.

“Hmm,” Hadrian mused, his thoughts drifting to the upcoming events. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Hadrian’s slender fingers reached for the sketch pad he had set aside earlier, flipping it open to reveal the meticulously drawn designs he had crafted the night before. As Lyla’s gaze fell upon the intricate sketches, her expression shifted from surprise to awe, her mouth slightly agape.

“Master…” Lyla breathed, her voice tinged with admiration. “These designs are truly exquisite!”

A soft smile graced Hadrian’s lips as he acknowledged Lyla's praise. “Thank you, Lyla,” he replied warmly, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “I’m glad you approve. Now, as for the fabrics, you have the freedom to choose whichever you please, but I’m particularly intrigued by the colour palette…”

October 9th, 1998

Hadrian couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Thomas buried under stacks of paperwork, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. Sitting in the Emperor’s office, Hadrian found himself with a book from the Emperor’s shelf, providing him with a welcome distraction from the monotony of administrative tasks.

“Paperwork really bores you, doesn’t it?” Hadrian remarked, a playful glint in his green eyes.

Thomas glanced up from his work, offering a tired smile. “It really does, my dear,” he admitted with a sigh, running a hand through his dark brown hair, a stray curl landed back on his forehead, in a gesture of exasperation.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Hadrian found himself fighting back a laugh at Thomas’s disgruntled expression. He knew better than to tease the Emperor too much, but the temptation was certainly there.

“Well, you can go back to your boring paperwork while I enjoy this book,” Hadrian quipped, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

The casual banter between them still felt surreal to Hadrian. Who would have thought that he, a mere Noble, would one day find himself joking and teasing the Emperor? If anyone had predicted such a scenario, Hadrian would have dismissed it as sheer lunacy and promptly directed them to St. Mungo’s.

“I could use a break,” Thomas admitted with a wry smile, pushing back his chair and rising from his desk. With a graceful stride, he made his way over to Hadrian, who was lounging on the sofa.

“But you just started working, Your Majesty,” Hadrian quipped, his tone teasing yet tinged with a hint of amusement.

“No one can fault me when I have such a beautiful distraction sitting in front of me,” Thomas said, lightly kissing Hadrian on the lips.

“Who knew the big, bad Emperor was such a flirt? What would people say, Your Majesty?”

“Good thing it’s just us two here, isn’t it. No one can taint my reputation,” Thomas replied, effortlessly pulling Hadrian towards him.

As Thomas’s strength enveloped him, Hadrian couldn’t deny the subtle thrill it sent through him. Thomas was so strong.

Hadrian hummed into the kiss as Thomas’s tongue grazed his bottom lip. He pulled away and leaned back against the soft cushions of the sofa. Thomas mirrored his movement, reclining comfortably with one arm draped over the head of the sofa and the other resting on Hadrian’s knee. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong: one of the Princes lives here, in the Imperial Palace, with you, right?”

Thomas raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Indeed, dear. Alon has lived here with me since his mother passed away five years ago, and he is still under eleven. Did you happen to cross his path today?”

“Not quite,” Hadrian replied. “I just happened to see Prince Alon on my way to your office. He was going in the opposite direction, so I didn’t quite catch his face, nor did he see me.”

“Alon was on his way to his morning lessons,” Thomas informed him, his voice dripping with fondness. “He is rather studious.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” Hadrian said with a chuckle. “As a child, I was always either holed up in the Potter or Black library. My father and Sirius had to coax me into playing a game of Quidditch with them half the time.”

“My little Ravenclaw,” Thomas mused. ”Always so curious. In all honesty, I was very surprised when Lord Potter had informed me that his heir was sorted into Ravenclaw, considering both he and his wife are Gryffindors. Your godfather and Charlus Potter too.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Hadrian pointed out.

Thomas looked at him questioningly.

“My grandmother Dorea is a Ravenclaw. Everyone, including her, always tells me how much I’m like her—and my mother, who was nearly a Ravenclaw herself.”

“Ah, my apologies,” Thomas admitted.

“You seem quite fond of him - Alon,” Hadrian observed after a moment of silence passed between them.

“I’m all he has now, and he’s my own child,” Thomas replied, his voice tinged with sadness. He shifted uneasily in his seat, revealing the weight of responsibility he carried. “He’s a sweet boy, but he’s been through so much. Trust doesn’t come easy to him.”

Thomas paused, his gaze distant as he continued. “After what happened to Maurice, I couldn’t bear to trust anyone else with his care. And it wasn’t the first time I’ve taken in one of my children. Afton had lived with me for over two years, though not as long as Alon.”

Hadrian listened, sensing the depth of Thomas’s commitment. Another murder, he couldn’t help but think, not merely an accident. It was never just an accident in the harem.

“You’re a good father,” Hadrian said sincerely, reaching out to touch Thomas’s arm. Thomas responded with a simple kiss, but the gesture left Hadrian wondering if anyone had ever truly appreciated him in the same way.

Wanting to change the subject, Hadrian said, “Want to know a secret, Thomas?”

Thomas nodded, his interest piqued. “A secret?”

Hadrian nodded back, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I think you’ll like this one. Even my parents don’t know this.”

“I’m rather intrigued now, my dear,” Thomas replied, leaning in slightly.

Hadrian lowered his voice, adding to the intrigue. “I was almost sorted into Slytherin.”

Thomas’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me much.”

“I know,” Hadrian said, a playful smirk gracing his lips. ”The Hat said I’d achieve ‘great success’ in Slytherin, but my thirst for knowledge and sharp mind outweighed my cunningness.”

“Ravenclaw suits you,” Thomas remarked, his voice taking on a low, husky tone as his hand found its way to Hadrian’s knee, applying a gentle squeeze. “But I wouldn’t object to seeing you in green.”

Hadrian leaned in, his touch feather-light as his fingers traced the buttons of Thomas’s shirt. “Green would indeed compliment me well, wouldn’t it, Your Majesty?”

Chapter Text

October 11th, 1998

The soft strains of classical music drifted through the opulent main sitting room of his Aunt Bellatrix’s residence, the Palace of Charming Delight. Hadrian settled into the plush embrace of the dark wood sofa adorned with golden highlights, a cup of tea cradled delicately in his hand. Beside him, his aunt reclined gracefully, her gaze thoughtful as she sipped from her own cup, while Adara’s portable swing cradle occupied a place of honour nearby.

“How have you been, nephew?” Bellatrix inquired, setting her cup down with a gentle clink and turning to face him.

Hadrian mirrored her gesture, meeting her gaze with a mixture of warmth and curiosity. “I’ve been well, Auntie,” he replied.

“I’m glad to hear that. But. . .” Bellatrix hesitated.

“But?”

“There have been some. . . concerns,” Bellatrix admitted, her words carefully chosen. The furrow of Hadrian’s brow deepened, his curiosity piqued by his aunt’s cryptic remark. 

“What do you mean by ‘concerns’?” he inquired.

Bellatrix let out a weary sigh, her gaze momentarily flickering away before meeting his once more. “There have been rumours circulating about your frequent visits to His Majesty at the Imperial Palace,” she confessed. “He has been granting you an audience even when others’ requests have been denied.”

The implication hung heavy in the air, and Hadrian’s lips curved into a knowing smile, though his green eyes betrayed a hint of resignation. 

“And this concerns me how?” he asked, his tone laced with a subtle edge of defiance. 

He was well aware of the jealousy simmering among the other concubines, but he refused to let it dictate his actions or tarnish his blossoming relationship with the Emperor.

“Harry,” Bellatrix began, her tone gentle yet tinged with concern. “The others are becoming increasingly discontented. You must understand, nephew, I speak for your own well-being. Your rise to the rank of Third Noble in just four months is unprecedented. I, for example, was but a mere Attendant in the same span of time. Many of the current Concubines share similar trajectories.”

Hadrian’s brows furrowed in consternation, a flicker of indignation sparking in his green eyes. “Aunt, you can’t possibly be suggesting that I—” he started, his voice tinged with defiance.

“Yes, I am,” Bellatrix interrupted firmly, her gaze unwavering. “I want to ensure your safety, Hadrian.”

A sharp retort formed on Hadrian’s lips, but he swallowed it back, a cold laugh escaping him instead. “It would take more than a few jealous and bitter concubines to pose a threat to me, Aunt,” he declared, his tone edged with a cold resolve. “I will not cease my visits to the Emperor. If he desires my presence, I will not deny him.”

“Harry, you can’t afford to overlook this situation!” Bellatrix’s voice held an unusual note of panic, her grey eyes reflecting a sense of urgency that caught Hadrian off guard. 

What was driving his aunt to such distress? Was it solely concern for his well-being, or was there something more beneath the surface? Hadrian couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that her unease stemmed from a deeper source—perhaps a subconscious fear of his growing relationship with the Emperor. 

But that couldn’t be right, could it?

“Aunt, I appreciate your concern for me,” Hadrian began, his voice measured, “but I refuse to let the other concubines—” he paused briefly, or you, the unspoken words hanging in the air, “—or anyone else dictate my position within the harem.”

“I’m not asking you to distance yourself permanently,” Bellatrix interjected, her tone softening in an attempt to soothe him. Hadrian couldn’t help but notice the tension in her posture, a sign of her own unease. “Just temporarily, until things settle down and the attention shifts away from you.”

“I’ll take your advice into consideration,” Hadrian replied vaguely, leaving the conversation open-ended for now.

Before Bellatrix could press him further, the sharp cry of Adara pierced the air, diverting her attention to the infant nestled in her cradle. Hadrian couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude towards his baby cousin, whose timely interruption had provided a welcome reprieve from the weighty discussion at hand.

“Oh, my little princess,” Bellatrix cooed tenderly to her daughter, but Adara’s cries persisted, tears streaming down her cherubic cheeks. “Shh, settle down, baby. Mummy’s here. There’s no need to cry, Adara.”

Despite her mother’s soothing words, Adara’s agitation only seemed to escalate. At just over five months old, she displayed a stubbornness that rivalled even the most headstrong of individuals. Bellatrix’s distress grew palpable as her efforts to comfort her daughter fell short.

“Aunt, may I give it a try?” 

Bellatrix’s eyes brightened with gratitude as she looked to her nephew for assistance. It was as if she had entirely forgotten their previous conversation. 

“Yes, nephew,” she replied, her tone tinged with relief. She turned her attention back to Adara, her voice softening. “Do you want to go to Cousin Harry, darling? Would that make you feel better?” she cooed, hoping to soothe her restless daughter.

Bellatrix approached the sofa with a mixture of relief and gratitude, carefully transferring Adara into Hadrian’s waiting arms. As he cradled the infant close, Hadrian began to sway gently, his voice filling the air with a soft, soothing hum—a melody from a Muggle song his mother used to sing to him in his childhood. Gradually, Adara’s cries subsided, giving way to soft hiccups as she nestled against Hadrian’s chest, her grey-blue eyes blinking away the last of her tears.

“There you go, Delphi,” Hadrian murmured tenderly, his fingers brushing away the dried tears from her cheeks with gentle caresses. He felt a swell of affection for his little cousin, particularly for her middle name, Delphina, which he found especially endearing. “It’s all right now, darling,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of affection and reassurance.

“Wow, Harry. You’re quite the natural with babies, despite never having been around one before,” Bellatrix remarked, her smile genuine yet tinged with an underlying emotion that Hadrian couldn’t quite decipher.

“Well, I must admit, I didn’t have much confidence in my abilities,” Hadrian replied with a chuckle, his gaze still fixed on Adara, who had now become entranced with the gleaming locket hanging around his neck.

“Clearly, you have a knack for it.” 

There was a brief pause before Hadrian broached the topic. “How are the arrangements coming along for the First Princess’ arrival, Aunt?” he inquired, his tone casual.

Bellatrix let out a frustrated sigh, her expression clouded with annoyance. “They’re progressing, I suppose,” she replied dismissively, a hint of exasperation evident in her voice. “But I fail to see why there needs to be such a spectacle for that girl .”

That girl? 

Hadrian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at his aunt’s disparaging tone. 

“Aunt,” he interjected, his voice tinged with incredulity. “Alinta Slytherin is the First Princess of the Slytherin Dynasty and the future Queen of France. You cannot speak of her in such disrespectful terms.”

Bellatrix waved a hand dismissively, her frustration palpable as she paced back and forth in front of Hadrian. 

“Oh, what’s the fuss?” she scoffed, her tone filled with disdain. “She may hold those titles, but deep down, she’s nothing but a spoiled brat with delusions of grandeur, who harbours dreams of becoming the future Empress. Alinta’s ambition knows no bounds, nephew. You mark my words.”

“There’s no established succession line, Auntie and I highly doubt His Majesty has any immediate plans to name an Heir,” Hadrian asserted, his tone firm. “He’s immortal, for Merlin’s sake.”

Bellatrix emitted a derisive scoff. “That doesn’t prevent that brat from whispering sweet nothings into her father’s ears,” she retorted, her frustration palpable.

Despite his aunt’s subsequent monologue that spanned the next fifteen minutes, Hadrian remained unconvinced of Princess Alinta’s ambitions to succeed Thomas. From what he had observed, she seemed more inclined to secure a prosperous marriage and fulfil her destiny as the future Queen of another nation. Her aspirations appeared to lie far beyond the complexity of succession within the Imperial Court.

***

“You look like you’ve aged a decade, my friend,” Emery remarked as he strolled into Hadrian’s sitting room in the east wing of the Palace of Noble Elegance.

Hadrian, draped languidly across the chaise, appeared utterly drained, exhaustion etched into every line of his features. With a weary sigh, he covered his eyes with his arm. “Oh, please spare me,” he murmured. “My aunt is testing my patience to its limits.”

Arms folded and a concerned furrow creasing his brow, Emery stood over his friend, casting a sympathetic glance. 

“What has the Wicked Witch done now, Harry?” he inquired, his tone tinged with amusement.

Hadrian let out a snort of disbelief. 

“Wicked Witch? Really, Emery?” he quipped, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

“What?” Emery retorted, a hint of indignation creeping into his voice. He brushed aside his white-blonde bangs with a huff of annoyance. “Reina and I thought the nickname suited your aunt perfectly. But enough about that. Tell Emery what’s troubling you.”

“Let’s not refer to ourselves in the third person, shall we?” Hadrian quipped in return, finally sitting up and gesturing for Emery to join him on the chaise. “My aunt is. . . ugh,” he groaned in frustration.

Emery’s grin softened into a sympathetic smile as he settled onto the chaise beside Hadrian. 

“I understand your frustration, Harry,” he said gently. “But I need more than just an ‘ugh’. Talk to me.”

“She wants me to distance myself from Thom— The Emperor,” he confessed, frustration lingering in his voice.

Emery furrowed his brow in confusion. “For what reason?” he asked.

“Because she’s worried, apparently,” Hadrian replied with a hint of bitterness. “She seems to think that some jealous concubine is plotting to harm me.”

Emery’s expression softened with understanding as he processed the information. “It sounds like she’s projecting her own insecurities onto you,” he remarked thoughtfully. “I mean, you’re young and vibrant, whereas she’s. . . well, let’s just say she’s closer to fifty than she is to forty. And with her history of miscarriages, it’s understandable that she might feel threatened by your relationship with the Emperor.”

“But—” Hadrian began, only to be interrupted by Emery’s gentle yet firm voice.

“I know she’s your aunt, Harry, but it’s important to be cautious around her,” Emery advised, his tone filled with concern. “Just tread carefully, okay?”

Hadrian nodded, acknowledging the wisdom in his friend’s words. “But she won’t ever hurt me, Emery,” he asserted quietly, though a shadow of doubt lingered in his eyes.

She won’t.

“I’m not suggesting she will,” Emery reassured him, his voice gentle yet insistent. “But remember how she reacted to Nicholas. She never liked him, especially after he conceived so easily within a year of joining the harem. And you didn’t witness the devastation Nicholas felt when he experienced those miscarriages, especially the second time around.”

Hadrian’s inner turmoil remained palpable, despite his attempts to conceal it. He was sure Emery could sense the internal conflict brewing beneath the surface.

Sensing his unease, Emery offered a gentle suggestion. “Why don’t you consider visiting your uncle soon?” he proposed, his tone gentle and reassuring. “I’m certain his insight could prove to be invaluable.”

Hadrian murmured a quiet acknowledgement, grateful for Emery’s attempt to ease the tension. However, he was not yet ready to delve into the depths of his emotions. Desiring a change of topic, he seized upon the opportunity to shift the conversation elsewhere.

“Do you think he’s. . . pregnant? Right now?” Hadrian inquired, his expression curious as he finally turned to Emery.

Emery shrugged nonchalantly, his body relaxing. It looked like he was glad that Hadrian changed the subject too. “Maybe. It wouldn’t surprise me if he is.”

Hadrian nodded in agreement, acknowledging the possibility without much surprise.

“Anything else noteworthy from your conversation with Bellatrix?” Emery probed further.

Hadrian let out a frustrated huff. “Oh, Bellatrix went on a tirade against Princess Alinta,” he confessed, a hint of exasperation evident in his voice.

Emery chuckled knowingly. “Let me guess,” he interjected with a grin, “she ranted about how the Princess is scheming to take over the world and seize the throne as Empress.” 

Hadrian couldn’t help but laugh at Emery’s accurate depiction of his aunt’s tirade. 

“Exactly,” he confirmed, shaking his head in amusement.

Emery’s laughter subsided as he adopted a more serious tone. “Princess Alinta is one of the kindest and most genuine individuals I’ve ever met,” he remarked, his expression softening with fondness. “And she’s fiercely devoted to her father, as he is to her. Trust me, she’s perfectly content with her future role as the Queen of France.”

“I had a feeling as much.”

“Enough about the Wicked Witch,” Emery declared with an exaggerated eye roll, making Hadrian muffle another snort. “I want to extend an invitation for you to join us for lunch in my wing.”

“Us?” Hadrian questioned, curious.

“Indeed, Harry. All the male Nobles are convening for lunch this noon,” Emery explained with a smile. “I’ve been going around the palace extending invitations to everyone.”

“Count me in,” Hadrian agreed readily. “I’ll freshen up and meet you at your wing.”

Emery nodded, rising from his seat. “Excellent. I’ll see you there in an hour?”

“Absolutely,” Hadrian confirmed with a nod and a bright smile. ”Until then!”

October 12th, 1998

“Good morning, everyone,” Bellatrix greeted from her throne-chair atop the dais, her voice commanding attention throughout the Grand Hall. With a swift motion, she unfurled the thick scroll in her hands and announced, “We have some changes in the ranks to discuss.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the assembled crowd, anticipation palpable in the air. It was a rare occurrence for such announcements to be made, and the last promotion had been Concubine Slytherin-Bellmore’s elevation just the month before.

“Today, His Imperial Majesty recognizes Secondary Attendant Orion Sallow for his dedicated service of six years in His harem, as well as for the birth of the Eleventh Princess three years ago,” Bellatrix announced, her expression bearing a hint of satisfaction. “In light of his contributions, Attendant Sallow is promoted to the rank of Eighth Noble.”

As Bellatrix continued to outline the subsequent adjustments in the Attendants’ ranks, a wave of realisation washed over the room. With Orion’s promotion came a cascade of changes, including Attendant Lovegood’s ascent to Secondary Attendant, Attendant Greengrass’s advancement to Third Attendant and all the other attendants below Orion moving up in rank.

The repercussions were clear however, and Hadrian could sense the tension simmering beneath the surface as Dingxiang, Amarin, and Jiyeon’s ranks were inevitably demoted in the process. Their displeasure was evident in their expressions, though they maintained a facade of composure in the presence of their peers.

“Congratulations, Noble Sallow,” Bellatrix acknowledged.

Orion rose from his seat with grace, offering a respectful bow in response. His hands slightly trembling against his grey-white robes. “I am deeply grateful to His Imperial Majesty for this honour,” he declared, his voice carrying throughout the hall with a sense of gratitude and humility.

Bellatrix nodded, pleased. “Moving on, the arrangements for the upcoming balls. . .”

October 15th, 1998

“I must admit, Nicholas’s swift invitation caught me by surprise,” Emery remarked, settling comfortably into his seat beside Hadrian within the carriage.

Sharing the carriage for the brief journey to the Palace of Silver Serenity—Nicholas’s newly established Concubine residence—was a practical decision, avoiding the unnecessary hassle of arranging separate transportation when their destination aligned. 

Their carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets, the rhythmic clatter serving as a backdrop to their conversation. Their respective maids, positioned opposite them, maintained a respectful distance, dutifully turning their attention elsewhere to afford their masters privacy.

Hadrian nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. “Indeed, the process of settling into a new palace and ensuring it meets one’s exacting standards can be quite time-consuming before considering hosting duties.”

“Ah, I can hardly contain my excitement to see Nicholas’s palace! It’s among the esteemed upper echelon of Concubine residences,” exclaimed Emery, his eyes alight with anticipation as he leaned forward in his seat.

Hadrian leaned in to listen attentively. ”Upper palaces?” he echoed, his curiosity piqued.

Emery nodded, eager to share his knowledge. “It’s not an official designation, per se, but rather a distinction based on grandeur and magnificence. You see, among the twelve Concubine palaces, the first eight are considered the upper palaces, exuding unparalleled opulence and majesty. The remaining four, while still beautiful, pale in comparison.”

Understanding dawned on Hadrian as he absorbed Emery's explanation. “I see,” he acknowledged with a nod of comprehension. “So Nicholas's palace is among the elite eight.”

“Exactly!” Emery confirmed, a smile spreading across his face. “He’s truly scored a remarkable residence.”

It occurred to Hadrian that the members of the harem likely vied for the palaces they were allocated. Looking back, it wasn’t particularly surprising.

“I’m glad Reina is invited as well,” Emery remarked, a smile gracing his features. “Even if Pippa was too.”

Hadrian fought back the urge to roll his eyes at the mention of Pippa Macmillan, the Secondary Noble. It was no secret that the older woman harboured no fondness for him. Her disdainful behaviour during the Litha festival and her dismissive attitude towards him during harem meetings and gatherings were clear indications of her sentiments. Yet, Hadrian found himself equally indifferent towards Pippa. He simply tolerated her presence, much like one would tolerate an annoying insect.

“Indeed,” Hadrian muttered, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the carriage window. “Lunch is bound to be rather tense.”

Emery offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. You have me and Reina by your side,” he reassured. “And Nicholas too.”

Hadrian nodded. 

“Let’s hope for the best, I suppose,” he conceded, a note of uncertainty colouring his tone.

October 18th, 1998

The throne room of the Imperial Slytherin Palace exuded opulence and grandeur, its lavish decorations casting an aura of regal magnificence that surpassed any previous display. The dominant colours of black and dark green lent an air of sophistication and power to the space, creating a backdrop befitting the solemnity of the occasion.

Hadrian’s eyes were drawn immediately to Thomas, seated upon the majestic throne at the centre of the room. Dressed in dark robes that accentuated his muscular physique, Thomas commanded attention with his regal bearing and dignified presence. Adorned with intricate rings that adorned his fingers and the Imperial Crown resting upon his brow, he exuded an aura of authority and strength that left no doubt as to his status as Emperor.

To Thomas’s right sat Bellatrix, occupying a smaller yet equally grand throne, her own attire befitting her esteemed position of the Emperor’s highest ranking concubine. On his left sat Arden, flanked by Helene, both occupying thrones of similar stature and elegance.

Hadrian couldn’t help but marvel at the sight before him, his thoughts drifting to the legendary Imperial Consort Crown said to be reserved for the Emperor Consort or Empress. Rumoured to be a masterpiece of design and craftsmanship, it was said to rival the splendour of the Emperor’s own crown. 

Yet, it remained shrouded in mystery, its existence known only through whispers and speculation.

As his gaze lingered on Thomas, Hadrian felt a twinge of amusement at his aunt’s futile attempts to engage the Emperor in conversation. Thomas’s attention was wholly consumed by the impending arrival of his daughter, Princess Alinta, and her entourage. It had been nearly ten months since her last visit, and the anticipation in the air was palpable as the court awaited her arrival.

On either side of the expansive hall, members of the Royal Council, esteemed advisors, and courtiers were seated, their presence lending an air of solemnity and gravitas to the proceedings—their expressions serious and attentive.

Meanwhile, just behind the Emperor’s imposing throne, Hadrian and the other concubines were positioned, partially obscured from view by a shimmering green veil. 

The veil, imbued with powerful enchantments, served to both preserve the concubines’ privacy and protect them from prying eyes. From behind the veil, they had a clear view of the hall and its occupants, enabling them to observe the proceedings with discretion. However, to those outside the veil, the concubines appeared as indistinct figures, their features obscured by the veil’s magical properties.

It was a testament to the Emperor’s power and magical prowess that he alone could see his concubines clearly, unencumbered by the veil’s enchantments.

With a resounding boom, the Head Herald’s baton struck the marbled floors, signalling the grand entrance of Princess Alinta Slytherin. The massive doors of the Throne Room swung open, drawing Hadrian’s eager gaze towards the entrance in anticipation.

In a voice amplified by the sonorous charm, the Herald announced, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Alinta Slytherin, First Daughter of The Conqueror, His Imperial Majesty, Thomas Slytherin. . .”

Princess Alinta emerged, a vision of regal elegance, adorned in a stunning emerald green gown that shimmered in the light—a matching crown graced her head, accentuating her beauty with its intricate design. Her dark brown curls cascaded down her back in luxurious waves, framing her delicate features with an air of grace. As she descended the stairs with poise and confidence, her baby blue eyes swept across the room, taking in the assembled courtiers and advisors. A subtle smile played upon her ruby red lips as her gaze met her father’s, a silent exchange passing between them.

“. . . His Royal Highness, Damien De Florian, Crown Prince of France. . .”

Hadrian's gaze followed the imposing figure just behind Princess Alinta, his attention captured by the commanding presence of Damien De Florian, Crown Prince of France. Taller than his wife, Damien possessed a striking appearance with his rich, blonde locks and piercing hazel-grey eyes. Adorned in regal dark blue robes and a resplendent golden crown atop his head, he exuded an aura of authority and nobility that commanded attention. In his arms was a precious bundle wrapped in green— 

“. . . Her Royal Highness, Princess Haylène De Florian, Grandchild of His Imperial Majesty.”

The little princess, with her curly blonde locks tied back with delicate green silk ribbons, looked every bit the picture of innocence and charm. Her large, red eyes sparkled with curiosity as they roamed the room, drawing the attention of all who beheld her. Her toothy smile was infectious and endearing, eliciting soft coos and whispers from those in attendance.

Accompanied by a retinue of maids-in-waiting, nannies, eunuchs, and guards, the trio made their way towards the raised dais where the thrones awaited.

Alinta led the procession to the dais, gracefully lowering herself into a deep and reverent bow before her father, the Emperor. “Your Imperial Majesty,” she intoned respectfully.

Following her lead, Damien and Haylène, now nestled securely on the ground, offered their own respectful bows, though Haylène’s infectious giggles added a touch of lightheartedness to the moment.

To the surprise of all present, Thomas rose from his imposing throne, his piercing red eyes gleaming with uncharacteristic warmth as he addressed his daughter. “Rise, my daughter.”

Chapter Text

October 18 th , 1998

Alinta strolled through the grand corridors of the Imperial Slytherin Palace, her presence commanding the respect of all who crossed her path. Servants, eunuchs, and guards bowed deeply as she passed, acknowledging her status as the First Princess with utmost reverence. Her arrival earlier that morning, accompanied by her husband, daughter, and entourage, had stirred a flurry of activity within the palace walls. Now, as lunchtime approached, Alinta had shed her ceremonial gown and heavy jewels in favour of lighter midnight blue robes and delicate accessories, reflecting her regal stature.

Her destination was her father’s office, where she intended to discuss matters of importance before Damien and Haylène joined them for lunch. It had been nearly ten months since her last visit to the Capital, a pilgrimage she made annually in January to commemorate her mother’s death anniversary and pay respects at his grave in the Royal Graveyard.

This year held particular significance, marking a decade since the tragic loss of her beloved mother, Hayden Slytherin-Everfield—a loss that still weighed heavily on Alinta’s heart, even after all these years.

Alinta couldn’t shake the belief that her mother’s death was no accident—it had to be murder. Hayden had been vibrant and healthy when Alinta departed for Germany to pursue her Dark Arts apprenticeship in mid-January of 1988. Yet, within days of her departure, a senior Knight had summoned her from Mistress Achenbach’s side, intending to whisk her away to the Slytherin Palace. The silence of the Knight regarding his sudden intrusion was deafening when Alinta demanded answers, bypassing protocol to Floo directly to her father’s office—the sole Floo connection within the palace grounds.

The expression on her father’s face when she arrived spoke volumes. At that moment, Alinta knew something dreadful had transpired. It was only when she mustered the courage to ask him directly that the truth came crashing down upon her like a tidal wave.

Her father, with all the gentleness he could muster, informed her of Hayden’s tragic demise. Hayden was discovered lifeless—a trail of blood pooling on the floor from his mouth—at the foot of his bed that fateful morning, alongside Primary Noble Consort Eleanor, who too met a tragic end in her own palace. The news struck Alinta like a thunderbolt, leaving her reeling with disbelief, grief and anguish. She clung desperately to her father, as if by sheer will she could reverse the irreversible and bring her mother back from the brink of death.

“No! No!” Alinta screamed into his chest. “Bring him back, Dad! Bring him back! You have to— I can’t— Please—”

Her father’s hold tightened around her.

Despite the passage of time, Alinta clung steadfastly to the belief that her mother’s and Eleanor’s deaths were meticulously orchestrated murders. Her father shared her conviction, yet their pursuit of justice led only to frustrating dead-ends and unanswered questions. Shaking off the weight of her sombre thoughts, Alinta arrived at her father’s office. The Head Eunuch, Casimir, greeted her with a respectful bow, his familiar presence providing a momentary sense of comfort amidst the turmoil of her thoughts.

“I trust you are faring well, my Princess?” Casimir inquired, leading her towards the office with a deferential gesture.

Alinta offered him a warm smile, appreciating his concern. “Yes, Casimir, I’m managing. I hope Father hasn’t been overly demanding of you?”

“Never, Princess,” Casimir assured her with a gentle chuckle.

With a courteous knock on the door, Casimir announced Alinta’s arrival before ushering her into the office at the sound of her father’s commanding voice bidding her to enter.

Alinta entered her father’s familiar office with a soft smile playing on her lips. The room was filled with memories of her childhood, and seeing her father, Thomas Slytherin, standing tall behind his desk brought a wave of comfort. 

“Your Majesty,” Alinta greeted, offering a respectful curtsy.

“Rise, Alinta,” Thomas replied warmly, his red eyes softening as he looked at his daughter.

As she stood, Alinta wasted no time in crossing the room to embrace her father. Despite being thirty years old, there was still a sense of security in her father’s embrace that she cherished deeply.

“You’re here earlier than expected, dearest,” Thomas remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Not that I mind, of course, but I had anticipated you arriving with Damien and Haylène.”

Alinta nodded as her father motioned for her to take a seat in the comfortable armchairs by the open windows. “There’s something I wanted to discuss with you, Father before Haylène distracts you during lunch,” she explained with a smirk.

Thomas’s laughter filled the room, a sound that might have startled others given his reputation as the formidable Emperor. Yet, to Alinta, it was familiar and comforting. Her father had always reserved this softer side of himself for his children, his blood—a facet of his character shielded from those in the court.

“What’s on your mind, dearest?” he asked, his tone warm and inviting.

Alinta took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. “It concerns the newly-elected French Minister,” she began. “Initially, I was impressed by his work, but about a month ago, I stumbled upon some troubling information.”

Thomas’s expression shifted, his crimson eyes narrowing with concern and underlying rage. He gestured for Alinta to elaborate further, his attention fully focused on her words.

“Minister LeBlanc has been misappropriating ministry funds for personal gain, particularly those allocated for the Magical Children Protection Department.” Alinta’s voice was steady as she addressed her father, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve initiated an internal investigation and have agents gathering evidence covertly before we move forward with a trial.”

Thomas’s expression darkened, his features etched with unmistakable anger. “Have you ensured LeBlanc remains unaware of your suspicions?”

“Yes, Father,” Alinta affirmed with a nod. “My operatives have ensured his continued obliviousness, allowing us to gather evidence discreetly while he remains complacent.”

Thomas nodded, his aura crackling with suppressed magic, a testament to his simmering fury. “Prepare for an interim Minister to step in before LeBlanc’s trial. We cannot afford a vacuum in leadership, especially given the sensitivity of the situation.”

“I have a candidate in mind, Father,” Alinta assured him.

“Who?”

“Madame Apolline Delacour.”

***

Thomas watched with affection as Haylène chattered away, her words tumbling out in the endearing manner typical of two-year-olds. Perched on her high chair beside him, she held court with all the authority of a tiny monarch, her determined insistence to sit by her grandfather amusing him to no end.

“Are you certain you don’t want to sit with Mummy, sweetheart?” Alinta cooed.

“No!” Haylène protested, her tiny face scrunched up in a determined pout. “Sit with Gwandpa.”

Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle at her stubbornness, her mispronunciation of ‘Grandpa’ tugging at his heartstrings. It was moments like these that reminded him of Hayden, their granddaughter’s spirited defiance, a reflection of her grandmother’s tenacity.

“Let her have her way, Alinta,” Thomas said, his smile small but warm. “She’s just like her grandmother.”

Alinta nodded with a fond smile, although Thomas could see her eyes watering slightly. “You should see her when Damien tries to put her down for a nap. She gives him the same look you do.”

Damien joined in with a laugh. “Indeed, Your Majesty. She’s inherited your steely gaze, that’s for sure.”

“Call me Thomas, Damien,” Thomas said with a smile devoid of warmth, though a glint of mischief danced in his eyes. “We’re family, after all, are we not?”

Damien visibly shuddered, a reaction that amused Thomas. It pleased him to know that Damien still harboured a healthy dose of fear towards him, reminiscent of their initial interactions four years ago.

“O-of course, T-Thomas,” Damien stammered, his voice betraying his nerves.

Alinta shot her father a disapproving glare, silently chastising him for unnecessarily unsettling her husband. Thomas merely offered an innocent smile in response, thoroughly enjoying Damien’s discomfort.

Alinta exhaled audibly, her frustration palpable. “Where is Afton, Father? He should be here by now, and we can’t start lunch without him.”

“He should be here,” Thomas said, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll have a—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the door of the dining hall swung open forcefully, making everyone turn their heads to see who had arrived.

“There he is,” Thomas muttered under his breath, his gaze settling on his wayward son.

Afton ran a hand through his silver-grey hair, his smile apologetic yet charming. His red eyes, softer and slightly rounder than Thomas’s, sparkled with a playful glint. He wore a black, long-sleeved mesh shirt with a pleated front and a black bow tie neatly tied at the collar, its long tails cascading down his chest. His attire was completed with black, loose-fitted satin slacks, accented with an assortment of silver rings and earrings.

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

“I’m sorry for my tardiness.”

“No need to apologise,” Thomas said with a sigh. “Just take a seat.”

Afton slid into the seat beside Haylène, his expression still apologetic. “I was just  responding to. . .  an important letter, Dad.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow at his son’s explanation but decided not to press further. “And where are your robes, Afton?”

Afton let out a dramatic groan, rolling his eyes at his father’s insistence. “Oh, come on, Dad. It’s just Alinta. Do I really have to fuss over formal robes? Besides, Damien doesn’t seem to mind.” He shot Damien a pleading look, hoping for support. “Right, brother-in-law?”

Damien stifled a laugh behind a cough. “Absolutely not. We’re among family, after all.”

Alinta couldn’t help but smirk at Thomas. She knew her father had a soft spot for Afton, often indulging his whims and preferences.

“Well, dear brother,” Alinta teased Afton, “I must say, your fashion choices have certainly taken a. . . bold turn.”

Afton grinned, playing along. “You know me—always exploring new styles. Muggle fashion can be quite avant-garde, you know?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Alinta replied, her lips twitching.

“Now that everyone is here, let’s commence with lunch,” Thomas declared, his hands clapping once. With a flick of his wrist, a sumptuous feast materialised before them, an array of tantalising aromas wafting through the air. Haylène squealed with delight as her own plate of toddler-friendly delicacies appeared before her, adorned with colourful fruits and bite-sized treats.

Everyone served themselves from the array of dishes and poured wine into their glasses. A hushed silence settled over the dining hall as they savoured the delicious meal, punctuated only by the gentle clinking of cutlery against plates and the occasional sip of wine.

“So, Affy,” Alinta began, delicately cutting into her chicken, “How was your trip to Spain?”

Afton, in the midst of taking a sip of his wine, was caught off guard and ended up choking, spilling a bit of the wine on the table. 

Thomas let out a resigned sigh and swiftly cleaned up the spill with a flick of his hand while Afton struggled to regain his composure, coughing and clearing his throat. It was times like these that made Thomas wonder if his eldest borns were still toddlers.

“My apologies,” Afton said, hastily dabbing at his mouth with the tablecloth before clearing his throat. “Spain was, uh, quite beautiful, as expected.”

“Oh? Just ‘beautiful’?” Alinta arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “No exciting adventures or intriguing encounters?”

Afton shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “Well, uh, not particularly. . . It was mostly sightseeing and relaxing, apart from the diplomatic duties, that is.”

Alinta smirked, clearly amused by her brother’s discomfort. “If you say so, little brother,” she said, taking a leisurely sip of her wine, leaving Afton to squirm under her knowing gaze.

Thomas wondered what the conversation was actually about as he regarded both of his children.

October 20 th , 1998

“Master, you truly look resplendent,” Freya gushed, delicately adjusting the clasp of the blue sapphire and diamond necklace around Hadrian’s neck.

Maya nodded enthusiastically as she finished placing a matching bracelet on his left wrist. Her eyes sparkled with admiration. “Absolutely, master! You’re sure to captivate every eye in the room.”

Hadrian chuckled at his maids’ effusive praise. “Thank you, both of you. But let’s remember, tonight’s ball is in honour of the First Princess and her husband. I wouldn’t want to overshadow them.”

“That’s true, master,” June agreed, carefully placing a set of three rings on his right hand, “but in our eyes, you’re always the most radiant presence.”

Josie joined in, adorning his left hand with two elegant rings. “Indeed, master. Your presence alone lights up any room.”

Hadrian couldn’t help but feel touched by their unwavering devotion. “You all are too kind,” he said, a hint of emotion colouring his voice. “I’m truly grateful for your loyalty and support.”

The maids exchanged knowing glances, their smiles filled with affection. 

“It’s our pleasure, master,” Josie said, carefully adjusting his artful hairstyle, not a curl out of place. “We’re honoured to serve someone as wonderful and kind as you.”

Hadrian felt a warmth spread through him at their words, his heart swelling with the depth of their unwavering devotion to him.

Hadrian took a moment to admire his attire for the ball, appreciating the meticulous work of his maid, Lyla, who had spent nearly a week and a half crafting the garment. It was a masterpiece to behold, a testament to her skill and dedication.

The gown draped elegantly in light blue silk, with sleeves that flowed gracefully just above his elbows. The bodice hugged his waist with precision, the neckline showing the right amount of skin, adorned with delicate stitches of golden thread, white rhinestones, and pearls that shimmered in the light. Each stitch was a testament to Lyla’s craftsmanship, adding a touch of opulence to the ensemble.

As Hadrian turned, the skirt of the gown trailed behind him, creating a dramatic silhouette that exuded elegance and sophistication. The fabric, a combination of satin and silk, caught the light with a gentle sheen, casting a soft glow around him as he moved.

Completing the ensemble was a detachable, see-through cape, its soft blue hue adding a layer of ethereal beauty to the outfit. Fastened at his neck, it draped gracefully over his shoulders and cascaded down his back, extending the flowy silhouette of the gown. Adorned with stitches of silver thread and blue sapphires, the cape added a touch of regal splendour, enhancing the overall allure of the ensemble.

“Lyla has truly outdone herself with this gown,” Hadrian remarked, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric with admiration. He turned to June with a smile. “Please convey my deepest gratitude to her, and let her know I would like to meet her in person tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, Master,” June replied with a nod. “Shall I assist you with fastening the cape and Freya can help you with the footwear? Then we can adorn you with your crown?”

“That sounds perfect.”

***

“His Lordship, Noble Hadrian Potter-Black! Third Noble of His Benevolent Majesty, Emperor Slytherin!”

The herald’s proclamation rang through the air as Hadrian strode into the opulent Grand Ballroom of the Imperial Slytherin Palace, his presence commanded attention. Hadrian exuded an air of confidence, though beneath the façade, he harboured a myriad of emotions. He quietly thanked the servant who came forth to take his cape, and stepped in.

This inaugural event as a member of The Emperor’s Harem marked a significant milestone in Hadrian’s journey. Stepping into the spotlight, he understood the delicate dance he must perform, navigating the social dynamics of the elite with precision. Each glance, each whispered exchange, carried weight, a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon him.

Raised as the heir to not one, but two distinguished Ancient and Noble Families, Hadrian had long been acquainted with the burden of blood that ran through his veins. Now, as a member of the coveted Harem, that burden had only intensified. But, he refused to succumb to the weight of it all.  Instead, he embraced the challenge, knowing that with each step forward, the path ahead would only grow more demanding.

For it was a blessing and a curse, and Hadrian accepted both.

For he understood that in the world he inhabited, weakness was a luxury he could ill afford. Thus, with every graceful movement and measured word, he forged ahead.

Hadrian navigated with effortless grace, weaving his way through the diverse array of guests. Among them stood the esteemed members of the harem, the venerable pureblood lords and ladies, representatives from both the magical and muggle nobility, as well as influential figures from the high echelons of the Ministry. With a practised smile adorning his lips, Hadrian extended greetings, exchanged pleasantries, and even conversed fluently in French with the visiting French delegation, a skill instilled in him by his beloved Grandmother Dorea.

Yet, amidst the glittering throng, it was the anticipation of reuniting with his family that truly stirred Hadrian’s heart. As the scion of the Potter and Black families, and with his mother holding a prestigious position as the Head of the Department of Mysteries, their presence tonight held particular significance. It had been months since he last beheld the familiar faces of his parents and godfather, the latter of whom he had encountered at Aunt Bellatrix’s birthday celebration the previous August.

The prospect of their reunion infused Hadrian with a sense of warmth and longing, a rare moment of respite Hadrian could allow himself.

“Ah.” A disdainful voice pierced the air from behind him, drawing Hadrian’s attention. “Noble Potter-Black.”

With practised poise, he turned to face the source, donning a neutral expression that barely masked his inner resolve. “Attendant Snyde,” he acknowledged evenly, addressing the women with a polite nod. “Primary Noble Edgecombe.”

Merula and Marietta’s envious stares did not escape his notice, particularly as they lingered covetously over his adorned jewellery. Despite the occasion being the prestigious First Princess’ Welcome Ball, the two women appeared rather underwhelming in their attire; Marietta in a sombre dark blue robe, and Merula clad in even duller grey garments. Hadrian couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment, especially considering Marietta’s status as the Primary Noble. She was expected to set a standard worthy of emulation, yet her choice of attire fell short of that mark.

As he met the sneering gazes of the two witches, waiting for their inevitable remarks, a subtle tension coiled within him. The prospect of being seated at the same table as Marietta promised to be a challenge he was not eager to face. A faint throb of annoyance pulsed at his temple, Hadrian braced himself for the forthcoming exchange.

Hadrian arched an eyebrow, his gaze steady as he addressed Marietta and Merula. “Is there something on your minds, Edgecombe? Snyde?”

“Precisely,” Marietta retorted with a hint of venom, exchanging a knowing glance with Merula. “We simply wished to extend our admiration for your attire, Potter-Black.”

Hadrian’s lips curved into a sardonic smile, his amusement thinly veiling his scepticism. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Merula affirmed with a nod, though her expression betrayed her true sentiments.

“I see,” Hadrian responded, his smile retaining its edge. “Your compliments are duly noted, and I appreciate the sentiment. However, duty calls, and I must continue networking. After all, my parents—the Lord and Lady Potter, as you may know—are also in attendance. I trust you understand.”

“Of course.” Marietta blinked rapidly.

“I must say that—”

“Please excuse me, Snyde.” Hadrian said, preempting Merula’s attempt to speak. His demeanour shifted to one of icy composure beneath his strained smile. “As much as I relish the opportunity for further conversation, I must extend my greetings to my parents before the arrival of His Majesty and the Princess.”

With that, Hadrian gracefully excused himself, leaving Marietta and Merula to contemplate the thinly veiled rebuke concealed within his polite words.

***

“Harry.”

As Hadrian locked eyes with his parents and godfather, a wave of emotions crashed over him, threatening to overwhelm his carefully composed facade. The gentle warmth in their gazes contrasted sharply with the emptiness he had felt in their absence.

Now, with them standing before him, it all felt too real, too raw.

He missed them.

He missed his home .

“Mum. Dad. Sirius,” Hadrian rasped, his voice betraying the depth of his emotion.

Lily’s green eyes softened with tenderness as she enveloped him in a warm embrace, her arms a sanctuary he hadn’t realised he needed. Nestling closer to her, Hadrian felt a sense of solace wash over him, as if the world’s burdens had momentarily lifted from his shoulders. 

“My brave boy,” Lily murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

A playful glint danced in James’s hazel eyes as he interjected, teasingly, “Let me have a look at my boy, Lils.”

His words elicited a shared glare from Lily and Hadrian, though the glint of amusement in James’s eyes softened the rebuke, prompting Sirius to chuckle in response.

Reluctantly, Hadrian withdrew from his mother’s embrace, turning to embrace his father. The familiarity of James’s kiss on his cheeks evoked a rush of childhood memories, a time when laughter filled the air and every gesture from his father brought forth uncontrollable giggles. 

“I missed you too, Dad,” Hadrian murmured.

James’s response was a tender affirmation, his kiss serving as a silent reassurance.

“You’ve had him all to yourself for too long,” Sirius chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’s high time for some Harry Hugs with me.”

James let out an exaggerated sigh, his eyes rolling playfully. “Always the one to disrupt the serenity, aren’t you?”

Sirius feigned offence, pointing an accusatory finger at James and Hadrian. “And here I thought you two were having a moment.”

James muttered a “bugger off” under his breath as Hadrian chuckled, stepping into Sirius’s awaiting arms. The warmth of their bond enveloped him, dispelling any lingering tension with its familiar comfort. As Sirius squeezed him in a tight hug, Hadrian couldn’t help but smile.

“Harry, dear, who were those two women you were speaking with? The exchange didn’t seem entirely amicable.” Lily's voice carried a hint of concern, her green eyes narrowing slightly with a protective edge.

Hadrian waved off her worry with a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, Mum. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

A proud smile graced Lily’s lips as she regarded her son. “That’s my boy.”

Hadrian mirrored her grin, their shared amusement shining in their eyes as they exchanged matching smiles.

“You two are fucking eerie when you do that,” Sirius interjected, his discomfort palpable.

“Do what?” Hadrian and Lily responded simultaneously, their brows arching in perfect unison.

“That!” Sirius pointed emphatically, a bemused expression crossing his features.

Hadrian couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Sirius’ antics. “Do you have a plus one this time, Sirius?”

A mischievous grin tugged at James’s lips as he answered on behalf of Sirius. “Indeed, Siri’s quite taken with someone new. Goes by the name of Alïos Auclair.”

Intrigued, Hadrian pressed for more details. “And where might this mysterious Alïos be?”

“He’s off mingling with the French delegation,” Sirius explained, a bashful smile adorning his features, making him look younger. “He holds a prominent position in the Ministry of France.”

Hadrian’s curiosity piqued further, his mind buzzing with questions. Before he could inquire further, however, their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a palace eunuch, diverting their attention elsewhere.

“My Lord,” the eunuch began, his tone respectful, “you are requested to take your position among the Nobles. Emperor Slytherin, First Princess Alinta, and Crown Prince Damien will be arriving imminently.”

“Thank you,” Hadrian acknowledged with a nod. He exchanged a fleeting, apologetic smile with his parents and godfather, silently regretting the interruption.

“Go on, Harry,” Lily encouraged, her smile warm and reassuring. “We’ll catch up later, my sweet boy.”

With a heavy heart, Hadrian nodded in acknowledgment before hastening to join the rest of the harem members, his mind already consumed by the impending arrival of the royal guests.

***

As the dessert course drew to a close and the first strains of music drifted across the ballroom, Hadrian delicately dabbed his lips with a napkin before taking a final sip of his wine. Seated at the Nobles’ table, he glanced around the room, noting the subtle movements as guests began to rise from their seats and make their way to the dance floor.

Fortunately, the seating arrangements had been thoughtfully organised to alleviate overcrowding. With eleven Nobles in attendance, it was decided that the male and female members would be seated separately. Thus, Hadrian found himself surrounded by five fellow male Nobles at one table, while the five female Nobles occupied a neighbouring table nearby.

Hadrian's gaze drifted towards the grandeur of the Main Royal table, positioned regally upon a raised dais at the heart of the ballroom. At its centre sat the Emperor, a commanding presence amidst the opulent surroundings. Flanking his right side was the First Princess and on the Emperor’s left, Bellatrix sat, her demeanour betraying a hint of dissatisfaction at being denied the coveted seat beside him. Adjacent to the First Princess sat her husband, Prince Damien. Following suit were Prince Afton, Princess Aprina, and Prince Aalto.

On the opposite end of the table, Bellatrix was accompanied by Arden and beside him sat his daughter, Princess Calida. Next in line was Helene with her children, Princess Eliane and Prince Cain.

Beneath the majestic dais, the seating arrangements unfolded with meticulous precision. A singular table was designated for the Imperial Concubines and their children aged eight and above, while another table accommodated the Concubines, with the exception of Concubine Slytherin-Harrding’s daughter, Princess Enya, who had earned the privilege of attending the event.

Adjacent to these tables were two reserved for the Nobles, each offering a dignified setting for their esteemed guests. Flanking them were two additional tables allocated for the Attendants. The remaining expanse of the hall was punctuated by rows of guest tables, stretching far and wide to accommodate the diverse array of attendees.

Hadrian leaned in, softly nudging Emery who sat beside him. “Hey, Em. I’m going to slip away to use the loo, okay?”

Emery offered a casual nod, taking a sip of his wine. “Sure thing. But remember, you promised to dance when you return.”

“We’ll see about that,” Hadrian replied with a wry smile, though deep down, he knew he had no intention of setting foot on the dance floor if he could avoid it.

After politely excusing himself from the table, Hadrian navigated through the bustling ballroom until he reached the quiet corridors of Slytherin Palace. Finding a nearby bathroom, he swiftly attended to his needs, washing and drying his hands before retracing his steps back to the festivities. As he neared the entrance of the ballroom, a familiar voice cut through the air. 

“Potter.”

Turning on his heel, Hadrian faced his cousin. “Draco,” he acknowledged, his tone measured.

A smirk played across Draco’s lips as he approached, a hint of mockery in his demeanour. “Quite the surprise to see you gracing us with your presence, cousin dear.”

“And why would that be surprising? You know perfectly well that I would be in attendance.”

Draco’s words cut through the air like a knife, his malicious smile sending a chill down Hadrian’s spine. “Well, I never thought I’d see you here,” he taunted, his tone dripping with disdain.

Hadrian shook his head in disbelief, struggling to comprehend Draco’s venomous attitude. “What on earth are you talking about, Draco?”

Draco’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with ill-concealed malice. “Oh, you know,” he replied cryptically, his voice laced with scorn. “Now that you’ve become. . . well, you know.”

Hadrian’s scowl deepened at Draco’s insinuation, his patience wearing thin. “Become a what?”

“A whore,”   Draco spat out, his sneer twisting into a cruel grin. “The Emperor’s whore, to be more precise. You should have accepted my betrothal proposal. At least then, you’d have the title of my Primary Spouse and the status of my Lord-Consort.’

Hadrian’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight with fury. He struggled to maintain his composure in the face of Draco’s callous words, his mind racing with a torrent of emotions.

“How dare you?” Hadrian’s voice crackled with fury as he closed the distance between himself and Draco, his green eyes ablaze with righteous anger. “Who do you think you are to speak to me in such a manner?”

Draco faltered under Hadrian’s intense glare, momentarily taken aback by the force of his cousin’s words. “I… I—”

"And you have the audacity to believe I would ever consider you as a potential husband?” Hadrian’s tone dripped with scorn. “Don’t be absurd, Draco. And I’m certain your father would be interested to learn of your behavior.”

Draco’s expression darkened, his resolve faltering in the face of Hadrian’s unwavering condemnation. “Do not bring my father into this, Potter, or—”

“Or what, Draco dear?” Hadrian interrupted, his smirk cold and calculating. “Will you scurry behind your father’s robes as you always do? Do not forget your place, nor mine. While you may be the heir to the Malfoy name, I am the future Lord Black. Imagine the shame and disgrace you would endure if I were to cast you out of the Black family, or worse yet, expunge the Black blood from your unworthy veins—”

A flicker of fear flashed in Draco’s grey-blue eyes, his composure faltering under Hadrian’s relentless onslaught. “Hadrian—”

“Your father would surely be proud, wouldn’t he?” But Hadrian pressed on, his voice unwavering. “To witness your humiliation, to hear the whispers of ridicule that would follow you wherever you go. Can you picture it, cousin?”

“Hadri—”

“Do not,” Hadrian’s voice was a steel-edged command, cutting through Draco’s protests, “utter my name with your wretched tongue.”

Draco’s gaze fell to the floor, his earlier bravado shattered in the face of Hadrian’s relentless onslaught. Anger still simmered beneath the surface, but fear now dominated his demeanor, evident in the way his shoulders slumped and his hands trembled ever so slightly.

Unfazed by Draco’s subdued state, Hadrian continued with calculated precision. “So, you called me a ‘whore,’ correct?” he queried, his tone deceptively casual. “The Emperor’s whore, to be precise. I believe His Majesty would be interested to hear about your disrespectful remarks towards his favored concubine.”

Draco’s face drained of color, the color draining from his cheeks as the weight of Hadrian’s words settled heavily upon him.

With a sharp laugh, Hadrian pressed on, his demeanor bordering on mockery. “Next time, perhaps you’ll think twice before opening your mouth,” he quipped, punctuating his words with a tap to Draco’s forehead. The gesture elicited a flinch from Draco, making Hadrian grin.

Straightening up, Hadrian took a step back, his gaze lingering on Draco’s sweaty, shaking form. “You’ve wasted enough of my time,” he declared, his tone laced with disdain. “Clean yourself up, Draco, and spare Aunt Narcissa any further embarrassment.”

With that final admonition, Hadrian turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Draco to grapple with the repercussions of his ill-advised actions.

October 21 st , 1998

The Grand Hall of the Harem Court buzzed with the lively chatter of the concubines, each grouped with their respective allies and those they were  ‘friendly’ with, engaged in whispered conversations. Despite the meeting being fifteen minutes away from officially commencing, the anticipation hung thick in the air.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Bellatrix had arrived early by her standards and was engaged in light conversation with Helene on her left, breaking her usual trend of fashionably late entrances. Meanwhile, Arden was engrossed in a hushed discussion with Regulus and Alecto nearby.

Hadrian found himself in conversation with Emery and Reina, their voices mingling with those of Theo and Luna seated behind him. Notably, Marietta and Pippa were pointedly ignored, their presence seemingly unwelcome in the ongoing discussion. The topic at hand still revolved around yesterday’s ball.

Hadrian made a conscious effort to push aside thoughts of his cousin’s behaviour, though it proved challenging. If circumstances permitted, if he weren’t bound by the constraints of palace decorum, if  he wasn’t bound to his duty, he would have swiftly used the Floo Network to travel directly to Malfoy Manor. There, he would have addressed Draco’s unacceptable conduct with the stern words it warranted, and also let his aunt, the Malfoy matriarch know of her son’s appalling behaviour.

A soft clearing of the throat rippled through the hall, swiftly quieting the murmurs of conversation. All gazes converged on Arden, whose amused expression hinted at something intriguing.

“I understand that the meeting has yet to officially commence,” Arden began, his voice commanding the attention of the room, “but there’s something important that I believe the, ahem, newer members should be made aware of. Something that may have slipped our attention and gone unaddressed.”

“And what can that possibly be, Secondary Consort?” Bellatrix interjected with a sceptical raise of her eyebrow.

Arden remained unfazed by her retort, his gaze unwavering as he directed his attention towards the newest members of the harem, his expression intent. 

“Oh! Could it be regarding registration?” Helene interjected, her voice carrying a note of realisation. “If that’s the case, we may have overlooked informing the newcomers.”

Hadrian furrowed his brow, puzzled by the mention of  ‘registration’. What was this about?

“By Morgana’s name!” Bellatrix’s scoff echoed through the room as comprehension dawned upon her. “Do you expect them to rush into His Majesty’s chambers already?! If they know their place, they won’t dare insult us—”

“Nonetheless, they must be informed and not be punished due to their ignorance,” Arden said firmly, cutting off Bellatrix’s tirade. He turned his attention back to the concubines, his gaze focused on the newest members. “This is not an official protocol, but rather a longstanding practice of the harem as it has grown in numbers through the years. Put simply, if you have shared His Majesty’s bed, regardless of the frequency, you are expected to register the dates with your head maid and inform any of the Consorts within two days.”

Hadrian’s mood soured at the revelation of this archaic rule. It seemed absurd that they were expected to be informed every time a concubine spent the night with the Emperor. A pit of discomfort pooled at the bottom of his stomach as he clenched his fists under the fabrics of his robes. Hadrian could nearly feel the uneasiness of the Attendants (Theo, Luna, Daphne and Louis) seated behind; all of them under the same scrutiny of the Consorts.

Perhaps it was for the best that Hadrian hadn’t been intimate with Thomas. He has been in the harem for only four mere months and if he was already in the Emperor’s bed and, Merlin Forbid, with child then he would be heavily targeted by the concubines who did not like him or even lose the allies he had.

“This measure was established within the harem to prevent any confusion in case of conception,” Arden elaborated further, snapping Hadrian out of his thoughts, his voice carrying a note of solemnity.

What Arden actually meant was that the concubines were required to inform the Consorts after sleeping with the Emperor to ensure that the date of conception could be compared with the duration of a concubine’s pregnancy. This was to prevent any bastards from running around and posing as royal offspring.

“And it goes without saying,” Bellatrix interjected sharply, her grey eyes flashing with a manic gleam as they pinned on all of them, “that if you understand your position here, you won’t be rushing into His bed anytime soon.”

Her warning cast a chilling atmosphere over the hall, the tension palpable. Arden rolled his eyes at Bellatrix’s dramatics, while Helene maintained her usual air of neutrality.

Bellatrix’s narrowed gaze suddenly fixed upon Emery, her scrutiny piercing. “Noble Lexington,” she began, her voice edged with accusation, “I heard you spent the evening with His Majesty three days ago, yet I received no notification. It has been well over the stipulated time.”

Emery’s expression hardened, though a sardonic smile played at the corners of his lips. “There was no need to inform you, Primary Consort,” he retorted smoothly.

Bella’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Explain yourself, Noble.”

Emery suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, maintaining his composed facade. “His Majesty and I simply shared a meal and conversation. There was no bedding to report,” he clarified, his tone laced with indifference.

Bellatrix remained sceptical, though a hint of satisfaction flickered across her features. “If you say so,” she conceded, albeit reluctantly.

Emery offered a nonchalant hum in response, unwilling to engage further in the exchange.

“We’ve strayed enough from the matters of importance.” Helene cleared her throat, commanding attention from the gathered concubines. “In addition to the Secondary Consort’s directive, it’s imperative that any concubine who discovers they are pregnant informs His Majesty within the first fourteen weeks. Failure to do so will result in consequences. However, exceptions can be made if a concubine only discovers their pregnancy after the fourteen-week mark.”

Bellatrix huffed impatiently, eager to move the meeting along. “Enough with the chit-chat. Let’s get started.”

As Bellatrix reached for the scroll to begin, another interruption ensued, causing all eyes to shift towards Penny Slytherin-Haywood.

“What’s the meaning of this interruption, Secondary Concubine Slytherin-Haywood?” Bellatrix demanded, a touch of irritation evident in her voice as she closed the scroll with an audible snap.

“I wish to make an announcement.”

The Primary Consort huffed, “Well then, get on with it, Secondary Concubine. We’ve already wasted enough time and there are important matters that are to be discussed.”

Penny twirled a ringlet of her blonde curls with a delighted smile on her lips. “I’m thrilled to announce that His Majesty and I are expecting our second child!”

A hushed tension settled over the hall as Penny announced her pregnancy. Hadrian felt a wave of disbelief wash over him, his mind struggling to fully process the news amidst the charged atmosphere. He observed his aunt’s clenched fists, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil, while Arden’s amused demeanour remained unchanged. Other concubines, their envy thinly veiled behind polite smiles, offered Penny their congratulations, though Cassandra’s genuine happiness stood out among them.

Bellatrix’s sharp voice shattered the uneasy silence. “How far along are you, Secondary Concubine?!”

Penny’s smile wavered slightly under the scrutiny of Bellatrix’s intense gaze. “Just a little over twelve weeks, Primary Consort. I informed His Majesty of the news two days ago.”

“Next time, try to inform us a bit earlier. . . and congratulations.” Bellatrix’s response was terse and tight, her frustration palpable.

Penny nodded respectfully, a hint of fear lingering in her wide, blue eyes. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

The tension lingered even after the meeting concluded, Bellatrix’s mood visibly soured. Despite the heavy atmosphere, Hadrian couldn’t help but share a knowing grin with Emery when Penny’s promotion to Fifth Imperial Concubine was announced by His Majesty’s decree.

Her ascension ceremony was to take place in two weeks time.

Chapter Text

October 20th, 1998

Arden watched intently as Noble Potter-Black leaned in close to whisper something in Noble Lexington’s ear before gracefully slipping out of the ballroom. The young man drew many eyes in his wake; some filled with barely concealed lust, others brimming with curiosity. Arden felt his lips twitch, a rare smile threatening to break through the cold, emotionless mask he had carefully donned. Hadrian seemed blissfully unaware of the attention he commanded, yet this apparent obliviousness seemed uncharacteristic of him.

Arden had spent months observing Hadrian from a distance, noting how exceptionally perceptive he was. Hadrian had a talent for watching and learning, for memorising every strength and weakness of those around him. He had a knack for painting himself as the vulnerable prey, all the while being the true predator, lying in wait. Beneath his gentle smiles and nearly docile demeanour—wrapped in the elegant, luxurious fabrics of his robes—lurked a venomous and dangerous snake ready to strike when the moment was right.

Arden admired this quality in Hadrian. 

He appreciated the young man’s strategic mind and the long game he played with such finesse. This had earned Arden’s respect.

Despite a rather rocky start to their acquaintance a few months ago, Arden and Hadrian had developed an amicable relationship. Hadrian was polite and graceful, but he also had a cheeky side that he revealed when it suited him. Arden admired how Hadrian had managed to forgive their initial misunderstandings and move past them.

Arden suspected that Hadrian possessed a kind heart, though it was a quality that had to be earned rather than freely given. 

The kindness. . .

The kindness that Arden often lacked was not a fault of his own, but rather a consequence of his upbringing. No one, save for his mother or his father, had truly shown him kindness since he was nine years old.

Arden Crawford was born into a complex and tumultuous world. His father, Arnold Crawford, was a Muggle aristocrat with an extensive lineage and old money. His mother, Eiden Fawley, was the third son of a distinguished Pureblood family. Arden was born in 1954, during the early years of Emperor Slytherin’s reign over the United Kingdom and its neighbouring territories, a time when the Emperor had just begun his ambitious conquest of the Americas.

Eiden Fawley had met Arnold Crawford during the summer of 1947 in Muggle London. Eiden, fresh from his graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at eighteen, was exploring the Muggle world out of curiosity. Arnold, a year older at nineteen, was already deeply involved in overseeing his family’s extensive business ventures. Their meeting was a chance encounter, a fortuitous crossing of paths that neither had anticipated.

Despite the social climate of the time, which was fraught with prejudice and criticism towards magical folk who entered into relationships with Muggles, Eiden and Arnold found themselves irresistibly drawn to each other. The Fawley family, thankfully, were progressive for their era. They were staunch supporters of the Emperor, who advocated for unity and cooperation between magical and non-magical societies. This support gave Eiden and Arnold’s relationship a tenuous yet valuable shield against the harshest of societal judgments.

Arden had lived a rich and varied life, straddling both the Muggle and Magical worlds. His upbringing was filled with the wonders of both societies, creating a unique blend of experiences. However, his idyllic childhood came to an abrupt end when his father died in a freak car accident when Arden was nine years old.

The loss of Arnold Crawford shattered their family. Eiden, his mother, was left a mere shadow of his former self. Though he tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, smiling and laughing in front of Arden, the joy never truly reached his eyes. He was a husk of the vibrant person he had once been, and Arden could see the toll that grief had taken on him.

For a time, Eiden and Arden lived alone in the sprawling Crawford Mansion, their only company being the loyal servants and house-elves who maintained the estate. The grand halls that once echoed with laughter and life now felt eerily silent and empty. Their isolation was palpable, a stark contrast to the bustling life they had known when Arnold was alive.

Six months after Arnold’s death, a man named Alastair Morelli arrived at the mansion. He was to be Arden’s stay-at-home tutor until he received his Hogwarts letter. For the next two years, Alastair was to take on the responsibility of educating Arden, providing structure and guidance during a tumultuous period in the young boy’s life.

(It all slowly went to hell after that. For the next two years.)

Alastair Morelli was a striking man in his mid to late thirties, with artfully styled dark blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a charming smile that seemed to win over everyone he met. His polite and charming mannerisms quickly endeared him to both Arden and Eiden. In the wake of Arnold’s death, the void left in their lives felt like a gaping wound, and Alastair began to slowly fill it with his presence.

For a while, it seemed like things might be okay. Arden found solace in Alastair’s attention, and Eiden appeared to be slightly less burdened by his grief. Alastair’s arrival brought a semblance of normalcy back into their lives, and for a time, hope flickered in the Crawford household.

But the veneer of perfection began to crack. 

The first time Alastair glared at Arden, his eyes were cold and venomous, a stark contrast to the usual gentleness. The look was gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar softness, but it had left Arden unsettled. Then came the day when Alastair had gripped Arden’s small wrist in his large hand and squeezed hard enough to make him yelp in pain. The man had immediately soothed the bruise with a wave of magic and comforting words, but the damage was done.

The incidents escalated. 

There was the first slap, followed by the first punch, and then the first kick. Each act of violence was accompanied by whispered apologies and gentle caresses, creating a confusing and twisted dynamic that left Arden unable to discern right from wrong. Alastair’s words were always soothing, his arms warm and comforting as he tucked Arden into bed and healed his bruises. 

For the longest time, Arden believed that Alastair had done nothing wrong. He saw no reason to tell his mother about what was happening, convinced that there was no ‘abuse’ to report. The line between care and cruelty had been blurred, and Arden’s young mind struggled to navigate the conflicting emotions.

The arrival of his Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday brought an unexpected sense of relief. It represented an escape, a chance to leave the oppressive atmosphere of his home behind. When he returned for the winter holidays of his first year, Alastair was gone, and he never saw him again. The relief was palpable, but the scars—both physical and emotional—remained.

Looking back, Arden could see the manipulation and abuse for what it was. He realised the strength it took to endure and the resilience that had brought him through those dark times. Arden Crawford emerged stronger, carrying with him the lessons of his past and the determination to forge a better future.

Arden snapped out of his reverie, his throat dry. He took a generous sip of his wine, the rich liquid calming his nerves. His gaze met his daughter’s who sat beside him, her eyes filled with concern. He gave Calida a gentle shake of his head, silently reassuring her that he was fine.

A subtle movement on Arden’s right caught his attention. A Knight, cloaked in dark robes and wearing a silver mask, emerged from the shadows and approached His Majesty. The Emperor gestured for the Knight to come closer, casting a spell that rendered their conversation inaudible and impossible to lip-read.

The Knight leaned down, whispering something in the Emperor’s ear. Whatever the message was, it troubled the Emperor deeply. His grip on his goblet tightened, knuckles turning white, and his red eyes blazed with silent fury. Through gritted teeth, he muttered a response to the Knight, who bowed deeply before retreating back into the shadows.

A few minutes later, Hadrian walked back into the ballroom. His shoulders were tense, and his green eyes blazed with a fierce intensity. It was clear something significant had transpired during his brief absence. The usually composed young man now radiated a palpable tension. Arden couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry, wondering what had transpired to bring about such a change in Hadrian.

Arden’s gaze flickered back to the Emperor, whose expression remained stormy. Whatever the Knight had whispered had clearly unsettled and angered him.

As Hadrian made his way to his seat, he held his head high, his composure unbroken. He took his place among the Nobles, his presence commanding attention. Hadrian exchanged a few brief words with Emery, who looked equally concerned. The two shared a meaningful glance before Hadrian turned his attention to the Emperor’s table. Arden could see the determination in Hadrian’s eyes, a fire that refused to be extinguished.

October 21st, 1998

Hadrian’s breath came in short, anxious bursts as Head Eunuch Casimir led him through the winding corridors towards Thomas’s private office. He hadn’t anticipated being summoned today, especially with Thomas’s daughter visiting. The timing was unusual; Thomas never called for him on mornings when the harem meetings took place, which happened four times a week. The routine was something Hadrian had come to rely on, a small piece of predictability he had allowed himself.

Today had started like any other. Hadrian had attended the morning harem meeting, engaging in the usual dance of  empty smiles, veiled comments and unexpected announcements. He had barely settled into his carriage to return to his own palace when June, his personal attendant, hurriedly approached him with a missive. 

The note was succinct but urgent: the Emperor required his presence immediately. The urgency left no room for delay; Hadrian was to proceed directly to the Imperial Palace. As the carriage rattled through the palace gates, Hadrian’s mind raced. What could be so pressing that Thomas couldn’t wait a few hours?

The halls of the Imperial Palace seemed unusually quiet, the usual bustle of servants and guards strangely muted. Casimir’s footsteps echoed softly on the marble floors, a stark contrast to Hadrian’s racing heart.

Finally, they arrived at the door to Thomas’s private office. Casimir knocked once, then stepped aside to allow Hadrian entry. The door swung open silently, revealing the Emperor seated behind his massive dark wood desk. His expression was inscrutable, his red eyes entirely focused on him.

“Your Majesty.” Hadrian bowed deeply as the door closed softly behind him.

Thomas looked at him intently, his expression slightly stormy but laced with a warmth that Hadrian had come to recognize. “Hadrian,” he acknowledged, his tone gentle yet direct.

Despite the familiar warmth in Thomas’s voice, Hadrian couldn’t help but frown slightly. The unexpected urgency of this meeting had left him unsettled, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant was about to unfold.

“Thomas,” Hadrian said, his frown deepening with concern. “What is it? Why did you call for me so urgently?”

Thomas’s lips tightened, his eyes hardening. “Why didn’t you tell me, Hadrian?”

“Tell you what?” Hadrian asked, his green eyes narrowing with confusion and frustration.

In a swift movement, Thomas shot up from his seat and closed the distance between them. “I’m asking again, why didn’t you tell me? You should have informed me immediately.”

Hadrian was taken aback by Thomas’s sudden burst of anger, the vagueness of his accusations only adding to his unease. He racked his brain, trying to pinpoint what he could have done to provoke such a reaction. Then, realisation hit him like a jolt. Was it about last night at the ball? About Draco?

“Is this about last night?” Hadrian asked, turning his head away from Thomas’s intense, fiery gaze. “It was Her Highness’s welcome ball, I couldn’t just tell you right away. You don’t have to—”

“Yes, Hadrian. It is indeed about last night.” Thomas interrupted through gritted teeth, his red eyes blazing with fury. “Why did you think it wasn’t important enough to inform me yourself?”

“Because it wasn’t important,” Hadrian retorted, his own anger flaring. “I handled it. I’m not some fragile maiden in distress that needs saving all the time. I am perfectly capable of standing my own ground.”

Thomas’s anger didn’t abate. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. “It is important because anything involving you is important to me. And it’s not about what you are capable of, Hadrian. Do not twist my words.”

“Why are you so angry? How did you know anyway?” Hadrian pressed, his frustration building. He didn’t know why he even bothered Thomas with the last question; he probably has a spy lurking in every nook and cranny of the palace. “It’s not like my cousin insulted you.”

Thomas’s eyes darkened to a deeper shade of red, conveniently choosing to ignore Hadrian’s questions and said, “You are mine, Harry. An insult to you is an insult to me. How can you think I will tolerate you being called a—” Thomas cut himself off, struggling to contain his fury. “I should’ve had his tongue severed.”

Hadrian turned away from Thomas. “A whore, that’s what he called me. You can say it, Thomas. I won’t hold it against you. Not that it’d be an unjustified name.”

“Harry.” Thomas’s voice was stern, filled with a mix of anger and hurt. He grasped Hadrian’s shoulders, turning him to face him. “You will not call yourself that. Ever. Again.” His grip tightened slightly, his red eyes locking onto Hadrian’s with an intensity that made the younger man’s heart skip a beat. “You are far more than that, and I won’t have you demean yourself, not in front of me, not in front of anyone.”

Hadrian scoffed, a small smile curling on his lips. “Why are we even fighting about this, Thomas? It’s not like it was you who bad-mouthed me last night.”

“We are not fighting,” Thomas said, his anger simmering down a tad, “we are merely having a heated debate.”

“A heated debate, you say?” Hadrian replied, a hint of cheekiness creeping into his voice.

“Do not try to sneak your way out of this, Harry.” Thomas said, thumbing the corner of Hadrian’s lips gently. “Your cheekiness doesn’t answer why you did not inform me yourself.”

Hadrian’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. He sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he searched for the right words. “I didn’t think it was necessary,” he admitted. “I’ve dealt with Draco’s ‘subtle’ jabs my whole life. This wasn’t any different.”

Thomas shook his head, his hand moving to cup Hadrian’s cheek. “It is different, Harry. You are different now. Your position, your status—everything has changed. What he said wasn’t just a petty insult; it was a direct challenge to your dignity and, by extension, mine.”

Hadrian looked down, the weight of Thomas’s words sinking in. “I understand that,” he said quietly. “But I’ve always handled things on my own. It’s hard to break that habit.”

Thomas’s eyes softened, and he brushed a stray lock of raven hair from Hadrian’s forehead. “You don’t have to handle everything on your own anymore. You have to trust me enough to share these burdens.”

“I do trust you, Thomas.” Or he was slowly starting too. Hadrian met Thomas’s gaze, the sincerity and concern in his eyes unmistakable. “It’s just... it’s hard to change overnight.”

Thomas nodded, understanding. “I know it’s not easy. But you have to start somewhere. And this—what the Malfoy brat said—it’s something I needed to know about. Not just because it affects you, but because it affects us.”

Hadrian nodded slowly, feeling the truth in Thomas’s words. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all I needed to hear. Just promise me that next time, you’ll come to me. Let me be there for you.”

“I promise,” Hadrian said. “I’ll try to be better about that.”

Thomas’s hand slid from Hadrian’s cheek to the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. “That’s all I ask, Harry.”

“Did you have Draco punished?” Hadrian asked, though he had a strong suspicion about what the answer would be.

Thomas smirked, a sadistic gleam in his eyes. “ Obviously , my dear. Did you really expect anything less?”

Hadrian sighed deeply. “I understand that his words were nearly treasonous, but he is still the only heir of an Ancient family. And I’m but a—”

“The sole heir of two Ancient families, that’s what you are,” Thomas interrupted, his red eyes glinting with a fierce protectiveness. “Far more important than he will ever be. Lucius was already begging me to spare his heir, as unseemly as that sight was.”

Hadrian almost laughed aloud at the mental image of the normally proud and haughty Lucius Malfoy, grovelling on his knees before Thomas, pleading for the life of his foolish son. It was hard to reconcile that image with the peacocking aristocrat he had always known. Hadrian had never quite liked his Aunt Narcissa’s husband; Lucius’s arrogance and self-importance were grating.

“Glorious, I hope?” Hadrian smiled, unable to hide his amusement.

“Oh, it was. But mostly pathetic.” Thomas nodded, matching Hadrian’s smile. “Your father agreed to spare the brat’s life, taking pity on your aunt and his cousin.”

“My f-father?” Hadrian stuttered.

Thomas raised an elegant eyebrow, his expression one of mild amusement. “It was imprudent that he was informed of the slight against his heir.”

Hadrian nodded slowly, absorbing the information. He should have expected that his father would be involved, given the gravity of the insult. It seemed that a lot had transpired this morning while he was busy with the harem meeting. 

“So, what is Draco’s punishment?”

“He humiliated you in my palace, so he must receive the same humiliation tenfold,” Thomas said, a vicious edge to his voice. “Draco Malfoy is to be an ‘aide’ to the Imperial Knights for three months. He will reside in the outer quarters of the palace grounds during this duration, and his titles will be stripped off temporarily.”

Hadrian’s eyes widened slightly at the severity of the punishment. Everyone knew that the outer quarters were where the servants resided. Draco, with his aristocratic arrogance, would be relegated to the status of a lowly servant, trailing after the Knights for the next three months. It was a harsh sentence, designed to break his pride and instil a sense of humility.

“Living in the outer quarters...” Hadrian mused aloud, his thoughts racing. “That will be a hard pill for Draco to swallow. He’s never had to endure such a fall from grace.”