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Chapter Text

The first thing he did when he arrived was check the date.

He closed his eyes and briefly mourned. He'd messed up the spell—he was just about five months too late to save them.

Then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and got to work.

There were so many other people to save.

When the man knocked on the door of the Burrow, Molly was rightfully suspicious.

It was April 3rd, 1982, and though five months and three days ago He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was killed, the war was still not over—there were still Death Eaters roaming about, and the Weasleys were a well-known light family; it wasn't too much of a leap to think maybe dark forces had come knocking.

But literally knocking? Well, that was less likely.

Molly cracked the door, her wand gripped tightly in her fist, and squinted at the man standing on her doorstep. He was handsome, in maybe his mid-twenties with a mess of black locks on his head and green eyes shining kindly behind a pair of circular glasses. His smile was nice, and his stance confident, and Molly blushed just a little at the warm expression he was directing her way.

"Hello," he said, his smile bright, "my name is Hadrian Gaunt, and there is a dark magic object in your house that I'm here to get rid of, if you'd be so kind."

With a frown, Molly gave the man a once-over, looking for any of the normal signs of a dark wizard. "What do you mean, dark object? How do you even know it's here?"

"I'm not quite sure what type, I just know there's something dark here, and if you'd allow me in I could get rid of it." Molly didn't budge, straightening and staring him down. She was a mother of seven, one of them not even a year old, and she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix—she would defend her home against strangers.

Seeing her dedication, the man sighed softly, but there was something fond in his eyes. Seeming to make up his mind about something, the man raised his right hand by his head, palm facing her.

Then he said, "I solemnly swear that upon my entrance to the Burrow I will do no harm to it or to the Weasley family, only remove something that would assuredly put them in danger down the road."

Molly felt the pulse of magic in the air, felt the power behind it, and sucked in a sharp breath at how easily this man made a binding vow.

"Oh," she said faintly, stepping back from the door and allowing him entrance. "Hadrian Gaunt, did you say?" She knew the name Gaunt. It was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; she'd thought they'd all died out.

"Yes, Ma'am," he breathed, looking so utterly relieved—and tired—as she let him in that Molly felt a motherly instinct rise in her.

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Gaunt? Or to eat? Lunchtime is just around the corner..." she offered. He shook his head absently, looking around her home with a peculiar smile on his face. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Molly said, "Ah, forgive the mess—"

But the man shook his head again, turning to her with a genuine, warm smile. "No, don't apologize, really. It's nice. It's like...it's like home."

There was something sad in his eyes as he said it. No, not sad—wistful. This man had lost someone, Molly realized. Probably more than one someone. With the war that had been waging the past few years, Molly wouldn't be surprised. Thank goodness it was coming to a close.

She frowned at him again, this time in concern. "Are you alright, dear? Are you sure you don't want something to eat? It's no trouble."

The man opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then winced and turned away, thinking better of it. "No, thank you, Mrs. Weasley, I'm okay." Something changed in his expression, becoming more focused as he looked around her home. He reminded her of an Auror in that moment, or of a member of the Order—someone with a determined mind and a mission in their eyes.

Molly waited with baited breath as the man drew his wand from his sleeve, holding it readily. There was a moment of tense silence, and then he murmured, "Accio rat missing a finger."

Molly blinked, thinking that quite an odd thing to call to oneself—and wondering what that had to do with a dark object in her home—and she let out a little shout of surprise when a rat flew through the air and landed in the man's waiting fist.

The man used his wand to draw up a quick and powerful protective circle, throwing the rat inside before he closed it. The rat screamed in protest and ran at the barriers, begging to be let out. Molly winced. The man then murmured a quiet spell the elder witch couldn't hear, causing a blue light to glow at the end of his wand.

What happened next would be seared into Molly's mind for the rest of her life.

A human head popped up from the ground; limbs sprouted right next to it; and then, in the next moment, a man was sitting inside the circle where the rat had been, looking at the pair of wizards with a nervous, almost fearful expression, his hands wringing anxiously.

And Molly knew this man.

She gasped, her eyes going wide and a hand flying to her mouth. Peter Pettigrew was supposed to be dead. He'd been killed by Sirius Black after Black had betrayed them all. And yet there he was, disguised as a rat in her home.

Hadrian Gaunt's eyes were hard as stone, and Molly felt a shiver go up her spine.

"Hello, Peter," he said coldly, a hint of satisfaction in the curl of his lips. "Interesting to see you alive and kicking, hmm?"

"I-I-I—" Pettigrew whimpered, looking around desperately. "I—oh, thank you so much! Sirius Black, he-he trapped me in that form, made me unable t-t-to get help. So-so thank you, kind sir!"

Gaunt snorted, clearly not buying it for a second. "I have a vial of Veritaserum that I will be using to ensure your truthfulness when the Aurors arrive, Mr. Pettigrew. Until then, I'd advise you to stay. Silent. I'm more inclined to be rough with you than fair, and I don't think tempting me towards harming you by lying is a good idea."

Pettigrew gaped at the other man, his eyes shining with fear, and Molly had a moment of sympathy before she realized that his story had so many holes, and it was highly suspicious.

Maybe sensing her indecision, Pettigrew turned his attention to Molly, his gaze pleading. "Please, Mrs. Weasley—Molly. We—we were in th-the Order together! This—this man is a stranger. H-he might even be a-a Death Eater, here to frame me!"

"Be silent before I make you be silent," Gaunt said. His voice was quiet, but the words cut through everything else, making Pettigrew gulp nervously. Gaunt's hand twitched around his wand, and Molly realized that the man was desperately holding himself back from attacking his captive.

Suddenly, this man in front of her—just a few years more than a boy really—reminded her of James Potter, rest his soul. James had always gotten so angry when faced with disloyalty, and she'd seen him look something very similar to this on more than one occasion. That poor boy had died, but this one was still alive; she could maybe provide him with some comfort, calm him down.

"You said something about Aurors?" Molly inquired, drawing Gaunt's attention. His eyes flashed to her, and her breath was taken away at the grief in his gaze, the bitter anger, and Molly wanted nothing more than to hug him. Instead, she sent him a kind smile. "Aurors, Mr. Gaunt?"

"I...?" he blinked at her a few times and then rolled his shoulders, taking a deep breath. Between one moment and the next he looked far calmer. "Yes, Aurors. I sent word to them that there was a Death Eater fugitive in the area, and that he was hiding in the Weasley household, unbeknownst to all of you. They should be arriving right..."

There were the loud pops of apparition outside.

Gaunt smiled, satisfied. "...Now."

Before the Aurors could storm into the house, Gaunt moved, darting forward and pouring a vial of liquid down Pettigrew's throat so quickly that the other man didn't even have a chance to jerk away.

"What was that?" Pettigrew cried out, wiping urgently at his mouth like he could undo swallowing the liquid.

"Veritaserum," Gaunt told him, baring his teeth in vicious satisfaction. "Told you—you're going to tell them everything you've done."

Just then, four Aurors burst in, their wands all drawn. Their confusion at what they saw was evident, having expected a dark wizard to be holding the family hostage, or whatnot. Instead there was a startled middle-aged woman, a whimpering man in a protective circle, and a man standing tall with righteous anger. They clearly had no idea as to their next step for a moment.

With a pleased smirk, Gaunt turned to look at Pettigrew.

"What is your name?" he asked with the calm surety of someone who was finally getting what they wanted.

"P-Peter Pettigr-grew," the man in the circle stuttered out fearfully. Hunched over like he was, Molly was reminded of the fact that he was barely twenty-two years old. The thought made her heart clench.

"And were you the Secret Keeper for James and Lily Potter?" Gaunt continued.

Pettigrew looked like he was trying to resist, but no one could hold out against Veritaserum. "Yes, I-I was."

Molly, though she'd seen where this was going, gasped. A couple of the Aurors did as well.

"And did you betray them to Voldemort?"

Everyone gasped at Gaunt's usage of the Dark Lord's name.

With a sob, Pettigrew said, "Yes."

"And did you then frame Sirius Black—an innocent man—for your crimes?" Gaunt asked his fourth question, his voice rising.

"Yes," Pettigrew shrieked, "Y-yes, I did, and I'm so sorry, it-it was a mistake, but it's in the past now, an-and—"

"Peter Pettigrew," the eldest of the Aurors said gravely, stepping forward, "you are under arrest; do not resist, or stronger methods will be employed to apprehend you." The man glanced at Gaunt, nodding his head, and Gaunt immediately dropped the protective circle, freeing Pettigrew.

Predictably, the rat of a man tried to escape, and Gaunt cast a wordless stunner instantly, knocking Pettigrew out before anyone had even had a chance to react to the movement.

As the Aurors left with the unconscious form of the Order traitor, the lead Auror looked to Gaunt with a tired smile. "Nice job, seriously. This...well, this changes everything. Good work."

And then they were gone, leaving Molly once again alone with the strange Handrian Gaunt.

"Well," she said after a few moments of comfortable silence. "That was...that was extraordinary."

Gaunt smiled at her, tired like the Auror, his shoulders slumping now that all the excitement had concluded. "No more evil rats in your walls," he said with a chuckle. "Well, at least none with a greater motivation that chewing on your flowers."

Molly laughed, still feeling energized, and smiled at him. No longer standing tall, he looked so young. How old was he? Twenty-three maybe? "Now could I interest you in some lunch, Mr. Gaunt?"

"Call me Hadrian," he murmured in reply, cracking his neck. He glanced around her home one last time with a fond expression, and then turned to her with a smile. "I thank you for allowing me into your home, Mrs. Weasley, and I hope this hasn't disrupted your day too much."

Molly laughed again, and was about to say No, dear, it's quite alright, but before she could, Hadrian disapparated, vanishing from her home.

Later, when Albus came asking for details, Molly told him all about the strange young man who appeared out of nowhere and had knowledge no one else had even guessed at. She'd hoped the headmaster would be able to fill in some blanks.

But alas, even the Great Albus Dumbledore was mystified as to whom Hadrian Gaunt was, and how the young man had known what he did.

When Remus walked up the path to his small, run-down home, there was someone sitting on the doorstep.

For a moment Remus was struck with a terrible pain at the sight of that messy black hair and circular glasses, the name of his dead best friend on the tip of his tongue. But no, it wasn't James. It couldn't be, no matter how much Remus wished...

It had been just about five months since James and Lily died, since Sirius betrayed them all, and Remus was still really struggling to make sense of his new life. The world was rejoicing the death of You-Know-Who, but Remus could do nothing but mourn.

The werewolf sighed, shaking his head at himself, and continued walking. The man looked up at him and stood, a kind smile on his face.

"Remus Lupin? My name is Hadrian Gaunt; might we talk? I have some good news for you."

"Do you now?" Remus asked tiredly, moving past the man and entering his home. After a moment of consideration, he waved the man in after him. "And what would that be?"

The man—Gaunt, Remus knew that name—looked curiously around the small, shabby shack Remus had been calling home the last few months, a considerable lack of judgment or disgust in his gaze. Well, at least the stranger wasn't an asshole. It was always nice to encounter non-assholes.

"You might want to sit down," Gaunt advised gently, glancing at one of the rickety kitchen chairs. Remus frowned at him, assessing, and then decided to follow the instruction; it wasn't like he had enough pride to feel the need to stand.

"Alright, I'm sitting. What good news do you have for me, Mr. Gaunt? And who are you, exactly?"

Gaunt smiled at him, warm and gentle, and said, "Yesterday afternoon it was discovered that Peter Pettigrew is alive." Remus' heart stopped. "Also, he was James and Lily's Secret Keeper, not Sirius Black." Remus couldn't breathe. "Which means that Sirius Black is completely and utterly innocent; he's scheduled to be released from Azkaban in about an hour and a half."

"Oh my god," Remus said, his voice quite unsteady, and put his head between his knees in an effort to push back the urge to vomit. "Oh my god. He's innocent. He didn't betray us." He blinked, and shot to his feet. "Oh my god Peter betrayed us."

"Yes," Gaunt agreed softly, "he did. He framed Sirius and then he hid out in his Animagus form to fake his death. He confessed under Veritaserum to all his crimes. He'll be taking Sirius' cell in Azkaban immediately."

Laughter bubbled out of Remus, a smile coming onto his face. Sirius was innocent. Sirius hadn't betrayed them! This was incredible, this was—

"Wait," he said, something occurring to him. Gaunt waited patiently. "Why didn't he...if they chose Peter as Secret Keeper instead, why didn't Sirius tell me? Did he think I was the spy?"

"To be fair," Gaunt said, his tone wry, "you believed he was the spy, as well. I feel like you can both just forgive each other for that, yeah?"

Remus laughed again, relief making him giddy. Sirius was being released. "I have to go get him," he breathed. He looked to Gaunt. "When is he leaving Azkaban? How do I...can I be there?"

Gaunt smiled, his eyes crinkling happily. "Go take a shower and shave."

Remus blinked at him, suddenly offended. "I beg your pardon?"

The other man laughed, soft and kind. "I don't mean to offend. I simply meant that it's been a very hard five months, for both Sirius and you—he's going to be tired and stressed, and seeing you the same way won't help him. Shower, shave, eat something, and go pick him up looking strong and alive."

For a moment, Remus just stared at Gaunt, taken aback. He was right; the werewolf was well aware of how run-down he'd come to look these last few months, and he could practically hear Sirius making jokes about it in his mind, the laughter doing nothing to cover the genuine worry in his eyes. Remus didn't want Sirius to worry about him, not after the Animagus had just spent five months in Azkaban.

With a sigh, Remus nodded, sending Gaunt a grateful smile. "Right, yes. You can...make yourself at home. I'll be out in a bit."

Gaunt nodded back, sitting down on the small, ratty couch in the living room. Remus winced briefly—seeing that richly-dressed man on the falling-to-pieces sofa made him feel awkward and poor—but Gaunt looked perfectly content, examining the contents of Remus' bookshelf with a curious, peaceful expression.

It was probably a trick of the light, but Remus thought he saw a hint of tears in the man's eyes.

Roger Smyth was pretty sure he wasn't paid enough to deal with Hadrian Gaunt on a Monday morning.

The man was a force to be reckoned with, especially considering that before a week ago he'd barely existed, and now suddenly he was catching thought-dead traitors and getting thought-traitor innocent men out of Azkaban. Any time someone put up a slight argument, Gaunt easily steamrolled right over them, somehow getting people to shut up and do as they were told, even though he wasn't their boss.

Roger hadn't seen anyone except Albus Dumbledore do that to Ministry officials before. It was almost an artform. It was bloody terrifying.

And so here he was, eight in the fucking morning on a Monday, waiting at Azkaban's gates because somehow Hadrian Gaunt had managed to get permission to be here to greet Black, and somehow Roger had ended up with the job of escorting him.

But not just him, no. Gaunt also got permission to bring a fucking werewolf along.

Fucking ridiculous.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roger could tell Gaunt was looking at him, and he thus kept his eyes firmly forward. The werewolf was twitching anxiously, looking like he was barely restraining himself from storming the gates. Gaunt, in complete contrast, looked so utterly calm, as if going to Azkaban was just a regular occurrence for him.

Roger, on the other hand? Well, being this close to a horde of dementors made him severely uncomfortable.

"Mr. Smyth?" Gaunt called, and Roger steeled himself, turning to look at the man with what he hoped was a polite expression. This man had caused quite a commotion at the ministry, and thus made Roger's life very difficult.

"Yes, Lord Gaunt?"

"Would you like a sugar quill? I have a few in my bag, and I'm trying to eat less sugar," Gaunt said, smiling kindly.

Roger blinked in surprise, and then blinked again. Sugar quills were his favorite candy. Had been since he was a kid. How the fuck—?

"I...yes, thank you," Roger said hesitantly, and he suddenly realized that Gaunt did not have a bag with him, and so no place for sugar quills.

But, proving Roger wrong, Gaunt pulled out his small, billfold wallet, opened it up, and pulled out two sugar quills, large and completely intact. They couldn't have fit in the tiny area.

Roger blinked again, and couldn't help but feel seriously impressed. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and took the candy from Gaunt's outstretched hand. "Right. Thank you."

Gaunt smiled and nodded. "You're very welcome."

Roger noticed that the werewolf was staring at the pair of them with an amused, mystified expression. He, too, seemed to not know what to make of the enigmatic wizard with them.

Just then, the gates opened, and the three of them snapped to attention. Normally, the prime minister would be here with them. And a couple reporters with cameras. And a few Aurors, just in case. But Hadrian Gaunt had somehow managed to get the ministry to agree to send no one else. Roger, as the PM's executive assistant, was a compromise.

Fucking insane.

Sirius Black strode out of Azkaban, his steps long and sure but a little unsteady. His expression was hard, closed off, but when he spotted Remus Lupin that all faded away. Black's face lit up, a smile transforming his features into something truly attractive. The months of imprisonment faded away as the two wizards moved towards each other, meeting in a tight embrace that Roger looked away from out of respect.

Roger and Gaunt waited silently as Black and Lupin had their reunion, Roger feeling awkward and Gaunt looking terribly pleased.

When the pair finally broke apart, Black said, "Took you long enough."

Lupin shook his head. "Well, you know, I had to get you back for the time you turned my robes purple."

"That was in sixth year!"

"Yes, my revenge was a long time coming."

There was a pause, and then the pair of them burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching their stomachs. Gaunt stood there, a grin splitting his face as he watched them, his eyes shining.

Roger squinted at him curiously; as far as Roger was aware, Gaunt had never met these two men. At least, there was no proof of any kind of connection that they'd found during this whole mess. And yet, the expression on Gaunt's face...

Something to look into, maybe.

When the werewolf and freed man finally calmed down, Roger stepped forward, clearing his throat. Black narrowed his eyes momentarily before settling; a leftover reaction from spending so much time in Azkaban, Roger imagined.

"Sirius Black, you are officially cleared off all charges against you, and your record wiped cleaned. The Ministry would like to offer its sincerest apologies for the wrong that has been done to you."

Black snorted. "What, was the minister not brave enough to come face me himself, after that farce of a trial? He sent his errand boy instead?"

Roger shifted awkwardly, his eyes flitting away from the deep-set eyes focused solely on him. He opened his mouth to reply but words escaped him.

"That was my doing, actually," Gaunt said, stepping forward and drawing their attention. Roger let out a breath he didn't realize he'd be holding, sending the man a brief, grateful glance. "I thought you might appreciate some privacy with your friend, without a big reception out here."

Black looked at Gaunt appraisingly. "Eh, you're not wrong. Who are you?"

Gaunt smiled, his eyes crinkling. "Hadrian Gaunt. Nice to meet you, Lord Black."

"He's the one who caught Peter," Lupin murmured. "He's the reason you're out of Azkaban, Sirius."

Black's eyes went wide, looking between his friend and the odd wizard in front of them. Then he grinned and strode forward, clasping Gaunt on the shoulder. "Merlin! Nice job, Gaunt. How'd you do it?"

Gaunt's eyes flicked down to the hand on his shoulder, something briefly flashing through his gaze that looked almost pained. But when he looked back up it was gone, like nothing more than a trick of the light.

"I'm meeting with Albus Dumbledore later as well, over the issue of the guardianship of your godson, Harry Potter. It should all be straightened out very soon."

All three wizards startled at Gaunt's words, staring at him in shock. Roger racked his brain, trying to remember if he'd heard anything about this meeting, if anyone had mentioned that Gaunt was trying to put Harry Potter in the custody of a man just released from Azkaban. But no, he was sure no one had said anything. Did the minister even know? Did Dumbledore?

Roger would pay good money to be in the room while Hadrian Gaunt and Albus Dumbledore met. Two forces to be reckoned with—it was sure to be fascinating.

"You're—what?" Lupin stuttered out, the first of them to get their vocal chords working.

"Currently Harry is living with his aunt and uncle in Little Whinging. They are not...exceptionally nice people, and now that you have been released from prison, and are listed in the Potters' will as a primary guardian should something happen to them, I'm sure it will be no problem to have your godson in your care come the end of the week. I just need to discuss the...specifics with Headmaster Dumbledore first."

"Who are you?" Black asked incredulously.

Gaunt offered him a lopsided smile. "Someone with the ability to right some wrongs." He looked to Roger, then. "Mr. Smyth, I assume you can take it from here?"

Roger blinked dumbly. "Take...it?"

The strange wizard's expression was kind, but there was mirth in his wet eyes. Why were they wet? "Lord Black and Mr. Lupin are likely to want to go home now. I'll be in touch soon, but I figured that a capable man such as yourself is perfectly willing to make sure they get off this island alright, with the full support of the ministry behind them."

Roger straightened, heat rising to his cheeks at the slight compliment. Off to the side, Black snorted. "Yes, of course. Thank you for your aid, Lord Gaunt. I can take it from here."

Gaunt smiled one last time and said, "Excellent." He then looked to the werewolf and the convict, his expression softening. "You'll be seeing Harry very soon, if I have anything to say about it. I'm very good at getting my way."

He winked, and then, before anyone could say anything, diapparated.

Ever since Albus heard the name Hadrian Gaunt whispered through the halls of the ministry, ever since Molly Weasley called him and told him about the stranger's accomplishments, the Hogwarts headmaster had really been wanting to meet this mystery man.

The problem, however, was that it was near impossible to find said mystery man unless he wanted to be found.

And Albus tried. Really, he did. It wasn't arrogant of him to acknowledge that he was one of the most powerful wizards of their (and of any) time, which meant that normally locating one lone wizard wasn't that much of a challenge for him, especially considering how much attention the young man was currently getting.

And yet—nothing.

After a few days Albus just gave up looking, going back to simply focusing on his duties as headmaster and his duties in working with the ministry to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters. Hogwarts was starting to feel a lot calmer these days, children and parents alike beginning to relax as the war drifted towards an end. It was good to be in such an environment, watching hope return.

It was almost enough to make Albus forget about Hadrian Gaunt. It was certainly enough to make him stop looking.

Which was, of course, when the mysterious wizard decided to show up.

It was a warm, mid-April day, and Albus was watching as the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Quidditch teams played a scrimmage match. A majority of the professors were watching with him, whether up in the stands or on the ground like him, with the notable exception of Severus.

Albus sighed, and tried not to let his mood sour. His heart went out to the young man he'd hired, the young man who was still grieving and angry with the world. Angry with Albus, angry with himself.

Albus had hoped that after being cleared of charges and freed from Voldemort's reign, Severus would come out of his shell a bit more. But it was just the opposite; Severus had felt like he had a purpose while serving the Dark Lord, no matter how horrid the purpose was. Now, with the woman he loved dead because of something he did and indebted to a man that fought his old master—well, Severus was just angry.

And so very, very lost.

Having been sucked into rumination without meaning to, Albus was pulled from his thoughts by someone stepping up next to where he, Poppy, and Filius were standing.

"Afternoon," the newcomer said politely, sending them a smile and glancing up at the players with a fond smile. For the people or the sport, Albus wasn't sure.

"Afternoon," Albus replied, equally polite. Poppy echoed the sentiment. Filius shouted an encouragement to his team. "What can we help you with, Mr..."

"Gaunt," the man offered, and Albus barely kept himself from startling. "But please, call me Hadrian. It's a pleasure to meet you, Headmaster Dumbledore. And the both of you as well," he added, looking to Poppy and Filius with a natural, charming smile. Poppy blushed slightly and Filius blinked before sending back a smile of his own.

"Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Gaunt," the short wizard said warmly. "Great day for a game, eh?" The Ravenclaw head of house then turned his attention back to the players high above them, eyes locked onto the quaffle avidly.

"It is indeed," Hadrian Gaunt replied, not in the slightest bit bothered by the fact that Filius was no longer paying attention. He turned his attention to Poppy. "I hope you won't mind me stealing the headmaster for a moment, Madame Pomfrey; there are a few things I need to talk to him about."

"Oh, not at all, dear, not at all!" Poppy replied, beaming. "You go on ahead. I'll catch you up on the game later, Albus."

Albus blinked at how the decision had been effectively removed from his hands all together—clever man—and then nodded towards the castle. "This way, Lord Gaunt; we can talk in my office."

They didn't talk much on the way back from the Quidditch pitch, but oddly enough it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Albus watched the younger wizard, examining him, and he got the feeling that though he was being subtle about it—he had many, many years of practice—Hadrian was allowing him to look, smiling up at the blue sky like there wasn't an extremely powerful wizard watching him.

Albus had no doubt that if he made eye contact and pushed, he'd find very strong occlumency walls.

"You've made quite the impression lately," Albus said offhandedly. "At the ministry and with those who happen to cross your path."

The corners of Hadrian's mouth tilted upward in something resembling amusement, but he didn't look over at Albus. "I've gotten that impression, yes. It's almost as if they're not used to being faced with a capable wizard on a day-to-day basis." He shot Albus a side eye. Albus couldn't help but chuckle.

"I did hear someone compare your ways to mine," Albus agreed. "It made me want to meet you very much indeed; it's a rarity that someone can get the minister to do something purely useful and yet not feel steamrolled."

They entered the castle, and Albus tried to decide how he wanted to broach the subject of Hadrian's past. To Albus' knowledge, the Gaunts had pretty much died off, ending with Tom. And though Hadrian was British, Albus was 100% positive he'd never attended Hogwarts.

"You should just ask," Hadrian said calmly, glancing at Albus with a quick smile as they reached the Griffin statue guarding his office. "This whole conversation will go a lot more smoothly if you aren't constantly wondering where I'm from."

Albus didn't say anything in reply, leading the way up the staircase and into his office. He took a seat behind his desk and Hadrian sat across from him, only sparing a brief glance around the room before turning his full attention to the headmaster.

"What can I do for you, Lord Gaunt?" Albus asked.

"I'd like to discuss the guardianship of Harry James Potter," Hadrian replied primly, his hands folded on top of his crossed legs.

Albus tilted his head. "Mr. Potter is in the care of his aunt and uncle, considering they are the closest relation after the death of his parents. What needs to be discussed about that?"

"You've placed him there because you believe the blood wards will protect him," Hadrian said, his voice perfectly even as he stared at Albus with a calm expression (boldly and fearlessly meeting the legilimens' gaze). "Not because they're deserving of custody.

"And now that Lord Black has been cleared of all charges and released from Azkaban, Mr. Potter should immediately transfer residences, considering James and Lily Potter put him as the guardian should they die, with Mr. Remus Lupin behind Lord Black should Lord Black be unable to fulfill his duties." The young wizard smiled sardonically. "Odd that Harry didn't go to Remus, considering all that."

Albus didn't react to the hidden accusation, but it did make his curiosity grow exponentially. Hadrian clearly knew a lot—how had he seen the Potters' will?—but there was something almost personal in Hadrian's tone and actions. Why did he seem upset about the fact that Harry hadn't been put in Remus' custody after Lily and James' death? Why was he actively pursuing the change of Harry's custody now?

"Did you know Lily and James?" Albus asked. He briefly grazed the surface of the younger wizard's mind and was unsurprised to find very strong walls, indeed.

Hadrian rose an eyebrow, and looked almost amused.

"Not personally, no. I'm just...a stickler for not breaking wills. So!" he carried on with a smile, "I assume you have no problem writing a recommendation for the changing custody? You have quite a large amount of influence and it will speed things along exponentially."

"I think some hesitation is warranted," Albus said gently. "Sirius Black just got out of Azkaban, which I imagine is a very traumatic place. And Remus Lupin has been struggling himself as of late. Currently Harry Potter is in a stable home environment. I don't know if it's the best idea to remove him from his aunt and uncle, only to place him in what could be a challenging home."

Suddenly Hadrian's entire being chilled, his eyes narrowing into slits. "A challenging home?" he asked coldly. "A stable environment?"

Albus hesitated, not understanding. "Yes," he said slowly, "are you alright, Lord Gaunt?"

Hadrian stared at him for a few moments longer and Albus was strangely reminded of Severus. Cold, bitter, angry at the world and angry at Albus, grieving for something lost. But in the case of Hadrian, Albus truly didn't know why.

"I'm fine," the young wizard said, and suddenly he looked it as well; that chilly anger fading back into the warmth and kind intelligence he'd displayed before. "I simply disagree with you. And what was it that Professor McGonagall told you all those years—sorry, months—ago? That the Dursleys are the worst sort of muggles? I don't believe that's a good household for Harry Potter."

Albus stared at Hadrian. What? "How could you possibly know that?" he asked, flabbergasted. He and Minerva had been alone on the street that night; she'd watched the Dursleys all day and told him her opinion on them. There was no way this boy could've heard that. And what was that comment about years?

Hadrian simply smiled.

"Has your DADA position opened up yet?" he asked, completely out of the blue.

"Pardon?"

"The Defense Against the Dark Arts position," Hadrian clarified unnecessarily. "The job is a revolving door because of a jinx, which means you'll be needing a new professor for the next school year. I was simply wondering if the current one had already forfeited their position or if I have to wait to move my stuff in?"

Albus couldn't help it—he started to laugh.

"Just to clarify," he said, chuckling, "I know absolutely nothing about you except your name, you popped up very suddenly out of nowhere with knowledge no one else had, you are extremely powerful and yet hold no magical history, and now you are assuming that I'm going to just give you a position in my school? Not to be blunt, my boy, but why in Merlin's name do you think I would do such a thing?"

Hadrian tilted his head, watching him thoughtfully, and then he pulled a few items out of his pockets and put them on the desk.

There were very few times in his life that Albus Dumbledore was truly at a loss for words. But in this instance, staring down at three mangled objects that held the aura of destroyed dark magic—well, he honestly couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"There's four more," Hadrian said quietly. "I know where each of them are—well, where three of them are. The fourth is more of a moving target which makes it harder, but I have a general idea. I also have the capability to destroy them, case in point what you see before you. You're right that you don't know me, but I will keep this school and its students safe."

"Are these...were these Horcruxes?" Albus asked, his hand reaching out and running over them in the air.

Hadrian nodded slowly. "Tom Riddle's. Voldemort's."

Albus looked up sharply, searching the younger wizard's expression for any hint of deception. The implications of such a statement...Albus sorely wished he could look into the boy's mind, see what he knew, determine what was of value and what wasn't. But unless he wanted to force his way in—thus breaking various laws and harming someone unnecessarily—then a look into Hadrian Gaunt's mind wasn't going to happen.

"So you're saying that Voldemort created seven Horcruxes?" Albus asked slowly. "He split his soul into eight pieces?"

Hadrian just nodded, not saying anything, allowing Albus time to process.

He'd always thought it possible, of course. Likely, even. That Tom had created a couple Horcruxes. But seven? Splitting your soul that many times, separating it into objects—Albus couldn't even begin to describe the horror he felt at the idea of such a thing. Tom had always been hungry for power and fearful of death, but to go that far? Would he really have done that?

"How did you find these?" Albus asked. "How do you know with certainty that he created seven?"

"You have many questions about me," Hadrian said, not answering the one just asked. "Many questions about the way I do things, where I come from, how I know things, why I'm suddenly here and invested. Maybe you'll even be suspicious of me, for a time. And I'm sorry to say, but I'm not going to answer your questions."

Albus opened his mouth to object. Hadrian continued before he could.

"I show you these as proof that I am not the enemy, and that I will do everything in my power to ensure that Voldemort never returns. I am here to protect the next generation and to fix wrongs that have been left uncorrected.

"And right now I'm here to fix your wrong and protect Harry James Potter. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin will make excellent guardians, and I will fight you tooth and nail to get Harry removed from the Dursleys. So. With the limited knowledge you currently have on me and my actions, what is your decision?"

For a long moment, Albus just watched him. This wasn't how he'd expected his day (week, month, year) to go. Hadrian Gaunt had shown up in a practical puff of smoke and gotten right to work. He had no known background. He had knowledge no one on the Light side had, but that the Death Eaters might. He was fiercely protective of a child he never met. He found and destroyed Horcruxes like it was natural to do so. He carried the name of a dark, dead family.

Taking all of that into account, there was only one thing Albus could say.

"Our current DADA professor Andrea Shaldon has turned in her letter of resignation for the end of the school year because her father has health issues, and needs looking after. So yes, the position is open for the coming year. You may have it. I will also write a letter to the ministry urging for the immediate legal transfer of custody of Harry Potter from his aunt and uncle and to his godfather."

Hadrian let out a slow breath, almost shaky. The man's words had been confident but he hadn't been 100% sure Albus would trust him and his actions. He'd been worried this would all fall apart because Albus said no.

Because of this, Albus offered the young man (how old was he? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? Older than Lily and James had been) a warm smile. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Hadrian. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

Hadrian hesitated for a moment, thoughtful, and then his eyes sparked and he said, "Yes, actually. There is one thing..."

Chapter Text

When Narcissa Malfoy flicked on the light in her living room, there was a man sitting on the couch.

During the many years of the war, such a thing hadn't been all that unusual. Death Eaters popped in and out of the manor at all times of the day. But these past five months, ever since the death of the Dark Lord, that had ceased.

So, the shadow of a man startled her for a moment. But she was a Malfoy and a Black and thus quickly gained her composure, striding into the room and planting herself a few feet in front of the wizard. She rose a superior eyebrow at him, her chin raised.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" she asked, her tone demanding answers. "My husband and I don't take very kindly to intruders."

"You love your son very much," the man said, a kind smile curving his lips. He looked vaguely familiar, but Narcissa couldn't quite place him. "You love him more than life itself, really. More than your husband, more than the great Cause. It's a very redeeming quality, I think. It's why I fought for you."

Something cold chilled Narcissa's veins. This wasn't a Death Eater, but he didn't give off the impression of one of Dumbledore's Order members, either. He was something else entirely; Narcissa detested unknown entities. Especially when they talked about her son. If looked at in a certain light, what he was saying could be interpreted as a threat.

"What do you want?" Narcissa demanded again, but her voice was much quieter now. Upstairs, Lucius and Draco were asleep. The vulnerability of her son hit her like a brick. He wasn't even two years old.

"I want to put away those who buck the system, and I want to protect Draco. I would even say I want to protect you."

He said it so simply, as if it was just a fact of life and not something confusing and slightly terrifying. She didn't say anything in reply. He stayed seated, as if to seem less threatening. Towering over him should've made her feel more in control, but it didn't.

"For everyone I encounter," the wizard began, unbothered by her silence, "I adjust my approach. Some people require more information than others, some work better on gut feelings, some are perfectly fine looking at the actions in front of them and making a decision from there. Some require bluntness, some a gentler touch. I have to curb my impulses a lot these days, but I like to think I've grown from the hotheaded teen I was."

"What does this all have to do with me and my son?" Narcissa asked, already sick of riddles.

"When I was making a list of all the things I had to fix, to make right, I deliberated over this one for a long time. I wasn't sure if this would do more harm than good in the long run. But if there's even a chance..." He sighed, shaking his head, and then met her gaze intensely. "You are an incredibly loyal person, Lady Malfoy. And a fiercely protective mother. You might not like the comparison—and I don't imagine she would, either—but you make me think of Molly Weasley."

Narcissa wrinkled her nose, indignant, and the man smiled lopsidedly. "Yeah, I thought so. But that's not the point."

"What is the point?" Narcissa snapped. "You break into my home, talk about my love for my son, and compare me to a Weasley. Why are you here?"

"If it came down to it, would you choose your son or your husband?" the wizard asked bluntly.

The witch blinked, then narrowed her eyes, calculating. "Why would I need to make such a decision?"

The man's eyes crinkled. "When I was trying to decide how to go about convincing you, I realized there was nothing I could possibly say to make you take my word at face value. The only thing that would possibly convince you was if you could see the complete and utter truth. It's a big risk, and I'm not a fan of the idea, but I kind of respect that about you, Lady Malfoy.

"So I'm going to be upfront with you—Lucius managed to escape prosecution because he lied about being under the Imperius Curse, as you're well aware. Which means the only way he'd go to prison, is if someone stepped forward with hard proof. You have that hard proof, I know you do. You can get Lucius put away with all the other Death Eaters in Azkaban."

"Why in Merlin's name would I do that?" Narcissa asked incredulously, a sneer creeping onto her face. This man was an idiot if he thought she'd do that! He'd just spoken of her loyalty; she wouldn't abandon it so easily.

"Because he's going to hurt Draco," the wizard said matter-of-factly. "He's going to hit him and curse him and insult him his entire life, and you'll do what you can to protect your son but it's hard when you're getting a very similar treatment."

Narcissa's mouth went dry. "Lucius would never hurt Draco," she said stubbornly, but the words felt hollow in her mouth. "And he's never harmed me in such a way."

"I know," the man said softly. "But he will." He tilted his head. "Do you know legilimency?"

The witch hesitated. "A bit," she said cautiously. "I'm not...overly skilled."

The man smiled wryly. "Well, as long as you're not so bad as to rip a hole in my memories, we'll be fine. Now, I'm going to lower my occlumency shields. When I do this, you're going to cast the spell and look at my memories, and you'll see why I'm saying these things. Alright?"

Narcissa wasn't sure she wanted to agree. She wanted to exist where she was, with her husband cold but not overly so, her son happy and babbling, her crazy sister locked away and her traitor sister far away. She didn't want to see something that would ruin her life. But if he was being truthful, if Draco was in danger...

"Alright," she agreed quietly, and there was something not dissimilar to relief in the man's eyes.

"Go ahead," he said after a moment, and she rose her wand.

"Legilimens."

At first, seeing Draco so handsome and grown was amazing. But the haunted look in his eye—and the bruises on his skin—and the hesitation before his turn at a Boggart—and him cringing from Lucius on the train platform—and—

"You look ridiculous," Draco tells me, a sneer curling his lips.

I laugh lightly, glancing down at myself. Draco's insults stopped hurting years ago, after the end of the war. They barely touch me now; I know there's no real malice there, not anymore. "I suppose I do, yes. Hermione told me it's tradition, I have to wear it."

"Granger is a mud—" Draco stops himself, and then continues as if he never stuttered, "—muggleborn, and has never had to attend a wizard function such as this. I'm surprise you're even in the right garment."

"And yet in the right garment I am," I tell him with a grin, and after a few seconds he rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in suppressed amusement.

"I hated these things when I was younger," Draco says offhandedly, examining his nails. His tone is blasé, like this is unimportant, but Draco doesn't talk about his childhood, and his posture is suddenly very tense.

I decide to act as if I haven't noticed; he'll only get defensive if he thinks I'm giving this my full attention. "Oh?" I prompt, looking around as if searching for something. "Why?"

"Because no matter how perfectly I acted, my father always found something wrong." His lips twist bitterly. "Messing up was a painful experience."

I go still, and turn to look at him. I know my jaw has dropped, and I know as soon as he spots it his walls will go back up, but I can't help it—I just had never thought that maybe Draco and I had gone through similar things.

I decide to take a gambit. "Messing up in my house was a painful experience, too," I tell him quietly.

Draco's gaze darts over to meet mine, sharp and searching, and then he lets out a slow breath. "Ah."

"Yeah."

Neither of us say anything for a while, and it's a little awkward but not overly so, and then the music starts from inside and startles us both.

"That's your cue, Boy Who Lived," Draco says with a smirk. I roll my eyes, smiling, and turn towards the door. "Potter," Draco calls at the last second. I look back at him, and he won't quite meet my eyes, but there's something heavy in his expression when he says, "Thank you."

Narcissa's face was wet when she pulled out of the man's mind, and a hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"You..."

She didn't know what to say. She'd just seen the future; how could she possibly form a coherent response? What did he expect her to do with this? She had just seen proof that her son grew up but he was damaged, damaged by Lucius, and she hadn't protected him from it? Why? Why wouldn't she have protected her son?

But it's hard when you're getting a similar treatment.

A shudder ran up her spine.

"You're..." she trailed off, her voice no more than a whisper. The wizard—who should be a baby—nodded, watching her carefully. "Oh my."

Narcissa's legs felt like jelly and she moved over to one of the armchairs to sit, lest her body betrayed her and she collapsed. The wizard who shouldn't exist allowed her a few moments to absorb the information she'd just been presented with, and then said, "So?"

"What do you..." Narcissa shook her head, attempting to clear it. "What am I supposed to do with this information?"

But she knew. She knew why he showed her all of that, knew what he wanted to come of it. She even knew what her response was going to be, Merlin help her.

"Okay," she said, still unable to raise her voice to a normal speaking level. "Okay. To stop that from happening, to protect my son...I'll turn Lucius in."

She felt the decision settle into her bones, what she needed to do to protect her child, less than two years old. She pictured that haunted, lanky boy from the memory and swore to herself that she would never see such a look on Draco's face. He would grow up happy, she decided. Happy and loved and not abused. She would steer him away from what Lucius would have made him. She could—would—do it.

"I'm glad," the wizard said gently. He reached out towards her and for a moment Narcissa thought he was going to do something odd like hold her hand, but instead he passed her a vial.

She sent him a questioning look, suddenly feeling too tired to examine anything.

"That's Veritaserum," he explained, and Narcissa's breath caught. "I figure you're smart enough to set him up somehow to confess to the right people—you can always act as a witness in a trial instead, if you wish, but I just thought this might take some of the burden off of you."

Narcissa stared down at the glass vial for a few moments, and then nodded slowly before looking back up at the man.

"Why did you come here?" she asked, meaning more than just her home.

The wizard sighed. "I have a million answers to that question. A million reasons that I made this decision. I didn't make it lightly. But at the core of it all, the one reason that really matters is—because I could." He offered her a wry smile. "I hope you can keep this to yourself, yes?"

Narcissa was nodding before he'd even finished asking. "Of course," she said, her tone almost offended. "You've just shown me a better path and given me the tools to get rid of the obstacle—I won't reveal your secret." She examined him for a moment. She understood now why he'd looked slightly familiar to her. "What do I call you, then?"

The man smiled, wide and bright. "Hadrian Gaunt, at your service. I must say it's been a pleasure to formally meet you."

He got to his feet, and Narcissa followed his lead. He kissed the back of her hand like a gentleman and then turned to go.

"May I ask you something?" she inquired, one thing still burning in her mind. "Just one question, before you go."

Hadrian Gaunt looked at her critically for a moment and then nodded. "Alright. What is it?"

"How did you know what I'd do here?" Narcissa asked. "You let me see inside your mind because you were so sure that I would do whatever I could to stop that from happening. How did you know that I'd choose Draco over Lucius, over everything?"

The man's smile was gentle, and even caring. "Because you did choose Draco over everything; I didn't think sixteen years would change anything."

Narcissa stared at him, wanting to ask so many more things, but she restrained herself. "It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Lord Gaunt. I hope to see you again."

The wizard laughed. "Oh, I think that's more than likely. And if I may offer a word of advice?"

"Go ahead," the witch agreed cautiously.

"Make amends with your sister, Andromeda Tonks." Narcissa's head jerked back in surprise at the words. "If you want to shape Draco better, frankly if you want to shape a lot better, reach out to her. You have a niece, you know; and she has a nephew. It might be nice, is all I'm saying."

He shrugged, and then turned quickly, disapparating from her living room, leaving Narcissa Malfoy with a vial of Veritaserum and so many plans for the future.

Severus Snape did not expect to be woken up by someone pouring water in his face, and he most certainly wasn't happy about it.

He surged to his feet, instinctively casting a curse, and whirled around furiously to face whoever had broken into his quarters. With the water making his hair stick to his face his vision was obscured, and thus for a moment was very afraid indeed that the ghost of James Potter had come back to haunt him.

But, no. Simply another man with messy black hair and glasses.

"How did you get in here?" Severus demanded, pushing his hair back. The Potter-look-alike stared back at him with a determined expression, his arms crossed over his chest. He must've deflected the potion master's curse, because the man most certainly wasn't missing a limb.

"You're such an asshole, you know that?" the man told him bluntly.

Severus looked at him incredulously. This wizard broke into his room, poured a bucket of water on his head, and had the nerve to call him an asshole?

"Get the fuck out," Severus snapped, no longer caring about why the other wizard was there. It was probably one of Dumbledore's newest attempts to get him out and about, or whatever. Severus had to commend the originality at least.

"No," the man said stubbornly, and didn't offer anything else.

They stared at each other for a long time, and Severus felt his outrage growing. It was a Saturday. Why did he have to be bothered by one of Dumbledore's pet projects on a Saturday? It was one of the only fucking days he got mostly to himself.

"So we're just going to do this, then?" Severus asked sarcastically, waving a hand around the room. "Stand here in my bedroom with me soaking wet in nothing but my underwear, you a complete stranger who's just broken in and disturbed my sleep? That's how we're going to spend Saturday morning?"

The man's stubborn expression didn't change, but the corners of his mouth did tilt ever-so-slightly upward. "It's a good look," he said. His tone was completely serious, but something sparkled in his eyes.

No. Fucking. Way. Was this wizard actually making fun of him after all of that shit? The goddamn nerve—

Severus opened his mouth to give the other man a piece of his mind, but the man got there before he could.

"You're an asshole," he repeated. "I never got a chance to really tell you that, you know? You are so awful to everyone you meet. And I get it, traumatic, abusive childhoods really fucking suck, but it doesn't give you an excuse to bully children. It doesn't give you an excuse to be so horrible that you become a child's boggart! Do you even understand how fucked up that is, Severus? Do you understand that that goes beyond being mean and goes firmly into evil territory?

"And you just hate everyone, even those who stand by your side. You show nothing but disdain for people who time and time again try to stand by your side, try to fight for you. You ignore the good deeds of others because you're so consumed by your fucking heartbreak or whatever when you're responsible for it all in the first place! Have you ever made an attempt to move past all this childhood bullshit? Did it ever—for a single fucking second—occur to you that James Potter was a dickwad but he wasn't evil incarnate, and you were the one to make the decision to go follow someone who wanted to kill everyone like your ex-best friend?

"You've been through a lot in your life, I get that, I do, and I have a lot of respect for all that you've accomplished. But it doesn't excuse all of the shit you've pulled, Severus. Not a single bloody moment of it." He sucked in a deep breath. "So I'm going to make sure you're better than all that this time."

Severus gaped at the man, his jaw dropped, his eyes wide. Words escaped him, and so did coherent thought.

What did one say to a tirade like that? A tirade that shouted all of his faults into the open, faults he didn't even think made sense (a child's boggart?) but somehow still felt real, felt true. Everything the man had just said came from a very real place of anger, and he hadn't made up anything he'd said, and yet there were some things that didn't fit—Severus hadn't even started teaching yet, he was just living in the castle.

"...Do you want some tea?" he asked, his voice squeakier than he would've liked.

The man blinked, taken aback. He'd been expecting an argument, expecting Severus to be all those things he knew he was and shout right back. And, really, that would normally be his reaction. But this time—this time he was tired from tossing and turning all night with nightmares, he hadn't eaten in a few days, and this wizard had just accused him of things that were and were not true, so.

So he asked if the man wanted some tea.

"I, er," the other wizard stumbled over his words.

Severus flashed him a smirk, and then began striding past him towards his little kitchen. "Ten points from whatever your house was for having an inarticulate alumnus."

He heard a pause and then a snort of amusement before footsteps started following him.

Severus went about putting water on to boil, and, after a moment's consideration, took out some biscuits as well. He could feel the other wizard watching him as he went through the motions but he didn't turn around. He didn't know what this shakiness he was feeling was, but he wasn't ready for the man to start insulting him again, which he was afraid would happen if he met his eyes.

"Sorry for shouting," the man said after a moment.

"You didn't quite shout," Severus replied easily, with far more calm than he felt. "Though you did come close."

What had the man been talking about, anyway? Pushing aside the things Severus did understand (and most certainly did not want to think about), there was so much that had been thrown in his face that he'd never done. And who was this man to insult him, anyway? What gave this random wizard the right to break into his quarters and say awful things, regardless of their truthfulness?

"Yeah, well," the man said awkwardly. "You did deserve it."

Severus' irritation spiked, and he turned around, glaring at the other wizard. "Who are you to say I deserved it? We've never met, and yet you broke into my room only to shout at me—"

"You said I didn't shout—"

"—Shout at me about things that make no sense. What child's boggart am I, hmm? I'm not even teaching yet—I haven't actually interacted with a child since I was one."

The man grimaced. "Yes, well." He stopped, glancing around. He looked so uncomfortable now, a drastic change from the confident man who had stood in his bedroom and forced him to look at all his failings. It made him look very young, despite the fact that he was probably a few years older than Severus himself.

"Do I get a name, at least?" Severus asked, turning back to his kettle when it began to whistle. "Yours, preferably, in case you were preparing some sarcastic comment about a name."

The man snorted again, and accepted the teacup Severus offered him with a quiet Thank you. "Hadrian Gaunt," he said. "That's my name."

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but not enough that Severus had any context to go with it. Maybe Dumbledore or McGonagall had mentioned it, or he'd read it in the paper, or maybe overheard it in Hogsmeade—didn't matter overly much.

"So why are you here, Hadrian Gaunt?" Severus asked. He watched Gaunt carefully, and subtly tried to glance into the other man's mind—he hit a very sturdy wall. He wasn't even all that surprised. "It couldn't just have been to spew nonsense."

Gaunt rolled his eyes, making Severus feel a flash of indignation. "Just because you didn't understand my accusations doesn't make them nonsense."

And the weird thing was, was it wasn't nonsense. Severus didn't know why though, which was a horrid thing. He hated not knowing things, especially when in relation to himself. Gaunt believed the things he'd said, and they'd been intertwined with things Severus did know. But they couldn't have even happened yet.

The potions master narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "What year were you born?"

Gaunt hesitated. "I'm twenty-five years old."

Severus smirked. "That's not what I asked."

And then, and then, Severus could actually see the other man doing some mental math. He felt a thrill run through him, because it suddenly made sense. And oh, how fascinating it all was.

He didn't give Gaunt a chance to tell him a lie. "You're from the future," he said firmly, taking a sip of his tea.

Gaunt's eyes went wide, and he sputtered. "What? No, no, no of course not. Why would you even say such a thing? That's not...no."

Severus rose an eyebrow. "No? Tell me—was I your boggart?"

The other man looked offended by the very notion. "I was never afraid of you," Gaunt said, setting his jaw, and Severus knew he was telling the truth. "You were an asshole, and it was very clear that if you wished to hurt us you would, but afraid? No, Severus. Fear was never something I felt about you."

Severus frowned at the elder man, at the familiar way he said his name. If this wizard had been—would be—his student, then they shouldn't be on a first name basis. Then again, it was possible the man had been very close in age to him (already at Hogwarts? Is his younger self running around somewhere?) and thus a transition would be easy from Professor to Severus.

"What year did you come from?" he asked curiously.

Gaunt smiled, his eyes crinkling. "Want to know something interesting? I spoke to Dumbledore a few days ago, and despite everything he'd been confronted with about me, he did not ask me if I was from the future."

Severus' eyebrows shot up, and then he felt something akin to pride. Coming to a (correct) conclusion that Albus Dumbledore hadn't reached? Well, that was quite a rare thing, and pretty spectacular.

"Does anyone else know the truth?"

"Who says your theory is the truth?" Gaunt shot back at him, but he was still smiling.

"You did!" Severus argued.

"No I didn't," Gaunt said stubbornly, and now that smile was becoming infuriating. "I don't believe I ever said I was from the future. What a ludicrous idea."

Severus sighed, exasperated. This was utterly ridiculous. They both knew the truth, what was this man's obsession with denying it?

"Oh, come on," Gaunt said, laughter in his voice, as Severus stormed off towards the living room. "I'm sorry, but I'm still making up for years of abuse, okay? A little teasing is warranted."

Severus' steps faltered, the breath going out of his lungs in a rush. He turned back to face Gaunt, examining his face intently, searching for the lie. It was important. He needed to know if that was an exaggeration, needed to know how far this went.

A child's boggart.

Gaunt's brow furrowed in confusion at the suddenly very intense look he was receiving, and then his features softened, his expression turning sad. "Ask."

"Abuse," Severus said. He was going for even, but his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. "I abused my students. I was truly horrid enough to be someone's boggart. How bad...?"

Gaunt knew what he was asking. "Verbal and emotional abuse were constant," he said, his voice quiet. "You were cruel to everyone, except for the Slytherin students. You degraded your students at every turn, made them feel like they were nothing if they were anything less than perfect. And even if they were perfect, even if someone managed to pull off something extraordinary, you still insulted them and gave them nothing higher than an A. I don't recall you ever giving someone not a Slytherin an O."

Nausea churned in Severus' stomach. But Gaunt wasn't done.

"You never hit any of us—I think if you did Professor McGonagall would've ripped you in two—but you never stopped your Slytherins from hurting everyone else, either. And when kids were injured, whether in your classroom or elsewhere, you almost always refused to allow them to go to Madame Pomfrey unless a life was literally hanging in the balance.

"The kid who had you as a boggart was a gentle person, but he was strong, and the fact that you were his worst fear did not surprise any of us. You were truly awful, Severus. I hated you almost the entire time I was at Hogwarts. All of us did."

Severus had a flashback to his own childhood, his own father who made his life a living hell. He'd sworn to never be like him. Why did I become like him?

"Why would I do that?" he murmured.

"Because you're angry," Gaunt said simply. "Because you've gone through a lot and you refuse to let yourself feel broken by any of it, so instead you got mad and lashed out at everyone. It's a common coping mechanism, really; anger in the place of grief. That doesn't excuse any of your actions—it really, really doesn't—but it makes it understandable."

Gaunt sighed, shaking his head, and watched Severus digest this information.

After a while of silence, Gaunt said, "I know you hate James Potter for all that he did while you were in school, and that's justified, because he was a bully who made your life hell. But an important fact is that he grew up and became a better person. He fought for the rights of everyone, fought to protect the world, and stopped being so much of an asshole. You though...You started as a nice kid, and grew up to be nothing more than a bully."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Severus demanded. He pressed his palms against his eyes, a headache settling into his bones. "Why do you care?"

"Because you need to be better this time," Gaunt told him firmly. "Because I'm not going to let you become that hateful creature you were when I was at Hogwarts. Everything is new to you right now, and you have a chance to be better. Don't become the monster in everyone's story, Severus; you have the capacity to be so much more than that, if you only tried."

"I'm the reason she's dead," Severus muttered, not putting down his hands. "She is dead because of something I did."

"Yes," Gaunt agreed, and Severus sucked in a sharp breath. "She is. You chose to sacrifice her husband and son in the hope that Voldemort would spare her, which was so very, very naïve of you. What you did was wrong. So much of what you've done has been wrong, Severus. So take this opportunity to make up for your sins, not add to them."

"What do you want me to do?" Severus snapped, looking back at Gaunt now. "How could I possibly..?"

"Well," Gaunt started, his tone dry, "you start with therapy."

Severus blinked at the other man. He must've misheard. "Pardon?"

"Remember how I mentioned speaking to Dumbledore? Well, he's the sole reason you're not being sent to Azkaban, as I'm sure you're aware. It is only his word keeping you free."

"Yes," Severus said slowly, suddenly feeling anxious. Was this man going to threaten to take his freedom away? "What does that—"

"So I spoke to Dumbledore, and it seems that the ministry now wants a bit more from you." He smiled blandly. "Your freedom is now dependent upon you attending weekly therapy sessions."

Severus gaped at him. "You can't be serious."

Gaunt hummed. "No, quite serious. The ministry is stepping up its game, it seems."

Not for a single moment did Severus believe that the ministry had made this decision. This stipulation came directly from Gaunt, and for some goddamn reason Dumbledore had agreed to it.

"Why in Merlin's name are you doing this?" Severus shouted.

Gaunt was unmoved in the face of his fury. If anything, he seemed to become even more determined. "I've already told you. It's not my fault you don't want to accept the reason or the solution."

Frankly, there was nothing Severus could say to that, because he was right. It didn't mean he had to like it.

"Fine," he grumbled, glaring at the wall because he didn't want to glare at Gaunt anymore.

"Great!" Gaunt said, smiling again.

"And I assume you'll be checking in to make sure I go?" Severus asked scathingly. He found he didn't much mind the idea of Gaunt popping in every once in a while.

"Oh, I know you'll go, I don't have to push you," Gaunt said easily, and Severus was confused by the pure, easy faith. "But we will be seeing a lot more of each other, Severus—Dumbledore just hired me, after all."

And with that Gaunt strode towards the door and out of it, Severus staring after him and wondering what the hell he'd just gone through, and still curious as to how Hadrian Gaunt had entered his room.

From the first moment Sirius had Harry in his custody, he loved him.

The boy was a couple months shy of two years old, and already looked like a miniature version of James, with some of Lily's features mixed in. He was a beautiful child, and a happy one, for all the stress of the last five and a half months. Having him around, being able to raise his godson with Remus at his side—so much pain had brought them to this point, but Sirius was very grateful for what he had.

Slowly but surely, the world began to calm down. More and more Death Eaters were caught every day, each morning the Daily Prophet proclaiming a new monster locked away for good. When Sirius read about Lucius Malfoy having confessed and sentenced to Azkaban, he actually crowed with joy.

And learning that Barty Crouch Junior wasn't actually dead showed just one more instance of the system failing, like it had failed with Sirius.

Frankly, Sirius didn't know how Hadrian Gaunt was doing it. Because that was the name whispered behind everything; The pair of Barty Crouches found out? Hadrian Gaunt was the one to discover them. An awful, horribly illegal dark object found in the Lestrange vault? Hadrian Gaunt destroyed it. Gilderoy Lockhart proven to be a fake? Hadrian Gaunt ensured credit went where credit was due.

And, of course, there was the fact that he'd found Peter Pettigrew, gotten Sirius released, and gotten Harry where he was supposed to be.

It was incredible, and astounding. Almost unbelievable.

Because of all this, Sirius made sure to keep contact with the man. Hadrian always seemed awkward when he came over for dinner, like he wasn't quite sure how to act, which just made Sirius even more determined to force the other wizard into being his and Remus' friend. He needed it, Sirius was pretty sure. The guy didn't seem to have a lot of friends, simply a lot of people who respected the hell out of him.

Hadrian wasn't even twenty-six years old and yet he seemed to carry the entire universe on his shoulders. James and Lily had looked like that when they learned about the prophecy. Sirius refused to let Hadrian get lost in the cracks of saving others. The man needed to have some real fun, needed to live a little, and so Sirius roped Remus into helping him (wasn't too hard, Remus liked Hadrian too).

Without Hadrian's explicit permission, Sirius and Remus had roped the slightly older man into doing various things with them, from as regular as seeing a muggle movie to visiting a dragon enclosure. Most of the time Hadrian seemed confused, like he couldn't quite figure out why they were doing this, and other times he looked so goddamn sad. Or maybe a better term was wistful.

There wasn't a doubt in Sirius' mind that this man had lost a lot in his life.

Something surprising that came out of his new friendship with the mysterious Hadrian Gaunt was reconnecting with his cousin Narcissa. Somehow Hadrian and Narcissa seemed to be friends, and apparently Hadrian was determined to have the cousins make amends and reconnect. Narcissa was still stuck up and still had a wide variety of prejudices, but for some reason she was working on them.

It made zero sense to Sirius—how had the wife of a Death Eater gone from hateful to the core to a classy woman attempting to not sneer at Remus' existence? When had she started calling muggles by that term and not the derogatory insult dark wizards tended to prefer?

And when in Merlin's name had Narcissa reconnected with Andromeda?

Sirius hadn't spoken to so many Blacks on a friendly level in such a long time. It was the weirdest experience of his life, and he had the ability to become a dog at will!

Playdates took place between Harry and Draco. Oftentimes, Nymphadora made an appearance around them as well. It was almost...domestic. Never something Sirius would've expected from Narcissa Black Malfoy.

Sometimes, when his cousins were over with their children and everyone was actually getting along, Sirius deeply missed his brother. Regulus had been a complicated boy, a strange mix of soft and hardcore. They'd never really seen eye-to-eye, which made sense considering their very different political views. But even through everything, Regulus had still been his little brother whom he'd loved.

He wished that Regulus had come to him. When he was in over his head, when he wanted to pull out of the Death Eaters—he should've reached out to Sirius. Sirius would've dropped everything in a single instant if his baby brother needed him.

Instead, he'd been killed by Voldemort for his desertion. Or at least, that's what Sirius heard. The body had never been returned to them.

Sometimes Hadrian really reminded Sirius of Regulus. Not just because Sirius felt oddly protective of him, which he did, despite the other man being older. Hadrian was soft and yet hardcore like Regulus had been. He was such a kind person and yet there was serious metal in his bones. Sirius wished that they'd gotten a chance to meet, really. Regulus could've used a friend like Hadrian.

Hadrian coming over to their house (12 Grimmauld Place for now; Sirius and Remus were searching for another place to leave the bad memories behind) for dinner became at least a weekly event, and soon enough a couple months had passed and it was the end of July.

They'd learned that Hadrian's birthday was the 30th, just one day before Harry's own, and thus had plans to do a joint birthday party. Hadrian had offhandedly mentioned that he hadn't really had birthday parties as a kid, which had—much to Remus' fond annoyance—set off Sirius' need to do something.

So, he invited everyone he knew who knew and liked Hadrian—even Snivilus, who didn't respond to the invite—and prepared to throw him a great little party. Remus pointed out that Hadrian didn't really seem like a big party kind of person, but in Sirius' opinion everyone needed at least one fantastic celebration for their birthday.

A couple nights before the (surprise) party was a night Hadrian said he'd be over for dinner. The man was extremely punctual so it was odd when he wasn't there at seven, and then not at seven thirty, and then not at eight.

Sirius and Remus shared a worried glance. Harry babbled unconcernedly on the floor.

"Maybe he forgot?" Remus suggested, but his tone was doubtful. Hadrian didn't just forget things.

When it hit 8:30, Sirius sent a Patronus to Albus asking if Hadrian had gotten caught up in something at the school, since he'd just moved in. The response from the headmaster provided nothing, only that Hadrian had left early that morning and not returned since.

At just about nine PM, the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place creaked open and footsteps made their way down the hall, slightly sluggish. Both Sirius and Remus popped to their feet, intent on seeing who had entered their house, and stopped short at what they saw.

Hadrian looked exhausted. He was practically swaying on his feet, his eyes heavy and dull. His hair was even more of a mess than usual and his clothes were in disarray. There was even—

"Is that blood?" Remus exclaimed, darting forward. Sure enough, there were red splotches on Hadrian's collar and shirt. Sirius' eyes instinctively moved past Hadrian, seeing if the threat had followed him.

"Not mine," Hadrian mumbled, patting Remus' shoulder as the werewolf checked him over for injuries. Other than a few scratches, Sirius couldn't see anything wrong with him. "Nag..." His voice trailed off, not finishing the word, as if his brain had decided it wasn't important enough to waste the effort on.

"What happened?" Sirius demanded.

"Sorry I'm late," Hadrian said instead of answering the question. He was sagging against the wall now, his exhaustion perfectly clear. "I was going to send a letter, but my owl was out for a flight. Thought it would be rude not to provide a reasoning, so here I am..."

"You need sleep," Remus said firmly. He and Sirius shared a quick glance, nodding at each other as they reached a decision. "Whatever you got yourself into, you need to rest now. There are a million empty bedrooms upstairs; take the night, sleep in late—tomorrow's a Sunday."

Hadrian put forth halfhearted denials, but he didn't put up much of a fight as Sirius and Remus steered him upstairs, depositing him in one of the bedrooms. He'd barely been horizontal for ten seconds when he fully passed out.

"What the hell?" Sirius muttered as they made their way back downstairs. Remus had no response for him, looking just as lost.

Later that night, in the early hours of the morning, Sirius crawled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, intent on grabbing a midnight snack. A few steps from the kitchen door he pulled up short, stopped by the voices inside.

"...lease, Kreacher," Hadrian said softly.

"It's my job," the house-elf growled back. "Master Regulus entrusted it to me."

Sirius' head jerked back in shock. What?

"I know," Hadrian replied. "And I commend your loyalty, because it's truly incredible. You've done so much to honor what he would've wanted. I understand your reluctance to give it to me, after everything Regulus went through to get it. But you must understand—I can destroy it, Kreacher. I've done it before. The locket wasn't the only one made; there were others, and now there aren't." He paused. "You know what it is, yes?"

"Of course," Kreacher replied, sounding offended at the possible slight to his intelligence.

"Regulus died to take this away from Voldemort," Hadrian said gently. "You know that better than most. So let me help you complete your task, Kreacher. Let me fulfill Regulus' last wish. The wizarding world might not know what he's done for them, but we do. Let me make sure it sticks."

There were a few moments of rustling, then a metallic clinking, and then Kreacher said, "Here, then. And if you dare to betray Master Regulus' memory—"

"I won't," Hadrian said firmly. Sirius could picture his determined expression in his mind. "I'll destroy this, and complete the mission. Would you like to keep the remains of it after?"

"No," Kreacher denied. "Bad luck. Best to throw away, let it all wash behind us. Keep Master Regulus' secrets."

"Thank you."

There was some more rustling, then footsteps towards the door, and Sirius backed up a few steps, crossing his arms over his chest.

The kitchen door swung open, and Hadrian pulled up short when he spotted Sirius, his eyes going wide.

"Er, Sirius," Hadrian said awkwardly, his attempt at a smile coming off more as a wince. "Come down for a midnight snack?"

"Did you know my brother?" Sirius asked, refusing to pretend like he hadn't heard what he had. That conversation made no sense.

"No! No, of course not. I—"

"Hadrian," Sirius growled, taking a step forward. "Don't lie to me. How did you know Regulus? Why didn't you mention it? Is that why you fought to get me out of Azkaban, loyalty to my brother? Did you—"

"Sirius!" Hadrian interrupted. Sirius closed his mouth. "I never met your brother," he said. Sirius opened his mouth to argue again but Hadrian didn't give him a chance. "I didn't know him! But I knew something about him that no one else did." He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, and then jerked his chin in the direction of the living room. "Come on, this is a sitting down kind of conversation."

After a moment's hesitation, Sirius headed towards the living room. He had to admit—he was burning with curiosity. He wanted so badly to know whatever information Hadrian had about Regulus, wanted to know if he was telling the truth about Regulus dying in the fight against Voldemort, and not just for desertion.

How much did he really know about his brother? How much could Hadrian tell him?

"Tell me what's going on, Hadrian," Sirius said when they were both settled. He couldn't find it in himself to actually relax back into his seat, but Hadrian collapsed against his own, boneless and tired.

"Do you know what a Horcrux is?" Hadrian asked. Sirius thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "A Horcrux is made when you split your soul and put part of it into an object. Horcruxes are dark, dark magic, and horrifying as well. The catalyst for the spell is murder, and splitting the soul..." He grimaced. "It changes you, chips away at you. It also makes you pretty close to immortal."

Sirius felt horrified. "Are you saying Regulus—?"

"No," Hadrian immediately interrupted. He leaned forward, meeting Sirius' gaze intensely. "No, Regulus never did anything like that. But Voldemort did." He looked down, then, frowning at the floor, letting Sirius take that information in in silence for a moment.

"You were right that at one point Regulus started to want to back out of Voldemort's service, but it wasn't because he was panicking. He realized what it truly meant to be a Death Eater, and he made the incredibly brave decision to do whatever he could to ensure that Voldemort didn't get his way.

"Regulus discovered the location of one of Voldemort's Horcruxes and he went there, bringing an exact replica of the item with him. There were traps along the way, and he had to drink a basin of what was basically the Cruciatus Curse in liquid form. The willpower to do that..."

Hadrian pressed his lips into a thin line, taking a moment, and then continued. "He gave the object to Kreacher and told him to leave immediately. Kreacher did so, and Regulus went to a surrounding lake to get something cleansing to drink, but there were Inferi in the water, and they dragged him down. Ever since then Kreacher has been trying to figure out how to destroy the Horcrux, with no success.

"That is how your brother died, Sirius. Not weakness, but strength. A truly incredible amount of strength."

Sirius knew his eyes were wet, but he couldn't quite care. His little brother...Regulus had only been eighteen when he died. Eighteen, and he'd endured all that. Why hadn't he reached out? Sirius would've gone with him to get the bloody Horcrux, he would've drunk the potion in his place, he would've made damn sure Kreacher got Regulus out of there...

But for how it had gone down—Regulus had a truly incredible amount of strength indeed.

"How did you know all this?" Sirius asked. "About the Horcrux, about Regulus—did Kreacher tell you all of it? Why didn't he tell me?"

Hadrian shook his head. "Regulus swore Kreacher to secrecy, and house-elves take their vows very seriously. And hey," he continued, offering Sirius a lopsided smile, "just add this to the list of shit I somehow know and fix, like fucking Wormtail." He stood up, stretched, and turned to head for the stairs.

Wormtail? How did Hadrian know that nickname? They hadn't shared that. And really, all the things Hadrian knew, the things that you'd have to be psychic or prophetic to know. And the way he looked at Remus and Sirius, so wistful. Longing for a connection after so much loss? Or...

And his appearance.

Sirius was a slow learner, but he always reached the right conclusion in the end.

"Goodnight, Harry," Sirius said easily, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Goodnight Si—" Hadrian began, and then he froze. He didn't turn back around to face the other wizard, as if if he stayed very still Sirius would forget the revelation he'd just had.

There was so much Sirius wanted to ask, so much he wanted to say. But he could tell Hadrian (because that's who he was, now, that's who he'd chosen to be) didn't want that. The boy was exhausted, and truly carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sirius didn't need to make it any harder.

"Your parents would be so proud of the man you've become," he said quietly. "I am proud of the man you've become, and I feel privileged to know you."

A shudder ran through Hadrian's body and Sirius thought he heard something akin to a sniffle.

The animagus didn't think Hadrian was going to respond, and he was fine with that; he'd only needed the other wizard to hear it, and then they could forget it ever happened.

"Thank you," Hadrian whispered, and then he disappeared up the stairs.

Sirius' eyes were still wet, but he smiled.