Chapter Text
31 October 1981
James Fleamont Potter considered his sleeping sons and his stomach seemed to twist into knots as he worried over what course of action to take.
Keeping Henry safe was the most important issue. If any of the Death Eaters who managed to flee learned of a way to get to him, he didn’t want to imagine what would happen to the toddler.
According to Amelia Bones, they caught most of them. But he couldn’t take any risks, not at the cost of his family’s safety. He didn’t have a choice.
He lost his father and he was not ready to sacrifice more for the war.
His father…
James swallowed the lump in his throat and came to a swaying stop directly in front of Harry’s bed. On impulse, he reached his hand and straightened the blanket.
Henry refused to leave his brother’s arms and didn’t stop fussing until they agreed to let them spend the night together.
His stomach lurched and he shook his head in a bid to clear his mind.
Dumbledore’s words reverberated in his mind and he didn’t know what to make of them.
Henry was The Boy Who Loved, The Chosen One, and according to the Headmaster, Voldemort wasn’t gone yet.
He would come back and seek revenge on his youngest.
But what was he going to do with Harry?
His helplessness infuriated him and he wasn’t above begging the Deities for some help.
Harry -Hadrian- was his eldest, his Heir, his favourite. However, he didn’t know how to protect Henry without making him feel ignored or worse yet, jealous.
His stomach became queasy at the thought of Harry resenting him or Lily.
He remembered the night he held him in his arms for the first time four years ago. He was so tiny, his pale skin contrasting beautifully with his inky hair.
The moment he opened his green eyes and stared at him, he couldn’t help but lose his heart forever to his firstborn.
To harm the Father-Son bond he shared with Harry was his worst nightmare; one he could never accept, Dumbledore be damned.
With a shaking hand, he brushed the hair from his forehead and sighed. He forced himself to block all thoughts, all worries. In his heart, he knew that the future was uncertain, but he couldn’t shake off the trepidation filling him.
He stared for a long moment at Henry as he coiled himself into Harry’s arms and a wistful ache gathered in his chest.
Sirius suddenly appeared at his side. The look on his face made his breath catch in the back of his throat. He looked bloody furious.
“What’s the matter, Padfoot?” he asked alarmed.
“We need to talk, now,” his voice was low and controlled and James understood that he was raving mad.
Sirius motioned for him to follow and stalked toward the door. James was more confused by his attitude than surprised. He noticed his clenched jaw.
That was a bad sign.
Holding his ground, he glanced at his sleeping sons one last time and followed his best friend down.
What he didn’t notice were the sharp green eyes trailing his retreat.
Sirius Orion Black was blinded by rage.
At first, he was confused and his addled mind barely sorted through the words he heard.
That fateful night, he didn’t merely lose his surrogate father, the one who embraced him in his time of need and shielded him from his mother’s madness.
That night, he lost a piece of his soul. He lost faith in goodness, in friendship and in trust.
Not only did Peter Pettigrew betray his friends, but he also caused the death of Lord Potter and all that unforgivable crime trod on its heels.
Dumbledore declared Henry The Boy Who Lived, the Vanquisher of Voldemort and while they mourned the loss of a great man, Wizarding Britain celebrated the end of the nightmare.
He has never trusted Dumbledore, not really. Despite being sorted into Gryffindor, Sirius was a Black and distrust was ingrained in him since he was a child.
He never believed in embellished words nor did he pin his faith in politicians.
Dumbledore might be a good man -or as good as could be. Yet Sirius understood the man’s burden. He was the past Savior, the Vanquisher of Grindelwald thus, numerous lives depended on his choices.
Dumbledore would always work for the greater good, notwithstanding the price that must be paid.
This brought him to the reason behind his anger.
“What are you planning for Harry?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed on his brother in all that mattered.
“Sirius!” Lily breathed in a desperate voice.
“Lily, please. Let’s sort this out now,” he said, his voice laced with steel.
“Sirius, this is not the right—” Remus pleaded but he ignored his friend and stared at James.
The latter seemed not to have any idea what he meant by the question. He could see the confusion in his eyes and he closed his own and counted to ten.
“James—Prongs, I was there when Dumbledore declared Henry the Saviour, disregarding Harry’s existence. I’m worried that fame and what your son’s new title entails will damage my son,” he stated, deciding not to beat around the bush.
With a cry of rage and terror, James lunged at him and held his upper arm in a viselike grip.
“He’s my son, mine! How dare you accuse me of planning something so despicable?”
“James!” Lily let out a loud gasp.
Sirius didn’t concede. He shook his head and looked into James’ hazel eyes, eyes that were filled with so much pain and confusion.
“He’s my son, too. You made him mine the day you agreed to let me perform the Blood Ritual. I have to make sure that he’ll be safe at all times and I’m not talking about physical harm,”
“Do not tell me my responsibilities. I know them,” James barked.
Sirius took a step closer and put his hands over his friend’s shoulders. “I know,” his voice gentled as he added.
He wanted to believe his friends; he desperately needed to believe them. While his trust was shattered a few hours ago, Sirius still believed in James and Lily.
“I don’t want him to face what I—when Walburga—“ his voice was hoarse with agony and James shoved him against his chest.
“Never! This is me Padfoot; James your best mate,”
Sirius nodded and returned the hug.
“I’m sorry, Prongs. But let me tell you this: if by any chance I notice something, I will interfere. I won’t let Harry be harmed. He’s my son.”
His stormy-grey eyes sought Lily and she gave him a teary smile then nodded.
James had listened to him and pushed his accusations aside, yet Sirius wouldn’t stop worrying.
Something wouldn’t stop nagging him since Dumbledore left and if what he feared came into being, he would take matters into his own hands.
Hadrian Potter Black was his son and no one could tell him otherwise.
31 July 1983
Obeying his mother’s prompting and fearing disappointing Henry on his important day, Hadrian left the serene view of the gardens and joined the guests in the ballroom.
He stood still as he studied the vast room and could hardly believe his eyes.
A twinge of annoyance spread over his chest as he beheld faces he had never seen before.
Last year, still fearing for the family’s safety, his father decided to forgo celebrating their birthdays. They decided to keep the affair small and only Sirius, Remus and the Longbottoms attended the small party.
This year, however—
It was overwhelming.
He swallowed the bit of bitterness in his mouth and let his eyes roam the place.
The party was in full swing and the gilded chandeliers cast a soft light over the expensive artwork and the marble floor. He slowly made his way through the crowds searching for his brother.
He tried to blend in and thankfully, no one paid him any attention.
Uncertainty rioted in his chest when he came across his parents flanking Henry, waiting for him to make a wish and cut the cake.
‘They were waiting for you,’ he told himself, ‘Enzo and Belen were probably busy, that was why they didn’t call for you. Despite Dad ordering them to do so.’
Henry grinned when he noticed him and shouted. “Hawy!’’
Hadrian rushed to his brother’s side and put an arm over his shoulders. “Happy birthday, Henry.”
“Bidday!” Henry’s smile must have hurt his cheeks and his pudgy hand clutched his robes and wouldn’t let go.
“Where have you been Harry?” James asked gently.
“I—I was in the garden,” he lowered his head.
“James, you know that Harry doesn’t appreciate boisterous crowds. Come, my baby. Let’s do this together,” his mother ran her fingers through his hair and he nodded.
Sirius clapped his hands. “Right, now let’s get to the presents,’’ he winked and Henry’s eyes widened.
“Sirius, are you sure they’re—“ Frank Longbottom asked wearily and Sirius cleared his throat.
“They’re safe, I checked everything twice.”
“Good,” Frank sighed.
“Hawy, Pwesent?” Henry tugged at his robes and he took his hand, steering him toward the mountain of beautifully wrapped gifts.
His parents exchanged a worried glance, and like every time, he pretended he didn’t notice.
He stood by his brother’s side as he went through the gifts and his mind drifted to all that occurred since the night his grandfather died.
His family was slow to recover from the loss. He spent nights laying on top of the covers and looking at the ceiling as he cried himself to sleep.
Nightmares permeated Henry’s nights and more than often, he joined him clinging to his chest.
His parents sneaked into his room while he pretended to be asleep and he caught bits of their talks.
He knew that they loved him, as much as they loved Henry. However, it hurt how distraught they seemed most of the time.
His mother wouldn’t stop fearing retribution and his father worried about Voldemort’s return.
Yes, he knew that the monster who killed his Grandpa and tore his family apart was called Voldemort like he knew that one day, he would come back.
“Hawy!” Henry asked for his attention again and he started helping him sort out the presents.
His father joined them. He ruffled his hair, earning himself a frustrated groan.
“Aw, are you already obsessed with your hair, Harrikens? Please, don’t tell me that you plan to grow it out like Padfoot,” his father teased.
“Ew,” Hadrian scrunched his nose and James snorted.
“Good boy,” James chuckled then added in a low voice, ‘’you can take whatever you want, Henry is still too young to know how to handle most of this stuff.”
Hadrian shook his head at his father’s offer. He knew that Henry wouldn’t mind. But it would feel better if he taught him how to use the toys instead.
“Hawy!” Henry screeched, startling him.
He squirmed when Henry held the box he purchased for him, with Sirius’ help, a few days ago.
“Did you buy this for him?” James remarked happily.
“Yes. Sirius helped me pick up an appropriate gift for Henry’s third birthday,” Hadrian looked up at his father, his cheeks red with mortification.
James bent and kissed his forehead. “You’re a good brother, Harry. The best. Henry is lucky to have you.”
Hadrian smiled and James tilted his head, looking at the simple red box. “Would you help him wear it?”
Hadrian gasped. “But how did you know that I chose jewelry?”
James winked. “Because I know that you want to give your brother something special; something that would always remind him of you. You may think otherwise, but we’re so alike Harry. I used to pick up jewelry for Sirius’ birthdays.”
Hadrian realized that Henry was looking at him with starry eyes. Carefully, he lifted the upper lid and took out the thin silver chain.
Henry’s eyes shone with wonder when he noticed the small ruby dangling from the chain.
He wouldn’t tell his parents about the drop of blood forever encased in the stone’s heart. Sirius had warned him about mentioning it.
As Henry’s birthday approached, he asked for his godfather’s help.
He wanted something different, something—meaningful that would make Henry always remember his brother.
Sirius took him to an Enchanter shop and there, his eyes were rooted on the small pendant.
The Enchanter explained that if he would offer a drop of his blood, whoever would wear the chain, would always feel his magic, his love.
Hadrian didn’t dwindle. He extended his hand asking the Enchanter to take whatever he needed.
Despite being awfully young, he was attentive to everything going on with his family.
He knew that his parents needed to concentrate on Henry. He was Wizarding Britain’s Saviour and one day, the monster would come back and he would have to face him again.
Furthermore, he understood that he was holding two future Heirships and as Heir Black, he had duties toward his second family, toward his second father.
Ezio and Belen started teaching him the Potter traditions. They instilled in him the necessity of adhering to the Olde Ways; the ways his Grandpa lived by till he took his last breath. They were the sacred laws set by Mother Magic.
His family needed him and his brother needed him.
But House Black needed him, too.
Slowly, he put the chain around Henry’s neck and the smile he was gifted by his brother was blinding.
“Pwetty!” Henry gushed, two blotches of red adorning his cheeks.
“You have a good taste, son. I believe you inherited it from me,” James puffed up his chest and Hadrian giggled at his father’s antics.
“Stop joking around, James. Of course, he inherited his good taste from me,” Lily interjected as she joined the small party, ‘’it’s so beautiful indeed.”
Her eyes widened when she touched the pendant and frowned in concentration. Then she gave him a secret wink.
Hadrian bit his lower lip and shrugged.