Work Text
Hadrian Black had always known he was different, special… abnormal.From his earliest childhood, Hadrian had only known the four empty, beige walls of his room. He saw almost no one. The rare times he saw someone were when the house-elves brought him his meals. They never said a word, disappearing as quickly as they had come. As for his parents, he saw them even less, almost never.Since his birth, Hadrian had owned only two objects that made him feel loved. The first, a small book with a golden cover, adorned with shades ranging from the lightest to the darkest, delicate green stems winding around the pages, interspersed with red and white buds of various sizes. On the cover, engraved in elegant uppercase letters, the words formed the title: The Legends of Roses and Their True History.The second object was a hairpin made of metals Hadrian didn’t recognize. One resembled metal but was harder and had several violet reflections; the other looked like wood but was too dense and pale to be ordinary wood.It bore a bud similar to the one on the book, but larger and tinged with a deep orange, with petals at the edges turning yellow. The hairpin had something intriguing and mysterious about it, as if it contained a secret that Hadrian had never managed to unravel.The child he was often wondered why he was locked away, why he wasn’t allowed to leave or see anyone. In these moments of solitude, he found comfort in smoothing out his precious book, which became his only distraction in his room. It had become his refuge, reading over and over, never tiring of the same text.It allowed him to escape and travel beyond the dark, dull room, to traverse those mystical yet mysterious stories.At the age of four, he took his first step outside his silent, suffocating room. For the first time, he felt the warmth of a real sunbeam on his skin, not the pale rays filtering through the small window of his prison. It was the first time he saw what the rest of his house looked like and encountered a house-elf.A strange little creature with long ears and a long nose, wearing a long white, torn sweater.It was also the first time he truly met his parents, the first time he really saw them.His mother wore a black dress, made of fabric so luxurious it seemed to capture the light. The dress, elegant and flowing, fell perfectly, highlighting every curve with a natural grace. The heart-shaped neckline, adorned with delicate lace, featured embroidered gray rose patterns that appeared under certain reflections, woven with silver thread.His father, on the other hand, wore a burgundy velvet three-piece suit, perfectly tailored to his slim frame and angular shoulders. An immaculate white shirt contrasted with the richness of the velvet. The matching vest, fastened with golden metal buttons, completed his outfit.Upon seeing them, Hadrian knew they were his parents, thanks to the warmth he immediately felt after seeing them.But that feeling was quickly shattered.As soon as his mother saw him, she burst into hysterical screams, shouting words he couldn’t understand. His father, sitting at the table, remained impassive before standing and calmly calming her down.After soothing her, he stood up and approached Hadrian, who had simply tilted his head at his newly discovered mother’s strange behavior.Perhaps this was normal behavior when seeing a family member? Hadrian wondered, completely confused.His attention was brought back to the man (his father), who had knelt before him. Hadrian couldn’t help but shift his feet slightly, feeling a bit nervous.His father explained in a cold, stern voice that he had now reached the age where he needed to learn what it meant to be a true pure-blood. It was necessary to avoid tarnishing their family name.Despite not fully understanding what a pure-blood was, Hadrian nodded without hesitation. This feeling was completely new to him, a deep need for his new father’s approval, despite it being the very first time he had seen or heard him.After all, he had never seen anyone or very few (who were not human).No matter the harsh tone or lack of gentleness, Hadrian was ready for anything. After four years of solitude, of lacking affection and attention, he would have done anything for a gesture of recognition.But instead of integrating him into their world as he had hoped, his parents locked him up again, leaving him alone in his room with a few books as his only companions.At first, Hadrian didn’t understand. He thought there must be a reason, an explanation. Maybe, if he proved useful, worthy, his parents would eventually accept him.Fortunately, he was already able to read, which took a weight off his shoulders, thanks to the few books—three in total—that had allowed him to learn.Though he was disappointed to be back in his room, he was happy to have new books to read.Hadrian sought refuge in his books, as he had been told, reading them diligently. He learned everything he could and needed to learn to make his father proud of him.—————Despite his efforts, nothing ever seemed to be enough for his father. His grades, though impeccable, didn’t satisfy the man. The tests, the lessons, the complex rules of the magical world…Hadrian memorized them carefully, but his father remained unmoved. One evening, as he handed over a parchment he had checked five times, certain he hadn’t made any mistakes, whether grammatical or explanatory, his father exploded.Suddenly, his head snapped violently to the left, his body following swiftly until it hit the cold, smooth floor. A warmth flooded his cheek, and when he touched it, a slight tingling took over.Hadrian was confused. Why had his father pushed him like that? Why was his cheek warm? He searched for answers to something he didn’t understand and had never felt before.“Papa? Why did you push me?” he asked, tilting his head, his green eyes searching his father’s. “Did I do something wrong? Why is my cheek hot? Papa, why? Please, tell me…”The only response was another wave of heat, this time in his stomach, spreading throughout his body like a sinuous snake. Hadrian wanted to ask more questions, but his lips stayed sealed. His ears were buzzing, and his vision blurred, slowly overtaken by a bright red.A color that reminded him of his precious book and the buds it contained…A color that made him feel safe…Warm and beautiful…Hadrian found this color very pretty.Then, before everything went black, he thought about how beautiful the walls of his room would be if this color replaced the pale, disgusting, and boring beige. —————The next morning, as he woke up in his bed, Hadrian searched through his books for what he had felt. He discovered a word he had never seen before: pain.Curious, he read that this sensation was supposed to be unbearable, that it could bend people in half and make them cry. Yet, he didn’t understand why, in his case, he hadn’t bent. Why hadn’t his body reacted as it described in the book? Even now? Why hadn’t he felt pain?He had only felt that strange warmth.—————In the two years that followed, Hadrian felt this warmth almost every day, inflicted by his father. He soon realized that he didn’t feel any pain, only that familiar warmth. An increasing fascination with the color red, which he had discovered during those moments, took hold of him. He was happy that his father understood and allowed him to see that scarlet hue almost every day.Hadrian always thanked his father with a big smile, asking again and again to show him more. He wanted more, always more of that beautiful crimson color, which he found so lovely.He wanted to bathe in it and be buried beneath it, to be smothered and engulfed by it.He wanted more.What he never understood was why his father would give him a wide-eyed look, filled with something dark he couldn’t comprehend, before leaving the room hastily, without a word.One day, after begging him for the thousandth time to show him more of that captivating red, Hadrian was locked in his room for months. He was now deprived of the hue he loved so much, seeing not a single drop of that precious liquid.Then, one day, while he was once again lost in the world of his little hidden book, Hadrian cut himself on the page. Instantly, like a magnet, his eyes followed the red liquid flowing from the small wound, fascinated. He watched it slowly fall onto the cover of his bed, hypnotized by the beauty of the color he had missed so much over the past few weeks.Hadrian stared at the liquid with such intensity that everything around him seemed to disappear. Only he and the red remained. He slowly raised his finger to his lips and licked the scarlet drop, curious.The metallic texture filled his mouth with a hint of apple, and he shivered. This taste was new, fascinating, and comforting.A smile spread across his lips. For the first time in those endless weeks of reading and homework, Hadrian found this color and the sense of safety he adored so much.It was in him, springing from his own skin. He no longer needed his father to see it, to feel it. It was there, present in his body.He repeated the action several times, running his finger over the cut to extract every tiny drop of red. With each drop, his heart raced a little faster, and a strange feeling of warmth and intensity rose within him, giving him butterflies in his stomach. Until the cut no longer produced any liquid, even though he continued pressing.“Why deprive me of this?” he wondered. It was so simple. He didn’t understand why his father forbade him to see it, why he locked him away. Perhaps he didn’t want Hadrian to discover that he could produce this wonder on his own? Or that he wanted it to be only him who made Hadrian’s body bleed?Hadrian didn’t know what the answer was, but for now, that was not what worried him.He wanted more.His eyes searched for something, anything that would allow him to cut himself again and make that warm liquid flow once more, giving him that intense feeling again.His gaze landed on an object in the room: a small desk knife lying on the wooden surface. His trembling fingers slowly reached for it and grasped it.The cold metal in his hand sent a shiver of excitement, but also anticipation, through him. Hadrian took a deep breath, gently lifted the blade toward his skin, and traced a light line along his forearm. A thin red line appeared almost immediately, and his smile widened.Hadrian’s euphoric sensation was so powerful and pure that it pressed against the barriers of his mind, a fiery warmth rising through his entire body.He even ignored the small heat in his hand.This beautiful feeling vanished far too quickly for his liking. So, he cut himself again, drawing a deep line across his arm, and immediately, the joy returned.The precious liquid flowed slowly down his arm, gliding over his pale skin before falling in silent drops onto the floor. Hadrian watched, mesmerized, as his own blood formed small crimson puddles at his feet.“It’s so beautiful,” he murmured.He then ran his tongue along the cut, purely out of curiosity, to see if the taste would be as captivating and good as it had been on his finger.His mouth quickly filled with the delicious liquid, and his heart began to race wildly. His head tipped back under the sudden, intense wave of happiness.With a trembling hand, he brought it to his mouth, still lost in the ecstasy of the moment.His magic buzzed around him, reacting to his intense emotions. Hadrian thought again about how beautiful his room would be if the walls were the same dark red as the blood flowing through his body.He felt a slight stretch in his lower stomach, and when he finally turned his head, he saw his room: the walls had become as red as the blood coursing through his veins.A smile appeared on his soft lips.He tried again to recreate the sensation of tension by focusing, which was a bit difficult since his head was still a little fuzzy, but he succeeded nonetheless, and it was his bed that changed. The covers and sheets, once stiff, dull, and drab, were now thick, soft, but most importantly, red.Hadrian lay down on his brand-new bed and rubbed against the warm, fluffy blankets, ignoring the red trail that followed his body and seemed unwilling to stop.Soon enough, Hadrian found sleep, quicker than usual. He fell asleep with a smile on his lips, immersed in a dream filled with deep red and warmth.—————It wasn’t until 15 months and 122 days later that his father remembered he existed and came to fetch him, acting as if he hadn’t locked him in his room for over a year.Hadrian was dragged by the firm grip of his father out of his room, his feet sliding across the floor without resistance, before being mercilessly thrown into the living room. He landed heavily on the carpet, but as always, he felt nothing—only a vague warmth where his body had hit the ground.He slowly lifted his head, his long hair scattered in front of his face, and immediately locked eyes with his mother. Her eyes were cold, full of disgust, and she made no effort to hide her contempt. Hadrian didn’t understand why she was looking at him like that. He hadn’t done anything wrong—at least, nothing he could remember.Beside her stood an unfamiliar woman, dressed in a witch’s robe. But instead of the usual black of wizard robes, this one was a pristine beige and white, as if the slightest stain would be an offense. Her face was stern, her lips tightly pressed, and she scrutinized Hadrian as if she were examining a specimen under a microscope.Still lying on the cold floor, Hadrian fixed the woman with a piercing gaze. She wore a beige robe, a color he instinctively hated, too close to the boring monotony of the walls in his room, dull and lifeless. Just that color was enough to spark an immediate aversion in him.“She would be so much prettier covered in red,” Hadrian thought to himself, a soft but unsettling smile hovering on his lips.His gaze drifted to the woman’s beige and white robe, imagining it splattered with a vibrant, warm color—the shade he cherished so much. The deep red he longed to see flowing once again, covering everything around him, even her.A familiar sensation stirred in his lower stomach, a dull warmth that spread within him, followed almost immediately by outraged screams.Hadrian didn’t have time to react before a firm hand grabbed his wrist again, yanking him violently out of the room where the shrill, high-pitched cries still echoed. His body was abruptly thrown forward, but all he could feel was this strange satisfaction.A smile stretched across his small lips, a soft giggle rising from the depths of his throat. He barely managed to suppress it.The woman’s robe… it was now entirely red.—————Later, Hadrian saw her again. She was still wearing the red robe, but this time, her face was red too, burning with anger. She shot him dark, resentful glares.Hadrian didn’t understand. She should be happy he changed that horrible pale color into something more vibrant, especially if it was dark red.He was dragged onto a small raised platform. In this new room, the stranger pulled out a strange ribbon that seemed to have a life of its own. It floated in the air, twirling around him, wrapping around his shoulders, arms, legs, every part of his body. Hadrian shivered as he felt the ribbon’s touch against his skin, sometimes sensing warmth in places where it passed.But he remained silent, more curious about why this woman was here.Then, with a flick of her wand, the woman conjured several fabrics before his eyes, flying and rapidly changing shape. Hadrian recognized some of them almost immediately: Acromantula silk, heavy and solid; fairy silk, light and sparkling; soft cotton, linen, and Augurey wool. Other materials passed so quickly in front of him that he didn’t have time to identify them all.Why all these fabrics? Hadrian wondered, both curious and puzzled. He still didn’t know what they were for, but a wave of excitement began to rise within him, overtaking his initial confusion.————— A few minutes later, Hadrian was pulled out of the room once again, still by the same harsh grip of his father. Looking down, he noticed purple and blue bruises beginning to form where his wrists had been crushed by the man’s force.They looked like violets and linens.He was dressed in a dark blue evening robe, and though he hadn’t paid much attention to the fabric, he already knew he didn’t like the color. Blue seemed cold, distant, lacking the vibrant life he sought.She would be so much more beautiful covered in red, Hadrian thought.The woman’s robe… it was now completely red.————— Later, Hadrian saw her again. She was still wearing that red robe, but this time, her face was also red, burning with anger. She shot him dark looks.Hadrian didn’t understand. She should be happy he changed that horrible pale color into something more vibrant, especially if it was a deep red.He was dragged onto a small raised circle. In this new room, the stranger took out a strange ribbon that seemed to have a life of its own. It rose into the air, swirling around him, wrapping around his shoulders, arms, legs, every part of his body. Hadrian shivered at the contact of the ribbon against his skin, sometimes feeling warmth where it passed.But he stayed silent, wondering instead why this woman was here.Then, with a flick of her wand, the woman made several fabrics appear in front of his eyes, flying and quickly changing shape. Hadrian immediately recognized some of them: Acromantula silk, heavy and solid; fairy silk, light and shimmering; soft cotton, linen, and Augurey wool. Other materials passed so quickly before him that he didn’t have time to identify them all.Why all these fabrics? Hadrian wondered, curious but also puzzled. He still didn’t know what they were for, but a wave of excitement started to settle in him, overcoming his initial confusion.—————A few minutes later, Hadrian was dragged out of the room again, still by his father’s firm grip. Looking down, he noticed bruises forming in shades of purple and blue where his wrists had been crushed by the man’s strength.It looked like violets and linens.He was dressed in a dark blue evening robe, and although he hadn’t paid attention to the fabric, he already knew he didn’t like the color. Blue seemed cold, distant, devoid of the vibrant life he was searching for.It would look so much better covered in red, Hadrian thought.This time, he barely managed to hold himself back.He was unceremoniously led to the fireplace, already lit. His mother walked past him without a word, only giving him a look of disgust, leaving him alone with his father. The latter bent down to his level, his hand heavy on his shoulder.“We’re going to a ball for your distant cousin Orion’s birthday. Remember the good manners required of a member of the Black and Prewett families,” he said in a sharp tone before standing up.Hadrian nodded automatically, not really understanding what he was supposed to do or say, but recalling the lessons he had been given.Still, his mind was elsewhere, far from his father’s concerns. He was wondering what his cousin looked like, someone who had been nonexistent to him until recently. As he was about to step into the green flames of the fireplace, his father added, “Don’t embarrass us.”The words echoed in his mind as the green flames engulfed him, making him spin and float in a strange void. He felt light, almost like a feather, before abruptly landing on a hard surface. He would have probably fallen if his father hadn’t kept a firm hand on his shoulder.Hadrian murmured a faint “thank you,” but his father paid him no attention. As he surveyed the room, Hadrian was overwhelmed by a deep sense of boredom. The hall they had just entered was imposing, adorned with black and silver tapestries, the colors of the Black family. Guests in lavish gowns whispered among themselves, forming small, scattered groups. Classical music was being played by a small band of musicians at the far end.But for Hadrian, all of this lacked any life.But above all, everything was so loud.The dark blue of his robe weighed heavily on him, just like the sophisticated atmosphere that surrounded him. He longed for something else, for that color so bright, so alive, the color he couldn’t forget.The voices around him seemed to fade, turning into mere murmurs.Hadrian lost himself in his thoughts, beginning to imagine the faces of the guests, their eyes starting to spill dark red liquid, escaping from their empty sockets. The blood slowly dripped, tracing crimson lines down their pale cheeks and sliding onto their perfectly groomed clothes.The liquid didn’t stop there. It also poured from their ears and noses in thin scarlet streams, drowning them in a sea of red. Their skin, so perfectly smooth and pale, took on a reddish hue, turning into a uniform surface stained with the same shade he found so beautiful.Hadrian lightly bit his lip, stifling a smile. They would be so much more interesting this way, he thought. Hadrian had to hold back his magic (again) from executing his desire. If he let it go, he knew he’d be locked away in his room again, left alone to waste away.He was snapped from his thoughts by his father, who was guiding him toward a small group of other men dressed in sophisticated wizard robes.—————Hadrian was eventually left in a corner, alone, after being dragged from group to group by his father’s firm grip. At first, he had felt a certain excitement. He would finally meet other people besides his parents or the house-elves, a prospect that had made him shiver with anticipation.But that excitement didn’t last long.Quickly, he realized that as soon as his father had briefly introduced him, he was forgotten. He was ignored, set aside like an inconvenient piece of furniture, and his father dragged him continually to new groups, where the same scenario unfolded: quick greetings, forced smiles, then oblivion.Hadrian, who perhaps hoped for conversations or recognition, soon found himself disillusioned. None of the adults really cared about him. They would turn their gaze away after a few seconds, as if his presence didn’t even warrant sustained attention. He was just another Black, a shadow among those lavish robes.“Who are you?” a childish voice asked to his left.Turning his head, Hadrian found another boy leaning casually against a pillar, watching him with visible curiosity.He was dressed in black velvet evening robes with golden embroidery. His high, stiff collar added a touch of sophistication, while fine leather gloves completed the ensemble.The other boy’s face was well-defined for such a young age, with high cheekbones and piercing dark gray eyes. His jet-black hair was swept back, slightly wavy.If Hadrian had to guess, he would say this child was a Black like him, and judging by how he was dressed for a mere birthday, he also assumed he was the guest of honor at this ball.Noticing he still hadn’t responded to the question, he said, “I’m Hadrian Black. You must be Orion Black, am I wrong?”“Is it that obvious?” replied the supposed Orion, taking a sip from the champagne glass he was holding in his hand. (It surprised him that such a young child was drinking alcohol, but Hadrian quickly dismissed the thought.)Hadrian responded with a soft hum, already slipping back into his thoughts, distancing himself from the conversation that now seemed boring. In any case, he had never been good at small talk, especially not with someone his age. After all, he had never met another child until today.Orion stepped forward, leaning slightly toward him. “You don’t talk much, do you?”Hadrian merely hummed again, his mind elsewhere, drifting back into his thoughts.Orion stared at him for a moment, his expression somewhere between amusement and curiosity. “You’re really strange, Hadrian Black.”“I’ve been told that before,” Hadrian replied in a flat, yet soft tone.A slightly uncomfortable silence settled after those words. Orion, still standing beside him, was watching him, clearly waiting for his cousin to continue the conversation. But when he realized that wasn’t going to happen, he sighed, visibly disappointed.Hadrian could feel the young Black’s piercing gaze on him, trying to analyze his strange behavior, trying to understand why he seemed so distant, so… different. But that didn’t interest him. His mind was already drifting elsewhere, far from this pointless discussion.Orion opened his mouth, about to say something, but stopped when he saw Lord Prewett approaching.“Lord Prewett, pleasure to meet you,” Orion said politely, bowing slightly. Straightening up, he put on an impassive mask, as was expected of a pureblood heir.Hadrian’s father nodded, his deep voice resonating in the room, lost in the surrounding chatter: “Pleasure to meet you as well, Heir Black. I hope you’re enjoying your ball. Unfortunately, we must leave, my son and I. My apologies.”Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Hadrian’s shoulder and guided him firmly toward the hall, where the fireplaces were.Hadrian let himself be led without a word, as usual, his hand clenched under his father’s firm grip.At the last moment, just before they reached the doors leading to the hall, a memory flashed across his mind. He turned toward the other boy, who was watching him with furrowed brows, looking perplexed. With silent movements, Hadrian formed the words on his lips.“Happy birthday.”But he didn’t have time to see if Orion understood. A few seconds later, he was swallowed up by the green flames of the fireplace, leaving him behind.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Until he was ten, Hadrian was taken to several important pure-blood events: balls, galas, birthdays, and others. Over the years, he had learned to blend in, without truly participating.Sadly, Hadrian never again asked his father for that scarlet liquid he had loved so much. Now, he could make himself bleed on his own. However, he felt that those bloody moments had created a kind of bond between him and his father, and he was deeply disappointed that they could no longer share those moments together.He would have liked to have had similar moments with his mother, but she flatly refused to get close to him.As the years passed, Hadrian realized that he was very different from the others and that he inspired a certain fear in them. Only one child had continued to speak to him, although Hadrian often listened only with a distracted ear.Despite the few times they saw each other, Orion Black had become a way for him to see society and the magical world with new eyes, outside the window of his room.Hadrian had learned certain things about the world, whether it was about magic, food, customs, important pure-bloods, and even politics.He had also noticed that his parents were not very happy to see him talking to Orion. As soon as they realized, they would come and take him away, repeating that he must not bring shame upon them in front of others.Hadrian never really understood how he could dishonor his family by talking to another Black, especially one who was the heir to the family.Thus, he quickly dismissed his father’s and mother’s strange behavior, thinking that he must be doing something wrong by speaking with his cousin. He still hadn’t figured out what his mistake was.Whenever he could, he would escape from the gazes and conversations, seeking refuge in a garden at the back. Hidden behind many flower beds and bushes, he discovered several flowers of deep red, the same ones he cherished so much and that were in his little book.He remembered reading that these beautiful flowers were called roses._________Just like many times before, Hadrian wandered through an unknown garden, hidden behind the beds of red roses. Here, far from the critical eyes and noisy sounds, he finally felt free to breathe. The scarlet petals reminded him of that familiar, almost comforting sensation of the warm liquid flowing from his veins.Kneeling near a bush, he reached out towards a rose. The sharp, threatening thorns didn’t scare him; on the contrary, they drew him in. He let his finger slide over one of them, and the fine tear of his skin was immediately followed by a drop of blood, blending perfectly with the scarlet petals.He remained there, motionless, savoring this strange tranquility. The garden seemed like a sanctuary, and these flowers, silent allies, understood what he felt. They evoked in him a warmth and strange peace, a deep bond that he didn’t fully understand.The rustling of footsteps behind him broke the tranquil atmosphere.“You seem deep in thought, cousin.”Orion’s soft, controlled voice echoed in the garden, slightly disturbing Hadrian, who straightened without turning around.“I knew I’d find you here,” Orion continued, approaching, his gaze falling on the roses. “You’re always searching for that Red that obsesses you, aren’t you?”It wasn’t a real surprise that the other boy knew about his obsession with the color red. Hadrian gently nodded, still watching the rose, his fingers stained with red.“How did you find out?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, but loud enough to pierce the silence of the garden.Orion, without responding directly, knelt beside him and picked a rose with surprising delicacy. He turned his gaze towards Hadrian, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips.“You’re not as discreet as you think, Hadrian. Besides, I’m sure you already knew I knew about your strange obsession,” he replied calmly, observing the rose bed in turn.Hadrian tilted his head slightly, curious. The word “obsession” echoed in his mind. He mentally noted to look up this word when he got home. Despite his many books, Hadrian still had some difficulty with certain words and definitions.Silence fell softly between them, Hadrian and Orion sitting next to each other, surrounded by bright roses. The silence, only disturbed by the rustling of leaves under the light breeze and the buzzing of insects creating a soft melody, while the heavy scent of flowers lingered in the air, calming Hadrian’s mind.A few fireflies began to dance around them, their tiny green lights flickering in the twilight, creating an almost magical atmosphere. Their glows briefly illuminated the contours of the bushes and roses, casting moving shadows that seemed to dance to the rhythm of silent music.Orion broke the silence again, his voice, slightly weak, resonating in the garden, with a somewhat hesitant tone.“If you want… we could exchange letters?”Hadrian slowly turned his head towards him and blinked, surprised by this sudden proposal.He knew, of course, about the concept of correspondence by letter, but no one had ever suggested exchanging them before. His wide green eyes fixed on Orion, unable to hide the astonishment that overtook him.After all, they barely knew each other. Their relationship had been limited to brief encounters during the events their families organized, where they never had the time to truly talk, except for a few minutes when Orion came to speak to him.Every time they seemed to get close, his parents quickly separated him from Orion, as if they didn’t want Hadrian to meet anyone other than them.Orion began to fidget, uncomfortable under Hadrian’s intense gaze, which continued to scrutinize him in silence.“You know, it’s just a suggestion,” Orion clarified, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. “You don’t have to… really. I just wanted to… get to know you a little better. But—but if you don’t want to, it’s fine! I promise, it won’t hurt me.”Orion’s voice, usually calm and controlled, now wavered, unstable and trembling. The boy with the gray eyes seemed disoriented by Hadrian’s silent insistence, as if each passing second was pushing him to justify himself more, without even knowing why.Orion didn’t understand why he felt so vulnerable under his cousin’s gaze. Maybe Hadrian’s emerald eyes really were magical, able to see into his soul more deeply than he dared admit?“Alright.”Orion’s head jerked up quickly, snapping him out of his thoughts, looking at Hadrian, clearly disoriented by what Hadrian had just said.“What…?”“I’ll exchange letters with you.”Hadrian watched as Orion’s shoulders, tense, relaxed immediately at his answer. The relief in the other boy was palpable and very visible (not very dignified for a pure-blood), but Hadrian didn’t linger on it. Lowering his head again, he turned his attention back to the roses in front of him. Slowly, with an almost supernatural delicacy, he plucked another flower and placed it between his pale, blood-stained little hands.He didn’t understand the new sensation swirling in his stomach. It was foreign, inexplicable. It resembled the pain he knew so well, but instead of prickling at the surface of his skin, it was happening inside him. The tingling was diffuse and sweet, almost intoxicating, a bittersweet mixture that filled his being.And yet, it was not unpleasant. On the contrary, it was almost pleasant, like a tension building in his veins, something that brought a sense of anticipation.A slow smile formed on his rosy lips. His hand tightened around the stem of the rose, the sharp thorns slicing into his delicate skin, opening new cuts. Fresh blood trickled down in small dark-red beads along his fingers, but Hadrian seemed unconcerned. He brought the rose closer to his face, burying his nose in the petals, inhaling the delightful scent mixed with blood and floral notes.The warm liquid flowed in thin streams along his forearm, sliding onto his evening gown, staining the fabric carefully chosen by his parents. But Hadrian paid no attention, absorbed by this strange sense of satisfaction.Hadrian could feel Orion’s gaze fixed on him and his hands, but he said nothing, allowing the silence to stretch once more between them.Hadrian’s gaze, on the other hand, remained fixed on the rose, as if he found something fascinating in its scarlet petals.The silence fell, heavy and peaceful at the same time, enveloping the two boys in a bubble of tranquility. Around them, only the sounds of nature dared disturb this stillness. The rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze, the buzzing of insects in the grass, and the soft chiming of fireflies dancing around them formed a discreet symphony, rocking their thoughts.Each lost in his own reflections, seemed as distant as they were close, sharing a moment where words were unnecessary.It was Hadrian, still holding the rose, who broke the silence this time.“I have to go… They’re looking for me. They seemed quite upset, I wonder why.”He stood up casually, brushing off the petals and dirt that had clung to his clothes with a wave of his hand. Then, without a backward glance, he joined his parents who were waiting a little further away, their faces marked by an unmistakable displeasure.He completely forgot that he had left Orion alone in the garden.__________Hadrian found himself in his room, bathed in shades of red and orange, busy placing vibrant red roses in an elegant gray marble vase, speckled with hints of olive green. He admired the beauty of the vase, though of course, no color compared to red in his eyes.A faint scratching sound suddenly drew his attention to the window. A majestic and imposing brown and white owl waited patiently on the sill. Hadrian, curious, moved towards it and opened the window, allowing the creature to enter the room and settle on his dark wooden desk.The owl watched him in silence, its large, bright eyes fixed on him, as if evaluating him. Slowly, Hadrian extended his hand, letting his fingers gently glide over the thick, silky feathers of the bird, enjoying the sturdy texture of its plumage.The little ball of feathers let out a low hoot, as if embarrassed to let go, rubbing against Hadrian’s hand, clearly asking for more attention. Then, as if remembering its main mission, the owl extended its leg towards him, where a piece of parchment was tied, and regained its proud, upright position.Amused by the owl’s behavior, Hadrian gently untied the string securing the letter. As soon as he touched the paper, he could tell it was made of high-quality material, and the Black family seal on it confirmed his suspicions.He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes scanning the emblem, which he lightly touched with his fingertips. Then, with his desk knife, which he retrieved from the drawer, Hadrian felt a wave of nostalgia.This simple object sparked intense memories in him. He could already feel a thrill of desire course through his body, imagining the blade slicing through his pale skin, creating a deep gash from which blood would slowly escape, spilling over his skin.The mere thought of this red liquid, its warmth, made him salivate with impatience. Hadrian bit his lip, his face growing warmer as his thoughts took shape, his breathing becoming more irregular. His hand tightened around the knife.Automatically, as if by instinct, he directed the blade towards his arm. He felt the coldness of the metal, its hardness against his tender skin. Then, gently, he pressed a little harder, watching as the skin whitened under the pressure… and then… and then…A hoot interrupted Hadrian’s thoughts. A wave of dull frustration rose within him. It was so close, so tangible. The cold blade against his skin, the sweet promise of imminent relief and an intense pleasure… and now, it was all fading. The warm liquid would not flow.Not for now.The air around him crackled and hummed, the room’s atmosphere seemed to grow thicker and more humid. Hadrian closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the familiar warmth that enveloped him. It was a gentle caress, a whisper that stirred memories of freedom within him.Magic pulsed, vibrating through his body, giving him the feeling of being both light and grounded, like a taut rope ready to snap. The colors around him seemed to become more vivid, blending into one another.He could almost see it, an ethereal glow in his mind, a promise of what he could accomplish. This sensation brought him closer to his essence, immersing him in a flow of exhilarating and unsettling sensations. Almost similar to that of the red leaving his body in abundance at times.More frantic hoots, higher pitched, echoed, pulling him back, unfortunately, to reality and his initial goal. He sighed, disappointed, before gently releasing the knife, letting it fall onto the desk, emitting a dull metallic sound.He turned his attention back to the parchment he still held in his other hand. Calmly, with a slight curiosity, he tore open the wax seal and unfolded the letter, his eyes gliding over the words written with cold, refined elegance.His suspicion about the sender of the letter was confirmed: it was indeed a letter from Orion Black.At the same time, Hadrian didn’t know any other member of the Black family, apart from his parents and Orion, with whom he had conversed only once.However, what surprised him was the simplicity of the content. There was only one sentence, concise, followed by a signature.Dear Hadrian,I look forward to starting to correspond with you, dear cousin.Orion BlackHeir to the noble and ancient Black family.A discreet smile tugged at the corners of Hadrian’s lips. He lit a candle, and without further ceremony, held the letter above the flames. Once consumed, he placed it in a small ceramic container, watching the ashes form in almost solemn silence.Hadrian’s smile widened as he absentmindedly caressed the owl’s feathers, which had suddenly become silent and still. He rested his chin on his palm, his green eyes dreamy.Oh, how he couldn’t wait to see what would come next.__________After that day, a lively exchange of letters began between Hadrian and Orion. They talked about everything: mundane topics like what they had done that week, what they liked or disliked, books, Hogwarts, but also deeper discussions, such as potion making, politics, spells, and much more.Although most of these subjects didn’t truly interest Hadrian, he found it refreshing to be able to talk to someone and exchange thoughts on various themes.But… like all good things, it eventually came to an end.One day, as Hadrian was about to reply to a letter from Orion, he felt a swift presence approaching his door.Hadrian didn’t have time to set down his quill and hide the letter before the door suddenly swung open, slamming against the wall with a loud crash. His father entered the room, his face twisted with rage, closely followed by his mother, her expression filled with disdain.“How dare you defy us! We warned you not to go near the Blacks! Especially not Orion!” his father hissed, his voice distorted with anger.Hadrian tilted his head slightly to the side. His green eyes studied his father emotionlessly. It was the first time in years he had seen his father lose his temper.He didn’t quite understand this sudden outburst of rage. It was just a simple letter. Nothing more. Yet, he could see the veins bulging on his father’s forehead, and his mother stood just behind, her face as tense as his father’s.“What do you hope for, huh?” His mother’s cold voice cut through the air like a blade. “That someone will save you? That the Blacks will accept you?”They had no idea what was going on in his head. Hadrian wasn’t seeking salvation or acceptance. That wasn’t it. His eyes wandered, lost in the dance of the candle’s flame, fascinated by the hypnotic movements of the shadows. All of this was beyond them.“Why would I ask them for help?” Hadrian asked, his voice clear. And it seemed that Hadrian said something that displeased them, for his father lunged at the letter in his hand with a deep, guttural cry, tearing it apart in fury.The scraps of parchment fell to the floor like dead leaves, but Hadrian only saw lines and dark stains mixing together, creating a whirlwind of black and white.“You are nothing but a mistake, Hadrian. A mistake we should have never let grow, let alone live this long!” His father’s shout should have hurt him, but Hadrian felt nothing. No anger, no sadness, just an unfathomable void. Dark and empty.His mother advanced, her threatening silhouette blocking the flickering light. Her breath grew icy as she spat with palpable disgust, “I’m tired of sharing our air with you. You’re a monster. You should die!”His mother’s words slithered through the air like venomous snakes. But Hadrian, he didn’t really hear them. He merely watched, as one watches shadows on a wall. He should have been afraid, should have felt something, anything, but all he felt was that emptiness… an emptiness that slowly consumed him.Enraged by his silence, his father quickly closed the distance between them, and before Hadrian could react, a brutal slap exploded across his cheek. The heat of it raced through his face like lightning, but something within him welcomed it. It was familiar. Warm. Almost comforting.His father’s fist came down again, but Hadrian still only felt that familiar warmth, that soft burn beneath his skin. The blow sent him staggering, his frail body crashing to the ground with a dull thud. His hands, covered in scratches, grasped the cold floor.The taste of apple, the taste of his own blood, flooded his mouth, and he felt a small drop make its way down his lower lip.A soft chuckle escaped his throat, a light, almost joyful sound. He ran his tongue over his lip, savoring the taste of apple, which always brought him this comforting feeling. He loved this sensation, this warmth that the blood left behind, like a promise of sweetness.Hadrian could see his father’s lips moving, but the words seemed to come from afar, too far to matter. As if he were underwater.His mother also began to speak, but Hadrian heard nothing. Why were they yelling? He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just a simple letter, after all. And then, there was the red. That beautiful red that flowed across his fingers, and everything felt so… calm.His father, furious at his silence, grabbed him by the hair and yanked him violently towards him. In the movement, the barrette he wore fell to the floor, making a metallic clink that echoed through the room, freezing the moment. The sound seemed to stop time, and suddenly, everything became silent.Hadrian’s mother turned her head, drawn to the sound, and before he could react, she bent down and picked up the barrette. Her delicate fingers tightened around it, examining it under the flickering candlelight. Hadrian wanted to reach out to retrieve it, but a new blow sent him rolling further away, spreading new warmth through his body.A mocking smile spread across his mother’s thin lips as she raised the object before her eyes, her nails gliding over the metallic surface with almost cruel precision. “Well, well, what do we have here?” she gloated, her tone filled with sick satisfaction. “Did you make this? Impossible, it’s too beautiful to be from you.”She turned the barrette between her fingers, her eyes sparkling with mocking delight. “I’m sure you stole it.”Hadrian blinked, confused. He didn’t understand why his mother seemed so pleased by this discovery. But one thing was clear, he didn’t like the barrette being in the disgusting hands of this woman.“I think I’ll keep it after all. It’s quite pretty, it will make a nice addition to my jewelry collection,” she chuckled, her high-pitched laugh echoing through the room like the dying cry of a spider.The air suddenly grew heavier, almost suffocating. The scent of wet earth, of petrichor, filled the room, making it difficult to breathe.Hadrian felt his muscles tense, his body stiffen under the invisible pressure surrounding him. His breath quickened, his heart beating so loudly that it felt like it was about to burst.He could hear the blood pounding against his temples, flowing through his veins, each pulse becoming a deafening echo in his head. His ears buzzed, as if the whole world was closing in on him. His fingers clenched, but deep down, he still felt no pain, only that familiar warmth rising, ready to burst, and something more… Wild.Hadrian froze, his eyes wide as the sensation built within him. It was strange, almost disturbing, not at all the comforting warmth he was used to. This time, it was… more intense, burning like an uncontrollable fire. Something in his stomach churned, even growled, and he furrowed his brow, confused.Ah… Hadrian realized, this wasn’t just anger. It was annoyance too.The warmth he had felt before when his father struck him started to become bothersome, just like his mother’s behavior toward him.His parents irritated him. His mother’s hands on his precious barrette irritated him. His father’s voice irritated him. Being confined irritated him. Trying to understand his father and mother irritated him.Everything irritated him in this house. These parents, these objects, these house-elves, these walls, these colors, this magic.The whole world would be so much more beautiful in red, he thought, his mind beginning to blur.But this time, it wasn’t the same. This red, this thing he felt inside, it wasn’t euphoria. No… it was violent, untamed, as if everything had to explode. Why… why was his mother laughing? Why dared she touch his barrette, his beautiful object?He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, but he felt no pain. Only the pressure in his mind, that oppressive feeling. “Red…” he repeated inwardly. Why weren’t they all red? Why didn’t his father bleed? Neither did his mother?They should all be in red. Everything would be so much better in red....Then, a blinding light enveloped the room, bathing its occupants in an immaculate and pure glow. The piercing screams and the sounds of splashing were swallowed by this oppressive clarity, leaving silence to reign supreme.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
On the islands of Great Britain, a torrential rain hammered the ground, almost vengeful. The sky, once clear, had darkened with thick, grey clouds since the start of the day, suffocating any light and turning a promising morning into a bleak and melancholic scene. However, it wasn’t unusual for the weather to change so abruptly at this time of year. The locals, resigned, had gotten used to it. Cries of frustration and sobs erupted as children were torn from their games and brought inside, away from the icy gusts of wind that bit relentlessly. In just minutes, the streets, which had been filled with laughter and activity moments before, emptied. The glistening cobblestones, reflecting the turbulent sky, gave the city an eerie air of abandonment. From above, it seemed deserted, frozen under the weather. Only hurried silhouettes, battling against the wind, rushed towards a warm refuge. Yet, on the wizarding side of the world, the atmosphere was completely different. Unlike the empty, silent streets of the Muggle world, those of the magical world were lively and vibrant with joy. Thanks to spells cast wisely at the beginning of the day on their clothes, the water didn’t touch them, but rather slid around their magical shield like water on a duck’s feathers. The less fortunate, who hadn’t protected themselves in time, had to quickly find shelter to avoid getting soaked. Once dry, and this time with a waterproof charm on them, they walked away with a bitter taste in their mouths, under the amused gazes of the other wizards around them. Voices and music filled the alley, covering the sound of water droplets meeting their brief end on the ground. Excited children paid no mind to the rain, too busy pressing their noses against the colorful windows of the shops in Diagon Alley. Their parents, more amused than worried, watched them with a lenient and watchful eye. As for the last-minute families, they ran from shop to shop to buy their children’s school supplies. That evening, wizard families enjoyed their last moments with their young children, some even offering carefully wrapped farewell gifts. Mothers embraced their children with emotion, whispering sweet words, while their fathers gave them a warm hug, their eyes filled with pride. Some parents wished them a good trip with broad smiles, while others simply nodded or gave a pat on the shoulder, concealing their discomfort at letting their children go under an impassable mask, void of emotion. ————— Greece, the cradle of ancient civilizations, lay under a bright blue sky, illuminated by a radiant sun. The air was warm, filled with the scents of salt and ripe olives. Despite the scorching midday heat, the air remained breathable thanks to the cool, salty breeze brought by the sea. It was a perfect day to have fun, take care of the goods, and enjoy the mild weather. Everything seemed perfect, frozen in a deceptive harmony. For far from the golden beaches and carefree laughter, a solitary island slept in the shadow of the Aegean Sea. There, the wind did not caress. It bit. It howled like a hungry beast, rushing through the cliffs and raising vengeful waves. The sea, once clear and welcoming, now raged with capricious storms. Sailors avoided these waters. Those who were foolish enough to venture there never returned from the cold, deadly abyss of this sea. And yet, this island had not always been like this. Once, it was a sanctuary, a refuge for lost souls. Its shores, far from being hostile, welcomed a unique people: wizards and witches, cut off from both the Muggle world and even the magical world. Banned for their rituals deemed barbaric and impious, they were neither conquerors nor hiding in fear. Despite the misunderstanding and rejection of their culture, they continued to celebrate magic, to venerate it, to speak to it as to a friend. Here, it was alive. Pulsing. Filled with warmth and feelings of belonging. An entity as natural as the air they breathed. Over the years, the island became a haven for those fleeing society. Wizards seeking refuge, rejected souls, beings in search of something greater than what their world could offer. Whether wizards, Muggles, or creatures of all kinds, the island welcomed them with open arms, offering them a new family to love. But those who came to learn, fascinated by their knowledge and way of life, quickly discovered the horror that lay beneath this illusory harmony. The people, who seemed so peaceful, in communion with nature, were nothing but a mirage. Beneath their rites and chants echoed muffled cries of terror. Their ceremonies were not merely offerings to magic: they demanded blood. Massacres, sacrifices that would freeze the most hardened minds in fear. The newcomers were not just guests: they were witnesses. Pigs for the slaughter. And the witnesses could not leave. They had only two choices: wait and observe. By force. Those who tried to escape were hunted, captured, then displayed as warnings. A body hanging at the entrance of the village. A hand abandoned on a path. A vacant stare at the bottom of a well. Few dared to try to flee. And none were left alive to speak of it. Those who didn’t try to escape saw their minds gradually crack, madness spreading through their veins like a fire consuming dry leaves. Without exception, they eventually sank into the madness of the inhabitants. And, like them, they began to participate in the massacres of those still attempting to flee the island. Many began to take pleasure in it, forgetting even why they once wanted to escape. When the elders of the magical world learned of an island where magical and non-magical beings coexisted, panic took hold of them. Fearing their secret would be revealed, they made a decision that was unanimously passed. All those living on this cursed island were to be eradicated. In a black night, without a single gleam of light, the inhabitants were silently eliminated. For a few moments, the island glowed with green and red lights, accompanied by screams quickly muffled and weeping. All were killed, even the children. Having completed their task, the assassins immediately left the cursed island, unaware of the consequences they left behind in the charred remnants and the corpses of a forgotten people. The assassins had left the island, leaving behind a heavy silence, filled with ashes and blood. Yet, this silence was not that of an abandoned land. It was that of a heart still beating. Magic, once venerated, nourished, cherished as a living deity, awakened beneath the still-warm bodies. It slithered through the earth, crawling between the soiled stones, tasting the massacre that had deprived it of its children. It trembled, growled, bubbled in the air. Then, it screamed. A mute cry shook the entire island. The ground trembled under the echo of its rage. The sea, once calm, suddenly turned chaotic, showing its support for the wounded magic. The trees cracked open, their roots tearing free like claws seeking to grasp the enemy. The smoking ruins collapsed upon themselves, crushing the last remnants of the massacre. The ashes swirled in violent spirals, painting the sky with darkness. And then, magic struck. With a heartbeat, the ships of the assassins, still visible on the horizon, exploded in a burst of green and purple flames. Their screams died before they even reached the wind. But magic did not forget its children. It did not forget the suffering engraved in their flesh, nor the muffled pleas beneath the soil. Unsatisfied, it cursed the assassins and their descendants. A seed of madness burrowed into their minds, growing day by day, until their own hands destroyed them. Some would descend into terror from nightmarish visions, others would feel their souls slowly disintegrating, and still others would become so mad that they would understand the suffering that this forgotten people had endured. But its work was not yet finished. In one final surge, magic slipped among the lifeless bodies, caressing what remained of their cold skin. The ground began to vibrate, a murmur of mourning spreading across the island. Dark roots emerged, curling around the corpses, lifting them with the gentleness of a mother. They carried them to the heart of a hidden clearing, where the song of the wind and the caress of the leaves rocked their final sleep. A whitish glow enveloped them, and when the light dissipated, all that remained were white roses, blossoming from the earth, their petals imbued with dried blood. The island returned to its silence. Only the wind, messenger of an ancient sorrow, still sang the sadness of magic, of this mourning mother who wept for her lost children. ————— The wind still carried the sorrow of the past, even after centuries. This story, now recorded in the oldest grimoires of legends, had become but a whisper, a forgotten tale. Few still believed in it. Over time, it had been reshaped, softened, distorted. The versions told today were no more than children’s stories, crafted to turn the assassins into heroes, and paint the true victims as cruel bloodthirsty creatures, monsters slain for the good of the world. Over time, these stories began to blame the Muggles, in order to divert the attention of the children from the non-magical world. In some cases, they were even used to justify unjustified attacks against Muggles. According to the Ministry’s belief, all witnesses and documents referring to these events had been destroyed and eliminated to hide the atrocious truth, which had repeatedly served as a pretext for actions against Muggles and dark magic. Yet, the island had never forgotten. No one had dared to set foot on its devastated, solitary land. No one was capable. Magic remained omnipresent, suspended in the air, alive and tangible. The roses, however, had never withered, defying the seasons, and had remained intact, preserved from any contact. The figure standing before the field of white flowers watched Magic’s work. From where he stood, he could feel life flowing through every petal, brushing his mind with its soft warmth. The warmth, gentle and welcoming, was familiar to him, almost comforting. Magic did not reject him; it merely brushed against him, examining him, as though seeking to uncover the secrets he held. The observer rose gracefully, a faint regret making its way through his thoughts. He knew he had to leave this magnificent clearing; the place he was meant to reach called to him. After quietly crossing the dense forest and the hill, he found himself facing the ruins of an abandoned manor. Only remnants of dark stones, eroded by time and oblivion, remained. The wind that rushed through the ruins let out a sharp whistle, almost a piercing cry, that seemed to echo in the heavy air. His robes began to sway, carried by the cry that approached, trailing in the air like a distant, heartbreaking melody. The atmosphere, heavy and cold, seemed to close around him. A strange nostalgia shone in his eyes, filling his being. Memories surged in his mind, both sweet and bitter: the cries, the loneliness, his room… and the red.
Ah… yes, that red.
Before he could begin to remember these memories, he was interrupted. CLICK. A sharp noise, like a finger snap, suddenly echoed on the hill. There, beside him, where nothing had been moments before, a small creature with long ears stared at him. The sudden noise managed to pull him from his thoughts. But Hadrian did not immediately react to this new presence. Instead, he let the cold, salty wind carry away his doubts, leaving only tranquility and peace behind. However, their moment of calm could not last forever, and it was the house-elf, who was beginning to stir, who finally broke the silence. Its voice was hoarse, as if it had not spoken a word in years. “M-Master Hadrian, it’s time to leave.” A soft sigh escaped Hadrian’s lips. The cool wind turned it into a white vapor. The poor creature jumped at the sound and began to tremble, fearing the repercussions its interruption might bring. Indifferent to the elf’s agitation, Hadrian sighed again. He would have liked to stay longer. This place had been so missed. But he knew he had to leave, or else he would be scolded again for disobeying. With a grace and softness that would have made the most distinguished women of the magical world jealous, he placed the two objects he had come to deliver to the manor’s cemetery. His long, delicate fingers brushed against these precious objects one last time before he straightened up. His gaze swept once more over the silent landscape, then turned to Apina, his faithful house-elf, who stretched out a trembling hand toward him. “We can go, Apina,” he said in a voice as soft as velvet, calm and serene. Apina nodded vigorously, took Hadrian’s hand, and in an instant, the world around them blurred. Their silhouettes flickered before disappearing into a swirl of white and green, leaving behind only the rustling of leaves in the sea wind. Magic began to hum after their departure, swallowing what they had left on the ground.