Chapter Text
The shack looked as though it had been dying for decades.
Hadrian stood at the edge of the clearing, studying the crooked structure that leaned into the earth as if even gravity had grown tired of holding it upright. Rotting wood, broken glass, and wild weeds clawed their way through the remains of what had once been a home. It felt wrong.
Not dangerous exactly, Hadrian had encountered far worse in his life, but the air carried a sour weight to it. Old magic. Bitter magic. The kind that lingered long after the people who cast it were gone.
Caspian stepped up beside him, shading his eyes slightly from the afternoon light.
“This is the place?” the vampire asked.
Hadrian nodded slowly.
“It’s… pulling,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “Like a splinter under the skin.”
Caspian glanced toward the shack again, unimpressed.
“Your Dark Lord certainly lacked imagination. If I were hiding pieces of my soul, I would choose somewhere with better architecture.”
Hadrian huffed a quiet laugh.
“He wasn’t hiding them from me.”
They walked toward the shack, the wooden steps groaning beneath Hadrian’s weight as he pushed the door open. It swung inward with a long creak, dust swirling in the dim light that filtered through the broken windows.
The inside was worse.
Broken furniture lay scattered across the floor. Shelves had collapsed long ago, leaving warped boards and rotting paper behind. The air smelled damp and sour.
Hadrian didn’t hesitate.
The pull guided him deeper into the shack, past the crumbling table and toward a small stone ring box resting on a warped cabinet.
Caspian leaned against the doorway, watching him with quiet interest.
“That was quick.”
Hadrian picked up the box and opened it.
Inside sat a heavy gold ring set with a cracked black stone.
For a brief moment the air shifted. The magic inside the object stirred like something disturbed in its sleep.
Hadrian simply sighed. “Oh, that is unpleasant.”
Caspian raised an eyebrow. “Is it dangerous?”
Hadrian closed the box again and slipped it into his coat.
“Not anymore.”
He turned back toward the door as though they had just picked up a forgotten package.
“Come,” he said calmly. “One down.”
Caspian followed him out into the sunlight.
“And the next?”
Hadrian glanced toward the distant horizon.
“The cup.” A faint smile curved his mouth. “That one will require a little more… creativity.”
The marble halls of Gringotts were as imposing as ever.
Tall white columns rose toward the vaulted ceiling, goblins moving efficiently behind the long counters while witches and wizards hurried about their business with the usual mixture of arrogance and mild fear.
Hadrian and Caspian walked through the doors like men arriving exactly where they were meant to be.
Several goblins looked up as they entered. Their sharp eyes lingered for a moment too long.
Hadrian felt it immediately.
Recognition.
Not of his name. Not of Harry Potter. Of something older.
Caspian leaned slightly closer as they approached the nearest counter. “You are being watched.”
“I know.”
The goblin behind the counter regarded them carefully, long fingers folded atop the polished stone.
“How may Gringotts assist you today?” the creature asked.
Hadrian rested one hand lightly on the counter.
“I am here to collect a soul.”
The goblin’s yellowed eyes narrowed.
"Come with me."
The pair followed the Goblin through to a private meeting room. Sitting down across the desk from the creature.
“Explain.”
Hadrian’s voice remained calm, almost conversational.
“A fragment of soul was bound to an object and hidden within your vaults. That fragment does not belong in this world. I have come to reclaim it.”
The goblin studied him for a long moment.
“You claim the authority to take possession of a soul bound within Gringotts?”
Hadrian met the creature’s gaze without blinking.
“I do not claim it,” he said quietly. “I hold it.”
The air shifted.
Something ancient stirred beneath the marble floors of the bank, subtle but undeniable.
The goblin’s expression changed almost instantly. Recognition settled across his sharp features like a shadow passing across water.
“…Master of Death,” the goblin murmured.
Caspian, leaning casually against the counter, smiled faintly. “Well. That was easier than expected.”
The goblin straightened.
“If a soul fragment resides within one of our vaults,” he said carefully, “then its removal by the rightful collector would not violate any contract held with the bank.”
Hadrian inclined his head slightly.
“Precisely.”
The goblin tapped a clawed finger against the stone counter before turning sharply.
“I will escort you to the vault. Which vault do you require entrance to?"
"The vault of Bellatrix Lestrange."
Griphook hesitated. “…The Lestrange vault?”
“Yes,” Hadrian replied curtly.
“It appears a matter of… cosmic jurisdiction.”
Caspian chuckled quietly.
“I do enjoy when bureaucracy works in our favor.” Hadrian pushed away from the desk, standing gracefully. “Shall we?”
The Goblin stood leading them toward the carts waiting deep within the bank.
“This way.”
Caspian fell into step beside Hadrian as they walked.
“You do realize,” the vampire murmured, “most people would call this breaking into Gringotts."
Hadrian’s lips curved faintly.
“I prefer to think of it as collecting something that was never theirs to guard.”
The doors to the Great Hall swung open with a heavy bang that echoed through the room.
Conversation faltered in ripples across the hall. Cutlery paused halfway to mouths. A few students turned, expecting a late professor.
Instead, Hadrian Peverell walked in like he owned the castle.
Dark robes, tailored and expensive, fell perfectly along his frame. Silver rings caught the candlelight as he moved, each step unhurried, confident, faintly arrogant. At his side moved Caspian, silent as a shadow, pale eyes watching the room with quiet, predatory calm.
For a moment no one reacted.
Then the whispering began.
“Wasn’t he gone?” “I thought he left.”
Hadrian ignored all of them.
He walked straight down the centre of the hall, past the curious stares, past the stunned students, and dropped gracefully onto the end of the Slytherin table as though he had simply stepped out for a walk and returned.
Caspian sat beside him.
A goblet slid across the table toward Hadrian with a soft clink. He nudged it lazily toward Caspian instead.
Then, without ceremony, Hadrian rolled back the sleeve of his robe and extended his wrist across the table.
“Here,” he said mildly.
Caspian did not hesitate. He took Hadrian’s wrist in one hand and leaned down.
The moment his fangs broke skin...
The Great Hall erupted.
Chairs scraped violently against stone.
“What the hell.."
“Is he?”
“Merlin!”
A goblet shattered somewhere near the Gryffindor table. Several students stood up outright, craning to see. One Hufflepuff looked seconds away from fainting.
Hadrian, meanwhile, looked entirely unbothered.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, resting his elbow on the table as Caspian drank calmly from his wrist like this was the most normal thing in the world.
At the staff table, Albus Dumbledore had gone very still. Then he stood.
“Mr Peverell,” he said sharply, voice carrying across the hall. “That will be quite enough.”
Hadrian glanced up slowly.
Annoyance flickered across his face, as if someone had interrupted him during a pleasant nap.
Caspian finished and pulled away, licking the last drop of blood from his lip. Hadrian calmly pulled his sleeve back down.
“Lord Peverell, ” he said lazily.
Murmurs rippled through the hall again.
Dumbledore’s eyes were sharp behind his half-moon glasses.
“You will explain,” he said, “exactly what you believe you are doing.”
Hadrian tilted his head slightly, considering him.
“Eating dinner.”
A few Slytherins snorted.
Dumbledore’s mouth tightened.
“You are allowing a vampire to feed from you in the middle of the Great Hall.”
Hadrian glanced sideways at Caspian, then back at the Headmaster with mild curiosity.
“Well,” he said, “when you phrase it like that it sounds terribly dramatic.”
The tension in the room thickened. Hadrian leaned back further in his chair, looking utterly relaxed.
“He was hungry,” he continued calmly. “I was available. It seemed efficient.”
“Mr Peverell..."
“Lord Peverell,” Hadrian cut in smoothly, voice still perfectly polite, “Headmaster, unless you are planning to confiscate my blood, I fail to see how this concerns you.”
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Even some professors looked shocked.
Caspian, beside him, looked deeply amused.
Dumbledore studied Hadrian carefully now, that familiar calculating look returning to his eyes.
“Your actions,” he said slowly, “create disturbance within the school.”
Hadrian smiled faintly. “Oh dear.”
He gestured vaguely around the hall.
“Was someone disturbed?”
Several students quickly sat back down.
Someone at Ravenclaw tried to pretend they had been reading.
Hadrian’s smile widened just slightly.
“See?” he said pleasantly. “All resolved.”
Caspian leaned closer, voice low enough that only Hadrian could hear. “You enjoy this.”.
Hadrian picked up a goblet and took a slow sip. “Immensely.”
Hadrian rolled up his sleeve.
Not dramatically. Not provocatively. Simply exposing his wrist with casual familiarity.
The hall had gone completely silent now.
Severus felt his stomach tighten.
“Here,” Hadrian said lightly.
Caspian took his wrist.
Gasps rippled across the hall as Caspian lowered his head and bit.
Severus felt something hot and electric coil low in his stomach.
Merlin's bones.
The absolute audacity of it.
Blood ran in a thin line down Hadrian's wrist, disappearing beneath Caspian's grip as the boy drank calmly, casually, as though this were the most natural act in the world.
Hadrian leaned back in his chair.
Completely relaxed. Eyes half-lidded.
One leg crossing over the other as if he were lounging in a private drawing room rather than the centre of the Great Hall.
Not a flicker of embarrassment. Not a hint of shame. Hadrian didn’t even flinch. If anything, he looked bored.
Across the staff table, Minerva had half risen in shock. Dumbledore stood abruptly. “Mr. Peverell!”
The intimacy of the act. The trust. The sheer dominance of performing it in front of everyone without permission or explanation.
It was obscene. It was reckless. It was...
Severus pressed his lips together.
Infuriatingly compelling.
Merlin help him... It was the hottest thing he had seen in years.
Caspian was sprawled dramatically across the sofa when Hadrian finished fastening the cuff of his sleeve.
One arm hung over the side. The other was flung across his forehead as though he were dying of boredom.
“You’re abandoning me,” Caspian announced mournfully.
Hadrian didn’t look up from straightening the line of his coat.
“I am leaving the room for a couple of hours."
“A tragedy.”
“You'll survive, my love ” Hadrian laughed.
Caspian rolled his head to the side, eyes following him with theatrical suffering.
“You’re off Horcrux hunting without me, I thought that was our thing."
Hadrian paused only long enough to glance at him.
“I'll bring you with me next time I promise”
Hadrian leaned over, brushing a kiss against the vampire lips.
“Well if you insist on leaving me here to suffer,” he said sweetly, “perhaps I should go find Severus.”
Hadrian paused.
Slowly he looked back.
Caspian grinned.
“You know,” he continued lazily, “that's a great idea. He likes you.”
“Oh please, he tolerates me.” Caspian laughed. “on the other hand that man looks at you like you personally invented sin.”
Hadrian sighed. “You are insufferable.”
“And yet you keep me.” Caspian flashed fangs.
“So?” he pressed. “Should I go bother him?”
Hadrian opened the door. “Please do, then you'll be all pent up for when I get back.”
Caspian’s smile widened. “Excellent.”
Hadrian paused on the threshold. Then added calmly. “If he kills you, I’m not resurrecting you.”
Caspian gasped in mock horror. “You’d let him murder your beloved companion?”
“I would thank him.”
Caspian laughed as the door closed behind him.
The corridors were quiet. Which suited Hadrian perfectly.
He moved through the torchlit halls at an unhurried pace, hands clasped behind his back.
Seven passes past the same stretch of blank wall. His mind fixed clearly on what he wanted. A place to hide things. A place where things had been hidden for centuries.
The wall shimmered. A door appeared and Hadrian stepped inside.
The Room of Requirement unfolded before him in towering chaos. Endless aisles of abandoned objects stretched in every direction, furniture, books, cabinets, broken instruments, artefacts forgotten by generations of students.
Treasure or rubbish. Depending on who was looking.
Hadrian walked calmly through the maze, weaving easily between the clutter as if he had all the time in the world.
Which, technically, he did.
After several minutes he stopped before a battered stone bust perched on a cabinet.
A diadem rested on its head.
Hadrian studied it quietly. Then he sighed.
“Really, Tom?”
His fingers brushed the diadem lightly. “I expected something slightly less… obvious.”
The air around the object prickled faintly with dark magic. Hadrian’s smile sharpened.
“Well,” he murmured. “That’s another piece found."
He turned and left the room.
The door vanished behind him as he stepped back into the corridor and immediately came face to face with Mad-Eye Moody.
The Auror’s magical eye spun sharply in its socket, fixing on him.
“Out after hours, are we?” Moody growled.
Hadrian regarded him calmly. “Professor.”
The magical eye whirred again, sweeping the corridor. Moody’s gaze narrowed. “You been wandering these corridors long?”
"Is that really any of your concern." Hadrian tilted his head slightly.
Something flickered in Moody’s expression. A moment too sharp. Too calculating.
Hadrian noticed. Of course he did.
His smile returned, slow and faint. “How fortunate,” he said softly.
Moody’s grip tightened on his staff. “Fortunate?”
Hadrian met the man’s gaze with quiet amusement. “Yes.” A small pause. “I was hoping we might run into each other again.”
The magical eye spun again. Moody’s real eye narrowed. “And why’s that?”
Hadrian’s smile didn’t change. “Oh,” he said lightly. “I do enjoy meeting people who aren’t quite who they claim to be."
For a brief moment the corridor seemed to grow very still.
“Is that so?” Moody growled.
Hadrian’s smile didn’t shift. If anything, it deepened a fraction, something faintly amused and entirely too knowing settling into his expression.
“Oh yes,” he said lightly. “Masks are fascinating things. They let people pretend to be someone else for a while.” His gaze flicked deliberately over Moody’s face. “Though they rarely hold up under close inspection.”
Moody’s grip tightened slightly on his staff.
“Careful, boy,” he said roughly. “Accusin’ a professor of somethin’ like that could land you in serious trouble.”
Hadrian tilted his head. “Could it?”
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then Hadrian stepped closer.
Not threatening. Not hurried.
Just enough to invade the other man’s space.
Up close, the magical eye tracked him intensely.
Hadrian leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough that it would not carry beyond the corridor.
“Tell me,” he murmured, “does it itch?”
Moody blinked.
Hadrian’s smile sharpened. “The skin,” he clarified mildly. “Polyjuice always did have that effect when the transformation begins to fade. Subtle at first. Irritating.”
The magical eye spun wildly for a split second. Then stilled.
Silence stretched between them.
Moody’s voice when it came was quieter.“You’re playin’ a dangerous game.”
Hadrian straightened again as if the conversation had been entirely ordinary.
“Oh no,” he said pleasantly. “I don’t play games.” His eyes gleamed faintly. “I simply observe them.”
Moody stared at him. Calculating now.
“Suppose,” the man said slowly, “you think you know somethin’. Why tell me?”
Hadrian turned slightly, already beginning to walk past him.
“Because,” he said lazily over his shoulder, “watching you panic about how much I know is far more entertaining than reporting you.”
He paused as he reached the end of the corridor.
Then glanced back.
“And besides,” Hadrian added, voice thoughtful, “your master’s plan is already doomed.”
Moody went very still.
Hadrian smiled. “You should really tell him that, if you haven't already."
And with that, he turned the corner and disappeared down the corridor towards the dungeons.
Severus had just set aside the last of the essays when the knock came.
Not the sharp, irritated rap of a colleague, nor the hesitant tap of a student about to beg for mercy over missed homework.
Three slow knocks. Unhurried. Deliberate.
Severus frowned.
“Enter.”
The door opened with leisurely confidence, and Caspian leaned against the frame as though he owned the place.
Severus’s lip curled slightly. “If you are here to waste my time...”
“Oh, I absolutely am.” Caspian pushed himself upright and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. “I’m bored.”
Severus regarded him coolly. “And you thought that was somehow my concern?”
Caspian wandered further into the room as though inspecting the space for entertainment. His gaze drifted over the shelves, the desk, the dim lamplight.
“Hadrian’s busy,” he said casually.
Severus felt an immediate tightening in his chest he refused to acknowledge.
“Then I suggest you entertain yourself” Severus replied dryly.
Caspian hummed thoughtfully.
“I thought you enjoyed our night together.” He leaned back against the edge of Severus’s desk, far too comfortable. “Hadrian suggested I visit you to keep mysel entertained.”
Severus’s eyes narrowed.
“And you interpreted that as permission to intrude into my private quarters?”
“Well,” Caspian said lightly, “I thought about tormenting the students, but that felt a bit too easy.”
He tilted his head, studying Severus with open amusement.
“You, on the other hand… you looked interesting tonight.”
Severus felt heat creep unpleasantly up the back of his neck.
“I assure you,” he said icily, “nothing about me should interest you.”
Caspian’s smile widened.
“Oh, I don't know. You think to low of yourself Severus. Many a man would find you interesting." His fingers drummed lazily against the desk. "Things you can do with your mouth would make even the strongest of man weak at the knees."
Severus rose slowly from his chair.
“If you have come here to make baseless accusations..."
“Not accusations.” Caspian lifted a hand innocently. “I am not calling you a whore Severus, I am worshipping your talents.”
His eyes gleamed with mischief.
“You looked positively scandalised when he fed me at dinner.”
Severus’s jaw tightened.
“That display was inappropriate for the Great Hall.”
“Mm.” Caspian considered that. “You didn’t look offended.”
Severus stepped closer, voice dropping. “Watch yourself.”
Caspian only grinned.
“No, you were watching us,” he continued lightly. “Like you were trying very hard not to.”
Severus’s pulse thudded once, sharply.
“Your imagination...”
“is excellent,” Caspian interrupted cheerfully. “But unfortunately for you, I’m rarely wrong.”
For a moment the room fell quiet.
Then Caspian pushed himself off the desk.
“Anyway,” he said, stretching lazily, “since Hadrian is busy and you’re clearly wound tighter than a cursed spring…” He gestured vaguely around the room. “I shall keep you company.”
Severus stared at him. "If you insist."
Caspian’s grin returned, bright and predatory.
“Oh good,” he said. “That means this will be fun."