Chapter
One
The
Gardener
28 July 2001
The open air, Victorian style, horse-drawn carriage made its way from Goathland to Hogsmeade upon Helmsley's path. It was an unusual mode of transportation for an equally unusual wizard.
There was no driver of the carriage, just two horses that galloped at a fair speed. The passenger, aged twenty, sat with an austere countenance; he scribbled with fervor against several pieces of parchment. One could tell he was important with how he carried himself and his attire spoke volumes of his wealth.
He wore a fine silk, violet-colored outer robe and underneath an old fashioned, elegantly tailored black inner robe that was buttoned fully; from the top of the inner robe peaked the collar of a freshly-starched purple dress shirt and from the bottom, his black slacks and snake-skin boots. Finally, upon his head there sat perfectly a black wizard's hat.
The clippity-clop-clop of the horses and the random gusts of wind never disturbed the man from his writing and much of the journey was spent quill in hand. Hours trickled by and finally the man looked up; he began tapping the front of his nose with his index finger in silent contemplation.
He was a handsome individual that was for certain. Nicely defined features, green eyes that twinkled every so lightly and neatly trimmed black hair made some women forget his severe reputation.
He sighed, leaning back in his crush velvet seat, allowing his eyes to wander from the piece of parchment in front of him to the scenery around him.
Large trees with glorious shade, various shrubs that popped up at random and lightly undulating terrain that held fields of grass and wheat that went on forever lay to the sides of him, all under a blazing sun. To the front of him, lay a long, dusty, ever winding brick path and looking in the distance, just at horizon's edge, he spotted Hogsmeade and a rather reverent looking castle.
The man allowed himself a smile and he tarried for a moment longer, released a sigh and then began to scribble with his brown, eagle-feather quill once more.
He was a busy man more often than not and as Hogsmeade grew closer and another hour trickled by, he wished he had taken another week off. He had just come back from the Province of Italy two days ago and it felt as if he had never left. The amount of letters he had received while he was gone had been twice the usual.
It was understandable, given the events that had transpired while on vacation but that didn't make the task any less taxing for the man.
He signed his name on yet another letter he had written up and additional lines of text magically added themselves. Readjusting in the seat again and allowing his left hand to slide along the mahogany railing he picked up another letter, opened it, read it and smiled – he even laughed. Picking up the quill after it had automatically replenished its ink supply, he wrote several lines, added his name and re-read it as the three lines that always followed his signature blazed onto the parchment.
Lucius,
I
chuckle heartily as I write you; your fears
were
not unfounded but I have successfully
bartered
your case and have had little trouble
pushing
it through the 'quagmire' and to the
ears
of those who truly matter.
You
will be happy to know that I have succeeded.
What
you want to pay me will be unnecessary
of
course, though I imagine you hold some
semblance
of hope that I will one day accept
such
trivial things. I kid.
As
to the other matter – six o'clock would be
adequate.
I have the honour to be,
Hadrian
J. Potter
Lord
Potter
Keeper
of the Seal
Order
of Merlin, 2nd Class
Getting to his name once more, the man stopped.
Why he stopped, he wasn't too sure of. Perhaps it was because the letter was to be sent to one Lucius Malfoy. Or perhaps it was because the name just sparked inconveniences on July 28th, a day that was forever an issue. If it was either, it did not matter in the grand scheme of things – he stopped and he stared at the name 'Hadrian' for a moment and that was all that mattered.
Hadrian wasn't truly his first name.
In fact, his real first name was Harry.
Harry James Potter.
It had been a name his mother had chosen upon his birth and to be perfectly honest, he had found it rather plain. It was boring he'd agreed and if he was to divulge all he felt about it, he would admit he thought the name almost filthy.
Almost.
It was water under a bridge however, he told himself.
He sighed.
Only a scant few now lived that knew the truth behind his name. Among them, even less dared to talk about it unless with loved ones and even in that instance, hardly any trusted what they confided could be kept from the ears of Legilimencers.
There were those who were bold however, and had the type of daring that could get you sorted into Gryffindor. They tried their hand at conspiracies; they made connections where few saw them and when they looked upon the evidence that told of his birth name, they caught the pieces that did not add up.
When they finally filled in all the holes, stood back and took in the whole picture, they saw a completely different Lord Potter. A Lord Potter that made their eyes widen in shock. It undoubtedly made them angry; angry enough to perhaps say something.
They knew it would be in vain, however.
Such theories would never be taken serious if they were brought to the attention of the public. If anything, they'd be ridiculed. And of the person who dared to speak ill of the 19th Lord Potter?
They would find themselves carted off to the Transylvanian Province for High Treason.
It was Lord Potter after all. Popular. Trustworthy. In their eyes: Perfect.
Everyone that truly mattered nowadays backed him and trusted him implicility. It was a rarity in such a society as this one and few who knew him would allow such a besmirching of his reputation. He was invincible.
And that was all that truly mattered, Hadrian reasoned.
He was nonetheless anxious.
He allowed himself to take in the rolling fields again; the clippity-clop clopping of the horses and the tall grass that swayed eastwardly with the wind. Hogsmeade was growing closer and if he focused, he could see the light stacks of smoke rolling out of several chimneys in the distance.
He sighed.
Hadrian James Potter was a Pureblood; Harry James Potter was not. He coughed and looked ahead for just a moment longer and then let his eyes focus back down upon his neat, elegant script. Thinking about the confusion such a conundrum caused led the man down memory lane and such a place was the only one other than the Isle of Man that Harry did not want to visit.
Pushing thoughts that brought sadness aside, Hadrian retrieved an envelope from a brown satchel at his feet. Taking one last look at the letter, he folded it precisely as letters were meant to be folded and carefully stuck it in the envelope. Withdrawing his wand from one of the many pockets that lined the inside of his outer robe, he tapped the front of the envelope directly in the middle. Instantly, letters began to appear in the area where his wand had touched.
Lucius,
Lord Malfoy
Number
2 Merlin Way
Hogsmeade,
Scotland
Satisfied, he placed the letter on the seat and retrieved a rather odd looking Iceland Gull from its cage in the luggage area in back. It was no owl obviously but was just as reliable at transporting mail, if not more so – and Hadrian, while proper, was still quite eccentric enough to own a seagull as a pet.
"Come, Syaoran," Hadrian called and he tied the letter to the seagull's left leg; "Deliver this to Lucius quickly; head to the manor after that," he commanded, releasing the bird. It hopped up, released a scream and took off.
With that done, he resumed answering letters until...
"The Keeper of the Seal arrives!" shouted a Pureblood, jerking Hadrian's attention from an interesting letter that questioned the ethics of the 2nd Duke of Sussex. Putting the letter away for later reading and response, Hadrian smiled and began returning greetings to the various wizards and witches who welcomed him.
"Welcome back, Milord," greeted a rather stern looking witch.
"Thank you Missus Cornfoot; it's good to be back."
"Milord," said another with a bow and a tip of the hat.
"And you, Mister Alerion," Hadrian replied with a tip of his own hat; the man smiled graciously.
The horse-drawn carriage made its way to the outskirts of the town and soon found itself in front of a pristine, white manor that was built into the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. Happy to have arrived, Hadrian exited the transport.
Looking around and taking in the sight of one of his favorite homes, the young man called out. "Babbins," he shouted; a house-elf appeared immediately and a rather odd looking House-Elf at that.
"Yesses, Mishta Lord Sir," the creature inquired.
"Would you take everything that's in the carriage inside, Babbins?"
"Okie-dokies, Mishta Lord Sir," said the strange House-Elf obediently; at once, the House-Elf popped up and into the carriage; the creature then grabbed as much as he could before teleporting into the manor, putting everything where his Master wanted it. He repeated the process several times, every once in awhile running into the carriage on accident and knocking his head rather loudly on to the railing. He didn't stop however, until everything from the transport was inside.
Hadrian was amused but he did not show it; instead, he turned and looked out across the lake that his manor resided near. Babbins was a good friend as far as Hadrian was concerned and it would surprise everyone to know he felt deeply sorry for the creature. He believed cruelty was the last thing the House-Elf needed to be burdened with.
The House-Elf teleported behind him with a large crack that would scare most and in a sing song voice Babbins, said, "Ishtar anything else you be needing Mishta Lord Sir?"
Hadrian however, did not answer; he was too busy being entranced by the beauty of Hogwarts.
He loved Hogwarts immensely. Everything about the castle was magnificent – the turrets, the sweeping towers, the bridges, the Gothic arches and Roman Briton influences – even the haphazard stairways that switched randomly, he could not find fault with. He had loved the magic as well – the classes and the teachers and while he was certainly not the socialite that he was now, he had enjoyed the people and the experiences.
He loved it so much that he had once desired to teach there and if he wasn't so afraid of himself, he'd admit he still desired it.
Desires like that seemed so easy to fulfill back then though.
He scoffed; he had been naïve then. A man of his position in life now would not be looked upon with the same esteem if he lowered himself to just teach. And so he never mentioned it – not to anyone. But there had been one who knew, nonetheless.
Hadrian's eyes flitted to where the Headmaster's Office was.
Discarding that thought in a particularly vicious fashion, he scanned the area around the lake on the opposing shore. The Slytherin Common Room, the Slytherin Dormitories and the dungeons were in that area, right near the lake; it made for very cold winters and perfect summers.
Hadrian knew this because he had been in Slytherin House for six years; his eyes flitted to the Headmaster's Office again, quickly and he swallowed. His parents had been most disappointed in the beginning but they accepted him and who he truly was with time; at least his mother did, Hadrian told himself. He believed father had only done it because mother demanded it.
That was water under a bridge though, Hadrian silently preached to himself.
July 28th was such a ruinous day.
Trying once more to push the various memories away, he saw some light in the situation; he believed he was getting better at suppressing them. Soon, he imagined, the instances would never occur.
He was lying to himself.
"Mishta Lord Sir?"
The House-Elf snapped him out of his reverie and Hadrian began smiling once more; he then asked: "Did Syaoran find his way back then, Babbins?" The House-Elf nodded eagerly, "And where are Othniel and Samuel," he inquired.
As if to answer him, a large scream pierced the placid atmosphere: "Hadrian!" And not a moment later, a young boy aged eleven had his arms wrapped around Hadrian.
"Samuel," laughed Hadrian, hugging his brother back fiercely. Immediately the young boy began talking a mile a minute about anything and everything; Hadrian could only chuckle. His brothers Samuel and Othniel meant the world to him; he would listen to them talk his ear off for the rest of time, if only to show how much he cared.
After several minutes of gushing about Quidditch, Hogwarts and all the stupid girls who lived in Hogsmeade, Hadrian finally got a word in edgewise: "That's all very wonderful, Samuel but where is Othniel," he asked.
"Right here, Hadrian," answered a seventeen year old boy from the doorway of the manor; Hadrian looked up.
Othniel Benjamin Potter had the more effeminate looks of the three brothers - softly tousled dark brown hair, blue eyes, soft cheeks and a delicate jaw and chin all made him the lady killer of the family.
It also belied his volatile nature.
"I saw your carriage pass at the Three Broom Sticks," he continued, dusting soot off his gentlemanly attire, "I flooed over immediately."
He then walked forward briskly, hugged Hadrian briefly and gave quick greeting. He didn't give Hadrian a chance to say anything in return, however and turned and walked back into the manor, looking over his shoulder only for a moment to tell him that several boxes had arrived from the Hogsmeade Post Office in the past week.
Hadrian only nodded.
Once Othniel had shut the door, the young boy began in earnest once more.
Samuel was much different than Othniel that was for sure. Sometimes Othniel couldn't bear to be in the same room as Hadrian; for Samuel, his least favorite times were when Hadrian wasn't around. He tried to understand the dynamics of the situation but failed miserably each time he attempted.
The two began a small walk towards the lake after asking Babbins to make lunch. Samuel began telling Hadrian of the adventures he had undertaken while he was gone but Hadrian listened only half-heartedly. He was instead focused on his other brother's attitude towards him.
Othniel was of age now and had always been fiercely independent and an ardent support of his true parents cause.
The Order of the Phoenix.
Horrible, awful memories flooded him and Hadrian suppressed them with difficulty.
It did not matter, he told himself. Othniel submitted to Hadrian; both brothers did.
After their parents' death, it was Hadrian who had pulled them through the darkest of times; it was Hadrian who had made certain everything turned out alright.
And while Othniel was begrudged to allow it at the time, that lack of faith in Hadrian's abilities passed and soon enough, he harbored enough respect to allow Hadrian to continue calling the shots.
It didn't mean the brother was any less vocal about everything and anything he felt strongly about. Hadrian wondered at times why the boy wasn't in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. He was a sharp kid, for sure but his callous, loud shouting matches reminded him too strongly of their father and that dunderhead Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived.
Despite that, Hadrian entertained both the criticism and the scorn from Othniel; both the insults and the unusual dismissals. Hadrian was constantly hurt by Othniel's feelings toward him but he remained strong.
Strong for both his brothers.
Hadrian shut his eyes for a moment, letting Samuel's words wash over him; he opened them again and looked up at Hogwarts, once more towards where the Headmaster's Office was located.
He swallowed very hard.
July 28th made Othniel's disdain for his laissez-faire attitude towards the problems in the world hard to get past. But he would have to, like he always had. For them. He loved them and that was how it was to be if they were to survive in such a society as the one Hadrian played a game with.
Babbins popped in, saving him from another trip down memory lane and informed him that lunch was ready. Leading Samuel back towards the manor, Hadrian dismissed the thoughts entirely.
He opened the door for his young brother and soon followed therein.
The entrance chamber's comfort had immediate effects on the young lord. It served to relieve the tension that had plagued him all day. The various shades of brown, orange and of tan all soothed him and reminded him of autumn, a sadder time for those who worked soil but a necessary one.
His eyes skirted to a corner of the room where many scratching noises emanated from; a large piece of parchment sat upon a table and a quill scratched furiously upon the document. A news quill – valuable item for certain, if one could be bothered to sift through everything that was irrelevant. His eyes drifted to the other side where voices spoke over one another – various paintings and statuettes raged over all that was wrong with the world.
Hadrian smiled.
Samuel took off towards the dining room as fast as he could and Hadrian followed his route, only at his own leisurely pace. He strolled through the white hallway, taking time to look at the obsidian statues that lined the path and the valuable paintings that adorned the walls on either side. It was as he rounded the first bend that the soft pitter-pattering of liquid reached his ears. Here, Hadrian smiled once more; Othniel was undoubtedly brewing potions again.
He finally reached the wonderfully long dining room and was soon sharing an exquisite meal with his two most favorite people in the world. He told them of his plans to take them to London in the morning and to help them purchase school items. Hoping to excite them, he then quickly transitioned into telling them of his vacation in the Province of Italy.
Samuel was excited about everything Hadrian spoke of; Othniel was indifferent.
That was how it always was and how it would always be.
As lunch wrapped up, Hadrian left the dining room and soon found himself in the green house, unpacking boxes of glorious plants he had purchased in the Italy Province. It was as he pulled the Vespertinius Mallificus plant out of its packaging that he realized not all things were bad about July 28th and Othniel's indifference towards him.
He had long ago realized he would suffer any insult so long as his brace of kinsman remained safe – he had been saving them for years now and even if Samuel had never loved him back, it was alright. What mattered was that he got to spend time with them and to enjoy the company of the only people he cared for.
As he stepped outside, behind the house and into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, he realized he was home. He would have to deal with the past soon or later, but for the time being, he was home and that was enough to get through July 28th.
And so he gardened.
Author Note: I must caution you it'll be a bit slow up until chapter three as it is an AU story. Besides that, I hate jumping into it without setting it up properly. I hope you enjoy.