Chapter Text
The last month of spring offered its benefits when Tom woke to the sound of pleasantly tittering birds that refused to make home during the winters. Additionally, a decent weather that didn’t make his feet feel as if he’d just trekked through mountainous terrain; iced by frigid winds and an impossible amount of snow.
“Your Royal Highness,” a maid-servant said as she knocked politely.
Tom dismissed her with a simple show of Magic; the sound of muffled knocks returning in echo, informing her of his awakening. You may leave, it implied, and the woman wordlessly bowed, leaving a trolley of strong tea that would be preserved with runes of heating.
From years of practice, the prince easily willed opened the door, dragging the trolley inside and bringing it next to his bedside to stare, yet making no move to reach for it. Tom swallowed, testing the dryness of his throat.
He turned to look outside instead.
Through the unbarred window, Tom took the time to enjoy the view of several soft shades of pink and orange and blue melding into one enchanting canvas. The hands of the clock perched on his bed-side desk indicated 4 minutes before the decorative cockerel outside crowed.
There was still time before he became a prince.
The silver construct ticked quietly – 2 minutes left . Glancing downwards, an indecipherable expression stapled itself on Tom’s face.
He would allow the boy to continue dreaming in relative peace for a while longer.
Soundless mumbles of incomprehensible languages left Hadrian’s mouth as a pair of skinny arms wrapped around his waist.
Another morning, Tom’s brain smugly provided within the almost-daze. Obviously , another part of him scoffed. The ritual was important nonetheless, unappreciated by the common folk because for him, every day was a feat worth celebrating over. A battle won from a war left unending.
He’s survived yet another night in merit of his own wits. And pray for the achievement to last for the rest of his mortal lifespan, Tom could wish for nothing more in this life.
“Up.” He tapped Hadrian’s cheek when the morning fowl’s shrieking was forcefully interrupted by the servant boys outside before it became nerve-grating. Tom heard the bird choke violently, but didn’t twitch a muscle. Everyone in his palace knew to let it cry twice: no more, no less, else the prince would have them by their toes.
Sanity, more like, because the punishment of feeding Voldemort instilled more fear than one ‘female’ horse ought to. The beloved mount utterly despised humanity as a whole, so they were doing Merlin’s work by preserving their own life first – some argued, pride be damned. And until today the bunch stood to be corrected.
Hadrian opened his eyes blearily, rubbing his face into Tom’s lower back when the prince readied to leave the bed. In a fit of childishness befitting his age, he kicked the covers off and let out a complaining grunt. His hair stuck out in many spikes which the prince absently patted down without any sense of success. Certainly, he’d tame that abomination before he ascended upon the throne – Slytherin Deity grant him Their blessings.
‘Pleasant mornings,’ Hadrian slurred, the royal language of the serpents sounding more at home and fluent on his tongue than any of Tom’s royal siblings could ever attempt.
Although silently stoic, Tom’s heart clenched with pride. His newest project was far more talented than he expected, but alas, it would be even better if the boy tried to speak in the Common-tongue from here on out. No one, save the Royal family, were entitled to the privilege of Parseltongue and Hadrian was walking a rather fine grey line for treason.
If it wasn’t clear enough, the boy might as well be waltzing on the black line, mind you.
At least he got his ABCs – upper-lower casing and basic pronunciation included – in two days and his numbers in one and a half.
There was hope still, Tom only needed to stomp the stubborn muteness out of Hadrian before any damage was inflicted on to his reputation. So far, the task proved particularly arduous. In any case, both were out of bed within the time frame of a half a burning candle’s wick.
Time slinked by like this. Normative and somewhat bland. Tolerable if only due to his newest source of responsibility. Hadrian was stuck resting under Tom’s care for little over two months and for the following month, the child was taught how to behave semi-decently outside the tiny world of his Master’s bedroom.
By Summer, Hadrian wandered sparingly around the palace basked in unforgiving heat.
Through reports by subjects Tom had arranged throughout his home, Hadrian had yet to utter a single word of the Common-tongue, preferring to bow or nod in greeting of the other servants; sign language wasn’t off the table either, though enacted particularly crudely as he’d yet to learn the official signs.
Barring Tom, Hadrian was naturally weary when meeting new people, but not outwardly unfriendly enough to shy away from any kind of social interaction.
The maids adored the young boy who garnered a woman’s maternal instinct like nobody else. Such a poor dear , they loved to squeal in excited delight. But Hadrian quickly learned his way around because of their help, saving Tom the effort of leaving his office in search of the tiny thing.
For something so small, he sure knew how to run like his life depended on escaping the men he’d ordered to drag him back - when it really shouldn’t. “Are you a cockroach?” he asked within the privacy of his room after dinner.
‘They aren’t you,” Hadrian hissed, tone strained and upset. ‘What if they took me away?’
“To where, pray tell.”
‘Away from you. When I am a freak who nobody wants.’
A little forlorn. A little warm. They slept a little earlier than usual, dark grey wisps of Magic weaving across the silk blankets.
Tom quirked his lips inconspicuously when the child once came back in a white apron tied along the trademark pleated skirt, looking especially aggrieved.
Knocking frantically, he had barged in on record time after the prince’s languid consent. Tiny fists clenched and clung to his pant leg whereupon Tom had been reading small lettered documents standing by the window, taking time to let some blood back into his legs.
“Two hours early for our lessons. Only half an hour since I last saw you,” he told the boy, sighing downwards while shaking his head in well hidden amusement. Hadrian did not answer in favour of keeping his flaming face buried. His Royal Highness’s hip was hard and bony, yet no place felt safer.
They started class early in the end.
Ever since Hadrian had demonstrated immense potential, Tom personally squeezed out several slots in his schedule to partake tutoring him, unwilling to let other tutors influence Hadrian with their biased views and possibly censored content. The material Hadrian learned was harshly unfiltered that if Tom weren’t a prince, the consequences would be unfathomable. All the good, the bad, and the ugly fed to Hadrian’s sponge-like mind which he used effortlessly.
The prince did not even bother to justify himself when providing accounts of his morally dubious actions throughout the years. Hadrian didn’t seem to mind anyway, loyalty more solid than dragon scale.
History, politics, mathematics, language, science, astrology. Hadrian ate the mundane subjects up unsparingly. Yet, if one used hunger as a comparison to the rate Hadrian ate up material knowledge, the emerald-eyed boy was spellbindingly ravenous, a starving beast when it came to anything related to Magic.
Amidst the endless fall of angel white feathers, the sight of piercing gold eyes stood out like bloodied snow. “You cannot keep your summons here,” the prince patiently informed.
‘Why not?’
“Why must you question me so?”
‘Because I want to know. But if I really can’t, then I won’t keep her.’
“She will still be yours. You’re simply returning her back from whence she came. Summon her back someplace else tomorrow, but always remember to send her home. They have no love for chains that bind.” And Hedwig, the S Ranked Owl Ice Spirit, was soon gone in thick smoke as dark as night.