Chapter Text
Harry bursts out of the front door of Privet Drive in a rush of magic and fury. Aunt Marge is blown up, floating away into the sky, and she deserves it. Harry'd been able to grab some of the things he'd hidden in his room, but nothing from his trunk. He has his wand and invisibility cloak, but nothing else worth mentioning. He's probably been expelled from Hogwarts, and he has no idea what to do about that.
But he knows if he stays here a moment longer, Uncle Vernon will kill him. So he runs until he finds himself somewhere quiet and alone, then throws his invisibility cloak on and slows to a walk.
Harry hadn't had a direction in mind when he started off. By now, he's wandered further from Privet Drive than he's ever been on foot. But he doesn't know what else to do, so he keeps walking.
It had been early in the night when he'd set off, and eventually he grows too tired to continue. He comes across a small park around the time he decides he has to stop, and decides that if he's going to sleep outdoors he might as well do it in the little play structure of the park, where he's off the ground.
He allows himself a bit of self-pity as he dozes off. A wish that he were someone else, someone other than Harry Potter. Being himself seems to result in nothing but trouble.
Maybe that thought is why he has such odd dreams. He dreams that he is looking at a painting of himself- a magical one, pretending to be a mirror as it sluggishly copies his movements. There is some sort of tar on the surface of the image, obscuring the painted Harry's forehead and dirtying the whole thing with a sort of dripping ooze.
In Harry's hand is a flat metal tool. In perfect dream-logic, he knows that he can remove the tar, but it will also remove the paint. He'll be left with something else- something that was beneath the painting. (Something more true.)
The tar gives him a bad feeling, so it's not a hard decision. He gets to work.
Once he gets the blade-like tool beneath the paint, it comes off in a sheet, taking the tar with it. And in true dream fashion, what lies beneath isn't canvas, but a mirror. Harry looks into it, and sees-
He startles awake.
"I'm going to go down the slide!" cheers a child's voice, nearby. Harry flinches away and falls off the side of the play structure he's been dozing on. It's not a big drop, but as he lands there is a crack of snapping wood.
His wand had been in his pocket. Harry has a bad feeling about that noise.
Harry is still under his invisibility cloak, and he hastens to find somewhere it's safe to take it off. This is more difficult than it should be. One of his legs had fallen asleep under him as he slept, and is now tingling painfully. And his glasses are so smudged that he can barely see anything- apparently, sleeping with them on had been a terrible idea. He also keeps tripping over the invisibility cloak- which is annoying, since he'd thought he was finally tall enough not to worry about that. Then again, he's usually under it with at least one other person, that that probably makes a difference.
Still, he manages to find a corner where a tall hedge and a couple of trees provide enough cover to remove the cloak without startling any muggles. He attempts to clean his glasses without success- he can actually see better without them, they're so dirty. Better than he remembers seeing before, actually- maybe Hermione had been right when she told him last year that he needed to get his eyes checked again? He can't even remember how long he's had his glasses.
He tucks them in his pocket for now, and examines his wand instead.
As he'd feared, it's snapped cleanly in two.
Harry is overcome with rage and grief for a moment, and in a fit of pique throws both his useless broken wand and useless dirty glasses at the nearby hedge, where they lodge themselves in the dense leaves. Uselessly. His eyes are prickling with unshed tears, and he's tired, and he has no idea what to do now.
He sits and leans against the nearest tree for a moment, head in his hands.
This bout of self-pity is interrupted by a sort of "Hmph" noise. Someone has spotted him, and she's marching up to him.
"What do you think you're doing in a nice neighborhood like this, boy?" a woman who strongly reminds him of Aunt Petunia asks snidely. "Thought you'd take a look around, see which houses are empty during the day? Do a bit of easy robbery while decent people are at work?"
Harry scowls and stands up. He's not going to give her the satisfaction of a response. He'll just retrieve his glasses and broken wand from the hedge and be on his way.
But as he moves in that direction, she grabs his wrist tightly. "I should call the police on you," she starts. But Harry has had enough- he's just run away to avoid being manhandled by Uncle Vernon and isn't about to let someone else do it in his place. And even though he's exhausted (because he's exhausted, maybe), his magic feels more volatile than ever. He tries to yank his arm away from the woman, but she just grips more tightly- he thinks she might be bruising him- and then in a rush of panic he pulls away in some other way. She lets go of him with a startled yelp, and suddenly he's somewhere else, free of her grasp and falling backwards before landing hard on his backside.
Somehow, inexplicably, he is at the zoo. The very same reptile house where he'd once set a boa constrictor on Dudley.
The problem being, it is early on a Sunday morning and the zoo is clearly not open. There are only a couple lights on, highlighting the exits. So as places to accidentally teleport himself to, it isn't ideal.
Still- it's quiet and dark, and that's something after the panic he's just had.
Harry ends up sitting on the ground for a few long moments, pondering his life and his choices, and wondering if he could just lie down and sleep here. He still has his invisibility cloak, tucked into his pocket, and he's exhausted. He could hide under it until the zoo opens, surely?
He's just about managed to convince himself that it's a bad idea (no matter how tempting) when two figures in red robes appear near him with a crack.
Harry tries to scramble to his feet, but one of his too-long trouser legs has come unrolled, and he just trips right back down.
"Just a kid," one the red-robes- a tall man with dark skin and no hair says. He summons a glowing orb of light to illuminate the room. "Accidental magic, obviously. Hey kid- how old are you?"
"Thirteen," Harry says sourly.
The man laughs. "Sure you are. Got a name?"
Harry frowns up at him. "Yes," he says, waiting to be recognized in the harsh light of the man's spell. But the man just looks at him expectantly, waiting.
Something very odd is happening, Harry realizes uneasily. He's gotten used to people knowing him at once.
"You going to tell me what that name is?" the man asks.
"No," Harry says, reaching to pat down his hair to better hide his scar. But his hair isn't the straight and straw-like texture he expects- it's curly-feeling. Like Hermione's. And a little softer than usual. It can't possibly be hiding his scar, because it isn't long enough, all curled up like it is, to cover his forehead.
Something very weird is going on. Harry wants to find a mirror, but he can't very well ask for one right now- that would be very odd, and the whole situation is odd enough already.
The other red-robe- a young woman with hot pink hair- kneels beside him. "You're not in trouble. Question- do you know about magic?"
"Yes," Harry says. "I could do some spells, even, if i had my wand with me." His wand, which is broken, he remembers with a spike of dismay.
She smiles. "Brilliant. You're not supposed to use a wand before Hogwarts, of course. Even an old family wand. Best keep that a little quiet around the aurors, right?" She winks at him.
Harry doesn't know what an auror is. "How old do you think I am?" he asks bemusedly. "I'm not that small. But, er, I did end up here by accident, so it's probably good you showed up. I wasn't sure what I would say when the zookeepers showed up to take care of the reptiles."
She laughs. "Yeah, that would have been tricky to explain. Lucky for you, we registered apparition into a muggle area, and came to check it out. We can get you home if you tell us where that is."
"Ah," Harry says. "That's not necessary." He manages to get to his feet this time, and rolls his trouser leg back up. "If you can get me out of here, I'll just... go."
She looks him over. "Kings- think maybe we should contact WCS? I'm getting a feeling."
"That sounds reasonable," says 'Kings'. He steps forward. "We're going to need to take you to the station. You're still not in trouble, but we do need to get out of here before the muggles show up. We can have a conversation over tea. Maybe you'll feel better about telling us your name when you've got something in your stomach?"
"I don't know you," Harry says uncomfortably. "How do I know you're not... criminals, or kidnappers, or something?"
They exchange looks. "We're aurors," the woman says. "Do you know what that means?" Harry doesn't, obviously. When he doesn't answer in the affirmative right away, she clarifies, "We're magical police. The red robes are our uniform."
Harry relaxes slightly, one concern alleviated. "Oh. Okay." And then, too tired to figure out how to run from wizard police without even a wand, but sure that it will be easier if he's not trapped with two of them in a locked room at the zoo, he sighs. "I guess I could use some tea." His stomach chooses that moment to rumble, too, which makes the aurors exchange another look.
"Right," the woman says. "If you take my hand, I'll apparate you with me. It's the same as the way you got here, only I can do it on purpose. Ready?"
Harry allows her to take his hand, and she spins on her heel.
It turns out that someone else apparating him is much worse than doing it himself. He is very nearly sick. But he isn't, and after a moment he recovers enough to look around.
They've ended up in a huge room all done in marble. There's a fountain, and a bunch of people bustling about, and at least a dozen fireplaces with people flooing in and out. It's all very grand and overdone, and busy enough to put Harry on edge at once.
"This is the Ministry of Magic," the woman tells him. "I'm Auror Tonks, by the way. The other bloke was Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. He'll meet us down in the WCS office."
Harry nods, a little overwhelmed by the crowds. But no one rushes up to shake his hand or exclaim about meeting Harry Potter. He must look pretty different right now. The anonymity is brilliant, but this is definitely the weirdest accidental magic he's ever done.
Whatever the WCS is, getting there involves an elevator ride and a walk down a long hallway. And then he is ushered into a cheery-looking waiting room and Auror Tonks has him sit down while she has a hushed conversation with a friendly-looking woman at a small desk.
Friendly Lady goes to fetch a different person entirely- someone who introduces herself as Agatha- and Harry is bustled into a room with her.
"Are you hungry?" Agatha asks. "Thirsty?"
"Both," Harry admits.
She calls for a house-elf, who brings him toast and jam along with a cup of tea. Harry eats the toast quickly, and adds sugar and milk to his tea.
"What would you like me to call you?" Agatha asks him, when he's finished the toast and is clearly stalling with the tea.
Harry squints at her suspiciously. He isn't sure, but he thinks she's just given him permission to make up a name to use for now. "Hadrian," he says on a whim, because it's a name he'd seen on a map once, and likes.
She smiles. "Lovely to meet you, Hadrian. I understand you had a spot of accidental magic this morning and ended up at the zoo. Can I ask what prompted that?"
Harry unconsciously rubs at his wrist, which is definitely bruised. "I just wanted to get away from where I was," he hedges. "I wasn't thinking of the zoo specifically."
"I see," she says. "And you don't want to go back to your parents?"
"I don't have parents," he admits. "And if I go back where I've been living, that would be... not great. They don't like magic, and they don't like me."
"I see," Agatha says. "Did the marks on your wrist come from them?"
"That happened later," Harry says uncomfortably. "I ran off a couple days ago," he says, fudging the timeline a bit. "I wouldn't still have bruises from them. Those heal fast."
Agatha makes a note. "You have accelerated healing, then? Not just occasionally, but whenever you're injured?"
"Er, yeah?" Harry says. "Is that not a usual wixen thing?"
"Not common," she confirms with a smile. "Your guardians- you said that they hate magic. Are they muggles?"
Harry nods.
"It's possible you have some distant wixen relative who might be able to take you in," Agatha says. "Muggles don't actually have many rights in the wixen world. Whether that's right or not, it makes cases like this straightforward. A few drops of blood will give me a list of your living relatives, along with how they're related to you. We'll go through it and see if we can find someone suitable. If not, there are always couples looking to adopt. It's very rare that a wixen child isn't placed within a day."
Harry wants that really badly. "And I won't have to go back? Even if it turns out I don't have any other relatives?"
"You won't have to go back," she promises.
Harry takes a moment to think it over, going to the bathroom and splashing some water on his face. He does look really different. He's shorter, and his hair is all curly. His eyes are an unusual shade of grey that looks almost purple from some angles, and a bit larger-looking. His face is very different, rounder with baby fat that he's never had before in his life. Overall, he looks much younger than his age. No wonder the aurors had been so skeptical about him being thirteen. He would be skeptical about him being old enough for Hogwarts at all, if he were them.
His scar is gone, too. Even when he touches his forehead, the skin is smooth.
He comes back out and lets Agatha take a few drops of his blood for her spell. It takes a few minutes, and then she frowns.
"Did you say your parents were both dead?" she asks.
"Yes," Harry says, trying to make out what the parchment says upside-down. "They died when I was a baby. That's why I got put with muggles- they're relatives on my mum's side. She was muggleborn."
Agatha shakes her head. "Someone lied to you very thoroughly, then. Merlin, this is going to be a scandal. Hadrian- I'm not the right person to explain this to you, but I'm going to do it anyway. Your mother isn't dead, and she definitely doesn't have any muggle relatives. Her name is Bellatrix Lestrange. She's a pureblood witch, and she's in Azkaban prison. Your father might have been muggleborn, or the last of his line- nothing is showing up on his side. Your mother obviously won't be able to care for you herself, but she has a number of relatives. Her younger sister Narcissa- your aunt- will almost certainly get custody of you."
Harry feels very overwhelmed suddenly. "That can't be right. I know who my mum was. She
died when I was a baby, and she wasn't named Lestrange."
"Unfortunately, that isn't true," Agatha says gently.
"Then who is my dad supposed to be?" Harry ask weakly. He's not sure he's ready to know that, either. Why is this Bellatrix woman in prison? Is she actually his mother, somehow? How can that be true, when his mum had been Lily Potter?
"This spell doesn't say," Agatha says. "Let me contact your aunt. Perhaps she can authorize a further test, when she arrives. In the meantime, I think you should take a calming draught. I think today is going to be very trying for you, love."
Harry drinks the tiny vial of potion without protest. It does take the hysterical edge off his thoughts, though it makes him feel a little sluggish, too. Sleepy. Agatha has an elf bring more food for him to snack on while she explains the situation to the woman in the front office and they attempt to contact this Narcissa woman.
The chair he's sitting in is a plush wingback, and he ends up curling into the corner of it and dozing for a while. He'd barely slept the night before, and the calming potion soothes away the adrenaline that's been keeping him awake this long.
He wakes to find Mrs. Malfoy walking into the room with Agatha, and his stomach sinks. Of course this Narcissa has to be Narcissa Malfoy- that's why the name had seemed a little familiar.
"He certainly looks like a miniature Bella," Narcissa breathes.
Harry scowls. "Does everyone have to keep pointing out how short I am?" he grumbles.
She laughs warmly. "That's something she always complained about, too. I'm sorry." She sits in the other armchair. "I'm Narcissa Malfoy- your aunt. Bellatrix is my sister."
Harry nods. "I'm going by Hadrian."
"He was under the impression that his mother was a muggleborn woman, so he's almost certainly wrong about who his father was as well," Agatha says with a sigh. "He's not comfortable naming those false parents yet, and he said they're dead anyway. We would need another test to learn Hadrian's father's name"
"Let's do that," Narcissa says, though she gives Harry a look to check if he's okay with the idea.
Harry wordlessly offers his hand for more blood to be taken. He's too overwhelmed to be making decisions for the moment. He's just going to go along with things for now.
The family tree produced goes back to his grandparents. So he learns that Bellatrix was born to Cygnus and Drusilla Black, while his father is...
Tom Marvolo Riddle. (Descended from Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle, Sr.- Harry notes that down mentally even as he panics.)
Agatha shows no recognition at the name. Narcissa is harder to read. Her face is calm- maybe too calm. She just says: "Using the name Riddle would be unwise. I would suggest Black as your surname."
So either Narcissa knows who Tom Riddle is, and is steering him away from publicly claiming that name for... political reasons, maybe? Or maybe she's just telling him not to use such a muggle-sounding name. He doesn't know which. Harry himself doesn't want any of the names on this list. But that seems like the least offensive of the lot, since it's not connected to Voldemort like the others.
Apparently there is a thing with the Black family and naming their kids after stars. So Harry can't just be Hadrian. Narcissa allows the star thing as a middle name instead of first, at least. Which is good because he's kind of attached to Hadrian already. So he's named Hadrian Alphard Black now, which is a weird name but not a bad one. There's even a little ceremony to magically recognize the name, which makes his own magic tingle oddly in response.
They also assign him a birthday arbitrarily, refusing outright to believe someone so small and young-looking is thirteen. Some quick maths on when Bellatrix had been arrested prove he must be at close to twelve at the youngest, so they reluctantly record his birthday as October 15 of 1980, making him nearly thirteen.
That settled, Agatha sends Harry out of the room to have a word with Narcissa. Harry allows himself a moment of panic about going home with Narcissa Malfoy- she seems nice enough so far, but her husband and son certainly aren't! But he still has no wand and running away will just get him caught again immediately.
Narcissa emerges from the room a few minutes later. "Let me see your wrist," she says, kneeling beside him and pulling out her wand.
Harry hesitates, but she gives him a soft, reassuring look, and he holds it out.
She murmurs a spell, moving her wand in circles without ever touching his skin. The magic settles into his skin soothingly, and the bruises that have begun to blossom fade to nothing at once. It stops hurting at the same time.
Astonished, Harry moves his hand a bit, flexing his wrist back and forth. "Oh," he says, pleased. "Thank you."
She smiles at him. "Think nothing of it, Hadrian. Are you ready to head home?"
Harry isn't sure the Malfoy house is going to be anything like a home. But it's unlikely to be worse than the Dursleys. "Okay," he says tentatively.
They walk to a room near the elevators, which is labeled as a designated disapparition spot. Narcissa holds him close, and they disappear with a crack.