Chapter Text
Death looked closely at the plethora of spheres surrounding them. Their long, bony fingers came up to closely inspect each universe with Earth or some semblance of it depending on the universe as its epicenter. Each contained with beings whose fate was predestined and so cruelly cut short by their sister Fate's hand, who loved to meddle in the affairs of man as much as they sought to balance life and death - an age old dance between them.
One such life was that of Harry James Potter or "The Boy who lived" to "The Man who conquered" or whomever within the cosmos you sought to speak of him to who now presides mostly in Death's realm these past millennia as their Master. A title the young man outright refused once he truly recognised the cost of gaining Death as an eternal companion. A quiet truth which meant that he too will be there to turn out the lights and close the door on all creation at the end of time.
Besides, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon at this rate; many destinies and prophecies needed to come to fruition after all.
The being fully dressed in perpetual shadows that enveloped the soft golden light that peeked into the massive solar at the edge of the Great Void itself. Death gently picked up a particular universe in their hands and observed the peculiar lives that presided within. A world where chaos itself aka magic was at its peak thus oftentimes made for a recipe of certain genius or disasters.
A world that faced infinite crises due to being subjected to mass destruction from beings that taught they could play God.
Death gave a snort at that, for one such being which resided on Apokolips, Darkseid, from a race of "New Gods" thought himself to be the grand ruler of this universe and wanted to make everything within it in his image however no matter how badly Death wanted to rid themselves of this particular nuisance, the egotistical god was a necessary evil; a constant within that verse as the "Man of Steel" was the paragon of hope and the Amazonian Princess that of truth.
Death chuckled at the mere thought of this. Yet, what truly stood out to the primordial entity was that despite the plethora of adversaries that has come and pass, the collective efforts among heroes always emerged to face the danger and bring justice often at costs so high it changed the entire scope of their lives - permanently.
For this was not the first time this universe was rebooted so to speak. Honestly, Death lost count after the few hundred times, especially when the souls that presided in this world were practically off limits, an unsaid rule that both Destiny and Fate designed as they were among the favourite playthings of their sisters’ intrigue.
Nevertheless, Death could sense the darkness that lingered in this universe and how desperately the Lords of Order and Chaos sought to balance it out, never truly yielding to each other.
Which gave the primordial being an insane but ingenious idea.
Since they cannot truly reap the souls of this universe especially those who don the capes and masks why not have their Master play along as well? In all truth, it's right up his alley given his former life but don't let him hear that. Plus, Death has noticed its Master's growing boredom every now and then.
Just to say a bored Hadrian was a dangerous thing just ask that universe of Ice and Fire.
What gave their Master the 'ingenious' idea to teach those mortals how to perform magics that bonded themselves to dragons of all things and to add a strange hard on for fire and domination to boot eludes them in all honesty to this day. Well, at least he was entertained for a while.
Then, the primordial remembered how infatuated their master was with that conqueror or something until he too passed away due to Fate's cruel design. Though the separation was mutual as put by Lady Magic whenever they met up for their impromptu gossip sessions (they were immortals they had to stave off the boredom of eternity somehow). Thus, further cements Death's plan to allow their master some free reign until its time for him to take up the mantle of Death itself of course. Plus maybe having a few more mini copies of their chosen running around won't be so bad development.
After all, it's both their sisters' design since they were now feeling a bit remorseful over screwing over his master in that department.
Ooooo
Hadrian Black - once known to the world as Harry Potter - had just defeated the most notorious Dark Lord to ever exist in wizarding history. Yet, even with Voldemort gone, peace remained elusive.
Fame had become its own curse. There were the obsessive fans, drawn to him for his name, his reputation, or their own twisted desires. Then there were his so-called friends, who believed that slaying a Dark Lord meant he was ready to live by their expectations - whether it was getting married, joining the Auror forces, or fulfilling some role they’d crafted in their minds. Their selfish assumptions only proved how little they truly understood him, how blind they were to the scars the war had left behind.
So he vanished.
Hadrian secluded himself from the wizarding world, with only Luna Lovegood knowing his true whereabouts. Days bled into weeks, and he remained holed up in a small cottage in Godric’s Hollow. Around him lay scattered letters - correspondence from the Weasleys, the Dursleys, and even Dumbledore. Reading them had been like sifting through shards of a shattered past, each letter a painful reminder of betrayals and manipulations. Dumbledore, the man he once revered, had been complicit in the cruel life Harry endured with the Dursleys.
But one letter stood out from the rest.
It shook him to his very core.
Written in delicate, flowing handwriting - unmistakably his mother’s - it was a stark contrast to the messy scrawl of his father’s penmanship, which Hadrian recalled with bittersweet fondness. The letter’s contents, however, were anything but comforting.
Lily Evans had been explicit: Under no circumstances was her son to be placed in the care of Petunia Dursley. She knew her sister’s hatred for magic, rooted in petty jealousy over Lily’s talents and loving family. She knew Harry would suffer in their home.
And suffer he did.
Tears blurred his vision as rage overtook him. A scream of pure anguish ripped from his throat, so raw and powerful that it shook the very foundations of the cottage. Magic, wild and unrestrained, exploded from him - reducing the study to rubble. Shredded letters floated like ash in the air; portraits were torn to ribbons, and priceless heirlooms crumbled to dust.
And then - silence.
Now, sitting amidst the wreckage, Hadrian stared at the crumpled, timeworn letter still clutched in his trembling hand. He wore an oversized, faded red shirt and jeans that didn’t belong to him, lost in the enormity of it all. The letter had been hidden in Dumbledore’s office, discovered only because Fawkes had guided him to it during a recent visit to Hogwarts.
His entire life had been a lie.
Every trial, every hardship - it had all been orchestrated. He was nothing more than a pawn, a sacrificial lamb raised for slaughter. Dumbledore, the so-called champion of the “Greater Good,” had manipulated every aspect of his life with cold precision. Even the Weasleys, whom he once considered family, had been part of the ruse - rewarded handsomely from his own vaults to keep him tethered to the “Light”.
Hadrian had endured enough.
Drawing in a steadying breath, he waved his hand, and the house repaired itself as if nothing had happened. No wand, no incantation - just sheer will. Ever since uniting the Deathly Hallows and defeating Voldemort, his magic had evolved. It answered his emotions, his intentions. He no longer needed spells; reality bent to his will. He could even fly without a broom, a discovery made after accidentally launching Ron Weasley ten feet through the air and straight through the Burrow’s garden window.
Ron’s reaction had been predictable - fear and accusations, branding Hadrian the next Dark Lord. The irony wasn’t lost on him. After ensuring Ron’s injuries were minor - a bruised backside and a broken rib - Hadrian had left without another word, apparating to his hidden sanctuary.
He’d fortified it with wards so powerful that not even the most skilled Curse Breaker or Auror could breach them.
It was necessary.
Rumors were spreading like wildfire, fueled by his former friends. They claimed he was a Dark Lord in the making. Even Ginny Weasley - whom he’d refused to marry - joined the chorus of condemnation - backed by Molly and Ron.
Trust was a fragile thing, easily shattered, and he had none left to give.
Determined to reclaim control of his life, Hadrian visited Gringotts. What he discovered there left him speechless: on his seventeenth birthday, he had become the rightful heir to not just the Potter and Black legacies but to countless ancient titles, including that of Merlin’s direct descendant.
He took everything. He claimed his inheritance, transferring the vast fortunes from his vaults into an enchanted trunk, magically expanded to hold treasures, heirlooms, and artifacts beyond measure. The goblins were far from pleased - losing three-quarters of their holdings in a single day - but none dared challenge him. There was something about him now, an aura of death and power that even they couldn’t ignore.
He was no longer “The Boy Who Lived.”
Standing before them was a man who had faced death, befriended it, and emerged changed - burdened now with a power a few could comprehend.
If only he understood it himself.
Ooooo
The sprawling expanse of Potter Manor sat nestled amidst rolling hills, its towering spires piercing the overcast sky like jagged fingers clawing at the heavens. Once a proud symbol of the Potter lineage, the manor had been meticulously restored under Hadrian’s guidance. The dark ivy had been trimmed back, revealing pristine stone walls that gleamed faintly even under the dim afternoon light. Large, enchanted windows allowed soft, golden rays to filter into the drawing room, casting warm reflections against the polished mahogany floors.
Hadrian Black sat in an ornately carved armchair, its gold filigree detailing glinting against the deep, dark wood. His long fingers cradled his godson, Teddy Lupin, who squirmed slightly, his small face scrunching in defiance against the pull of sleep. Teddy’s soft tufts of hair shifted between shades of turquoise and bubblegum pink with every yawn, his magic still uncontrolled but endearing. A rare, genuine smile tugged at the corners of Hadrian’s lips - a fragile thing, as though he weren’t entirely sure how to wear it anymore.
Across from him, Andromeda Black sat with the grace only a true Black matriarch could possess. Her posture was regal, her back straight despite the comfort of the velvet cushions beneath her. She sipped her tea delicately, the porcelain cup balanced between long, elegant fingers. Her sharp grey eyes, mirrors of a lineage steeped in both pride and tragedy, observed Hadrian carefully.
“I plan on leaving the Wizarding World…for good,” Hadrian said softly, his voice a low murmur, but it carried weight - an anchor dropped into the fragile quiet of the room.
Andromeda paused, her cup hovering mid-air for a beat before she set it down with calculated precision. The silence stretched between them like a taut string, fragile and easily broken.
“I can’t say I’m surprised, child,” she replied, her tone calm yet heavy with unspoken truths.
“You’ve given this world everything. And what have they given you in return? Accusations. Betrayal. A legacy they twist into something dark simply because you refuse to dance to their tune.”
Hadrian chuckled softly, a sound devoid of real amusement. Careful not to disturb Teddy, who had finally surrendered to sleep, he rose and placed the small boy gently into his crib, tucked beside the grand fireplace.
The embers crackled softly, their glow casting dancing shadows across the room.
“Are you not mad?” he asked quietly, turning his back to her. His fingers brushed through his ebony hair, now longer, framing a face carved by grief and battle.
“Mad that I seek to be rid of this place? I want to explore… to see what’s really out there for me. But I can’t help feeling guilty.”
Andromeda stood, her movement fluid, her robes whispering against the floor. She approached him, reaching out to gently clasp his hands in hers. The contrast was stark - her aged, experienced hands against his, scarred from battles both physical and emotional.
“You owe them nothing,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “You’ve carried the weight of a world that never deserved you. It’s time to live for yourself, Hadrian.”
He met her gaze, his emerald eyes - once filled with youthful hope - now darkened by betrayal and loss. A flicker of something softer passed between them, a rare vulnerability he allowed only in the presence of those few he trusted.
“You’ve done more for me and Teddy than you realize,” Andromeda continued, smoothing a lock of hair from his face. “You will never truly abandon him. But you must find your own peace. Don’t let anyone, not even the ghosts of your past, stop you.”
The words settled over him like a balm, soothing yet bittersweet.
That night, under a blanket of stars, Hadrian packed the last of his belongings. The house grew quiet behind him, its warmth a fading memory as he stepped into the cool night air. The world he left behind didn’t deserve a goodbye - but those who mattered would receive one.
And with that, Hadrian Black vanished from the Wizarding World, leaving only whispered legends in his wake.
Ooooo
The morning air was crisp, tinged with the faint scent of autumn as leaves rustled outside the modest Weasley residence. The Burrow had always been a place of warmth and chaos, filled with mismatched furniture, clanking dishes, and the comforting hum of domestic charms that eased the rowdy family life. But today, the atmosphere felt brittle, fragile—like the thin layer of frost clinging stubbornly to the edges of the windowpanes.
Hermione Granger nee Weasley sat at the small kitchen table, sunlight streaking through the dusty glass and casting long shadows across the worn wood. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the parchment sealed with an unfamiliar crest - no longer the messy scrawl of her childhood friend but something more refined, more distant. The seal bore similarities to that of the emblem of House Black, intertwined with ancient runes that seemed to pulse faintly with magic.
Ron sat opposite her, lazily munching on toast, oblivious to the tension in the room until Hermione’s sharp intake of breath caught his attention.
“What’s that, love?” he asked, his voice casual, but the underlying note of curiosity was unmistakable.
Hermione didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes scanned the letter, the elegant handwriting sharp against the creamy parchment:
“To my dearest friends"
I’ve left the Wizarding World behind. I hope you’ll do the same, in your own way - not by running, as I have, but by living. Truly living. I’ve left you a gift, not out of obligation, but because, once, you were part of the fragments I considered family.
Be free. Be better than what this world tries to mold you into.
Hadrian Black”
Beneath the letter was a small, velvet pouch. Hermione’s hands trembled as she opened it, revealing an ancient amulet - the crest of Rowena Ravenclaw etched into sapphire and silver, glowing faintly with protective enchantments. It wasn’t just a trinket; it was an heirloom, imbued with magic older than Hogwarts itself. A priceless artifact, symbolising a shift in power, entrusted to her.
Her breath hitched. She could barely process the weight of it all, her best friend leaving among other things before Ron snatched the letter from her trembling hands, impatience taken over his features, his eyes darting across the words.
His face darkened, red creeping up his neck like a tide of fury. “He made you the bloody heir to Ravenclaw’s fortune?!” Ron’s voice was a roar, the toast forgotten as he slammed the parchment onto the table, causing the mug of tea to spill across the wood.
Hermione flinched, more from the venom in his voice than the sudden noise. “I was the one who stood by him all those years!” Ron bellowed, standing now, his chair scraping harshly against the floor.
“I went through all that shite with him - fighting bloody dragons, Death Eaters -*and he leaves me nothing?! Not even a damn thank you?”
The door burst open, and George Weasley strode in, Percy trailing behind. George took one look at Ron’s furious state and positioned himself between Hermione and his brother, his wand casually slipping into his palm. Ready to defend his sister-in-law from another of Ron’s insufferable mood swings.
“What’s your problem now, Ron?” George asked dryly, though his eyes flicked to Hermione with concern.
“He gave her - her - Ravenclaw’s fortune! Like she deserves it more than me!” Ron’s voice cracked with frustration, his face flushed with rage. Molly Weasley entered just in time to hear the tail end of his rant. Her face pinched with disapproval, but instead of scolding Ron, she patted his arm soothingly.
“Now, now, Ronnie. That’s not fair, is it? After everything you’ve done for that ungrateful boy…”
Hermione’s heart clenched. Ungrateful boy? The words echoed in her mind like a slap. She realized, with painful clarity, that this wasn’t an isolated moment. This was who Ron had always been - resentful, entitled, and unwilling to see beyond his own bitterness.
She stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly behind her. “You know what’s really ungrateful, Ron?” she said, her voice low and shaking - not with fear, but fury. “Pretending to be someone’s friend just for what you can get out of them. You didn’t stand by Harry because you cared. You did it because you thought you’d be rewarded.”
Ron’s face twisted in anger, but before he could retort, Hermione held up her wand. “Don’t.” The word carried enough weight to silence him. Without another glance, she tucked the amulet into her pocket, gathered her things, and left. The slamming door echoed like the final nail in the coffin of their crumbling marriage.
Far from the noise of the Burrow, Luna Lovegood sat by the window of her small, cozy cottage overlooking a quiet stretch of the countryside. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting ethereal patterns on the wooden floor.
She unfolded Hadrian’s letter with delicate fingers, her dreamy eyes softening as she read. There were no grand declarations, no flowery goodbyes - just simple words from a boy she’d once known, now a man lost to time and pain. She smiled faintly, tucking the letter into her journal. “Only you, Harry,” she whispered. “May Fate be kind to you. May you finally be free, little bird.”
No tears. Just quiet understanding.
Oooooo
It was on his 20th birthday he recognised that time passed and he barely aged nor did felt any form of sickness or fatigue. Now decades later and he still didn't age one bit but ensured to cast glamours to remain inconspicuous. For he was on his world trip, a venture he started the moment he left the Wizarding world and all he knew in that time.
Therefore he couldn't stand to gain too much attention from muggles who tend to notice such obvious things as his non aging so he did what must to blend in, going by various names and aliases throughout the years became easier but a bit boring eventually. He had numerous attempts at his life from hit wizards to muggle mercenaries all tasked to bring him in to face the punishment for the so called crimes he has committed against the British Wizarding world so long ago.
Their suspicions of him grew even further, stating that he must have dabbled in the darkest of magics to remain unchanged by time. Some argued that Wizards while living for up to two centuries the most still showed signs of time's passing but not Hadrian which piqued their interest and paranoia to new heights.
However, they all still failed as he would feel their presence long before they even readied their attacks. Each time he would pretend clueless to it all and waited as a snake did its prey and strike viciously. One such time his guard was down and a team of "highly" trained Aurors sent to take him captive dead or alive to show how desperate his enemies had gotten.
With his few remaining allies long gone from the Wizarding world Hadrian figured that must have been the reason why the attacks seemed to have increased. Some poor idiot must have reopened his files and believed if they were to capture him they could control him, making him the ultimate weapon against their enemies.
Never again he thought. So he would play this game until he got bored but this time they pissed him off extremely since he was trying his hand at the whole dating thing and a total idiot of an Auror shot a deadly curse at him which rebounded off him like water on a duck's back and killed his date.
With righteous fury he took the moment that left them stunned to freeze the entire group then brought each of the Aurors sent to capture him on their knees. After using legimency, ripping apart his barely protected mind, he learned that his date, a squib who was hired to gain intel on him and lower his guard to eventually take him down; no wonder she was so insistent of a tropical getaway far away from "prying eyes". He had unknowingly walked into an ambush all because he felt lonely.
Hadrian felt stupid after all he was beginning to feel something yet to be betrayed by someone he taught cared for him. Never again he thought. With that he mercilessly casted the killing curse for he had never took a life since his defeat of the Dark Lord, but now was no time to spare those who came after him.
He will no longer disregard loose ends.
He now had to question why the killing curse bounced off him in such a manner. Along with his seemingly agelessness and new found abilities ever growing even decades now passed.
Was he truly Death's master as the tales described about the Hallows? Said hallows which he had in a pocket dimension safe from all things that sought to abuse its power. With that said he had a mystery to solve and apparated back to his penthouse in the states.