Consuming Shadows

Chapter 1

He had always found solace in the library; the comforting silence, the scent of age-old parchment, and the intoxicating awareness of the sheer knowledge at his fingertips. His mother had always encouraged his thirst to learn, pushed tomes and books and scrolls into his hands and watched as he consumed the information with sad, yet proud eyes.

His year mates never did understand his drive, how he could prefer the looming shelves of the school library to the beautiful gardens and crystal statues. They did not understand why he immersed himself so thoroughly in faded, fragmented texts that held – what some may consider – unnecessary knowledge.

A sardonic smile always pulled at the side of his mouth at their ignorance.

They did not understand that one day, a scrape of obscure information may just save his life from the shadow that lurked, always, over him. But he knew all too well the importance of his study. He had known since he was six what was expected of him.

With a soft sigh, Hadrian took a seat at a polished table and plucked his book from his satchel. Magick Moste Evile was an unattractive book, but Hadrian knew the information in it was quite valuable. His mother requested he re-read it, and practice a small list of spells she had prepared that the book covered in extensive detail. Some were Light, most, however, were firmly considered Dark. This year, his mother insisted he expand his experience with the Dark Arts. They both believed that to face his opponents, Hadrian needed intimate knowledge of their methods.

Of course, they never spoke of how Hadrian was naturally gifted with the Dark Arts, or how he rarely felt the effects of using the tempestuous branch. His mother, as a Light witch, did not necessarily like the idea of her son being predisposed to Dark magic, but she knew that to survive he had to use whatever power he had at his disposal. And she valued his life far too much to try and hinder his growth.

Hadrian allowed himself to sink into the book with a single-mindedness he rarely permitted. He had been taught to always keep his attention on his surroundings, to never let himself be truly relaxed, not even at home. But every once in a while, he lowered his guard just slightly, just enough to release some of the tension that coiled within his body at the constant paranoia he maintained. Beauxbatons was far away from most of the political strife in Britain, and none of his classmates knew who he really was.

To them, he was Hadrian Evans – a particularly handsome, talented and charming student who had few close friends. Everyone recognised him, and many respected him, but his aloof attitude prevented most from getting close to him. He was the type of person that, when he wished, could command people's absolute attention, but could just as easily slip into the background and move unseen.

But none knew who he really was. His classmates and instructors did not know the name he guarded jealously, or that he and his mother were marked people. They did not know what had happened to his father, or why they had never met his mother. They did not see how Hadrian always listened for news on Britain, or how his eyes darkened at any mention of the Dark Lord. They did not understand, no matter how much he wished they could.

Because they were children. Yes, they were exceptionally intelligent, powerful and occasionally dangerous in their ruthlessness – but they were children nonetheless. Hadrian had long since lost the naïveté his classmates still had. He was a soldier, a survivor, and he was preparing for a war.

"Hadrian!"

The call startled him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Claire approaching with a smile. With faux-casualness he shut his book and slid it back into his bag, not willing to let the girl know too much. He was considered a Light wizard by most after all, and did not need anything risking the image he had striven to maintain just yet.