Fractured Sins

Chapter Two

Hadrian was startled when he heard someone knocking on his door.

Lessons were over for the day, and he'd already visited the bathroom twice, so why would they need him again?

He was rather used to evenings empty of interaction, where he could dwell on his nihilistic tendencies to his heart's content or otherwise entertain his lonesome self.

Company was something he preferred in short segments; the only time he saw the other boys being in lessons and during meals, since he was denied access to the courtyard after a particularly violent incident with a new arrival.

Poor boy had thought himself powerful, with his larger body and even larger ego.

Hadrian had been happy to correct that assumption.

Besides, it had been a while since he'd last spilled blood, and he couldn't have the well getting dry, now could he?

Further isolation didn't bother him, but boredom was something that had begun to plague him all the more often.

Often he drowned it out with imaginings of his best work; replaying the greatest hits, as it were.

He had quite the vivid imagination, and recalling incidents from even years ago were something he'd become adept at, imprisoned with only his mind as company.

Tormenting his fellow incarcerates was fun, but he never had enough time as he had when he was in America, those pesky guards never far from sight and interrupting his games.

He enjoyed reading, and so the few books the institute were willing to hand out kept him sated for a time, however he quickly devoured them and had to settle for re-reading the dull literature.

Honestly, books could hardly give him ideas on more creative ways to kill, but such is the paranoia of whoever ran this place.

The idea of escaping was one that became increasingly appealing as time went by.

On the other hand he'd only been here a year, and hadn't yet got around to studying all of the inhabitants.

That was the reason he'd stuck around in the first place; to gain a better understanding of children his age.

Hadrian hadn't been in 'polite society' - if the Dursleys could truly have been called that - long enough to get much of a sense on how children were supposed to act, and if he was ever going to survive alone he'd need to least a rudimentary idea.

And what better way than in the concrete fish bowel that was the institute, where his subjects could never escape him?

Criminals though they may be, they still offered an insight into how people worked, one he was sorely lacking when his only experience pertained to a sadistic serial killer and his - or rather, their - terrified victims.

Oh, he could charm and manipulate his way into a person's heart, get them to trust him and follow him to wherever Leon directed, but it would never hold up over a long period of time or under sharp scrutiny.

He'd realised this when a particularly smart officer had picked apart his innocent façade, sending him to this place where psychiatrists had further dug into him.

He'd caught on, of course, anger only spurring him to learn faster, but ingrained behaviour was hard to budge.

So he stayed and watched, figuring that at least in here he wouldn't have to worry about concerned foster parents or social services as he would on the outside.

Besides, he'd gotten used to this life, and the isolation gave him plenty of chance to play with his magic.

The disruption to his routine was met with idle curiosity.