Lord of time (chapter 41-107)

75

Avery watched curiously as Dolohov enter the dining hall, a haughty pureblood grace surrounding him, just a step behind his mother. He knew for sure what this was about without his friend even having to say a word. Neither of his parents were surprised to see one of Avery's friends so early in the morning. It wasn't the first time and it most assuredly wouldn't be the last. Sunday was the only day they were allowed a lie in, but they had to be up before afternoon. At Hogwarts though, it was entirely different, they enjoyed having quite a long lie in when they could.

"Would you care for some breakfast?" Lady Avery questioned from where she perched herself lightly at the opposite end of the table from her husband, Lord Avery, who was eating breakfast, impatiently waiting for the newspaper. It was late, and he didn't do well when things did not go just so. He always read the paper with his breakfast before going to the Ministry. Now he wouldn't get to read the newspaper until he returned home or bought one during lunch.

"No thank you, ma'am, I just ate," Dolohov lied, the thought of eating after getting that letter well...it made him feel sick to his stomach. They hadn't seen either Tom or Hadrian since the attack or rather since they were 'punished' unfairly in his mind. He wasn't a damn babysitter, Peverell could look after himself for Merlin's sake. Mostly. So why the hell did he need to watch him every minute of the day. It wasn't their fault the idiot had been attacked, so why had they paid the price? He had not said that to Tom, of course, he wasn't completely suicidal. Tom had been in one hell of a mood, if any of them thought of saying anything remotely like that they would have been killed on the spot.

"Did you get a letter from Tom?" Dolohov asked, being careful. The lack of noise other than cutlery clinking didn't bother him, his attention was solely focused on Avery.

"Yes," Avery said, being proper in front of his parents instead of saying 'yeah' and rolling his eyes at Dolohov. Dolohov had been acting like a wounded bear, as if he had been the only one punished. He had deserved it, he'd sworn to shield Hadrian, fight for him, Hadrian's battles were his battles. He took his oath very seriously. He had come a long way from the early days, he'd realized that Hadrian was worthy of Tom and worthy of his admiration and staunch respect and support. He was going to bring the magical world into a new era. The spells he knew, had created, the books he brought out, the ones he was planning on bringing out. He wasn't sure whether the hell he got his smarts from. His parents and everyone he knew was in awe of him, and they too, knew Hadrian was going to be renowned. It's why they all wanted to be friends or acquaintances with him. Not that it worked, Hadrian was very peculiar who he took a shine too. Myrtle was a shining example of that, she was just a scared runt when he began to befriend her. Honestly, he'd been furious and disgusted that Hadrian wanted to associate with her. Yet Hadrian had somehow known she had the potential to be better. Now she was the top of her classes, took shit from nobody, and she gave some bloody awesome gifts.

The only useless one he reckoned was Hagrid he couldn't help but think derisively. At least Hadrian didn't go out of his way for the disgusting half-giant. Dolohov was in a similar position than he had been, the quicker he realized they were better for it...the easier it would be for him. Perhaps he should take pity on him and tell him. He hadn't been part of it from the beginning so...yes, perhaps it would be best. He had gone through some serious pain before sense had been knocked into him.

He obviously couldn't do it here, not with his parents around.

"Finally!" Lord Avery stated, as he gracefully stood up, making his way towards the window having felt the owl enter his wards. He opened it, gazing into the distance, a nondescript barn owl flapping its way towards the manor. It had a newspaper clutched in its talons, "I have half a mind to complain, this is a disgrace!" he informed his wife seriously, as if it were late by days rather than merely ten to fifteen minutes at the most.