The Dark Slytherin (Trilogy)

Ch 19- James Potter, New Friends and A Meeting.

The morning air was crisp and cool as the first-year students gathered on the Hogwarts grounds for their flying lesson. The sky above was clear, a perfect blue canvas, and a light breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. Hadrian stood among the other Slytherins, his expression calm but his mind alert, taking in every detail around him. This was his first flying lesson, and he had no intention of blending into the background.

As the students lined up next to their brooms, Hadrian's eyes flicked to the Gryffindor group. There, standing at the front, was James Potter—his father. James was tall, with a shock of untidy black hair and glasses that did little to hide the coldness in his hazel eyes. His posture was confident, almost arrogant, as he addressed the Gryffindors, his voice loud and clear.

"Alright, listen up! Flying is one of the most important skills you'll learn at Hogwarts, so pay attention. I expect great things from you all," James said, his tone authoritative. But when his gaze landed on Hadrian, his confident demeanor faltered for just a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing in a mix of surprise and something darker.

Hadrian didn't flinch under his father's scrutiny. Instead, he met James' gaze with a calm, almost challenging stare, the corners of his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk. James seemed taken aback, his jaw tightening as he quickly looked away, disgust and disbelief etched on his features. It was clear that the sight of his own son in Slytherin robes was something he hadn't anticipated, and the realization brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

"He doesn't even have the decency to feel ashamed for abandoning me," Hadrian thought, his smirk fading as a cold resolve settled in his chest. "But if he expects me to shy away, he's in for a surprise."

Madam Hooch, the flight instructor, arrived shortly after, her sharp eyes taking in the students with a keen assessment. She was a stern woman, with short gray hair and a no-nonsense attitude. "Everyone stand by your brooms. When I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hover for a moment, and then land back down."

As she gave the instructions, Hadrian positioned himself next to his broom, feeling the excitement and anticipation building within him. His hands were steady as he reached down, his fingers brushing the smooth wood of the broomstick. He had flown before, of course—his experiences with the gang had given him ample opportunities to hone his reflexes and agility—but this was different. This was his chance to prove himself, not just to the school, but to the man who had left him behind.

The whistle blew, and with a firm kick, Hadrian launched himself into the air. The broom responded instantly, rising with a smooth, controlled motion. He hovered effortlessly, feeling the wind rush past his face, the ground far below. Around him, the other students struggled to maintain their balance, some wobbling precariously in the air.

James watched the scene from below, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on Hadrian. He hadn't expected his son to excel, much less show such natural skill. It was infuriating—this boy, who bore his name but not his loyalty, flying as if he were born to it. A flash of anger sparked in James' chest, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.

But Hadrian could see it, the barely concealed fury in his father's eyes. It only spurred him on. With a sudden burst of speed, Hadrian shot forward, the broom responding as if it were an extension of his own body. He weaved through the air with precision, his movements fluid and controlled, every turn and dive executed with perfect grace.