HARRY POTTER STORY: Lions in snake den

Part 33

The celebration was in full swing by the time Hadrian and Hermione began mingling. The Malfoys had outdone themselves—crystal chandeliers hovered above, casting golden light across polished marble and velvet drapery, while soft chamber music played from a quartet of charmed instruments. The scent of fresh roses and honeyed wine drifted in the air. Though it was Draco's birthday, the room was filled with guests who had come not only for him—but to observe the future of the wizarding world. Many eyes followed the Potter siblings, some openly curious, others calculating, cautious, or simply impressed.

Hadrian moved with a grace that no one could mistake for arrogance. There was an air of cold elegance about him tonight—his black and emerald robes embroidered subtly with the Potter crest shimmered beneath the soft lights. When he spoke, people listened—not because of his name, but because of the power behind his words.
He approached a group where Lord Greengrass, Lord Selwyn, and a senior advisor to the Department of Mysteries were gathered.

"Lord Potter," Selwyn greeted him with a nod, his tone formal. "Your arrival caused more than a few heads to turn."

"Not my intent, I assure you," Hadrian replied smoothly. "But I suppose I've had a habit of stirring conversations lately."
Greengrass offered a rare smile. "A Potter in Slytherin. It's something even our generation couldn't have predicted. Your mother must have been quite the witch."
Hadrian's expression didn't falter. "She was. And her legacy will no longer be hidden."
The advisor from the Department of Mysteries raised a brow. "And will you be following in her footsteps? Or your father's?"
Hadrian met the man's eyes. "Neither. I'll walk a path of my own—but I will never forget where I come from."

That earned a quiet murmur of approval from some. Others simply watched him, measuring him—trying to gauge just how dangerous, or useful, the young Lord Potter might become. Meanwhile, across the ballroom, Hermione glided through her own set of conversations with ladies and daughters of prominent families. She wore a flowing deep green gown that brought out the sharpness of her eyes and the quiet strength in her posture. There was no doubt that she belonged here, despite what some of the more traditional families might have once whispered. She exchanged pleasantries with Lady Rosier and her daughters, her tone polite but guarded. The Rosiers had long been associated with the Dark Lord's ideology, and while they no longer flaunted it, the undertones were unmistakable.

"We hadn't realized the Potters were such an... old family," Lady Rosier remarked, sipping her drink.

"Our roots go back to the Peverells," Hermione replied with a graceful smile. "But I suppose we've never felt the need to shout about our bloodline." The other woman's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well. Perhaps silence is its own kind of strength."

Hermione moved on before the conversation could sour, finding her way to a cluster of younger witches—Daphne, Tracey, and two girls from the Burke and Fawley families.
"She didn't even try to hide the shade," Tracey muttered under her breath.
"She's trying to provoke me," Hermione said calmly. "But it's not worth the energy."
Daphne leaned in, her expression unreadable. "You're calm under pressure. I think that rattled her more than anything you could've said." "You get used to it," Hermione replied softly. "People have been underestimating me since I was eleven."

Not far away, Blaise and Theo exchanged smirks as they watched Hadrian expertly navigate a conversation with an undersecretary from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—one known to be aligned with a more hardline ideology.
The man was smiling, but his words were sharp. "Some would say your bloodline's purity makes you a natural candidate for certain... legacies." Hadrian responded with perfect poise. "Some legacies are built on blood. I prefer mine built on strength, strategy, and honour." "Honour?" the man echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Even serpents have a code," Hadrian said coolly, nodding to his Slytherin badge with a small smile. "You just need to understand the language."
Theo chuckled later as they reconvened with Blaise. "You've mastered the art of telling people to bugger off without ever raising your voice." "That," Blaise added, "is an art form."