CHAPTER FIVE: YEAR FOUR- A HISTORY LESSON. Part 2
Days passed slowly in the castle. The crisp autumn air wrapped around the towers and courtyards, and the leaves outside swirled in golden eddies. For most students, anticipation grew with every passing hour. The Triwizard Tournament consumed conversation, study, and curiosity. The champions trained, each preparing in their own way, practicing spells, refining strategy, and, for some, trying to gauge the strengths of their competitors.
Not Adrian.
He walked through the halls of Hogwarts almost as if the tournament did not exist. His black coat trailed behind him as he moved from the Slytherin common room to the library, and then to his private chambers. Parchments were sprawled across his desk, books stacked higher than the fire in the hearth. Arithmancy, Runes, spells of soul manipulation — these were his focus.
The Goblet of Fire… Adrian has chosen it not for glory, not for recognition, not even for competition. He had entered solely because of Voldemort's return. This year was different. The air itself seemed to tremble with anticipation, with danger. And Adrian wanted to test himself. To measure his power against the Dark Lord himself.
In the afternoons, while others trained for the tournament — Victor Krum practicing combat with his wand and brute strength, Fleur Delacour perfecting elegance and speed, Harry cautiously preparing under Hagrid's guidance — Adrian studied Horcruxes, examined texts on soul magic, and experimented with minor enchantments designed to probe the essence of a witch or wizard.
It was meticulous work. Obsessive, even. He barely slept, preferring the quiet hours of the night to experiment, research, and observe. His room was littered with scrolls marked with intricate diagrams, bottles containing substances that glimmered in impossible colors, and enchanted mirrors that reflected not only the physical form but faint traces of the magical aura.
The other champions occasionally glanced at him — curiosity, suspicion, sometimes unease. Adrian ignored them completely. He did not train for the Triwizard Tournament. He did not prepare for glory or victory. The tournament was, for him, a convenient stage. The true preparation was within these walls, in study, in focus, in understanding magic at its deepest level.
A week before the first task, Adrian found Harry alone in a corridor. The boy looked nervous, pale, and lost in thought, as he often did. Adrian's stride was silent; he emerged from the shadows almost like a phantom.
"Harry," he said calmly, his voice carrying neither mockery nor warmth, "I will tell you what the first task involves."
Harry froze, startled. "You… you know already?"
Adrian's gaze met his. "I do. And you should prepare. You will face dragons. Fire-breathing, deadly creatures."
Harry swallowed, nodding. "Thank you, Adrian. I… I don't know how I'll manage, but… thanks."
Adrian gave a faint nod and turned away. " Consider it as advice — nothing more."
The day before the first task, the castle was abuzz with tension. Students crowded near the windows of the Great Hall, craning to see the lake, the grounds, and the cages that had been brought in for the dragons. Professors moved with brisk efficiency, ensuring safety and fairness, but the undercurrent of danger was palpable.
Adrian spent the day alone, preparing mentally. He reviewed his notes on magical energy, Horcrux, and spells of quick manipulation. He examined his wand, the phoenix feather core catching the light from the flickering torches. It was not for necessity — it had never been — but precision required a tool that could respond. And though he did not need external validation, the physical act of preparation grounded him.
The morning of the first task arrived quickly. Mist rolled off the lake, curling around the cliffs where the dragons rested. Students gathered, their eyes wide with awe and fear. The Great Hall had emptied, leaving only the champions, the judges, and the professors.
Victor Krum- went first, his steps precise, his confidence unshakable. Flames erupted, wings beat against the wind, and the dragon loomed above him, massive and ferocious. The crowd gasped as he executed his task with brutal efficiency, though one could argue about his skill.
Fleur Delacour followed, elegant, precise, moving with the grace of a dancer while the dragon's fire hissed and roared around her. Cheers erupted, though several students turned pale. Yet, despite all her beauty, her skill was less than Krum's.
Harry Potter stepped forward next, wide-eyed, adrenaline pumping, heart hammering against his chest. The dragon's eyes locked on him, and for a moment, it seemed impossible. And then, instinct took over. Courage, quick thinking, and sheer survival guided his every movement. It was he who did a wonderful job, with a broomstick by his side; he performed a lot better than his predecessors.
Finally, the last champion approached. Adrian Atlas. Calm. Detached. His dark eyes scanned the dragon, analyzing every scale, every motion, every breath of fire. He did not rush. He did not hesitate.
The other students leaned forward, whispering nervously. Even professors exchanged uncertain glances. But his expression betrayed nothing — not fear, not doubt, not excitement. Only calculation.
Adrian's hand hovered over his wand. The dragon's massive wings stretched, claws scraping against the ground. Its roar echoed across the lake, a wave of heat and power.
And then, with a measured, almost imperceptible motion, Adrian stepped into the arena.
The first task was about to begin.
As Adrian stepped into the arena, his movements were slow, deliberate, and calm. The dragon's massive form loomed before him, scales glinting in the sunlight, smoke curling from its nostrils. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation, whispers rippling through the stands like a storm. To anyone watching, Adrian looked entirely at ease, as if facing this fire-breathing beast were nothing more than a casual stroll through the castle gardens.
The dragon roared, a sound that shook the walls of the arena, and with a sudden movement, it unleashed a torrent of fire directly at him. Adrian's right hand remained gripping his wand—but it did not move. Not an inch. Instead, his left hand rose gracefully, palm facing outward. A shimmering barrier flared into existence, solid and perfect. The dragon's fire crashed against it, sizzling and surging, but the shield held. Not a drop seeped through. The crowd gasped, eyes wide in shock. Even the judges, their faces trained to conceal emotion, leaned forward, startled by the sheer precision of the spell.
It was subtle, almost elegant, the way Adrian moved. Without a flick of his wand, without an incantation louder than a whisper, he had summoned magic strong enough to repel the dragon's deadly attack. From behind him, shadowy forms began to ripple—the faint outline of massive, black wings sprouted, dark as the void. With a single, effortless flap, Adrian lifted from the ground, rising into the air with a grace that mocked the dragon's raw strength.
The dragon, sensing insult in the calm, measured movements of its opponent, unleashed a second, heavier stream of fire, a searing arc meant to incinerate. Adrian's left hand remained raised, and again the fire slammed into an invisible shield, the heat deflected, the flames curling harmlessly around him. The arena erupted—students screamed, some clapped in disbelief, and whispers of awe cascaded through the stands.
Then, as if commanding the very earth itself, Adrian lowered his right hand. Shadows and silver chains shot up from the arena floor, animated by his will, wrapping around the dragon's limbs, muzzle, and neck, restraining it completely. Its wings thrashed violently, its claws scraped the ground, and fire hissed from its mouth—but Adrian was unyielding.
With a slow, precise movement of his left hand, he conjured a thick gray-black mist that spiraled around the restrained dragon. The mist carried a spell of unparalleled subtlety and cruelty—it blocked all five senses of anything it touched. The dragon, powerful and ancient, struggled, its awareness muted, its senses trapped within an empty void.
Finally, Adrian extended his right hand once more, calling forth the golden egg with a subtle gesture. It floated into the air, hovering for a moment, then he caught it effortlessly in his left hand. He descended gracefully, wings folding neatly behind him as he landed.
He turned toward the judges, his dark eyes calm, voice quiet but commanding:
"Why did no one announce the task was already complete?"
Before the head judge could even open his mouth, a chorus erupted—not applause, not cheers, but the sound of Hogwarts itself—shouts, stomps, and cheers from the Slytherin side. They had taken sides without being asked. The arena trembled with admiration, awe, and unspoken fear.
The judges exchanged nervous glances, scribbling notes they felt inadequate. The other champions—Krum, Fleur, even Harry, who had watched from the edge—could only stare, stunned by the sheer force of control and mastery they had just witnessed.
The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly in the arena as Adrian stepped away from the restrained dragon, the golden egg safely in his hand. Despite the chaos around him—the gasps, whispers, and wide-eyed awe—he moved with his usual calm, measured steps, as though the spectacle hadn't even existed. The heat of the dragon's fire still lingered in the air, curling faintly around him, yet he barely noticed. He was aware of everything, every heartbeat in the audience, every whisper of fear and admiration—but he did not let it touch him.
Students from every house crowded around, exchanging frantic words. "Did you see that? He didn't even raise his wand!" one seventh-year Hufflepuff whispered, eyes still fixed on Adrian.
"That's… impossible. No one can control that much magic without a wand!" a Gryffindor muttered, shaking his head.
"Did you see the way the Darkness moved around him? Like he was… commanding them," another voice said, awe dripping from every syllable.
Adrian's dark eyes scanned the crowd briefly, noting the ripple of fascination and fear. Some students whispered that he was Merlin reborn. Others joked that he had sold his soul to dark magic, or that he simply understood forces others couldn't comprehend. All of it was amusing in its own way.' Let them believe what they wanted. Their opinions were irrelevant. Power didn't need validation; it simply existed.' He thought.
By evening, the castle corridors were alive with discussion about him. Some students followed him openly, craning their necks in corridors, trying to catch a glimpse. Others whispered behind their hands, careful not to draw attention.
One was the exception, Fleur Delacour, elegant and deliberate, approached him by the lake, her silvery-blue eyes shimmering with curiosity. Adrian noticed her long before she spoke—Legilimens subtly at work, sensing her intentions. She wanted information. She wanted to see how he thought, how he moved, how he handled power. But he didn't mind.
Few women intrigued him; fewer even approached him without hesitation. Fleur was… different. Beautiful, yes, but more than that—her poise, the way her curiosity sparked her eyes, intrigued him.
"Adrian," she said softly, voice carrying over the gentle ripples of the lake. "I saw your first task… You were incredible."
He tilted his head slightly, observing her. "I suppose. It was… simple, really. The dragon was predictable, its movements measurable..."
Fleur smiled, a small, sly curve of her lips. "Predictable? You make it sound like a mundane puzzle. I would have panicked. I don't even know how you…" Her gaze lingered on him, curious, almost probing.
"You would have panicked," Adrian said plainly, almost detached, yet his tone carried a subtle intrigue, a challenge. "Most do. Understanding the essence of a creature and responding with precision requires nothing more than observation and patience."
Her laugh was soft, musical, teasing. "You make it sound so easy. Maybe… you could teach me some tricks?"
Adrian raised a dark brow. "Perhaps. But only tips. You'd be wasting your time learning beyond your skill level."
She leaned slightly closer, deliberately brushing against his arm as she smiled. "I learn fast when I'm motivated."
He noted the touch, unflinching, but did not pull away. Instead, he allowed himself a fraction of a smile. "Motivation is… useful," he said. A faint warmth passed through him, the kind he didn't often allow. Fleur's presence was a spark he didn't resist.
Over the next days, Adrian returned to his usual routines—spending hours in the library, examining texts on magical patterns, refining subtle enchantments—but Fleur often found excuses to be near him. Observing him in the corridors, offering small remarks:
"Do you always walk as if the floor beneath you is inconsequential?" she teased one afternoon, following him to the astronomy tower.
"Some things are," Adrian replied simply, glancing at the sky before continuing down the spiral staircase, his dark coat brushing the stone.
She laughed softly, keeping pace. "I meant the way you… command attention without trying."
"Commanding attention isn't difficult when others fail to anticipate it," he said lightly, almost philosophically.
And yet, amidst his detachment, there were moments—brief, subtle—that he allowed Fleur close. Fingers brushing accidentally as she handed him a parchment. The faintest graze of her hand on his arm when she laughed at one of his dry comments. Each small contact was a spark, unnoticed by everyone else but not by him.
Meanwhile, the rest of the castle buzzed. In the Great Hall, students whispered constantly. "Did you see Adrian Atlas? He doesn't even need a wand properly, and he's already outshining every champion!"
"Some say he's Merlin reborn," one Slytherin girl whispered to another. "I swear, his presence—it's like he's… not fully of this world."
"I heard he controls shadows," another said. "Like they listen to him. It's… terrifying."
"Terrifying, yes—but also… kind of perfect," a third girl said dreamily, blushing as she glanced in his direction.
Every interaction Adrian had with anyone was measured. Conversations were brief, precise, and careful. He didn't seek connection, didn't solicit attention—but he didn't avoid it, either. And Fleur, in particular, had found a rhythm with him. She was clever enough to dance around his walls without triggering his impatience. She asked questions, small curiosities.
"How do you always seem to know… exactly what's going to happen?" she asked one afternoon in the library, leaning casually against a bookshelf as Adrian adjusted the position of a floating book.
"I notice patterns," he replied, indifferent to the casual closeness of her body. "Observing energy, probability, intent—it's simple once you understand what to look for."
"And… you can really feel all of it? Every intention?" she pressed, her hand brushing his as she reached for another book.
"Not every intention. Only the ones worth noting." He allowed the slight contact to linger a fraction longer than necessary, eyes flicking briefly to hers. Fleur noticed a shiver of awareness passing through her.
Their interactions became a quiet dance of proximity and testing limits. Other students noticed, whispering to each other. "I saw Fleur near him by the lake… she's… she's trying," a Hufflepuff murmured.
Finally, the night of the Yule Ball arrived. Candles glimmered, golden light spilling across the Great Hall. Students twirled, laughing, and music floated like silk through the air. Adrian appeared at the entrance—calm, dark coat replaced by elegant robes, his presence immediately commanding attention. Heads turned, whispers rippled. Fleur stepped toward him, poised, radiant in her silken gown, her hand extended.
"Shall we?" she asked softly.
He accepted her hand, guiding her smoothly into the dance, every movement precise, controlled. Around them, the world blurred—a swirl of light, laughter, and whispered speculation. Some students gaped openly; others whispered that Adrian Atlas, the boy who could control magic as if it were an extension of his own body, was untouchable even in this human, delicate dance.
"You move as if the music… obeys you," Fleur murmured, eyes bright, cheeks warm.
"Perhaps it does," he replied evenly, but allowed a hint of amusement in his tone. His hand brushed lightly against hers, fingers grazing her palm.
Hours passed with a tense elegance, a dance of observation and subtle touch. Finally, at the edge of the dance floor, Adrian and Fleur paused. He held her close, dark eyes locking on hers. The murmurs of the crowd faded, irrelevant.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, breathless.
"Because… you're interesting," he said softly. Then, without ceremony, his lips brushed hers. Soft, deliberate—a kiss that spoke of awareness, curiosity, and power, unfiltered by hesitation. Fleur melted slightly against him, startled, yet thrilled by the force of his presence.
Later, they retreated to the R.O.R.—Adrian silent, precise, allowing the space to transform as they entered. The intimacy escalated, physical and emotional currents intertwining, each movement deliberate, explorative, the room pulsing with quiet intensity. Adrian remained in full control, yet attentive to every subtle response from Fleur, reading her reactions like the patterns of magic he observed so often.
By the time the night ended, she was left breathless, entwined not just in body but in an unspoken understanding. They both lay naked, Fleur's naked and beautiful body lay on top of him, resting after a night of 'intense activity'. Adrian looked at her. 'She is so calm when asleep…' He thought, but he did not wake her. He ambreced her naked body onto his as he slowly drifted to sleep…
Days passed, but a lot has changed for Adrian. He was no longer alone; he had someone, a partner, or a girlfriend, as Fleur liked to call herself. Adrian could feel it; she loved him. She really did. But instead of butterflies in the stomach, Adrian could not help but be afraid.
Yes, he was afraid. For the first time since coming to this world, he felt an emotion that he had long forgotten in his first life. 'Fear was such a strange thing,' He thought.
He was not scared to face Riddle and his giant serpent, nor he was not scared to be caught by the Ministry, for the use of forbidden magic, rituals, and sacrificial magic, he wasn't scared of prison… Yet, now he felt it, an emotion he only felt in his first world… Fear…Fear… Fear…
The light of the sun touched the waters of the lake, a blurry image of a woman's figure seemed to appear in Adrian's mind. That was the woman Adrian had buried deep in his heart. In his first life, he had faced tragedies, was constantly on the move. She was Adrian's first true love in his first life, one of the few things in life Adrian considered good.
Yet he brought a disaster upon her. And even she felt horrified when she knew who Adrian truly was… Adrian had no illusion about himself; he was a selfish man. If to achieve his goals he has to destroy, kill, he would not hesitate for even a second. Death of the entire world compared to the life of the woman he loved?
Is that even a question?
Adrian was always a man who chose self over others.
But his first love was the opposite; she was a woman of religion, a woman who would sacrifice herself for others. Yet somehow, through a cruel twist of fate, Adrian fell for her.
He did not understand it, even today, 'it was love, it's not supposed to be understood', right…
'If Fleur knew what kind of person I am, would she still be with me?'
'If she truly had a glimpse into my heart and the things I did, would she stay or go?'
"Love, huh, such a strange thing indeed." He sighed.
\\\
Autumn deepened, the Scottish air crisp and biting, and the castle seemed quieter than usual. Students moved with more purpose, whispers of the tournament echoing through every corridor. Adrian walked as he always did, measured, deliberate, his dark coat brushing stone and echoing slightly in the empty halls. Even in the bustle, he moved as if untouched by the crowd.
Fleur's presence remained constant. She lingered near him in classes, brushed past him in corridors, or found small reasons to appear in the library. At night, they would share their intimate moments in the R.O.R.
"You should eat more," she said softly one night, her naked body hugged his as she wispered. The moonlight filtered through the windows, highlighting the silver strands in her hair. "You spend so much time in your chambers… I'm worried you'll waste away."
Adrian placed his hand on hers, his touch gentle. "You worry too much," he said evenly, voice calm, almost amused. "Nourishment is a simple ritual. Hunger can be delayed."
She smiled, eyes sparkling. "And yet you keep me worried anyway."
"I do not care if you worry," he replied softly. "But it is… useful to know you do." His hand drifted low, touching her ass, and a shiver ran through her body.
"You, sure you are only 14?" She asked as a moan escaped her mouth, the blush on her face deepening.
"For you? I can be any age you want." He said with a smile as he forcefully grabbed her ass and kissed her. Fleur's laugh was quiet, musical, and it lingered in his mind longer than it should. Adrian noted it, filed it away alongside countless other details about her presence. And yet, for the first time in years, he felt the faint, persistent tug of vulnerability.
Even in moments of intimacy, he felt it. Fleur's hand brushing his as they walked through the castle, the soft warmth of her body next to his during late-night "study sessions" in the R.O.R., her gaze when she thought he was unaware. All these things stirred something deep in him — something he did not feel for a long time.
The first task had passed, but its echo reverberated through the castle. Students whispered, theories grew wild, and professors still exchanged uneasy glances. Adrian, however, remained detached. He had completed it perfectly, effortlessly. The world's admiration or fear was irrelevant. Yet he found himself… waiting.
Waiting for the next challenge. Not because it was required, not because of the tournament, but because anticipation, properly managed, sharpened his mind and focus. He spent hours in the R.O.R., preparing. Not for glory, not for recognition, but for what lay ahead. Artifacts, blood, runes — Adrian experimented with subtle magic, expanding his mastery of forces most wizards wouldn't dare touch.
Fleur sometimes lingered outside the R.O.R., waiting for him to emerge. Adrian permitted it — her presence was an anomaly he allowed. She never intruded without intent, never spoke without purpose. And yet… he felt the strange tug again, that whisper of something he had buried long ago: fear.
Not for himself, but for her.
He had faced dragons, dark wizards, sacrificial rituals, and magic that could unmake the world, yet the vulnerability of this… human connection unsettled him. He caught himself thinking of her, sometimes before his own experiments, sometimes before the world's machinations. A flicker of… care, of attachment.
And then, one night, as the castle slept beneath a pale crescent moon, the letters arrived. Sealed with wax, bearing the emblem of the Ministry of Magic.
Adrian read them quickly, eyes narrowing slightly. The Second Task. The lake. The champions would need to retrieve something precious — something submerged beneath its dark waters. The air over the lake was thick with anticipation. Harry had already spoken to Adrian before the official notice arrived, giving him the details of the second task.
"Adrian," Harry said quietly, "the second task… It's in the depths of the lake. You'll need to retrieve something… someone hidden there by the professors. It's dangerous. Be careful."
Adrian's eyes, dark and calculating, met Harry's. His voice was calm, precise:
"I know, Harry. I'll plan it carefully. Thank you for telling me. I'll be ready."
He folded the letters, placing them carefully on the desk beside him, then turned to the golden egg. Its surface shimmered faintly, a soft, insistent glow calling to him.
The other champions would panic. They would hesitate. They would flail. Krum would rely on brute strength. Fleur would try elegance. Harry… Harry would act on instinct, perhaps courage. All predictable.
Not Adrian.
He walked to the window, looking out over the lake. The water reflected the moonlight, smooth and deceptive, hiding the depth beneath. He imagined the currents, the pressure, the concealment. Every variable he could calculate, every subtle force he could sense, would be his ally.
A faint smile ghosted his lips. He already knew how it would unfold. The Second Task would be another test — yes — but for Adrian, it was merely a stage upon which he would demonstrate control, understanding, mastery.
Fleur appeared behind him quietly, her reflection shimmering alongside the moonlit lake. "Do you… know what we're facing?" she asked softly. It was less of a question, more of making sure.
Adrian smiled. "I know."
She studied him, eyes searching his, perhaps understanding something deeper. She did not speak further, simply placing her hand on his. A subtle acknowledgment. A bond, unspoken, forged in quiet understanding.
Adrian's eyes returned to the lake. The currents called. Shadows whispered. The Second Task awaited. And as the moonlight glinted across the water, he felt the familiar hum of anticipation, that strange, sharp thrill of the unknown.
He was ready.