PROLOGUE​

-In the Pursuit of Power-​

Eyes narrowed, and with the comforting weight of his living shroud still upon him, Hadrian concentrated, recalling memories of his intended destination—the place it all began—before deliberating towards it. He felt Luna's arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip; the girl was nervous, that much was certain. They were, after all, heading towards what most might consider near-certain death. Expressionless, Hadrian stepped forward into that feeling of horrible compression. The next moment, everything went black. He could not breathe, as if iron bands were tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull, and then—

The ruins of Hogwarts castle appeared around him.

The once majestic hall was marred by the scars of battle. Tables laid overturned, their surfaces gouged and splintered by curses and hexes. Benches are strewn haphazardly across the stone floor, discarded like broken toys in the wake of conflict. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt flesh, wood and ozone, a stark reminder of the violence that has engulfed this sacred space.

The enchanted ceiling, which normally depicted the serene sky above, was missing; blown to absolute smithereens. Shadows danced across the hall, casting an eerie pall over all that remained within. The flickering torches that lined the walls were all dead; the once vibrant banners of the four Hogwarts houses hung limply from the rafters, their colours muted and faded.

Hadrian allowed his gaze to pan over the crowd arrayed before him. The students and faculty who still lived stood at the fringes of the hall, their faces drawn and pale with fear. Some huddled together in small groups, seeking solace and protection in numbers. Others stood alone, their eyes narrowed in hate, and their hearts heavy with dread.

Terrified.

And before them all, stood the ever-persistent nuisance. Tom Riddle—the old fool—posed Akimbo with his Holly wood wand in his right hand levelled Hadrian's way. In his left hand—hidden protectively from the Slytherin's line of sight—was a magical sapling that glowed in a beautiful, bioluminescent blue and purple. Why Riddle refused to accept his defeat with grace, Hadrian simply couldn't comprehend. What use such paltry, naive heroism served in the face of an impending cultural revolution, he also didn't understand. Though, truth be told, what else could one expect from a reckless and self-righteous Gryffindor…

"POTTER!"

Hadrian laughed. "Do I frighten you, old man?"

"...there's still hope, Potter," the wizened wizard said instead. "If you stop now, then perhaps there might be redemption to be found for you."

Hadrian stared at the man across from him in thought before finally allowing his gaze to settle on the dying woman at his feet. Hermione smiled as his gaze met her; for a moment, that was all that existed before his gaze swivelled to focus on the smouldering wound on her waist.

"Basilisk venom," Hadrian intoned as he crouched to better examine her injury. "I gave you some Phoenix Tears, didn't I?" he asked the foolish girl. "Why didn't you use it?"

"...I did," Hermonie managed. "The old git did something to the poison he used on me; it's resisting the antidote."

Someone from the crowd took a potshot at Hadrian; without looking up, he silently cast Protego before beheading the fool with a severing spell. "Take these," Hadrian said, as he pulled out three potion vials from the fabric of space within his right sleeve.

"What are those?" Hermione asked.

"Felix Felicis, Amortentia, and some Draught of Living Death," Hadrian replied. "The draught would keep you in suspended animation until I can think up a cure, while the love and luck potions should give you enough willpower to keep your spirit embodied."

Hermonie giggled lightly. "Is this an excuse to feed me a love potion, Potter?"

"Yes," Hadrian answered easily. "Now, bottoms up."

"...We should close her eyes," Luna said from behind him as Hermonie fell into a magically induced coma. "Don't you think?"

Hadrian nodded, doing so before putting Hermonie's comatose body in his travel case which he then handed over to Luna. "Watch over her," he ordered as he turned his attention back to Riddle.

"...Potter," the man tried again. "We can still stop."

"Give me the Spellblossom, Tom."

"...Potter, what you are trying to do is profoundly stupid," Riddle replied. "You are meddling with magics you cannot even begin to comprehend."

Hadrian laughed. "My quest to understand all magic can hardly be called stupid. Besides, you have never seen a talent like mine … I have never seen talent like mine! How then could you presume to know what I can or cannot do?"

"...You are very wrong," Riddle said, frowning still. "Indeed, I don't presume to know everything about you. But, your failure to understand your limits has always been your greatest weakness. Still, I cannot blame you alone for your folly: your parents are equally at fault for grooming a remorseless wizard like yourself."

The two stared down each other in silence as the crowd around them roiled uneasily.

"...We both know I cannot stop here," Hadrian said finally. "I have sacrificed too much to be stymied simply by your fear of the unknown. So, what now? After all, you do not seek to kill; above such brutality, as you are. Foolish man."

"We both know there are other ways of destroying a man, Potter. If you continue with this folly, merely taking your life would be doing the world a service and my conscience would be clear."

Hadrian arched a brow. "You believe you can kill me?" he asked. "It's been ten years since I last lost a duel. But, can you say the same of yourself? Just a few days ago I was forced to spare your life. I doubt there would be a repeat today."

"...You are not invincible, Potter," Riddle replied, raising his wand. "No one is."

"Of course," Hadrian nodded, and the older man began to circle. The next moment, they both struck, wands whipping through the air with a crack and spells colliding in midair.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The force of their magic created a shockwave that sent debris flying and Hadrian's cloak billowing. From behind Riddle, the chaff thought it wise to involve themselves, letting loose a barrage of spells that battled the barrier Hadrian immediately erected in response.

"Do not interfere, Luna," Hadrian ordered his witch. "They are mine."

He pushed out with one open palm, tossing the crowd of wizards and witches to his left away with a judicious application of Depulso. His other arm swung with a flourish, wielding his wand to levitate one unfortunate fellow before using him to smack a few others like a fly swatter. Apparating to the fore, Hadrian raised his wand to deflect the force bolt Riddle launched his way before reaching out to grab the older man's collar, but the slippery fellow apparated out of reach. Annoyed, the Slytherin's gaze swivelled to find his quarry.

"ENOUGH!"

From beneath his cloak, his Obscurus emerged as a swirling mass of dark energy, lashing out with tendrils to strike the enemy before him. In quick order, wizards and witches were dispatched: heads were pulped, ribcages caved in, and torsos severed from feet.

Riddle took a potshot from where he was perched on the rafters, summoning a massive fiendfyre to obliterate Hadrian on the ground. The Slytherin sneered as he apparated to the aged wizard's side raising his sleeve to allow the boomslangs hidden within to lunge for the man. All four serpents bit down before Riddle could flee, injecting him with their venom.

"Blasted parselmouth!" Riddle hissed, reappearing a few meters away to down a healing potion.

"Giving up already?" Hadrian asked as he beheaded another witch with his severing spell. "Truly your words are as empty as your noggin. I have already won, old fool. Imperio!"

The curse flew from his wand to strike a maimed wizard behind Riddle and without hesitation, the legless man struck his comrade from behind with a bombardment spell. The old man was tossed across the clearing where Hadrian anticlimatically ended him with a severing spell to the neck.

With Riddle, their most powerful Auror, dead, the rest of the resistance did not stand much of a chance. The last witch died screaming as she burned alive.

For a moment, Hadrian simply stood as he regarded the carnage. Then he scoffed, returning his attention to Riddle's corpse. Prying the Spellblossom from the dead wizard's quickly stiffening hands, he rose and observed it with a smile. The sapling was just a bit longer than his wand at thirteen inches long. Its stem was smooth and iridescent, shimmering with a subtle, magical glow that shifted in hue from soft blues to vibrant purples. At the crown of the Spellblossom, delicate tendrils spiralled outward, forming a shrub with intricate foliage. Its leaves were translucent, with a faint opalescent sheen, allowing glimpses of the pulsating energy coursing through the plant's veins. Each one was adorned with intricate patterns reminiscent of ancient runes, etched in shimmering silver. But the true beauty of the Spellblossom lay in its blooms. Clusters of iridescent petals unfurled from the heart of the plant, each petal emitting a soft, pulsating glow that cast a gentle luminescence upon the surroundings. The petals were glittering white with markings of deep amethyst.

Hadrian stared at the wondrous plant for a long moment. He could feel the weight of the magic within it; it was like a siren call begging to be understood… to be obtained.

"Luna."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"My case, please."

"Of course, my Lord."

The silver-haired witch waddled over to deposit the suitcase by Hadrian's side. Barely taking his eyes off his prize, the Slytherin retrieved an infant qilin from the case. The half-dragon, half-horse beast, with its skinny, scaled and furry deer-like body, brayed as it tried to escape the wizard's grasp to no avail.

"You will have to forgive me, little one," Hadrian whispered to the beast as he sacrificially slit its throat. As the creature's lifeblood bled away, Hadrian turned his attention back to the plant he held. His lips parted and inspired incantations came easily to him under the influence of his temporary precognition: many futures were travelled at that moment, but only one held what truly he desired. And so he reached out for Luna's hand, braced himself and spoke the words with a flourish of his wand…

"Eldorise, veritamora!"

…

Reality spun as Hadrian and his doxy were yanked across space and time towards one particular nexus of magic. The pair stumbled upon arrival, disorientated and sick to the bone. Luna ran to a corner to empty her stomach while Hadrian dropped to one knee as he suppressed his discomfort. For a long moment, he stayed like this.

Somewhat recovered, he looked down to see the fantastic plant which he held had, sometime, along the way, lost its allure. Before his very eyes, the once beautiful herb withered away, collapsing into dust in his palm.

Hadrian rose to his feet, regarding his surroundings with a frown. They now stood in a graveyard in a city somewhere. The entrance behind them was marked by rusted iron gates, their once ornate designs now obscured by layers of grime and neglect. Beyond them, a winding path meandered through the overgrown vegetation, choked with weeds and tangled ivy that clutched at the ankles of unwary visitors. Even the air itself was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay.

The headstones that populated the graveyard were weather-beaten and worn, their inscriptions faded with age. Some leaned at odd angles as if struggling to remain upright against the weight of time, while others lay shattered and forgotten amidst the overgrowth. There was a sign nearby illuminated by a flickering street light; squinting, Hadrian could mark out the words, '14 Park Row Street'.

A mausoleum stood before him like a silent sentinel, its once-grand facade now cracked and crumbling. It was night; Shadows danced among the tombstones, playing tricks on the mind. Strange noises echoed through the stillness, whispers carried on the chill breeze that seemed to speak of long-forgotten secrets buried beneath the earth.

There was magic in the air. Hadrian could feel it.

Strong magic.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, the wizard approached the mausoleum, heeding the mysterious call. Before him was a stone mould, shaped and engraved to resemble a tome. "Revelio," he intoned, dispelling the illusion that covered the book.

On the cover was a jumbled of words the wizard could hardly comprehend, but somehow translated nonetheless…

'The Book of Eternity', it read.

'Annals of the known history of the Universe…'