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Secret Lair
–Damian Hawthorne–
He was working on a way to account for even sand inside the base, unaccounted sand, that is, when he felt it.
A Disturbance in the Force.
Or, in a far less dramatic way, a ping for multiple magicals breaching the boundary of the leased apartment back in London, the one on his record in Hogwarts. He debated continuing the work he was doing right instead of dropping everything and rushing to meet his biological family, but it seemed like a bad idea to let anyone have any more information than they absolutely needed to.
In this case, him not living there might invoke a chain reaction that could further accelerate his eventual confrontation with Dumbledore and frankly, he was not yet ready to meet the man in a non combat capability, especially since he had a propensity of not backing down from his goals, and the man had a tendency to butt his nose in places where it certainly did not belong.
It had served Dumbledore well, finding himself heavily entrenched in almost all necessary aspects of Magical Britain, into a position of supreme power, but he would quickly find out that all of that meant nothing to one Damian Hawthorne, if he decided that it was not worth the hassle of graduating.
The only incentive he had right now to go to Hogwarts was to fulfill the requirements to be considered an adult in the eyes of the Law in Magical Britain and become a member of Kamar Taj, which was the real prize in his eyes. Sure, Hogwarts' library had its own charm and was sure to contain many esoteric pieces of magic, but it was a candle compared to the sun that was Kamar Taj's library.
Shaking his head, he set down the pen and paper, something that he used to visualise what was in his mind, since something about the physical aspect of pen and paper helped him a lot, and disappeared from his office, appearing in the portal room.
It was just one of the small adjustments he'd done after the Ancient One left in a rather surprising manner. It had been just over a day since she pulled off the stunt of showing him that this world, too, had the potential for him to someday use the Shadow Clone Jutsu, and he had already made adjustments to the security protocols of his lair.
Ofcourse, in tandem with the Root Tree, removing his or anyone's ability to teleport out of the lair directly. The ability to randomly pop in and out of any space in the Lair was indispensable for him, especially since there was no real risk of encountering anyone else. He'd maintained that ability and increased security by just allowing someone to teleport to the Portal Room, then move out of there in a controlled manner.
The Ancient One outmanoeuvred him by not teleporting out of the space but dispelling the Sand Clone, which likely also held a manner of conscience sharing, which meant she learned everything from her time inside the lair without any risks.
SO far, he had very few options when it came to defending against something like that, but he was making inroads on a completely closed-off system, with no air, no sound, no light, and certainly no sound coming from anywhere else.
Making that was easy enough. It was bringing that up to his standards, which was the problem, which would take quite a while. In a way, he was thankful for this distraction because if left as is, he could have gone on tinkering for days without stopping.
The handy dandy bottle of nutritional milk and only occasional bathroom breaks would have seen to that.
Shaking his head, he turned around and appeared mid air, looking down at his apartment building, dimly lit up by the streetlights on the street, giving it a rightfully, run-down appearance. With another soft pop, he was back in the apartment, a single twitch of his magic activating the hidden enchantments in the room, clearing the space of any dust collected, minute as it may have been, due to every window being closed.
It also aired the entire apartment in seconds, as the stuffy feeling left the atmosphere of the room, just in time for there to be a knock on the door.
He straightened, took a look at the now clean apartment, and then walked to the door, ready to face the music, so to speak.
He opened the door, and as expected, there were three people waiting for him outside. William was expected, whose expression was carefully crafted to appear as if it was blank, but even he could tell that the man was nervous, which meant that either this situation being too personal had compromised his emotion masking skills or the standards for Aurors, even rising for stars like William who were clearly of the right blood, had fallen very low.
Either way, he had a role to play tonight so he spoke first, "Hello. How may I help you?"
At his words, the woman standing on the right, had a visible reaction. Her eyes began twitching, and her mouth opened but no sounds came out as she stared into his eyes.
Margaret Hawthorne, a known socialist, became a recluse after he supposedly went missing, only recently returning to the social limelight when her eldest began making rounds around the country as a very strong and very competent Auror, on top of advocating for a new model of law enforcement, with a renewed focus on protecting and serving people, pureblood and muggleborn alike.
Safe to say, that was a controversial take in the country, which must have forced the couple to begin making inroads with the current societal and political landscape, if only to protect their eldest son from becoming another item in the long list of the victims of the current system.
Richard Hawthorne, his father, cleared his throat and began speaking, "This is going to be a long conversation. Uh, may we come in?"
He blinked at that, before opening the door all the way, and gesturing to them to come in, "Sure. It's just that I don't have the seating for–"
Before he could finish his sentence, there was a small poof sound, and there was now a large three seater sofa in his living room, taking all the empty space that was there beforehand. Despite this not being his home, it bothered him to have such a crammed space, which is why he couldn't resist waving his hand and lifting the existing ratty couch before storing it in the corner, leaning against the wall.
With that out of the way, he took the smaller chair, by hand and sat down in front of the sofa, expecting to see the couple and their child already seated but he found them just standing, both Richard and Margaret looking at him with wide, unblinking eyes and William who was just standing there with a smug smirk on his face, as if vindicated about something.
Ah, it was probably about the wandless magic. It was a calculated risk. On one hand, he absolutely did not want to reveal anything more about himself than he absolutely had to because eventually, it might reach the ears of other less savory parties but on the other hand, he wanted them to take this seriously.
It absolutely could not be just a conversation between an eleven year old and his parents and the eldest sibling. This was the easiest and shortest way to do so. Also, he knew of the very public fallout between the Hawthorne Family Patriarch and Matriarch, and Dumbledore because of their refusal to use Hogwarts' sacred artifacts to locate their lost child. It had been rather ugly, but Dumbledore, likely understanding their grief, did not retaliate, which was unlikely anyway.
The noble ladies, nevertheless did not let the gossip die down for quite a while, which also explained Margaret's retreat into private life.
He was brought out of his thoughts when William nudged his parents, as they both sat down, with William the Auror standing guard behind them.
"I assume William has informed you that I am not the same son you presumably lost to some accident." He began, trying to get past the initial back and forth statements of them claiming something and him denying it completely.
Richard remained silent for a moment, his eyes locked on to his face before he blinked, as if coming out of a daze and replied, "I-Yes, William has informed us of your peculiarities." Then, he straightened up, as if gearing up for a passionate speech, "But that does not matter. What matters is you are our son. I can feel it in my blood. You are our Damian."
To the side, Margaret nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He sighed internally. He knew that it was not going to be a clean conversation, and emotions getting in the way would guarantee ugliness in the conversation but still, this was something he had to go through before he entered Hogwarts. It was a controversy, one of the highest order, and he needed to get their stories straight before he went to Hogwarts and people began asking pointed questions about his last name.
"I have no recollection of you," He said quietly, stopping the buildup from his biological parents. The statement made William's face tighten and the rest slumped into their seats in resignation as he continued, in an effort to make things clear for efficiency's sake.
"I woke up in a forest, alone, with no memories three years ago. Since then, I have learned, I have bled, I have grown stronger. All I have right now is the result of the past three years. To be honest, the only reason I even know of you is because I knew my name, and when I came here, that led me to you and the news about your missing son named after me."
He took a deep breath, the explanation somehow feeling heavy, but he powered through, words tumbling out of his mouth to just get this over with, as he explained to them about his powers, his desire to get into Hogwarts, his wish to remain alone. Everything.
Was it risky? Sure. But he saw no way through this without them being an obstacle in his path if he just discarded their queries, their hopes. This way, by giving them some hope that one day, he might be interested in meeting them, they would keep their distance and hopefully, cooperate in smoothening out a few things.
After all, they were a noble, pureblood family in Magical Britain.
"....A H-healer," Margaret chimed in, for the first time, her eyes red and her words stuttering after muffling the sobs that came out when he described his time in the forest, without mentioning the forest or anything that might lead them to his first ever lair, "We can get you looked at a Healer. If not here, then in America, or Africa. I've heard that–"
He interrupted her, deciding her designation on the spot, "Ma'am, there is nothing wrong with me." The words seemed to physically harm her. He felt bad, but he soldiered on, "There is no magic residue of any sort. I am perfectly fine, physically and frankly, do not feel comfortable enough to go to a Healer to get my brain checked."
Especially not one they would order for him. Nope. His trust issues would not allow him to be unconscious in a room full of unknown people. A true nightmare of his becoming reality. Losing his bodily autonomy was terrifying in any scenario, but in a place where love potions & potions like the Draught of Living Death were a thing, it was even scarier.
If he had to go to a healer, it would be in Kamar Taj, under the expert supervision of either the Ancient One or Master Corven, both of whom he trusted to reasonably act and keep his mental and bodily autonomy intact.
"I see," Richard replied, his gaze alternating between William, his crying wife before some sort of message was passed between son and father.
Richard then turned to him and asked straight forward, "What would you need us to do for you to give us a chance?"
He smiled internally. It would have looked quite evil if he had smiled on the outside. After some deliberation, he replied, "I want to go to Hogwarts, but not for long. I wish to get out as soon as—"
On and on, he went. He described his current goals, sanitising them obviously, and told them he wished to maintain a low profile, something they agreed to. Also, he needed their help with the NEWTs and the OWLs, and that was something Richard waved off, telling him that it would not be a concern at all.
He blinked at that, as Richard explained to him that Dumbledore and by extension, Hogwarts Foundation was the de facto legal guardian of every single Muggleborn or orphan magical child enrolled, and thus, had veto level authority in terms of any advanced exam or activity.
That level of control, understandably, did not go well with the purebloods, which is why they made sure that pureblood children, or realistically, any child with at least one magical parent, had the sole authority over their children.
It made stuff way easier for him as Richard's letter of authority was all that was needed for the Department of Magical Education to get the ball rolling.
After all of that was agreed to, Richard just put forth a single requirement and it was so simple that he simply couldn't find it in his heart to decline.
Just a weekly family lunch, for the next six weeks, at their Manor. For all the time and effort saved for him, six lunches was something he could definitely handle. Especially since it had an expiration date.
Only until the train arrived at Platform 9¾.
Yeah, he could do that.
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