Consuming Shadows

Chapter 17

He slipped out of the party as soon as he could without raising suspicion. He made his way down the hallway and ducked into the first alcove he came across. His hands were clenched and trembling as anger surged inside him.

A listening charm.

A fucking listening charm.

How had he not seen this coming? How had he been so blind?

It was such an underhanded tactic, something only someone deceitful and two-faced would do. It was precisely the sort of move he should have expected from the Dark Lord. It was the sort of move he would have pulled if the positions were reversed.

And it was that fact that had him fluctuating between begrudgingly impressed and downright pissed off.

Right now, though, the rage was winning.

Hadrian took a steadying breath and leaned his head back against the wall. He had to fix this. He had no idea if the slip had been intentional or not, but now that he knew of it, there was no way he could simply sit and allow his biggest threat to listen in on his conversations.

There were advantages to this, of course. He could lay false information, use this to twist Voldemort's knowledge of him anyway it suited him. But to do that he would have to know, at all times, when the charm was activated. He would have to spend every minute of every day meticulously planning everything he said, just on the off chance the Dark Lord was listening in.

Hadrian was good, but he doubted he could keep that up for such an extended period of time. He would make a mistake eventually, if he spent all his time carefully evaluating every word that passed his lips; and with the added pressure of the tournament creeping ever closer, he could not afford to have another distraction tugging at him.

No. It would be easier to eliminate this factor. And it had the added bonus of showing Voldemort that he was not a silly little student. The man would know instantly that Hadrian had figured out and countered his charm the next time he tried to spy on him, but he could hardly kick up a fuss about it, lest he draw attention to the very illegal thing he was doing.

The French Ministry would splutter with outrage if they knew the rights of one of their own were being violated.

Dark Lord he may be, but Voldemort did not have the same political backing outside of Britain. If the man was so desperate to open up international communications, he would be unable to say anything, unless he wanted to sabotage his own efforts.

Hadrian liked the idea of that. How many people could claim to have one-upped the Dark Lord himself?

His heart rate settled as his mind began working, soothed with the knowledge that he might be able to shatter even one of Voldemort's little schemes.

To do that though, he had to get back to his room, where he could consult his books and figure this out.

Hadrian slipped out of the alcove, ruffling his hair and started to turn.

"Hadrian."

He paused, turning half-about before stopping as the voice registered. The pit in his stomach deepened and uprooted his previous excited buzz, and he narrowed his eyes as he locked onto the man in front of him.

Éric had his hands loosely at his sides, and his stance was entirely non-threatening. It meant little though. Hadrian knew that Éric was a master at keeping his composure, years of dancing and playing with the man taught him that. The man trying to not actively be intimidating just proved he was not going to like this conversation.