Evening settled over the castle in gentle waves of indigo and gold, the sky painted like a dream above the turrets and towers. In the Hufflepuff common room, the hearth crackled with gentle warmth and quiet laughter echoed from nearby students sharing stories of their first week.
Hadrian leaned against a cushion by the fire, legs stretched out, his eyes drifting over the dancing flames. His mind, however, was far from the common room. It lingered on mischief and memory.
The prank had been a triumph — everything a first proper one ought to be: clever, harmless, and just chaotic enough to make a mark. But as the laughter faded and his thoughts turned inward, Hadrian found himself remembering a certain mischievous group of boys long gone.
The Marauders.
He frowned slightly. In canon, he thought, Remus Lupin was worn down by poverty and stigma. Sirius Black… His stomach twisted. …rotting in Azkaban for a crime he never committed. And Pettigrew—
He narrowed his eyes.
"That's not right," he muttered.
Sliding away from the firelight, Hadrian reached into his mind, pulled out the Book — still unassuming in appearance, bound in a worn leather cover that hummed softly with power. He opened it, and the pages turned themselves until it stopped on a fresh one.
With quiet conviction, he wrote:
Peter Pettigrew was caught red-handed in 1981 by a squad of Aurors while attempting to flee the country. He was convicted for treason, conspiracy, and the murder of twelve Muggles and one hit-wizard. He remains imprisoned in Azkaban.Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were cleared of suspicion and became celebrated Aurors. They kept their distance from Iris Potter for her safety, knowing their work had earned them dangerous enemies. Their plan has always been to reunite with her when it was safe — perhaps on her twelfth birthday.
The words sank into the page like ink into water, and the moment passed like a soft breeze.
The book closed with a gentle click.
Elsewhere, London – The Silver Tankard Pub
It was a modest, enchanted establishment hidden near Charing Cross, where the wards hummed strong enough to turn away even the nosiest of curious eyes. Inside, the air smelled of oak and clove, with a crackling fireplace tucked in the back where two men nursed their drinks.
Remus Lupin looked every bit the war-weathered scholar — warm brown robes, a few laugh lines, and eyes that missed nothing.
Sirius Black, in contrast, looked like trouble in expensive boots — long coat thrown casually over the seat, his hair tied back loosely, and a roguish glint in his eye.
They were not boys anymore. They were sharp, tested men. But something in their smiles remained untouched by time.
"She's at Hogwarts now," Sirius said, swirling a glass of Firewhisky. "Can you believe it?"
"Part of me didn't think we'd wait this long," Remus replied quietly, staring into the fire. "But it was the right call."
They were quiet a moment, the sounds of the pub muffled like a distant tide.
Sirius finally leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Twelve. That's the age we agreed. No earlier. But when it comes… I want her to know we never forgot."
Remus gave a small smile. "We'll do it right. She deserves to meet us as we are now — not shadows of the men we used to be."
Sirius raised his glass.
"To Iris. And to Hadrian. I hear from Andromeda he is a handful already."
Remus chuckled. "Mischief must run in the family."
Their glasses clinked.
Somewhere in a warm castle far away, three children laughed in a common room built for loyalty and kindness. And in a quiet bar in London, two grown Marauders looked to the future.