The evening was alive with warmth, the garden still aglow from the quiet celebration. While Iris and Dora chatted animatedly with Remus near the herb patch—something about Defense theory, prank ethics, and shapeshifting squirrels—Hadrian sat a little apart with Sirius, watching the fire dance in its stone circle.
He smiled, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
They had everything now.
The Marauder journal in Dora's possession outlined every mistake, every breakthrough, and every reckless joy the original four had discovered on their path to becoming Animagi. It wasn't just notes—it was a roadmap. And now they had the original Marauders here, in the flesh, ready to answer questions and offer guidance.
Hadrian's mind itched with the possibilities.
But he also knew the dangers.
Reading those accounts was enough to convince him that no matter how careful they were, the process was still wildly unsafe for students their age. The potionless transformation required absolute mental focus, resilience to magical feedback, and a tolerance for potential identity dissonance—not something he could guarantee even with all their preparation.
No. Not like this.
He opened the book in his mind.
He flipped through the concept of their shared world until he found the strand he needed—the transformation process used by the Marauders. With a single thought, Hadrian adjusted it.
Change One: After the Marauders had mastered their Animagus forms, it was Lily Evans—brilliant, bold, and meticulous—who examined their notes and developed an auxiliary potion. One that, if taken daily during the learning period, would significantly reduce the dangers of the transformation. It eased the magical strain on the body and guided the mind safely toward integration with the animal form. Less pain, fewer accidents. A safer path.
It was the kind of magic only a potion prodigy could have crafted. And Lily had been exactly that.
Change Two: Lily, in her usual thoughtful way, had documented the process and stored the potion formula and brewing requirements in a secured box in the Potter family trust vault. And Sirius—ever her confidant—had been told about it.
The shift in reality settled like a sigh of wind through the trees. The fire crackled once more. The stars shimmered, oblivious to the rewrite of history.
Hadrian turned back toward the group. Iris was mid-laugh, Remus gesturing dramatically as Dora clapped with amusement. A sense of peace washed over Hadrian.
Now it was possible. Not immediate. But safe.
He stood up and crossed the garden to join them. "Hey, Remus, Sirius," he said, hands in his pockets. "Can I ask you something?"
Sirius arched a brow. "That depends. Is it about who once turned a DADA professor's office into a hamster maze?"
"No, but remind me to hear that story later." Hadrian's tone grew more thoughtful. "I wanted to talk about… Animagi."
That got their attention.
Remus sobered immediately. "That's not a casual topic."
Iris tilted her head, intrigued. "We've been curious. You know, with Dora being a Metamorphmagus, and all the theory we've seen..."
"We even found some of your notes," Hadrian added. "In a very Marauder-ish place."
Sirius grinned proudly. "You did? Ha! Then you've already stepped on the right stones."
"But we're not rushing into it," Hadrian said quickly. "We know it's dangerous. And we want to do it right. Someday."
Sirius and Remus exchanged a long glance—one laced with unspoken memories and the wisdom that only came from learning things the hard way.
Then Sirius leaned forward. "Well, in that case, there's something you should know."
He went on to describe the potion—how Lily had perfected it after they left Hogwarts, how it made the Animagus path viable for younger or less magically hardened witches and wizards. He even described where it was now: locked inside a personal box in the Potter family's Gringotts trust vault.
"She gave me permission to retrieve it if it ever became necessary," Sirius said quietly. "I think… this might count."
Hadrian said nothing, but inside he smiled with quiet satisfaction.
Everything was falling into place.
"Not for this year," Remus warned, with the firm tone of a teacher. "The potion helps, yes, but the process is still taxing. You'll need training, supervision, and support. But it can be done—eventually. And I'd be honored to guide you."
"Same," Sirius added. "Besides, I'm curious what forms you'll get. Iris, I'm betting something feline. Hadrian, maybe a wolf or—"
"Don't even say snake," Hadrian warned.
The group burst out laughing.