Potter Manor — Hadrian's Bedroom
9 August 1971 — Early Evening
The bedroom was a testament to organized chaos, with the kind of lived-in comfort that spoke of a child who was allowed to be himself rather than conform to rigid expectations of aristocratic perfection. Ancient tapestries depicting scenes of magical creatures in their natural habitats hung alongside carefully framed Muggle book covers—*The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe*, *The Fellowship of the Ring*, and *A Wrinkle in Time* among others—creating an eclectic mix that somehow worked perfectly together. The four-poster bed was carved from dark oak that had probably grown on Potter lands centuries ago, while modern magical conveniences like self-organizing bookshelves and a mirror that offered gentle grooming suggestions added contemporary functionality to the traditional wizarding aesthetic.
Hadrian Arcturus Potter stood before his full-length mirror, adjusting his deep emerald dress robes for what had to be the tenth time in fifteen minutes. At eleven years old, he already possessed the kind of natural presence that made people look twice—not just because of his height, which suggested he'd eventually tower over most of his peers, but because of the way he carried himself. There was something almost magnetic about him, a quiet confidence that drew the eye even when he was standing perfectly still.
His features were striking in the way that promised he'd be devastating when he grew into them fully. Sharp cheekbones gave his face a sculpted quality that belonged more on a Renaissance statue than an eleven-year-old boy, while his straight nose and strong jawline hinted at the stubborn determination that seemed to be encoded in Potter DNA. His hair was the family curse—jet black and utterly untameable, sticking up at angles that defied both gravity and styling products with the kind of willful independence that had characterized Potter hair for centuries.
But it was his eyes that truly set him apart from every other Potter in the family line. Where James had inherited the warm hazel eyes that sparkled with mischief and unfiltered joy, Hadrian's were a striking silver-grey that seemed to hold depths far beyond his eleven years. They were the kind of eyes that suggested ancient wisdom trapped in a young face, as if he'd seen empires rise and fall and had learned to find humor in the cosmic joke of it all. When he was thinking—really thinking, not just processing everyday information—they took on an almost luminescent quality that made them appear to glow with inner light.
Those remarkable eyes were currently focused on his reflection with the kind of intense concentration that suggested he was seeing far more than just his physical appearance. There was something haunted in his expression, layered with the complexity of someone who carried memories that belonged to different choices, different consequences, different endings entirely.
"You know," he said to his reflection, his voice carrying the kind of measured cadence that suggested extensive reading and perhaps experiences that had taught him words carried weight, "for someone who supposedly has a second chance at getting things right, I'm doing a remarkable job of overthinking every possible scenario until I've paralyzed myself with indecision."
At the foot of his bed, sprawled across an expensive Persian rug with the kind of regal dignity that suggested he considered himself the true master of the household, Aslan raised his magnificent head to regard his human with intelligent golden eyes that held far too much amusement for a creature supposedly his age.
The Nundu cub was about the size of a large house cat, but everything else about him screamed barely contained power and predatory grace. His coat was silver that seemed to shimmer in the lamplight, marked with distinctive golden rosettes that would eventually make him one of the most beautiful and deadly creatures in the magical world. His paws were already disproportionately large, hinting at the massive size he'd eventually achieve, and when he stretched—which he did now, purely for dramatic effect—the play of muscles beneath his sleek coat suggested strength that was already formidable despite his youth.
The most remarkable thing about Aslan, however, was the sheer intelligence in his gaze. This wasn't the simple awareness of a domestic cat or even the cunning intelligence of a wild predator. This was something deeper, more complex—the kind of ancient wisdom that spoke of a creature who understood the world in ways that humans could only begin to comprehend, and found most of their concerns vastly entertaining.
*Oh, please,* came a voice in Hadrian's mind, rich and warm with the kind of baritone that suggested Aslan's mental voice was already deeper and more mature than his physical form would indicate. The familiar bond between them allowed for this direct mental communication, though Aslan had made it clear from the beginning that he considered it less a magical connection and more a convenient way to provide running commentary on his human's more ridiculous moments. *You've been having the same internal crisis for twenty minutes. At this rate, the Evans family will die of old age before you work up the courage to meet them.*
"I am not having an internal crisis," Hadrian protested, though his voice lacked conviction as he turned away from the mirror and ran a hand through his impossible hair in a gesture that was pure James Potter. "I'm engaging in strategic planning. There's a difference."
*Strategic planning,* Aslan repeated, his mental voice dripping with the kind of sophisticated sarcasm that would have made a British nobleman proud. *Is that what we're calling 'staring at yourself in the mirror while spiraling into increasingly dramatic scenarios about how the evening might go wrong'? Because I have several other terms for that behavior, none of which sound nearly as dignified.*
Hadrian shot his familiar a look that was equal parts affection and exasperation. "You know, most familiars provide emotional support and encouragement to their humans. They're supposed to be loyal companions who offer comfort during times of stress."
*Most familiars,* Aslan replied with the kind of verbal elegance that suggested he'd been practicing his wit for centuries, *are not Nundu who find their humans' tendency toward melodrama both entertaining and slightly concerning. Besides, I am being supportive. I'm supporting you by preventing you from disappearing so far into your own head that you forget there's an actual world outside your bedroom that requires your participation.*
"Melodrama?" Hadrian's voice rose slightly, his grey eyes flashing with indignation that was more theatrical than genuine. "I am not being melodramatic. I'm being appropriately cautious about a social situation that could have far-reaching consequences for multiple people's futures."
*Right,* Aslan said, rolling onto his side in a display of feline flexibility that somehow managed to look both adorable and vaguely condescending. *Because eleven-year-olds meeting each other for dinner is clearly an event of earth-shattering importance that requires the kind of careful planning usually reserved for international treaty negotiations.*
"When those eleven-year-olds include people who were... important to me in another life, and when the evening could determine whether certain friendships form or certain antagonisms develop that could shape the next seven years of our lives, then yes, it does require careful consideration," Hadrian replied, his voice taking on the kind of patient tone usually reserved for explaining complex concepts to particularly slow students.
Aslan lifted his head, fixing Hadrian with a stare that seemed to see straight through him. *You're talking about the Snape boy.*
It wasn't a question, and Hadrian felt something tighten in his chest at the casual way his familiar cut straight to the heart of his concerns.
"Among others," he said quietly, moving to his window to gaze out at the extensive grounds of Potter Manor. The evening light painted everything in shades of gold and amber, turning the carefully maintained gardens into something that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. "But yes, primarily Severus. In my... previous life, the antagonism between him and James poisoned so many relationships. It created cycles of hurt and retaliation that lasted decades and caused unnecessary pain for everyone involved."
*And you think you can prevent that by doing what, exactly?* Aslan asked, his mental voice taking on a more serious tone though it still carried an undercurrent of gentle challenge. *Hover over every conversation? Manage everyone's reactions? Control the natural development of teenage personalities and social dynamics through sheer force of will and strategic intervention?*
"I can be aware of potential problems and try to steer conversations away from topics that might cause issues," Hadrian said, though even as he spoke, he could hear how inadequate the plan sounded when stated aloud.
*Ah yes,* Aslan replied with renewed amusement, *because nothing says 'natural social interaction' like carefully orchestrated conversation management by an eleven-year-old who's trying to prevent conflicts that haven't happened yet based on memories from a life that technically never existed in this timeline.*
Hadrian turned from the window to level his familiar with a look that could have frozen fire. "Are you quite finished?"
*Not even close,* Aslan replied cheerfully, rising to pad over to where Hadrian stood with the kind of fluid grace that made every movement look choreographed. *We haven't even discussed your apparent belief that you can somehow intuit the reincarnation status of a girl you've never met based solely on the fact that she has a brother wand to yours. Because that's definitely a completely rational approach to social interaction.*
"Mother Magic herself told me that Natalia Evans was chosen for a second chance," Hadrian protested, reaching down to scratch behind Aslan's ears more forcefully than was strictly necessary. "It's not intuition, it's direct divine information."
*Right, and I'm sure that conversation will go wonderfully,* Aslan said, leaning into the touch despite his sarcastic tone. *'Hello, lovely to meet you, pass the potatoes, oh by the way, Mother Magic told me you're a reincarnated soul, what was your previous life like?' I can see no possible way that could go wrong.*
"I'm not planning to lead with that," Hadrian said, though his voice carried a note of uncertainty that suggested he hadn't entirely worked out how he was planning to approach the topic. "I just... I want to understand. If she's like me, if she has memories of another life, then maybe we could help each other navigate this whole second chance thing."
*Or,* Aslan suggested with the kind of practical wisdom that came from being an ancient magical creature in a young body, *you could approach this evening as an opportunity to meet new people and potentially make friends, without the added pressure of cosmic significance and mystical connections. Novel concept, I know, but it might actually work better than your current strategy of treating every interaction as a chess move in some grand game of preventing historical repetition.*
Hadrian was quiet for a moment, considering his familiar's words with the kind of serious attention he gave to most of Aslan's observations, even the ones delivered with maximum sarcasm.
"You think I'm overcomplicating this," he said finally.
*I think,* Aslan replied gently, *that you're trying to carry the weight of knowledge and responsibility that belongs to someone much older, and that you're forgetting you're allowed to be eleven years old sometimes. You don't have to solve every problem or prevent every potential conflict. You're allowed to just... exist, and let things develop naturally.*
Before Hadrian could respond, a sharp knock at his door interrupted the moment. The sound was distinctly energetic—the kind of rhythmic pattern that suggested someone who was practically vibrating with excitement and possibly bouncing on their toes.
"Hadrian!" came James Potter's voice through the door, carrying the kind of barely contained enthusiasm that made him sound like he'd discovered something more exciting than Quidditch and chocolate combined. "The Evans family just arrived, and mate, you are not going to believe what I'm seeing down there!"
*And there's your cousin,* Aslan observed with fond amusement, *right on schedule with his complete inability to contain any emotion for longer than thirty seconds.*
Hadrian moved to open the door, revealing James in all his excited, gesticulating glory. At eleven, James Potter was like a force of nature barely contained in human form—all wild hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and restless energy that seemed to require constant motion to prevent spontaneous combustion. His formal robes were already slightly wrinkled from what had clearly been enthusiastic gesturing, and his hair defied every law of physics with the kind of confident independence that suggested it had never met a comb it couldn't defeat.
"James," Hadrian began, but his cousin was already launching into what sounded like it was going to be an extensive report delivered at maximum speed and volume.
"Right, so first off, the twins are absolutely brilliant," James said, practically bouncing as he spoke, his hands moving in animated gestures that seemed to be conducting an invisible orchestra. "And I mean properly brilliant, not just 'oh look, the pretty girls know some magic' brilliant. They were having this conversation with dad about potion theory that was so advanced I'm not sure I understood half the words they were using."
He paused for approximately half a second to breathe before continuing with renewed energy.
"And their familiars, Hadrian—you should see their familiars! Lily has this snowy owl that carries herself like she thinks she's the Queen of England, all regal posture and judgmental stares. Beautiful bird, obviously, but she looks at everyone like she's evaluating whether they're worthy of her attention."
*I like her already,* Aslan commented dryly in Hadrian's mind.
"But Natalia's familiar," James continued, his eyes practically glowing with excitement, "is this absolutely magnificent kitsune. Silver and white fur that looks like it's made of starlight, and she moves like... like liquid grace, if that makes sense. And her eyes, mate—they're so intelligent it's actually a bit unnerving. Like she's listening to every conversation and filing away information for later use."
"A kitsune familiar is quite unusual," Hadrian observed, though his voice carried notes of both genuine interest and something that might have been nervous anticipation. "They're not exactly common in Britain."
"That's not even the best part," James said, his grin widening to the point where Hadrian was genuinely concerned about the structural integrity of his cousin's face. "The friend they brought—Severus Snape—he knows more about magical theory than some seventh-years I've met. We were talking about Transfiguration principles while we waited for you, and he was explaining concepts that I'm pretty sure they don't teach until at least fourth year."
Hadrian felt his chest tighten slightly at the casual way James mentioned Severus, though he was relieved to note that his cousin's tone held only respect and genuine interest rather than any hint of antagonism.
"He sounds impressive," Hadrian said carefully, watching James's expression for any sign of the dismissive arrogance that had characterized his relationship with Severus in the previous timeline.
"Impressive doesn't begin to cover it," James replied enthusiastically. "And he's not at all what I expected from the way some people talk about Slytherin families. I mean, he's a bit serious and intense, but he's not... you know, cold or cruel or any of that nonsense. Just very focused and obviously incredibly intelligent."
*Your cousin appears to have functioning social instincts after all,* Aslan observed with surprise. *Who would have thought?*
"The Evans parents seem lovely too," James continued, apparently oblivious to Hadrian's internal conversation with his familiar. "They're clearly a bit overwhelmed by all the magical family protocols and traditions, but they're doing their best to understand everything. And you can tell they absolutely adore their daughters and want to support them even though this whole world is completely foreign to them."
He paused, his expression growing slightly more thoughtful as he considered his next words.
"Actually, that's something I wanted to mention," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone though it still carried his natural enthusiasm. "The twins have obviously had to explain a lot about our world to their parents, and I get the impression that they've been carrying quite a bit of responsibility for making sure their family understands and feels comfortable with everything."
"That must have been challenging," Hadrian said, though he was thinking about how different this version of events was from what he remembered of Lily's family dynamics in his previous life.
"Right, and I think that's part of why they both seem so... I don't know, mature? Like they've had to grow up quickly to help bridge the gap between two completely different worlds," James said, his natural empathy showing through his excitement. "But they don't seem bitter about it or anything. If anything, they seem excited about the opportunity to help their parents understand magic."
*Interesting,* Aslan commented. *It sounds like having a magical twin sister changed the family dynamics significantly. Shared responsibility rather than isolated burden.*
"Oh, and Newt is absolutely fascinated by both familiars," James continued, his energy returning in full force. "He's been taking notes constantly since they arrived, and I heard him mutter something about 'unprecedented bonding patterns' and 'convergent magical signatures' that sounded very scientific and important."
He glanced past Hadrian to where Aslan was sitting with patient dignity, observing the conversation with the kind of intelligent attention that suggested he was cataloguing James's personality traits for future reference.
"Aslan looks exceptionally handsome tonight, by the way," James added with genuine appreciation. "Very dignified and regal. Though I swear he's gotten bigger since I saw him last week. Are Nundu supposed to grow that quickly, or is he just showing off?"
*I like your cousin,* Aslan said in Hadrian's mind, his mental voice carrying a note of approval. *He notices details, expresses genuine appreciation, and doesn't seem to feel threatened by others' accomplishments. These are valuable qualities in a friend.*
*Plus,* he added with renewed amusement, *he called me handsome and dignified, which shows excellent judgment.*
"According to Newt, young Nundu go through several growth spurts in their first year," Hadrian replied, fighting back a smile at his familiar's vanity. "Aslan will probably be the size of a large dog by Christmas, and approaching his adult size by the time we graduate from Hogwarts."
"That's going to make the dormitories interesting," James observed with a grin that suggested he found the prospect more exciting than concerning. "Though I suppose by then everyone will be used to having a Nundu around. It's not like he's going to suddenly develop a taste for first-years overnight."
*Oh, I don't know,* Aslan mused thoughtfully. *Some of them might be quite tasty. Properly seasoned, of course.*
"Aslan says to tell you that he appreciates the vote of confidence," Hadrian said aloud, which earned him a look of amused skepticism from his familiar.
*That is not what I said, and you know it.*
"Should we head downstairs?" James asked, glancing between Hadrian and Aslan with barely contained excitement. "Everyone's gathered in the main parlor, and I think the adults are getting a bit restless. Plus, I'm pretty sure Sirius is going to start juggling something if he has to make polite conversation much longer without backup."
*Ah yes,* Aslan observed, *your other cousin. The one with even less impulse control than James, if such a thing is possible.*
"Sirius is here already?" Hadrian asked, though he wasn't sure if he was pleased or concerned by this information.
"Arrived about an hour ago," James confirmed. "He's been on his best behavior so far, but you know how he gets when he's trying to be proper for too long. He starts getting that look like he's planning something that will either be brilliant or result in someone needing medical attention."
"Wonderful," Hadrian muttered, taking one last look at himself in the mirror. His reflection stared back at him with those distinctive grey eyes that seemed to hold far more knowledge than any eleven-year-old should possess, reminding him that tonight was about more than just meeting new people—it was about managing the delicate balance between who he had been and who he was becoming.
*You look fine,* Aslan said gently, rising from his position on the rug to pad over to his human. *More than fine, actually. You look like someone people will want to get to know, which is rather the point of social gatherings.*
"Right," Hadrian said, straightening his shoulders with the kind of resolve that suggested he was preparing for something far more challenging than a dinner party. "Just... be myself. How hard can that be?"
*Famous last words,* Aslan observed with fond amusement, *though I suspect the evening will be far more interesting than you're imagining, and in much better ways than you're worried about.*
As they made their way toward the door, James practically vibrating with excitement beside them and Aslan padding along with fluid grace, Hadrian's mind was already working through the evening ahead. He needed to observe the dynamics between everyone, look for opportunities to establish positive connections, and somehow find a way to approach Natalia Evans about their potentially shared circumstances without sounding completely insane.
*Remember,* Aslan said as they reached the doorway, *you're not trying to orchestrate the perfect evening or manage everyone's reactions. You're just trying to be the best version of yourself and let genuine connections develop naturally. Everything else is just cosmic background noise.*
"When did you become so wise?" Hadrian asked quietly as they stepped into the hallway.
*I've always been this wise,* Aslan replied with characteristic sass. *You're just finally mature enough to appreciate it.*
As they descended toward the main parlor, where voices and laughter drifted up from their guests, Hadrian couldn't help but smile despite his nerves. Whatever else happened tonight, at least he'd have the running commentary from his familiar to keep things entertaining.
*Oh, this is going to be fun,* Aslan said with the kind of anticipation that suggested he was already planning to provide editorial commentary on every social interaction of the evening.
Hadrian wasn't sure whether that was a promise or a threat.
—
Potter Manor — Main Parlor
The main parlor of Potter Manor was a masterpiece of understated elegance, designed to impress without overwhelming. Ancient magical portraits lined the walls, their occupants maintaining the kind of dignified silence that suggested they'd been briefed on proper behavior during important social occasions. Crystal chandeliers cast warm, golden light that made everything seem to glow with inherent magic, while strategically placed sofas and chairs created intimate conversation areas that encouraged both comfort and connection.
As Hadrian descended the grand staircase with James practically bouncing beside him and Aslan padding with regal dignity at his feet, he could already hear the pleasant hum of multiple conversations taking place throughout the room. The sound was distinctly civilized—the kind of social harmony that came from people genuinely enjoying each other's company rather than enduring obligatory interactions.
*Deep breath,* Aslan advised as they reached the bottom of the stairs. *Remember, you're not performing for anyone. You're just meeting people who might become friends.*
The scene that greeted them was more animated and comfortable than Hadrian had dared hope. Near the massive fireplace, the adults had arranged themselves in a loose circle of chairs that allowed for easy conversation while keeping everyone included. Charlus and Fleamont were clearly in their element as hosts, managing the delicate social dynamics with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of entertaining diverse groups at Potter family gatherings.
Alex Evans looked considerably more relaxed than Hadrian had expected, engaged in what appeared to be an enthusiastic discussion with Charlus about the parallels between medieval literature and ancient wizarding texts. His earlier nervousness had been replaced by the kind of intellectual excitement that came from discovering new areas of academic interest, while his wife Melanie was deep in conversation with Dorea Potter about the practical challenges of integrating magical and Muggle family traditions.
"—fascinating to consider how many supposedly fictional medieval texts might actually have been attempts to record magical history," Alex was saying, his academic enthusiasm evident in every gesture. "The line between fantasy and historical documentation becomes much more complex when you consider that some of the 'impossible' events described might have actually happened."
"Precisely!" Charlus replied with obvious delight. "We have entire archives of historical documents that Muggle scholars dismiss as mythology or folklore, when they're actually quite accurate accounts of magical events. The preservation of magical history through supposedly fictional narratives has been one of our most effective methods of maintaining cultural memory while avoiding persecution."
*That man appears to be adapting well,* Aslan observed with approval. *Academic minds tend to be more flexible when it comes to expanding their understanding of reality.*
But it was the younger generation's conversation that immediately captured Hadrian's attention. Lily, Natalia, and Severus had been claimed by Newton Scamander, who was clearly in full research mode, his attention focused entirely on the two remarkable familiars with the kind of scientific fascination that made everything else fade into background noise.
Newt himself was exactly as Hadrian remembered from their previous encounters in another timeline—perpetually disheveled in the way that suggested he'd forgotten to pay attention to his appearance while thinking about far more interesting things, with sandy brown hair that never quite stayed where it was supposed to and kind eyes that lit up with genuine enthusiasm when discussing magical creatures. His wife Tina sat beside him, taking notes with the kind of methodical precision that balanced out her husband's more scattered approach to documentation.
"—the bonding patterns are absolutely unprecedented," Newt was saying, his voice carrying the kind of excited reverence that came from encountering something that challenged everything he thought he knew about magical creature behavior. "Kitsune familiars are extraordinarily rare in Europe—I believe there have been fewer than a dozen recorded bondings in the past two centuries. And they're notoriously selective about their human partners, requiring not just compatible magical signatures but very specific combinations of intelligence, emotional maturity, and what we might call magical wisdom."
Lily's snowy owl—and Hadrian's heart clenched as he recognized Hedwig, though she looked younger and somehow more vibrant than he remembered from his previous life—perched on her human's shoulder with regal dignity, observing the conversation with the kind of intelligent attention that suggested she understood every word being spoken.
*That's not just any owl,* Aslan said quietly in Hadrian's mind, his mental voice carrying a note of recognition that suggested he too could sense something unusual about the beautiful bird.
*I know,* Hadrian replied, his chest tight with a mixture of joy and complicated grief. *She was... she was my familiar, in my previous life. My closest companion for seven years.*
*And now she's bonded to someone else,* Aslan said gently, his mental voice carrying understanding rather than jealousy. *That must be difficult.*
*It's... complex,* Hadrian admitted, watching as Hedwig turned her amber eyes toward him with a look that seemed almost recognitive. *I'm happy she's alive and well, and Lily clearly adores her. But seeing her bonded to someone else is a reminder of how much has changed.*
"The kitsune bonding is remarkable enough," Newt continued, his attention focused on Laika, who was sitting with perfect poise at Natalia's feet while somehow managing to radiate an aura of ancient wisdom that seemed incongruous with her small size. "But when combined with Mr. Potter's Nundu familiar, it suggests something far more significant than simple coincidence."
"What kind of significance?" Severus asked, his dark eyes bright with the kind of intellectual curiosity that had always characterized his approach to magical theory. "Convergent bonding patterns?"
"Precisely!" Newt's face lit up with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested Severus had just identified exactly the right question. "I suspect we're seeing what I call a 'cascade effect'—when one unusual bonding creates magical resonance patterns that attract other powerful creatures to compatible humans in the same general area and time period."
"So Hadrian bonding with Aslan might have created conditions that made it more likely for Natalia to attract a kitsune familiar?" Lily asked, her brown eyes reflecting the kind of analytical thinking that had always made her one of the brightest students in any room.
"It's certainly possible," Newt replied, though his voice carried the careful tone of someone who was theorizing rather than stating established fact. "The magical signatures of both Nundu and kitsune are quite powerful, and their presence in the same general magical environment could create what we might call 'sympathetic resonance'—making the area more attractive to other unusually powerful magical creatures seeking bonding opportunities."
*Listen to them,* Aslan observed with approval. *Intellectual curiosity, genuine interest in understanding rather than just accepting, willingness to engage with complex theoretical concepts. These are good minds to be around.*
As if drawn by some magnetic pull, Hedwig suddenly took flight from Lily's shoulder, her snowy wings carrying her across the room with the kind of graceful precision that had always characterized her movements. She landed on the back of Hadrian's chair with a soft rustle of feathers, fixing him with those familiar amber eyes that seemed to hold depths of recognition and something that might have been affection.
"Oh!" Lily exclaimed, her voice carrying surprise and slight concern. "I'm so sorry—Hedwig doesn't usually approach strangers. She's typically much more reserved with people she doesn't know."
"It's quite all right," Hadrian said softly, raising his hand to gently stroke Hedwig's snowy feathers with the kind of practiced motion that spoke of long familiarity. The owl leaned into his touch with a soft, contented sound that made his chest ache with bittersweet recognition. "She's beautiful. How long have you been bonded?"
"Since around a month," Lily replied, though her voice carried a note of puzzlement as she watched her familiar's unusually affectionate behavior with someone she'd supposedly never met. "She just... appeared at my window one morning. When I tried to send her away, she refused to leave. It was like she'd decided I belonged to her rather than the other way around."
*She remembers you,* Aslan said quietly in Hadrian's mind. *Familiar bonds transcend single lifetimes. The connection you shared with her in your previous life—it's still there, even though she's bonded to someone else now.*
*That's impossible,* Hadrian replied, though his heart was racing as Hedwig continued to lean into his touch with obvious contentment.
*Very little is actually impossible when it comes to the deep magic that governs familiar bonds,* Aslan replied with the kind of ancient wisdom that reminded Hadrian that his familiar was far older and more knowledgeable than his current physical form suggested. *Love transcends death, and the love between a wizard and their familiar is one of the purest forms of magical connection that exists.*
"She seems quite taken with you," Newt observed, his scientific curiosity clearly piqued by the unusual behavior. "Snowy owls are typically very reserved with strangers, especially one who's already bonded to another human. But she's displaying clear affectionate behaviors—the head positioning, the way she's leaning into your touch, the relaxed posture. It's almost as if she recognizes you."
*Careful,* Aslan warned as Hadrian felt his throat tighten with emotion. *Don't reveal too much too soon.*
"Perhaps she can sense Aslan's presence," Hadrian managed, his voice carefully controlled despite the turmoil in his chest. "Unusual familiars might recognize each other even across species boundaries."
"That's certainly possible," Newt agreed, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced by the explanation. "Though I've never observed cross-species familiar recognition quite this pronounced before."
"Hadrian!" James's voice cut through the moment with characteristic enthusiasm. "Come meet everyone properly. Though I suppose the introductions are a bit redundant now that Hedwig has apparently decided you're long-lost friends."
With obvious reluctance, Hedwig returned to Lily's shoulder, though not before giving Hadrian one last look that seemed to convey both recognition and a promise that this wasn't their final interaction.
As James began the formal introductions with the kind of social energy that made him impossible to ignore, Hadrian found himself focusing primarily on the three young people who would undoubtedly become central figures in his Hogwarts experience.
Lily Evans was exactly as he remembered her from the photographs and the stories of his past life, but seeing her alive and vibrant at eleven years old was a completely different experience. She was beautiful in the way that spoke of intelligence and warmth rather than conventional prettiness—her wild red curls caught the light like spun copper, while her emerald green eyes sparkled with the kind of natural curiosity that made everyone around her want to share their most interesting thoughts. There was something immediately likable about her, a natural warmth that drew people in and made them feel welcome and valued.
"It's lovely to meet you, Hadrian," she said with genuine warmth, her smile carrying the kind of uncomplicated friendliness that reminded him why everyone who'd known her had described her as impossible not to love. "James has been telling us about your theoretical work on the Werewolf consciousness-preservation potions. That sounds absolutely fascinating—and incredibly complex."
"Thank you," Hadrian replied, though he was distracted by the surreal experience of having a normal conversation with his mother when she was younger than he'd ever been. "Though I suspect James may have oversold my contributions. Most of it is still purely theoretical at this stage."
But it was Natalia who commanded most of his attention, and the moment their eyes met, Hadrian felt something shift in the air between them—a recognition that went far deeper than first meetings should allow.
She was striking in a completely different way from her twin sister. Where Lily radiated warmth and approachability, Natalia projected the kind of cool intelligence that suggested she saw everything and filed away every detail for future analysis. Her red hair was darker than Lily's, more auburn than copper, and instead of wild curls, it fell in sleek waves that framed sharp features that belonged more on a classical statue than an eleven-year-old girl. Her eyes were the same emerald green as her sister's, but they held a depth that seemed far too old for her face—the kind of ancient wisdom that suggested she'd seen empires rise and fall and had learned to find humor in the cosmic joke of it all.
When she smiled at him—a careful, measuring expression that didn't quite reach those remarkable eyes—Hadrian felt his chest constrict with certainty.
*That's her,* he realized with absolute conviction. *That's Natasha Romanoff.*
"Natalia Evans," she said, extending her hand with the kind of precise movement that spoke of extensive training in formal social protocols. "James mentioned that you have some interesting theories about magical creature bonding patterns."
Her handshake was firm and controlled, lasting exactly the appropriate amount of time for formal introductions, but Hadrian could have sworn he felt something like electrical current pass between them at the moment of contact.
*She knows,* Aslan observed quietly in his mind. *Look at her eyes. She's studying you with the same intensity you're studying her. This isn't the curiosity of meeting someone new—this is recognition.*
"The pleasure is entirely mine," Hadrian replied, holding her gaze for just a moment longer than social convention dictated. "I suspect we have quite a bit to discuss."
"I'm sure we do," she replied, her voice carrying undertones that suggested she was having an entirely different conversation than the one their words were having.
And then James was introducing him to Severus Snape, and Hadrian had to force himself to focus on the boy who'd been such a complex and painful figure in his previous life.
At eleven, Severus was already recognizable as the man he would become—pale and thin, with lank black hair that hung in curtains around his angular face and dark eyes that seemed to see too much and trust too little. His secondhand dress robes were clean and carefully pressed but clearly several years out of date, and there was something in his posture that spoke of someone accustomed to being overlooked or dismissed.
But there was also something different about him—a confidence that Hadrian didn't remember from their previous encounters, as though being welcomed into the Evans family circle had given him a foundation of acceptance that he'd never possessed before.
"Severus Snape," he said, extending his hand with careful politeness. "I'm told you have a Nundu familiar. That must be... challenging."
"In some ways," Hadrian agreed, shaking the offered hand and noting that Severus's grip was steady despite his obvious nervousness. "Though Aslan has been remarkably well-behaved. He seems to understand that frightening people would reflect poorly on both of us."
*I am the very picture of civilized behavior,* Aslan said in his mind with obvious amusement. *Most of the time.*
"The theoretical implications of a Nundu bonding with a human are fascinating," Severus continued, his dark eyes lighting up with genuine intellectual interest. "Everything I've read suggests it should be impossible—the magical signature incompatibilities alone should prevent any kind of stable connection."
"And yet here we are," Hadrian replied with a slight smile. "I've learned that 'impossible' is often just another way of saying 'not yet understood.'"
*I like him,* Aslan observed approvingly. *He approaches things with genuine curiosity rather than prejudgment, and he's not intimidated by complexity. These are valuable qualities in a friend.*
Before their conversation could develop further, the evening was interrupted by a commotion in the entrance hall—the sound of multiple voices, laughter, and what sounded suspiciously like something expensive being knocked over and hastily rearranged.
"That'll be the first of the Black family," James said with a grin that was equal parts anticipation and resignation. "Brace yourselves—things are about to get much more interesting."
*Define interesting,* Aslan requested dryly, though his mental voice carried amusement rather than concern.
As if summoned by the comment, Sirius Black burst through the parlor doors with the kind of dramatic entrance that suggested he'd been practicing it for maximum impact. At eleven, he was already devastatingly handsome in the way that would make him legendary among his peers—aristocratic features softened by genuine warmth, dark hair that managed to look artfully tousled rather than messy, and grey eyes that sparkled with barely contained mischief and infectious charm.
Behind him came the rest of the Black family delegation, though their expressions ranged from resigned acceptance to barely concealed horror at Sirius's theatrical entrance.
"Sorry we're late!" Sirius announced to the room at large, his voice carrying the kind of cheerful confidence that suggested he'd never met a social situation he couldn't charm his way through. "Family meeting ran long, and then we had to stop by Diagon Alley because someone—" he shot a pointed look at his younger brother "—forgot to get proper dress robes and was planning to wear his old robes to dinner at Potter Manor."
Regulus Black stepped forward with the kind of careful dignity that suggested he was determined to make a better impression than his brother's entrance had prepared people for. At nine, he was clearly Sirius's brother—the same aristocratic features and grey eyes—but where Sirius radiated chaotic energy, Regulus projected careful control and quiet intelligence.
"My apologies for the delay," he said with perfect formal politeness, his voice carrying the kind of careful pronunciation that spoke of extensive etiquette training. "It's an honor to be invited to Potter Manor."
*Two very different approaches to social situations,* Aslan observed with interest. *This family dinner just became significantly more complex.*
Orion and Walburga Black followed their sons into the room, and Hadrian felt his chest tighten as he recognized the kind of aristocratic disapproval that had characterized the Black family in his previous life. Orion carried himself with the kind of cold dignity that suggested he found most people beneath his notice, while Walburga's expression suggested she was already cataloguing everything she saw for later criticism.
But what surprised him was the way Sirius immediately gravitated toward the younger group, his natural charm and enthusiasm cutting through any potential awkwardness with the kind of social instinct that suggested he genuinely enjoyed meeting new people.
"Right then," Sirius said, his grey eyes taking in Lily, Natalia, and Severus with obvious interest, "James mentioned you lot are all first-years too? This is brilliant—we'll practically have our own little army at Hogwarts."
*Army might not be the best word choice,* Aslan commented dryly, *given the family tensions already present in the room.*
But before anyone could respond to Sirius's enthusiastic declaration, Walburga Black's voice cut through the conversation with the kind of ice that could freeze fire.
"Sirius," she said, her tone carrying the kind of maternal warning that suggested immediate correction was required, "perhaps you could introduce yourself properly before making presumptuous declarations about army formation."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, and Hadrian could see the way everyone tensed slightly as aristocratic family dynamics crashed headfirst into what had been a relaxed and comfortable social gathering.
*Oh, this is going to be fun,* Aslan observed with the kind of anticipation that suggested he was settling in to watch a particularly entertaining drama unfold.
Hadrian realized that managing the social complexities of the evening was going to require far more diplomatic skill than he'd anticipated—and they hadn't even made it to dinner yet.
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