The sun dipped low over the hills by the time the match had ended, casting long amber shadows across the grounds of Hogwarts. Students filtered back from the stadium in animated groups, loud voices bouncing between the trees as laughter and post-match debate filled the crisp air.
Hadrian walked a little slower than the rest, hands in his robe pockets, with Dora cheerfully recounting the highlight of the game to a nodding Iris.
But Hadrian wasn't really listening.
His eyes lingered on Iris — on the way she turned her face up to the sky, hair flicking gently in the breeze. She looked peaceful. Almost weightless.
She doesn't want to fly to win, he thought. She just wants to fly to be free.
The thought stirred something in him — a whisper of doubt that had been lingering beneath the surface.
Are we really free?
He'd changed so much with the book already. Big things. Small things. But always backward-facing. Shaping the past so that the present could be better, safer, lighter.
But there was one force he hadn't considered — not truly.
Prophecies.
In the old world, one had defined Harry's entire life. Guided death and destruction. Crushed choice beneath the weight of what must be.
What if something like that still exists here?
The book appeared in his mind's eye — hovering in that strange, dreamlike space only he could access. He flipped it open, pages fluttering under his mental touch.
He concentrated.
"There are no active prophecies involving Hadrian Potter, Iris Potter, Nymphadora Tonks, or anyone he loves."
The words shimmered into existence on the page — and then sank, absorbed into the book's magic.
There was no light, no noise. No dramatic flash. Just… silence.
But Hadrian noticed something he hadn't before.
The spine of the book — once pristine — now showed the faintest crease. A subtle line of wear, like a tome too often opened. A page too often turned.
And the corners of the cover looked ever so slightly frayed.
Why? he wondered. Is it because I touched something bigger this time?
The trio reached the castle entrance, and Dora elbowed him playfully. "Hey, dreamer. You fall asleep with your eyes open?"
Hadrian blinked and smiled. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit, that," Iris added with a grin.
Hadrian gave them both a look — warm, reassuring, but just a touch distracted.
He pushed the image of the weathered book to the back of his mind, letting it rest for now. But the thought stuck.
There's always a price for freedom.
And whatever it was, he'd just paid a little more of it.