New Year's Day arrived gently, its morning light filtered through soft snowfall blanketing the Tonks' garden. While most of the house stirred with the smell of breakfast and the clinking of dishes, Hadrian remained in bed a little longer, eyes open, mind awake.
His thoughts were too loud to ignore.
The warmth of home, the laughter of Iris and Dora, the feel of quiet family life — it was everything he had never truly known in his first life. He had altered much since arriving in this world, and with each change, the world grew gentler. But beneath the surface of his peace, Hadrian knew danger still brewed. Just hidden deeper.
So, while the others played games downstairs and traded leftover sweets, Hadrian sat cross-legged on his bed, his eyes closed.
In his mind, the book appeared. Its weight was familiar now — a heavy presence etched with decisions, etched with destiny.
He opened it.
First Change: The Ministry.
He began by focusing on leadership — the root of so much suffering. With a thought, he rewrote the current Minister of Magic.
The Minister of Magic is a highly capable and respected witch, politically astute and magically powerful. She champions modernization where needed, including the careful integration of muggle advancements such as computers and the internet, while upholding core wizarding traditions and culture where it provides meaningful structure. She is incorruptible and well-loved by the public and respected across nations.
He paused, considered, then added:
Those like Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge were never elevated beyond minor bureaucratic roles and are kept far from positions of real influence.
The text shimmered and accepted his will.
Second Change: The Internet Divide.
The next concern was subtler, but no less important — the internet.
He remembered vividly how quickly the muggle world changed in the early 2000s, how secrets became impossible to keep.
There are now discreet, international teams of wizards and witches trained in digital magic and concealment, who maintain magical obfuscation layers across the internet, tracking anomalies and keeping the wizarding world hidden from digital exposure. They have developed magical wards to automatically suppress or distort muggle photos, videos, and satellite imaging of magical phenomena.
He gave it a long look, then added:
The program began as a joint effort among magical governments after the first hints of muggle digital evolution — and it has worked silently, and efficiently, for over a decade.
Third Change: A Final Refuge.
This last one came from a place deeper than caution. A quiet hope — a backup, just in case the world turned cruel again.
He thought of the Veil of Death. Of the Department of Mysteries. Of the mysteries that even time could not unwrite.
The Veil of Death is not death at all. It is a one-way portal, created by the ancients, to a hidden, self-sustaining magical sanctuary in a parallel plane — a place where endangered magical creatures and lost cultures have thrived away from mankind's interference. Elves, true dragons, phoenix groves, treefolk, and starlit plains untouched by decay. It is guarded by eternal magic, and hidden from all but those it calls to in times of true need.
He closed the book, its ethereal pages rustling as if exhaling.
Downstairs, laughter rang out.
Hadrian stood, his heart feeling lighter — and heavier — all at once.
It wasn't just about protecting Iris and Dora. Not anymore.
It was about ensuring that magic, in all its wonder and weirdness, could survive.
That if the world turned dark, there would be somewhere left to run to.
And as he stepped out into the corridor, he thought:
We still have time. We still have now.
And now, he'd enjoy it.