"Well then," Charlus said, his commanding presence filling the room as he straightened his robes with the sort of decisive movement that had once made him legendary on the Quidditch pitch and now served him equally well in the political arena, "shall we make our way to the Leaky Cauldron? I believe we promised Tom we'd be there for breakfast, and punctuality is a virtue—even when dealing with pub food."
His striking features—the sharp jawline and intense blue eyes that had made him the subject of countless society photographs—were set with the kind of determined expression that suggested debate was futile. Charlus Potter had inherited the family's natural leadership qualities and magnified them through years of commanding respect in both the sporting and political worlds.
"Especially when dealing with Tom's cooking," Fleamont added with the sort of theatrical shudder that would have been perfectly at home on a West End stage, his elegant hands gesturing with practiced dramatic flair. His aristocratic features—all sharp cheekbones and expressive green eyes—were animated with the kind of theatrical horror that made even simple commentary feel like performance art. "The man's many talents do not extend to culinary excellence. Best to arrive before he's had too much time to... experiment."
The way he spoke the word 'experiment' suggested Tom's kitchen adventures were akin to attempting to brew a particularly volatile potion without proper protective equipment.
James snickered at his father's theatrical dismay, his hazel eyes bright with mischief and barely contained energy. Even sitting still, there was something restless about him—the way his fingers drummed against his thigh, the slight bounce in his shoulders that suggested he was perpetually ready to spring into action. His dark hair was already showing signs of the determined cowlick that no amount of styling could tame, and his grin held the sort of infectious enthusiasm that made people want to follow him into whatever adventure he was planning next.
"The Floo network it is, then," Dorea announced, moving toward the elegant fireplace with the sort of fluid grace that spoke of excellent breeding and absolute confidence in her own authority. She commanded attention without trying—her dark hair swept back in an elegant style that emphasized the aristocratic beauty of her features, her warm brown eyes sparkling with intelligence and no small amount of maternal scheming.
She paused at the mantelpiece to retrieve a small silver pot filled with glittering powder that caught the morning light like crushed emeralds, handling it with the sort of practiced efficiency that suggested she had been managing household logistics with military precision for decades.
"James, dear," she continued with the kind of fond exasperation that only came from years of dealing with Potter men and their creative approach to simple tasks, "you'll go first with your parents—I know how you get when you're excited, and I'd rather not have you bouncing around my Floo network like a Bludger in a teacup."
"I don't bounce," James protested with wounded dignity, though his entire posture rather undermined his claim. He was practically vibrating with excitement, his athletic frame coiled like a spring ready to release. His hazel eyes were sparkling with barely contained energy that made it clear that sitting still was something that happened to other people, not to James Potter. "I have excellent Floo technique. Ask anyone!"
"We are anyone," Arcturus pointed out with the sort of aristocratic amusement that came naturally to someone who had spent decades observing the world with sharp grey eyes and a sharper wit. His handsome features—strong jaw, perfectly styled dark hair, and an expression of refined intelligence—were set in lines of fond exasperation that suggested this was a familiar argument.
There was something compelling about the way Arcturus carried himself, a natural authority that made people listen when he spoke and trust his judgment even when they disagreed with his conclusions. "And we've all seen your 'excellent' Floo technique. Last Christmas, you somehow managed to end up in three different fireplaces before reaching your intended destination."
"That was... navigation practice," James replied with the sort of creative interpretation of events that suggested he had a promising future in either politics or creative writing. His grin was unrepentant, the kind of charming smile that had probably gotten him out of trouble more often than it had gotten him into it. "I was exploring alternative routes for efficiency."
"You were spinning like a top and shouting directions at the flames," Melania said with fond exasperation, her musical Italian accent making even criticism sound like poetry. Her dark eyes sparkled with maternal amusement as she regarded James with the sort of affectionate tolerance that suggested she found his antics endearing rather than exasperating.
Everything about Melania radiated elegant sophistication—from the way she held herself with natural poise to the expressive gestures that emphasized her words. Her beauty was the sort that belonged in Renaissance paintings, classical and timeless, but there was intelligence in her dark eyes and warmth in her smile that made her seem approachable despite her aristocratic bearing.
"There is nothing efficient about emerging from a fireplace covered in soot and speaking backwards for ten minutes."
"The speaking backwards was artistic expression," James declared with the sort of wounded dignity that only eleven-year-old boys could truly master, drawing himself up to his full height with theatrical outrage. "You just didn't appreciate the poetry of it."
His entire expression was a masterpiece of youthful indignation, all flashing eyes and affronted pride, though the effect was rather ruined by the way he couldn't quite suppress his grin.
"Right," Euphemia said with maternal decisiveness, taking her son firmly by the arm before he could come up with any more creative explanations. Her warm brown eyes were dancing with amusement, but there was steel beneath the maternal warmth that suggested James had met his match in terms of determination.
She was lovely in the way that made people automatically trust her—approachable and kind, with the sort of natural elegance that didn't need to try to command attention. But there was intelligence in those expressive eyes and strength in the way she carried herself that suggested she was far more formidable than her gentle demeanor implied.
"That's quite enough artistic expression for one morning. Into the Floo, James. And this time, speak clearly and don't try any 'navigation practice.'"
"Yes, Mum," James replied with exaggerated meekness that fooled absolutely no one, though his tone held genuine affection alongside the theatrical submission. He stepped into the fireplace with a dramatic flourish that would have made his father proud, sweeping his arms out like he was taking a bow at the Globe Theatre rather than simply traveling by Floo powder. "Leaky Cauldron!" he called out clearly, disappearing in a swirl of green flames that left behind only the faint scent of magic and mischief.
"Ten Galleons says he still ends up somewhere unexpected," Arcturus murmured to Charlus with the sort of fond exasperation that came from years of dealing with Potter men and their creative approach to simple tasks. His aristocratic features were set in lines of amused resignation that suggested he was prepared to lose his money but hoped to be pleasantly surprised.
"You're on," Charlus replied with a grin that transformed his commanding features into something boyishly charming. There was confidence in his blue eyes and genuine affection in his voice as he spoke about his nephew. "James has been practicing. I have faith in his ability to reach his destination without detours."
The exchange was accompanied by the sort of masculine camaraderie that suggested these two had been making similar bets about Potter family members for years, and both of them enjoyed the process regardless of who won.
Fleamont followed his son with considerably more dignity, his theatrical nature extending to the way he swept his traveling cloak around himself with the sort of dramatic flair that suggested he was making an entrance at a premiere rather than simply using the Floo network. His elegant features were composed in lines of aristocratic authority, though there was warmth in his green eyes that spoke of paternal pride.
"Leaky Cauldron," he announced with the sort of dramatic projection that would have been perfectly at home on a stage, his voice carrying easily over the crackling flames before he disappeared in a controlled swirl of green fire.
Euphemia went next, her natural grace making even Floo travel look elegant as she stepped into the fireplace with practiced ease. There was something effortlessly beautiful about the way she moved, a combination of natural poise and genuine warmth that made people want to be around her. "Leaky Cauldron," she said clearly, her musical voice carrying easily over the crackling flames before she vanished in a shimmer of emerald light.
"Our turn, I suppose," Charlus said, offering his arm to Dorea with the sort of old-fashioned courtesy that spoke of excellent breeding and genuine affection for his wife. His commanding presence was tempered with tenderness when he looked at her, the kind of devotion that had clearly deepened over years of partnership.
"Indeed," Dorea replied, accepting his arm with natural grace that spoke of perfect partnership and mutual respect. Her brown eyes sparkled with anticipation and no small amount of maternal satisfaction at having successfully organized another family gathering. "Hadrian, darling, you'll come with Arcturus and Melania. Try not to let your godfather corrupt you too badly during the thirty-second journey."
"I make no promises," Arcturus replied with completely unrepentant cheer, his aristocratic composure cracking to reveal the mischievous man beneath. His grey eyes were dancing with amusement and genuine affection as he looked at his godson. "Thirty seconds is plenty of time for proper corruption. I've worked with less."
"*Mio caro*," Melania said with fond exasperation, her dark eyes sparkling with the sort of affectionate tolerance that suggested she had been dealing with Arcturus's mischievous tendencies for years and found them charming rather than concerning. "You are impossible. Hadrian, ignore your godfather. He has been a terrible influence on everyone for decades."
"And loving every minute of it," Arcturus added cheerfully as Charlus and Dorea stepped into the fireplace together, their synchronized movement speaking of years of traveling as a perfectly matched pair.
"Leaky Cauldron," they said in unison, disappearing in a perfectly coordinated swirl of green flames that somehow managed to look both elegant and efficient.
"Your turn, godson," Arcturus said, his grey eyes warm with genuine affection as he gestured toward the fireplace. There was something compelling about his presence—the way he commanded attention without trying, the intelligence that sharpened his handsome features, the natural authority that made people want to follow his lead. "Ready to see what Diagon Alley has in store for you?"
Hadrian stepped into the fireplace, and as the flames rose around them like emerald curtains, he caught sight of his reflection in the brass fittings—storm-grey eyes that seemed to hold depths of understanding beyond his years, dark hair that refused to lie flat despite his best efforts, and features that were beginning to show the promise of the man he would become. There was something in his expression, a quiet confidence and natural charisma that drew people to him without his conscious effort.
"Leaky Cauldron!" Arcturus called out with aristocratic authority, and they emerged into the familiar controlled chaos of London's most famous magical pub.
The Leaky Cauldron was exactly as Hadrian remembered it from his previous life—dim, cramped, and filled with the sort of characters who might have stepped out of a Dickens novel. But this time, instead of feeling overwhelmed and out of place, he looked around with the confidence of someone who belonged in the magical world, someone who had been raised to navigate its peculiarities and complexities.
His grey eyes swept the room with quiet assessment, taking in details and filing them away with the sort of natural intelligence that made him seem older than his eleven years.
"Hadrian!" James's voice rang out from across the pub, and Hadrian turned to see his cousin practically bouncing in his seat at a large table near the back wall. The morning sunlight streaming through the grimy windows caught the gold threading in James's robes, making him look like an enthusiastic beacon of barely contained energy. His hazel eyes were bright with excitement and his grin was infectious, the sort of smile that made people want to join whatever adventure he was planning.
"Over here! I saved you a seat! Well, Mum saved you a seat, but I helped by not letting anyone else sit in it!"
"How very thoughtful of you," Hadrian replied with fond amusement, his voice carrying the sort of natural authority that made people listen when he spoke. As he made his way through the crowded pub, nodding politely to the various witches and wizards who recognized him as a Potter, there was something compelling about his presence—a combination of quiet confidence and genuine warmth that drew attention without seeming to try.
The table James had claimed was perfectly positioned—large enough for their entire group, with a clear view of both the entrance and the passage to Diagon Alley, and far enough from the bar to allow for private conversation. Trust James to have an instinctive understanding of tactical positioning even when choosing breakfast seating.
"Tom's already taken our orders," Euphemia explained as Hadrian took his seat, her warm brown eyes sparkling with maternal satisfaction at having everyone gathered together. There was something genuinely nurturing about her presence, the kind of warmth that made people feel valued and cared for. "I took the liberty of ordering for you—the full English breakfast with extra rashers, since I know how you love your bacon. I hope that's acceptable?"
"More than acceptable," Hadrian replied with genuine warmth, his grey eyes lighting up with appreciation. In his previous life, the Dursleys would never have bothered to remember what he liked to eat, let alone order it for him. "Thank you, Aunt Euphemia. You remember everything."
"It's easy to remember the preferences of people you love," she replied simply, and Hadrian felt that familiar tightness in his chest at the casual way she included him in that category. Her smile was radiant, the sort of genuine happiness that came from seeing people she cared about happy and well-fed.
"Speaking of people we love," Dorea said with the sort of meaningful look that suggested she was about to spring a surprise, her brown eyes sparkling with maternal mischief, "we're expecting one more person to join us this morning. I sent an owl yesterday evening, and received a reply that she would be delighted to wish a certain young man a happy birthday in person."
Before Hadrian could ask who she meant, a familiar voice rang out from the pub's entrance—crisp, authoritative, and unmistakably Scottish.
"Well, well. If it isn't the entire Potter clan, looking entirely too pleased with themselves for this early in the morning."
Hadrian spun around in his chair, his face breaking into a genuine smile as he caught sight of Professor Minerva McGonagall making her way through the crowded pub with her characteristic no-nonsense stride. She was exactly as commanding as he remembered—tall, elegant, with sharp features that spoke of intelligence and determination. But there was something regal about the way she moved, a natural authority that made people step aside without her having to ask.
Her blonde hair was swept back in a severe style that emphasized the aristocratic beauty of her features, and her penetrating blue eyes missed absolutely nothing as they swept the room before fixing on their table with unmistakable warmth.
"Professor McGonagall!" he exclaimed, rising from his chair with the sort of natural grace that drew attention without seeming calculated. His grey eyes were bright with genuine pleasure, and his smile transformed his features into something that would undoubtedly break hearts in a few years.
"None of that 'Professor' nonsense today, young man," she replied briskly, though her voice held unmistakable affection as she approached their table. Her commanding presence seemed to fill the space around her, but there was warmth beneath the authority that spoke of genuine caring. "Today I'm simply your godmother, here to wish you a happy birthday and ensure you don't let your cousin lead you into too much trouble before you've even reached Hogwarts."
She opened her arms, and Hadrian stepped into them without hesitation, accepting the fierce hug that spoke of years of genuine affection and pride. Minerva McGonagall might be known for her stern demeanor and exacting standards, but her embrace was warm and protective, the kind of affection that came from watching someone grow up and being genuinely proud of the person they were becoming.
"Happy birthday, *mo chridhe*," she murmured in Gaelic, her Scottish accent thick with emotion as she held him at arm's length to examine him properly. Her blue eyes were bright with maternal pride as she took in his appearance—the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, the intelligence that sharpened his features, the promise of the remarkable man he would become.
"My goodness, look at you. Taller than James now, and twice as handsome. You're going to be trouble, aren't you?"
"He's going to be magnificent," Dorea corrected with maternal pride, her brown eyes sparkling with the sort of satisfaction that came from watching a carefully orchestrated plan come together. "The trouble is just a bonus."
"Minerva!" Fleamont rose from his seat with theatrical flair, moving to embrace McGonagall with genuine warmth. His elegant features were animated with pleasure, and his dramatic gestures somehow managed to seem sincere rather than affected. "You look absolutely radiant. That shade of blue brings out your eyes beautifully—very becoming."
"Flatterer," McGonagall replied with fond exasperation, though she was clearly pleased by the compliment. Her stern features softened into something approaching a smile, and there was warmth in her blue eyes that suggested she was genuinely fond of the entire Potter clan and their theatrical tendencies.
"Guilty as charged," Arcturus said cheerfully, rising to kiss her cheek with aristocratic gallantry. His grey eyes were dancing with mischief, and his handsome features were set in lines of genuine pleasure at seeing her. "Good to see you, Minerva. How go the home visits? Meeting any interesting students this year?"
"Sit down, all of you," McGonagall commanded with the sort of natural authority that made everyone obey immediately, though her tone was warm rather than harsh. Her commanding presence filled the space around the table, but there was something nurturing about the way she took charge that suggested she cared about everyone's comfort. "I'll tell you about this year's crop of first-years, but only after Tom brings me tea that's actually fit for human consumption. The man's coffee could strip paint, but his tea is surprisingly adequate."
As if summoned by his name, Tom the landlord appeared at their table with a laden tray, his toothless grin wide as he took in the gathered group. "Professor McGonagall! Always a pleasure. Got your usual—Earl Grey, no sugar, dash of milk. And here's the birthday boy's breakfast—extra rashers, just like his aunt ordered."
"Thank you, Tom," Hadrian replied politely, though he was more interested in hearing about his future classmates than eating. His grey eyes were focused on McGonagall with the sort of quiet intensity that suggested he was filing away every detail for future reference.
"Now then," McGonagall said, settling into her chair with the sort of precise movements that spoke of decades of maintaining perfect posture and absolute authority, "you asked about interesting students, Arcturus. I've just finished visiting the last of the Muggle-born children, and I must say, this year's group is particularly... notable."
"Oh?" Dorea leaned forward with genuine interest, her aristocratic features brightening with curiosity and no small amount of maternal scheming. "Do tell. Are there any children Hadrian and James might benefit from befriending? I've always believed that the best education comes from surrounding oneself with intelligent people, regardless of their blood status."
Hadrian felt his attention sharpen, though he kept his expression casually interested rather than intensely focused. His grey eyes held depths that seemed older than his years, and there was something compelling about the way he listened—as if he was processing information on multiple levels simultaneously.
"Well," McGonagall said, taking a sip of her tea with the sort of careful consideration that suggested she was choosing her words precisely, "there are several bright children, of course. One boy seems promising, though rather... enthusiastic about photography. And there's another boy from Manchester who shows real artistic talent alongside his magical abilities."
"But?" Fleamont prompted with the sort of theatrical timing that suggested he recognized when someone was building toward a revelation, his green eyes bright with curiosity and his elegant features animated with interest.
"But," McGonagall continued with the faintest hint of a smile softening her stern features, "the most remarkable students I've encountered this year are a pair of twins from Cokeworth. Brilliant girls—absolutely brilliant. Their names are Lily Marie Evans and Ramonda Natalia Evans, though the younger twin prefers to be called Natalia rather than Ramonda."
Hadrian's fork paused halfway to his mouth, though his expression remained carefully composed. His grey eyes flickered with something that might have been recognition, and there was a subtle tension in his posture that suggested he was processing information of significant importance.
"Twins?" James perked up immediately, his hazel eyes sparkling with interest and his entire body language shifting to focus on McGonagall with the sort of intense attention he usually reserved for Quidditch strategies. "Are they identical? Do they finish each other's sentences? Can they do that thing where one twin feels what the other twin feels?"
His enthusiasm was infectious, the sort of genuine curiosity that made people want to share information just to see his reaction.
"James," Euphemia said with fond exasperation, her warm brown eyes dancing with amusement as she regarded her son with maternal tolerance, "let Professor McGonagall finish her story before you interrogate her about twin biology."
"They're not identical," McGonagall continued with amusement, her stern features softening as she warmed to her subject, "though they're clearly sisters. Lily has the most remarkable green eyes I've ever seen—absolutely vivid, like emeralds. Red hair, of course, with the sort of intelligence that practically radiates from her. She's already showing incredible aptitude for Charms and Transfiguration."
"And the other twin?" Hadrian managed to ask, his voice carefully casual despite the way his pulse was hammering. There was something in his grey eyes—a depth of interest that seemed disproportionate to simple curiosity about future classmates.
"Natalia is... unique," McGonagall said thoughtfully, her sharp blue eyes growing distant as she recalled the visit. "Darker red hair, almost auburn, and the most penetrating green eyes. But it's not her appearance that makes her remarkable—it's her mind. I've never met an eleven-year-old with such strategic thinking, such... presence. She has the sort of natural authority that makes people listen when she speaks, and an understanding of magical theory that rivals some of my seventh-years."
"They sound fascinating," Dorea said with genuine interest, though Hadrian noticed her brown eyes flicking toward him with maternal intuition. Her expression suggested she was filing away his reaction for future consideration, the sort of observant assessment that came from years of managing family dynamics and understanding people's motivations.
"How did they learn so much before you arrived at their doorstep? Most Muggle-born children know nothing of our world until we visit them."
"That's where the story becomes truly interesting," McGonagall replied, settling back in her chair with the air of someone preparing to tell a proper tale. Her commanding presence seemed to draw everyone's attention, and her voice took on the sort of narrative quality that suggested she was an excellent teacher. "It seems there's a witch living near them—Eileen Snape, formerly Prince. She has a son who will also be attending Hogwarts this year—Severus. Apparently, young Severus witnessed the Evans twins performing accidental magic several years ago and took it upon himself to tell them about the magical world."
"Snape," Arcturus mused, his aristocratic features sharpening with recognition and his grey eyes growing thoughtful. "Prince family, you said? I remember Eileen Prince from school—brilliant witch, particularly skilled in Potions. Shame about the marriage to that Muggle, Tobias Snape. I heard it didn't go well."
"Indeed," McGonagall replied with the sort of diplomatic discretion that suggested there were details she wasn't sharing, her blue eyes holding shadows that spoke of difficult truths carefully concealed. "Young Severus has had a... challenging home life. But his friendship with the Evans twins seems to have been beneficial for all three children. They've been studying together, sharing books, pushing each other to excel."
"They've been to Diagon Alley?" Fleamont asked with surprise, his theatrical nature making his eyebrows rise dramatically while his green eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity. "How did they manage that without their Hogwarts letters?"
"Their parents, Alex and Melanie Evans, are remarkably open-minded Muggles," McGonagall explained with obvious approval, her stern features softening with genuine respect. "When their daughters explained about magic, they didn't dismiss it as childhood fantasy. They sought out proof, found Eileen Snape, and once they were convinced, they threw themselves into supporting their children's education with impressive dedication."
"Good for them," Charlus said warmly, his commanding features softening with genuine respect and his blue eyes bright with approval. His natural leadership qualities extended to recognizing and appreciating excellence in others, regardless of their background. "It can't be easy for Muggle parents to suddenly discover their children are part of a world they know nothing about."
"The Evans have made multiple trips to Diagon Alley," McGonagall continued, her voice holding admiration for parents who had risen to an unprecedented challenge, "purchasing every book they could afford. Which brings us to a rather frustrating limitation—the Ministry's restrictions on Muggle currency exchange."
Hadrian watched as both Fleamont and Arcturus stiffened, their expressions shifting to the sort of political alertness that suggested this was a topic of significant importance. Fleamont's theatrical features hardened into lines of genuine anger, while Arcturus's aristocratic composure cracked to reveal the passionate reformer beneath.
"Don't get me started on that particular piece of legislation," Arcturus said with aristocratic disdain, his grey eyes flashing with anger and his handsome features set in lines of genuine outrage. "Complete and utter nonsense, passed by people who have never tried to let Muggle-born children properly integrate into our society."
"You voted against it, I assume?" Fleamont asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer. His green eyes were bright with shared indignation, and his elegant gestures emphasized his words with theatrical flair that somehow managed to seem sincere rather than affected.
"Of course I voted against it!" Arcturus replied with heated conviction, his usual aristocratic composure completely abandoned in favor of genuine passion. "The whole point of encouraging Muggle-born students is to help them succeed in our world. How exactly are they supposed to do that when we artificially limit their ability to purchase the books and materials they need?"
"Because certain members of the Wizengamot," Fleamont said with the sort of theatrical disgust that made his political opinions crystal clear, his voice carrying easily across the pub despite his attempt to keep the conversation private, "believe that making life easier for Muggle-born students somehow diminishes the advantages of pure-blood families. Short-sighted, prejudiced nonsense that hurts everyone in the long run."
"The Evans twins and young Severus managed to acquire all their course materials," McGonagall interjected smoothly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from politics before the two men could work themselves into a proper rant, "but they were frustrated by not being able to purchase additional books for independent study. Apparently, they had their hearts set on owning every book in Flourish and Blotts."
"Every book?" James asked with fascination, his hazel eyes wide with a mixture of admiration and horror. His athletic frame practically vibrated with the energy of someone who couldn't imagine sitting still long enough to read even a fraction of that many books. "They wanted to buy every single book in the store? Are they mad? That would take forever to read!"
"Some people," Melania said with gentle amusement, her musical Italian accent making the words sound like poetry while her dark eyes sparkled with maternal fondness, "find joy in learning for its own sake, *caro*. It is not madness—it is passion."
"But every book?" James persisted, looking genuinely baffled by the concept, his expressive features contorting with the sort of theatrical confusion that suggested he found the idea both impressive and incomprehensible. "Even the really boring ones about... about..."
"About what, exactly?" Hadrian asked with amusement, his grey eyes dancing with mischief as he recognized his cousin's tendency to dismiss subjects he didn't immediately find interesting.
"About... about Ancient Runes!" James declared with the sort of theatrical horror typically reserved for discussions of torture, his entire body language expressing dramatic revulsion. "And Arithmancy! And Muggle Studies! Why would anyone want to read about Muggle Studies? They're already Muggles!"
"Muggle-born, James," Euphemia corrected gently but firmly, her warm brown eyes holding a hint of maternal disapproval that somehow managed to be loving and instructive at the same time. "And understanding the magical world means understanding how it differs from the Muggle world they grew up in. Knowledge is never wasted, dear."
"These twins sound like they're going to give you competition for top of the class," Arcturus observed to Hadrian with knowing amusement, his grey eyes twinkling with mischief as he studied his godson's reaction with the sort of sharp intelligence that missed very little.
Hadrian considered the question carefully, aware that everyone was watching his reaction with varying degrees of interest. His grey eyes held depths that seemed older than his years, and there was something compelling about the way he processed the question—as if he was considering implications that went beyond simple academic competition.
"I think it sounds brilliant," he replied honestly, his voice carrying the sort of quiet authority that made people listen when he spoke. "I've been looking forward to meeting intelligent people my own age. James is clever, but he's family—I need friends who will challenge me intellectually, who will push me to be better than I am."
"Oi!" James protested with wounded dignity, though his hazel eyes were sparkling with amusement rather than genuine offense. His grin was unrepentant, the sort of charming smile that had probably gotten him out of more trouble than it had gotten him into. "I'm plenty challenging! Ask anyone who's tried to keep up with my brilliant plans!"
"Your plans," Hadrian replied with fond exasperation, his grey eyes warm with genuine affection for his cousin, "usually involve seeing how many staircases you can slide down without breaking your neck, or whether you can convince the house-elves to put chocolate in everything they cook."
"Those are important experiments!" James declared with the sort of passionate conviction typically reserved for matters of life and death, his athletic frame practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Science, Hadrian! I'm advancing the cause of human knowledge through careful observation and hypothesis testing!"
"You're advancing the cause of giving your mother grey hair before she's forty," Euphemia said dryly, though her expression was warm with maternal affection and her brown eyes were dancing with amusement.
"Early grey hair is distinguished," James replied with the sort of confident authority that only eleven-year-old boys could manage, his hazel eyes bright with the kind of logic that made perfect sense to him even if it mystified everyone else. "Ask Dad—he looks brilliant with silver in his hair."
"I think," McGonagall said with obvious amusement, her stern features softening as she regarded the assembled family with genuine fondness, "that these Evans twins will be excellent influences on both of you. Lily, in particular, has the sort of moral conviction that keeps people honest, while Natalia has the strategic mind that prevents people from making truly stupid mistakes."
"They sound perfect," Dorea said with satisfaction, her brown eyes warm with maternal planning and her aristocratic features bright with the sort of anticipation that suggested she was already organizing social events in her mind. "We should arrange to meet them before the start of term. Perhaps we could invite their family to dinner? I'd love to meet parents who are so supportive of their children's magical education."
"That's a wonderful idea," McGonagall replied with approval, her commanding presence radiating the sort of authority that made her endorsement carry significant weight. "I'm sure the Evans would be delighted to meet other families who are helping their children prepare for Hogwarts. They've been rather isolated, having only the Snapes as connection to our world."
"Consider it done," Charlus said with decisive authority, his commanding features warming with genuine hospitality and his blue eyes bright with the sort of determination that had made him successful in both sports and politics. "We'll owl them this week. Any family raising such promising witches deserves every support we can offer."
Hadrian felt his heart racing at the prospect of meeting Lily—his mother from another life—and this mysterious twin sister who might hold the key to understanding how this reality had come to exist. But more than that, he felt genuine excitement at the thought of having friends who shared his love of learning, who would challenge him intellectually and support him emotionally.
"Now then," Arcturus said, rising from his chair with aristocratic authority and obvious anticipation, his grey eyes bright with the sort of enthusiasm that suggested he was looking forward to the next part of their adventure, "shall we proceed to Diagon Alley? I believe someone has a wand to choose, and I'm quite curious to see what Mr. Ollivander has in store for a Potter with Black eyes."
"Lead the way, Uncle," Hadrian replied with a grin that held more than a hint of mischief, his grey eyes dancing with anticipation and his natural charisma drawing everyone's attention without conscious effort. "Let's see what sort of magic is waiting for us."
As they made their way toward the passage that led to Diagon Alley, Hadrian caught James's arm, pulling his cousin slightly aside from the group with the sort of natural authority that made people want to follow his lead.
"These Evans twins," he said quietly, his grey eyes serious despite his casual tone, "they really sound remarkable. I'm looking forward to meeting them."
"You're plotting something," James observed with the sort of knowing look that suggested he understood his cousin better than most people understood themselves. His hazel eyes were bright with curiosity and his grin was infectious, the sort of expression that suggested he was ready for whatever adventure Hadrian was planning. "I can see it in your eyes—that little glint you get when you're thinking several moves ahead."
"I don't plot," Hadrian replied with wounded innocence that fooled absolutely no one, though his grey eyes were dancing with mischief that rather undermined his claim.
"Right," James said with theatrical skepticism, his athletic frame practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of mystery and adventure.
---
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