The Hufflepuff common room was quiet now, reduced to the soft crackling of the hearth and the rhythmic ticking of a clock mounted above the fireplace. Most of the house had long since gone to bed, resting up for the final week of exams. Only a few stray candles flickered as Hadrian sat, half-curled on the couch, his transfiguration notes untouched in his lap.
His cocoa had gone cold.
He stared into the fire, eyes unfocused, mind swirling.
The return of those memories—real memories—had shaken something loose in him. The laughter of their father, the way Lily Potter smelled like summer mornings and safety, the gentleness in her voice as she read stories. They were no longer hollow daydreams—now, they were his. Real. Vivid. Painful, yes, but more comforting than anything he'd felt since coming to this world.
And yet...
I didn't think it through, he admitted silently to himself. I just acted.
It had been a gut instinct. A moment of emotion. And the result had been something beautiful, something priceless. But still—he had used a power he didn't fully understand, on something so intimate, so sacred. Not a clever change to improve society. Not a subtle correction to an old threat. This time, it had been their very past.
He had rewritten the silence in their minds.
That's not nothing, he thought, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of his cocoa mug. It's not something I should treat like a switch I can flip whenever it feels right. Even if it worked… what if it hadn't?
The weight of responsibility sat heavier than usual tonight. Not guilt. But a sobering clarity.
He glanced to the hallway where the girls had gone to bed earlier, their eyes still slightly red from the day's emotional aftermath. Dora had stayed between them the entire evening, offering warmth in words and arms. Iris hadn't let go of his hand until she fell asleep.
They didn't know how the memories had returned.
And he wouldn't tell them.
It wasn't out of shame, or secrecy, but... necessity. The book in his mind was his burden, his tool—and his responsibility alone. They trusted him. And he wanted to be someone who deserved that trust.
He let out a slow breath.
"Tomorrow," he murmured under his breath, just for himself, "we start exams."
It felt distant, somehow.
But there was a spark inside him, soft but steady. He would focus. Work hard. Ace the exams. Earn those house points. Not just to win—but because it felt like something solid. Something earned.
And after that... he thought, his eyes returning to the fire, we could write to them. To Remus. To Sirius.
Now that the memories had returned, the longing was stronger than ever. They had been loved once—and maybe, just maybe, they still were.
He smiled faintly to himself. He could already hear Iris teasing him about being sentimental. Dora rolling her eyes and pulling them both into a hug.