The warm morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, dappling the Tonks' guest room in golden light. Birds chirped beyond the window, the world waking up to another peaceful summer day.
Hadrian, however, did not wake peacefully.
He jolted upright in bed, heart pounding. Remus.
In the haze of summer, letters, laughter, and prank planning, he had forgotten a crucial detail—Remus Lupin was still, in this world, a werewolf.
His breath caught in his throat. It wasn't just about Remus himself, though that was reason enough—it was about fairness. About dignity. About the injustice that had marked Lupin's life through no fault of his own.
I can't let it stand.
He closed his eyes and reached inward, deep into the space that pulsed with the impossible—the book in his mind.
He imagined a world where Lycanthropy was not a hopeless curse. Where someone had the courage to look at it not as a stigma, but as a condition to be understood, healed.
And so Hadrian made the change:
Remus John Lupin, celebrated Auror and highly respected in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was the first wizard chosen for a covert Ministry-funded trial seeking a permanent cure for lycanthropy. The experimental treatment, based on obscure magical alchemical theory and precise lunar alchemy, was successful. Remus is cured. The program remains a closely guarded secret, with the aim of verifying long-term success before public announcement. The trial's success has created hope for those in the know of the trial.
The shift rippled through the world—subtle, profound. It did not affect Hadrian's memories or past, but he felt or imagined something click into place. A better future carved into the present.
He let out a long breath and rubbed his eyes. Sleep was overrated anyway.
Later That Morning
Downstairs, the Tonks household was already alive with the comforting sounds of summer: sizzling pans, soft jazz floating from the wireless, and the smell of fresh toast and marmalade.
Hadrian shuffled into the kitchen, still in great mood.
As soon as he sat down next to Dora, instinct took over. Without thinking, he reached across and took her hand.
Dora froze. A strawberry slipped off her fork unnoticed, landing in her bowl with a quiet splash. A blush erupted across her cheeks, spreading like wildfire to the tips of her ears.
Hadrian, utterly unaware of what he was doing, chatted casually with Ted about gardening charms.
"I heard you've got some ideas regarding gnome issues?" Ted asked.
"Yeah, the book said moly root can keep them away, but I think they just steal it and throw parties underground instead," Hadrian replied.
Dora blinked several times. Iris, watching from the opposite seat, looked between them and suppressed a grin. She casually elbowed Dora under the table, earning a scandalized scowl and an even deeper shade of red.
Still, Dora didn't pull her hand away.
Ted, bless him, said nothing. But Andromeda, who entered just in time to catch the scene, raised an eyebrow and gave Iris a subtle wink.