Shadows Of Another Time - Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter 9: Preparations and Plans

The weeks following Harry's selection as the fourth Triwizard champion unfolded much as Hadrian remembered from his original timeline. Through regular correspondence with Harry and occasional updates from Lupin, who had begun making weekly visits to Hogwarts under the guise of "consulting on the Tournament's security measures," Hadrian tracked the familiar patterns: Rita Skeeter's inflammatory articles painting Harry as an attention-seeking glory hound, the hostile badges created by the Slytherins proclaiming "Potter Stinks," and most painfully, Ron's continued cold shoulder.

Hadrian's letters to Harry during this period walked a careful line between encouragement and specific guidance. He couldn't directly tell Harry about the dragons awaiting him in the first task—that revelation needed to come through Hagrid as it had in the original timeline—but he could subtly steer Harry's preparation in useful directions.

> *Dear Harry,*

>

> *I understand your frustration with the current situation. Being thrust into a competition you never entered, facing the disbelief of peers and the scrutiny of the wider wizarding world—it's a heavy burden for anyone, let alone someone your age.*

>

> *Regarding preparation for the first task, while I agree with Professor Moody's suggestion to focus on your strengths, I would add this advice: magical creatures often feature prominently in these tournaments. The organizers tend to favor spectacular challenges that will impress the audience, and few things are more impressive than dangerous magical beasts.*

>

> *Given that context, perhaps reviewing basic countermeasures for various creature categories might be prudent? The book I sent you last summer on defensive magic includes a chapter on evading and neutralizing creature attacks. The section on managing threats from larger predators might be particularly relevant.*

>

> *As for the Summoning Charm you mentioned struggling with, the key is less about wand movement and more about clarity of intent. When casting, focus on the object with absolute certainty that it WILL come to you—not hope or wish, but certainty. Practice with progressively larger objects at increasing distances. The practical applications of this spell are nearly limitless in the right situation.*

>

> *Remember, Harry, true courage isn't the absence of fear, but action in spite of it. Whatever the first task brings, face it with the same determination you've shown in past challenges.*

>

> *I'll be there on the day of the task, as will Remus. You won't face this alone.*

>

> *Yours in support,*

> *Hadrian*

This particular letter had been carefully crafted to nudge Harry toward the strategy that had succeeded in the original timeline—summoning his Firebolt to outmaneuver the dragon—without explicitly revealing what was to come. The references to magical creatures and aerial evasion tactics were specific enough to be useful once Harry learned about the dragons, but vague enough to seem like general advice beforehand.

Meanwhile, Hadrian and Lupin had focused on their other priority: the retrieval of the locket Horcrux from Grimmauld Place. This presented a more complex challenge than the ring or diadem had. The house was under a Fidelius Charm with Dumbledore as Secret-Keeper, and while Sirius could grant them access, involving him would require explanations they weren't yet prepared to give.

"We need to approach Sirius carefully," Lupin had advised during one of their strategy sessions at the Cornwall safe house where they had secured the diadem. "His hatred for his family and that house runs deep. Simply asking to search Grimmauld Place would raise questions we can't easily answer."

"What if we don't ask?" Hadrian had suggested. "If Sirius mentioned bringing you there to retrieve some of your old belongings from the Order days, that would give you legitimate access without requiring explanations about Horcruxes."

Lupin had considered this approach. "It could work. Sirius has been restless in his cave hideout. The idea of retrieving items from our first fight against Voldemort might appeal to him, especially if framed as preparation for whatever is coming."

This plan had succeeded beyond their expectations. Not only had Sirius readily agreed to accompany Lupin to Grimmauld Place, but he had also decided to move into the house himself, reasoning that with the Tournament underway and attention focused on Hogwarts, his ancestral home presented a more comfortable hiding place than a cave in the mountains.

"It's bloody depressing," Sirius had written to Lupin after his first night back in his childhood home, "but at least it's warm and has a proper bathroom. Kreacher's as foul as ever, muttering constantly about blood traitors and disgraces. I've confined him to the attic for now, just to get some peace."

This development had both advantages and complications. With Sirius in residence, Lupin had a legitimate reason for regular visits, allowing multiple opportunities to search for the locket. However, Kreacher's presence made covert searching more difficult, as the house-elf was likely to notice any disturbance to the family heirlooms he obsessively guarded.

The solution came from an unexpected quarter. During one such visit, while helping Sirius clear years of magical pests from the drawing room, Lupin had "discovered" a heavy gold locket that none of them could open.

"Probably cursed like half the rubbish in this house," Sirius had said dismissively, tossing it into a sack of items to be discarded. "Feel free to examine it if you want, Moony, but be careful. Mother had a taste for particularly nasty enchantments."

Lupin had casually slipped the locket into his pocket, ostensibly to study its properties, and brought it directly to Hadrian at their Cornwall safe house. One simple test had confirmed it—this was indeed Slytherin's locket, containing a fragment of Voldemort's soul.

Securing it within the same type of containment box they had used for the ring and diadem, Hadrian had added it to their collection of Horcruxes awaiting destruction. Three down, two to go—the cup in Bellatrix's Gringotts vault and Nagini, who didn't yet exist in her Horcrux form but would after Voldemort's rebirth.

Now, on the eve of the first Triwizard task, Hadrian sat in his cottage near Hogsmeade, reviewing their progress. The timeline wall had been updated to reflect their successes with the Horcruxes as well as the developments at Hogwarts. Three pieces of Voldemort's soul had been contained, Harry was better prepared than he had been in the original timeline, and key allies like McGonagall and Lupin were positioned to provide support that hadn't existed before.

Yet challenges remained. The cup would be nearly impossible to retrieve without a break-in similar to the one that had occurred in Hadrian's original timeline—a risky proposition requiring extensive planning. The Horcrux in Harry's scar still represented the most complex problem, with no clear solution beyond the original sacrificial death that Hadrian was determined to avoid. And the false Moody continued his manipulations at Hogwarts, guiding events toward the graveyard confrontation that would restore Voldemort to his body.

A knock at the door interrupted these reflections. Hadrian tensed, wand immediately in hand—a habit that decades of danger had ingrained too deeply to break. A quick detection spell revealed Lupin standing outside, his magical signature familiar and unthreatening.

"Enter," Hadrian called, lowering his wand but not putting it away entirely.

Lupin stepped inside, stamping snow from his boots. November had brought early winter to Scotland, with a light blanket of snow covering the countryside around Hogsmeade.

"The Hungarian Horntail has arrived," he announced without preamble, referring to the dragon that Harry would face in the first task. "Hagrid took Harry to see the dragons last night, exactly as you predicted. Charlie Weasley was quite concerned about Harry's chances when I spoke with him."

Hadrian nodded, relaxing slightly. "And Moody—or rather Crouch—has advised Harry to play to his strengths?"

"Yes, according to Harry's message this morning. He's finally mastered the Summoning Charm as well, thanks in part to your advice about focusing on certainty rather than hope."

"Good," Hadrian said, gesturing for Lupin to take a seat near the fire. "The pieces are falling into place. Has he told Cedric about the dragons?"

"This morning. Another element of your timeline maintained." Lupin removed his traveling cloak, settling into the offered chair. "I must admit, it's unsettling watching events unfold exactly as you described them, even with our interventions."

"Time has a certain elasticity," Hadrian explained, pouring tea for them both. "Small changes can be absorbed without significantly altering the larger flow of events. It's the major disruptions that cause unpredictable divergences."

"And you still believe allowing Voldemort's return is necessary?" Lupin asked, accepting the tea with a nod of thanks.

It was a question they had debated extensively since Lupin had joined Hadrian's mission. The moral calculus of permitting Voldemort's resurrection—with all the death and suffering that would follow—weighed heavily on both of them.

"Necessary is perhaps the wrong word," Hadrian replied carefully. "More accurately, it's the devil we know versus the devil we don't. If we prevent his return through the Tournament, he'll simply find another method, potentially one we can't anticipate or prepare for. By allowing this particular sequence to unfold, we maintain a degree of predictability while positioning ourselves to change the outcome in critical ways."

"Such as saving Cedric," Lupin noted.

"And preventing the full-scale war that followed in my timeline," Hadrian added. "The goal isn't to stop Voldemort from returning—that's likely inevitable given his Horcruxes. The goal is to ensure his return leads to his permanent defeat before he can cause the devastation I witnessed."

Lupin nodded slowly, acceptance if not full agreement in his expression. "Speaking of Horcruxes, I've been researching that ritual we discussed—the Hungarian method for soul fragment extraction. The astronomical conditions will be ideal in late December, during the winter solstice."

"Perfect timing," Hadrian said with satisfaction. "That gives us a month after the first task to prepare. We can test it on one of the Horcruxes we've already secured—the ring, perhaps, as it's the oldest and potentially most stable."

Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of an owl at the window—a handsome tawny bird that Hadrian recognized as one of the Hogwarts school owls. He retrieved the letter it carried, noting Harry's increasingly familiar handwriting on the envelope.

> *Dear Hadrian,*

>

> *I don't have much time, but I wanted to thank you for your advice. I've been practicing the Summoning Charm like mad with Hermione, and I think I've finally got it. Tomorrow's the day, and my plan is set. I'm going to use my Firebolt to outfly the dragon—that Hungarian Horntail I told you about.*

>

> *Hermione says it's a mad plan, but she can't think of anything better, and I feel good about it. Flying is the one thing I know I do really well. Better than Krum, according to some people, though I'm not sure about that.*

>

> *Ron still isn't speaking to me. I know you said to be patient, but it's hard when I could really use his support right now. At least Hermione's been brilliant, and Hagrid and Professor Moody have been helping in their own ways. And your letters, of course. They've meant more than I can say.*

>

> *I'll see you tomorrow at the task. Knowing you and Professor Lupin will be there helps more than you probably realize.*

>

> *Wish me luck,*

> *Harry*

Hadrian passed the letter to Lupin, who read it with a sad smile.

"He sounds exactly like you described yourself at that age," Lupin observed. "Determined but uncertain, brave but isolated."

"He is me, in many ways," Hadrian replied quietly. "Or who I was, at least. Before everything changed."

The statement hung in the air between them, laden with the unspoken history of Hadrian's original timeline—the losses, the hardships, the gradual transformation from the boy who wrote such letters into the battle-hardened warrior who had traveled back to change fate itself.

"We should prepare for tomorrow," Lupin said finally, recognizing the moment of reflection for what it was. "If events proceed as you remember them, Harry will succeed brilliantly but still face significant danger. The Horntail is the most vicious of the four dragons."

Hadrian nodded, pushing aside the emotional weight of Harry's letter to focus on practical matters. "I've arranged to sit with the other guests rather than in the general stands. It will give us a better vantage point if intervention becomes necessary, though I don't anticipate it will."

"And after the task? There's the matter of the golden egg and its clue about the second task."

"Harry will solve that in his own time," Hadrian said confidently. "With a little nudge from Cedric Diggory as repayment for the dragon warning. The bigger concern is the Yule Ball and the complications it introduces."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Romantic entanglements are a priority in our mission timeline?"

Hadrian smiled slightly at the teasing tone. "Hardly. But the social dynamics surrounding the ball create additional stressors for Harry at a time when he needs to be focused on the Tournament. It also marks the deepening involvement of Karkaroff and the increasing pressure on Barty Crouch Sr., both of which have ripple effects on later events."

"I see," Lupin said, more seriously now. "What interventions do you propose?"

"Minimal, for this phase. Perhaps some advice on managing the social aspects without letting them overshadow the more critical preparation for the second task. We'll need to maintain our focus on the Horcruxes as well—testing the ritual on the winter solstice will be our primary objective before the new year."

They spent the remainder of the evening refining their plans for the following day and the weeks ahead. Lupin would position himself near the champions' tent, ready to offer support immediately after Harry's performance, while Hadrian would observe from the guests' section, maintaining a broader view of the proceedings and watching for any unexpected developments.

As night fell and Lupin departed to make his final preparations, Hadrian returned to the timeline wall, studying the complex web of events that would unfold in the coming months. The first task represented a major milestone—the initial public challenge Harry would face as a champion. Success would boost his confidence and begin to turn public opinion back in his favor, setting the stage for the more complex challenges ahead.

But beyond the Tournament itself, the larger game continued. Voldemort's servants were moving according to their master's design, unaware that their plans were being monitored and subtly counterbalanced by players they didn't even know existed. The retrieved Horcruxes represented significant progress toward their ultimate goal, though the most difficult extractions still lay ahead.

As he prepared for bed, Hadrian allowed himself a moment of cautious optimism. Despite the challenges and moral complexities, their mission was progressing well. Harry was better positioned than he had been in the original timeline, their Horcrux hunt was ahead of schedule, and key allies were in place to provide support at critical moments.

Tomorrow would bring the spectacle of dragons and the first public test of Harry's courage as a champion. But it would also bring something more significant—the first major divergence point where their subtle preparations might begin to show their impact on this new timeline.

With that thought in mind, Hadrian finally drifted into sleep, his dreams a mixture of past memories and hopes for a better future—one where the boy facing dragons would eventually face a very different destiny than the man he had become.

* * *

The morning of November 24th arrived with clear skies and bitter cold. The grounds of Hogwarts were covered in a light dusting of frost that crunched underfoot as Hadrian made his way from Hogsmeade to the school, joining the stream of excited spectators heading toward the newly constructed dragon enclosure at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

The atmosphere was electric with anticipation. Students waved banners supporting their favorite champions, Ministry officials bustled about with clipboards and self-important expressions, and vendors hawked omnioculars and miniature models of the four dragons. Despite the gravity of his mission, Hadrian couldn't help but feel a nostalgic thrill at witnessing this moment again—though this time as an observer rather than a terrified participant.

He spotted Lupin near the entrance to the champions' tent, engaged in conversation with Professor McGonagall. The two appeared to be having an intense discussion, with McGonagall gesturing firmly toward the nearby stands. As Hadrian approached, he caught the tail end of their conversation.

"—absolutely no need for such excessive security, Remus," McGonagall was saying. "The dragon handlers are professionals, and the magical barriers are more than adequate."

"I'm sure you're right, Minerva," Lupin replied diplomatically. "But given the unexpected nature of Harry's involvement in the Tournament, a few extra precautions seem prudent. Particularly for this first task."

McGonagall's lips thinned slightly, but she nodded. "Very well. You may position yourself where you suggested. But do try not to look as though you're expecting disaster, or you'll only increase the boy's nerves."

As McGonagall departed toward the judges' table, Lupin turned to greet Hadrian with a subtle nod. "Everything's arranged," he murmured quietly. "I'll be stationed by the medical tent with a clear line of sight to the entire arena. McGonagall has approved my presence as an 'additional safety measure.'"

"Good," Hadrian replied, equally quietly. "Any word on Harry's state of mind?"

"Nervous but focused, according to Hermione. She visited briefly this morning. The other champions appear to be in similar states—Fleur is pale but composed, Krum is stoic as ever, and Diggory is pacing but determined."

"Just as I remember," Hadrian noted. "And the dragons are all in position?"

"Yes, though the Horntail is particularly irritable today. Charlie Weasley mentioned it hasn't eaten for over a week, making it even more aggressive than usual."

This was a slight deviation from Hadrian's memories—he didn't recall the Horntail being specifically starved before the task. It was a minor difference, but potentially significant given the already dangerous nature of the beast.

"That could complicate Harry's strategy," Hadrian said with a frown. "A hungrier dragon will be more aggressive and less predictable. I'll move closer to the arena boundary, just in case."

Lupin nodded in agreement. "I should take my position as well. The task is due to begin in twenty minutes."

They parted ways, Lupin heading toward the medical tent while Hadrian made his way to the VIP section of the stands. This area, reserved for Ministry officials, school governors, and special guests, offered an unobstructed view of the entire arena. Dumbledore had arranged for Hadrian to be seated there, another small courtesy that suggested the Headmaster's continuing evaluation of Hadrian's role in Harry's life.

As he took his seat, Hadrian noticed several familiar faces in the surrounding area. Cornelius Fudge was present, looking important in his pinstriped cloak and bowler hat, deep in conversation with a delegation of foreign wizards who appeared to be from the International Confederation. Nearby, Lucius Malfoy sat with several members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, his expression one of calculated interest.

Most concerning was Rita Skeeter, her acid-green quill already hovering above her notepad as she scanned the crowd for potential sources or targets. Her gaze landed on Hadrian, eyes narrowing with journalistic interest. He had thus far managed to avoid becoming a subject of her articles, but his connection to Harry made him an obvious target for her particular brand of invasive reporting.

Before she could approach, however, Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice boomed across the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament! Our four champions are now preparing to face their challenge—retrieving a golden egg guarded by a dragon!"

Excited gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd. While the nature of the task wasn't meant to be revealed until the champions entered the arena, rumors had spread widely, and few in the audience seemed genuinely surprised by the announcement.

"Each champion will face a different breed of dragon, selected by random draw. They will be scored based on speed, skill, and the effectiveness of their approach. First to face his dragon—the Swedish Short-Snout—is Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, particularly from the Hufflepuff section where students waved yellow and black banners emblazoned with Cedric's name. The handsome Hufflepuff emerged from the champions' tent looking pale but determined, his wand gripped firmly in his hand.

Hadrian watched with interest as Cedric employed the same strategy he remembered from his timeline—transfiguring a rock into a Labrador to distract the dragon while he attempted to retrieve the egg. The Short-Snout initially followed the decoy, allowing Cedric to make significant progress toward the nest, but then changed its mind and turned back, catching Cedric with a burst of flame that singed his face and shoulder.

Despite the injury, Cedric maintained enough presence of mind to complete his task, snatching the golden egg and sprinting to safety as the dragon handlers rushed in to subdue the Short-Snout. The crowd roared its approval as Cedric was escorted to the medical tent, clutching his prize.

Fleur Delacour was next, facing the Welsh Green. Her approach was more subtle—attempting to enchant the dragon into a trance-like state. The strategy partially succeeded, with the dragon growing drowsy, though a snort of flame ignited her skirt when the beast snored unexpectedly. Fleur extinguished the fire with a jet of water from her wand and completed her retrieval with graceful efficiency.

Viktor Krum's turn brought a different approach entirely. Facing the Chinese Fireball, Krum used a Conjunctivitis Curse to blind the dragon temporarily. The strategy was effective but messy—the dragon, in its pain and confusion, trampled several of its own eggs, resulting in point deductions despite Krum's quick retrieval of the golden egg.

And then it was Harry's turn.

"And now, our final champion facing the Hungarian Horntail—Harry Potter of Hogwarts!"

The applause for Harry was noticeably mixed, with enthusiastic cheers from the Gryffindor section countered by boos and jeers from the Slytherins. Harry emerged from the tent looking smaller and younger than the other champions, his face pale but set with determination.

Hadrian leaned forward, tension coiling in his body as he watched his younger self survey the arena. The Horntail crouched over its nest, yellow eyes fixed on Harry with predatory focus. Even from a distance, Hadrian could see the beast was indeed more aggressive than he remembered, its spiked tail lashing the ground and leaving deep gouges in the earth.

Harry raised his wand. "Accio Firebolt!" he shouted, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly hushed arena.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Hadrian's hand tightened around his own wand, preparing to intervene if necessary. Then a whisper ran through the crowd as the Firebolt came soaring around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, stopping mid-air beside Harry, who mounted it with practiced ease.

What followed was exactly as Hadrian remembered experiencing—the exhilarating freedom of flight, the strategic aerial maneuvers designed to draw the dragon away from its nest, the dangerous game of chicken with a beast whose wingspan dwarfed the slight boy on the broomstick.

The Horntail's hunger made it more aggressive than in Hadrian's original experience, its flame bursts more frequent and its lunges more desperate. Harry narrowly avoided being incinerated twice, earning gasps and screams from the crowd. But his flying was magnificent—instinctive, graceful, and utterly fearless as he dove and swooped around the increasingly frustrated dragon.

Then came the moment Hadrian had been anticipating—Harry's feint toward the ground, followed by a sharp climb that confused the dragon momentarily, giving him just enough time to dive toward the nest. The Horntail, realizing its eggs were exposed, lunged back toward them with unexpected speed, its spiked tail whipping around in a deadly arc.

This was where the deviation occurred. In Hadrian's original timeline, the tail had grazed his shoulder, causing a relatively minor injury. But this hungrier, more aggressive Horntail moved with greater desperation. Its tail was aimed not at Harry's shoulder but directly at his head and torso—a blow that would be potentially fatal if it connected.

Hadrian was on his feet instantly, wand raised, a shield spell on his lips. But before he could cast, Harry executed a roll in midair that Hadrian had no memory of performing—a perfect Sloth Grip Roll that took him under the tail's arc rather than over it as in the original timeline. The maneuver brought him directly to the nest, where he snatched the golden egg one-handed and accelerated away from the dragon with breathtaking speed.

The crowd exploded in cheers, even former critics rising to their feet in appreciation of the spectacular performance. Hadrian slowly lowered his wand, heart pounding as he processed what he had just witnessed. Harry had avoided the injury entirely through a flying technique he hadn't used in the original timeline—a small but significant deviation that suggested their subtle interventions were already having effects.

As Harry landed safely at the arena entrance, clutching the golden egg in triumph, Hadrian saw Lupin hurrying to meet him, along with McGonagall, Moody, and Hagrid. Their expressions were a mixture of relief, pride, and residual fear—reactions Hadrian remembered well from his own experience of this moment.

The judges' scores appeared shortly thereafter: Maxime gave an eight, Crouch a nine, Dumbledore a nine, Bagman a ten (clearly impressed by the flying display), and Karkaroff a biased four. The total placed Harry tied for first place with Viktor Krum—exactly as Hadrian remembered.

As the crowd began to disperse, discussing the champions' performances with animated excitement, Hadrian made his way toward the medical tent where Harry was being checked for injuries. This was a crucial moment—the first significant interaction with Harry following his successful navigation of the task.

Outside the tent, Hadrian encountered an unexpected obstacle—Rita Skeeter, who had positioned herself strategically to intercept anyone entering or leaving.

"Mr. Peverell, isn't it?" she said with a predatory smile, her Quick-Quotes Quill hovering beside her. "Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet. I understand you're a relative of young Harry Potter? How fascinating to find family connections emerging just as he faces his greatest challenges. One might almost call it... convenient timing."

The insinuation was clear, and entirely in keeping with Skeeter's approach to journalism. Hadrian had anticipated this encounter eventually, though he had hoped it would come later in the Tournament.

"Ms. Skeeter," he acknowledged with a neutral nod. "I can only imagine how a family connection might seem newsworthy to someone with your particular journalistic focus. However, I think you'll find that genealogical research confirming my relationship to the Potter family has been properly filed with both the British and American Ministries. Hardly the stuff of sensational headlines."

Her smile tightened slightly at his calm dismissal. "Yet you appeared in Britain quite suddenly, just months before Harry's name mysteriously entered the Triwizard Tournament. Readers might wonder about such... remarkable coincidences."

"Readers might also wonder why a respected journalist would imply sinister connections without a shred of evidence," Hadrian countered smoothly. "But perhaps you're right that there's a story here—one about a young boy facing extraordinary challenges with courage and dignity, despite attempts to undermine him through sensationalized reporting."

The Quick-Quotes Quill was scribbling furiously as they spoke, though Hadrian suspected the actual article would bear little resemblance to their exchange.

"You seem very protective of your young relative," Skeeter observed, her eyes narrowing behind her jeweled spectacles. "Almost... paternally so. Is there perhaps a closer connection than you've publicly acknowledged?"

This was dangerous territory. Any hint that Hadrian might be more than a distant cousin could lead to investigations that would expose his cover story. Before he could formulate a response, however, another voice interrupted.

"Mr. Peverell. Ms. Skeeter." Albus Dumbledore had approached silently, his expression pleasant but his eyes sharp behind his half-moon spectacles. "What a lively discussion this appears to be. However, I believe Harry is asking for his family, and journalists are not permitted in the medical area without express permission from the Tournament officials."

Skeeter's expression soured, but she knew better than to argue with Dumbledore directly. "We'll continue our chat another time, Mr. Peverell," she said, tucking away her notepad. "Family connections are so important, after all. I'm sure our readers would love to hear more about yours."

With that parting shot, she sashayed away, already scanning the crowd for her next target.

"An unpleasant woman," Dumbledore observed mildly. "Though not without a certain resourcefulness that might be admirable in other contexts."

"Indeed," Hadrian agreed, grateful for the timely intervention. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Not at all. Harry did ask for you, actually. He's quite excited about his performance and eager to share the details with someone he trusts. A natural impulse after such an achievement."

They walked together toward the medical tent, Dumbledore's pace unhurried despite the excitement still buzzing through the crowd around them.

"I noticed you were prepared to intervene during Harry's performance," Dumbledore said conversationally, though his eyes were keenly focused on Hadrian's reaction. "Your wand was raised just before he executed that remarkable aerial maneuver."

So Dumbledore had been watching him, not just Harry. Hadrian had suspected as much but hadn't confirmed it until now.

"A reflexive reaction," Hadrian explained smoothly. "The Horntail seemed particularly aggressive today. I understand it hasn't been fed for some time?"

"An unfortunate oversight in the transport arrangements," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Though as Mr. Potter demonstrated, sometimes adversity provides an opportunity for exceptional skill to manifest itself."

They had reached the medical tent, where Hadrian could hear excited voices inside—Harry recounting his performance to what sounded like Ron and Hermione, their friendship apparently restored as it had been in the original timeline.

"Before you go in," Dumbledore said, pausing at the entrance, "I wonder if you might share your assessment of Harry's performance? As family, your perspective would be... illuminating."

It was another test, Hadrian realized. Dumbledore was evaluating not just his relationship with Harry but his judgment and values.

"I thought his performance showed not just talent but wisdom," Hadrian replied carefully. "Many wizards would have attempted to overpower the dragon directly—to prove their magical strength through force. Harry instead recognized his true strengths and found a creative application that minimized risk to both himself and the dragon. That kind of self-awareness and creative problem-solving is rare, especially in one so young."

Dumbledore's expression softened slightly, a genuine smile replacing his usual enigmatic one. "A most insightful observation, Mr. Peverell. And one with which I wholeheartedly agree. Harry has always shown a remarkable ability to find unconventional solutions to seemingly impossible challenges."

With that, he gestured for Hadrian to enter the tent, remaining outside himself to give Harry and his family privacy.

Inside, Hadrian found Harry surrounded by a small but enthusiastic group—Ron and Hermione flanking him protectively, with Lupin standing nearby. The tension that had existed between Ron and Harry for weeks appeared to have dissolved entirely, replaced by the easy camaraderie Hadrian remembered from their best moments.

"Hadrian!" Harry called, his face lighting up at the sight of his supposed cousin. "Did you see it? The Sloth Grip Roll worked perfectly! I've been practicing it for weeks but never thought I'd actually use it in a situation like that."

"It was remarkable," Hadrian said sincerely, stepping forward to clasp Harry's shoulder. "A professional-quality maneuver executed under extreme pressure. You should be very proud."

"It was bloody brilliant," Ron agreed enthusiastically. "Charlie says he's never seen anyone fly against a Horntail like that, not even professional dragon handlers."

Hermione, though clearly relieved by Harry's success, maintained her practical focus. "You'll need to start working on that egg clue right away, Harry. The next task will be here before you know it."

"Let him enjoy his victory for a moment, Hermione," Lupin suggested gently. "There's time enough for the next challenge tomorrow."

As Harry launched into a detailed description of how it felt to fly against the dragon, Hadrian exchanged a significant glance with Lupin. The Sloth Grip Roll—a maneuver Harry had apparently been practicing for weeks—represented a deviation from the original timeline. It was a small change, resulting only in Harry avoiding an injury that had been minor to begin with, but it demonstrated how their subtle guidance was already altering events in potentially beneficial ways.

The question now was whether such deviations would remain minor and manageable, or whether they would compound over time to create more significant divergences from the expected path. Only time would tell if their careful balancing act between necessary preservation and strategic change would achieve the outcomes they sought.

For now, though, they could take satisfaction in this small victory. Harry had triumphed in the first task, emerging not just unscathed but with heightened confidence and restored friendships. It was a promising beginning to the Tournament that would eventually lead to the graveyard confrontation and Voldemort's return—a confrontation they were now better positioned to prepare for than in the original timeline.

As Hadrian listened to Harry's animated description of the flight against the dragon, watching the joy and relief on the boy's face, he allowed himself a moment of genuine warmth. This was why he had come back—not just to prevent the catastrophic future he had lived through, but to ensure that Harry Potter had a chance at the life and happiness that had been largely denied to Hadrian himself.

It was a beginning, nothing more. But sometimes, beginnings contained the seeds of everything that followed.

* * *

The weeks after the first task unfolded in a whirlwind of activity for both Harry at Hogwarts and Hadrian in his role as strategic coordinator of their broader mission. Harry's success against the dragon had indeed transformed his standing at the school, with all but the most dedicated Slytherins now supporting him as a legitimate Hogwarts champion alongside Cedric Diggory. Even more importantly, his friendship with Ron had been repaired, restoring the supportive foundation that Harry would need for the challenges ahead.

Through regular correspondence, Hadrian tracked Harry's progress with the golden egg clue. As in the original timeline, Harry had initially been baffled by the screeching wail that emerged when the egg was opened. Hadrian had carefully avoided giving direct hints, knowing that Cedric's clue about taking the egg to the prefects' bathroom would eventually set Harry on the right path. Some discoveries needed to unfold naturally for Harry's development, and the solution to the egg was one of them.

Meanwhile, Hadrian and Lupin had focused on preparations for the winter solstice ritual to test their Horcrux destruction method. The Hungarian extractions rituals Lupin had discovered required precise timing, specialized ingredients, and a location with specific magical properties. After considerable research, they had identified a stone circle in Cornwall, not far from their safe house, that aligned with the necessary criteria.

"The ritual requires a containment vessel capable of temporarily housing the extracted soul fragment," Lupin explained during one of their planning sessions. "Something magically neutral but structurally sound."

"Goblin silver would work," Hadrian suggested. "It absorbs only what strengthens it and repels what would damage it. I have a small cup that might serve the purpose."

The preparations were complex and time-consuming, requiring dozens of rare ingredients and precise calculations based on astronomical alignments. Yet as the solstice approached, they found themselves unexpectedly ahead of schedule, allowing Hadrian to shift some attention back to developments at Hogwarts.

Chief among these was the announcement of the Yule Ball, which would take place on Christmas night as part of the Triwizard Tournament tradition. In his original timeline, Hadrian remembered this event as a mixture of social anxiety, awkward teenage romance, and missed opportunities. It had also marked a subtle turning point in his relationship with Ron and Hermione, exposing tensions that would later develop into more significant conflicts.

Through his correspondence with Harry, Hadrian offered carefully calibrated advice on this front as well:

> *Dear Harry,*

>

> *I understand the Yule Ball has been announced, with champions expected to open the dancing. While this might seem a trivial concern compared to the Tournament tasks, don't underestimate the importance of these social occasions. They provide valuable opportunities to build relationships and observe interactions that might prove useful later.*

>

> *Regarding a partner for the ball, my suggestion is to approach someone you genuinely enjoy spending time with, rather than focusing solely on romantic attraction. A friendly, comfortable dynamic will make the evening more enjoyable for both of you, especially given the public scrutiny you'll face as a champion.*

>

> *You mentioned feeling uncertain about asking Cho Chang. While I understand the appeal of pursuing one's first crush, consider whether the timing is optimal. My sources suggest she may have existing commitments or interests that could complicate matters. Perhaps consider friends who might otherwise be overlooked for such an occasion? Sometimes the most rewarding connections are those we don't initially consider.*

>

> *Whatever you decide, try to approach the situation promptly and respectfully. Nothing creates more unnecessary anxiety than last-minute arrangements born of procrastination.*

>

> *In non-ball-related matters, I hope your progress with the egg clue is continuing. Remember that magical challenges often require thinking beyond conventional approaches—sometimes literally changing your perspective or environment can reveal solutions not otherwise apparent.*

>

> *As always, I'm here if you need further advice or simply a sympathetic ear.*

>

> *Yours,*

> *Hadrian*

This letter represented Hadrian's attempt to nudge Harry toward a slightly different approach to the Yule Ball than he had taken originally. In his timeline, Harry had fixated on Cho Chang, waited too long to ask anyone, and ended up with Parvati Patil as a last-minute partner whom he then largely ignored during the event. This had resulted in an unpleasant evening for everyone involved and missed opportunities to build potentially valuable connections with students from the other schools.

Whether Harry would heed this advice remained to be seen, but it was another small intervention that might yield compounding benefits later.

As the solstice approached, Hadrian received an unexpected owl from Professor McGonagall, requesting his presence at Hogwarts for a meeting regarding Harry's "ongoing Tournament participation." The formal phrasing suggested this was an official invitation, possibly orchestrated by Dumbledore, though McGonagall's personal signature indicated her involvement as well.

"What do you make of it?" Lupin asked when Hadrian shared the letter during their final planning session before the solstice ritual. "A genuine consultation about Harry's welfare, or something else?"

"Almost certainly something else," Hadrian replied, studying the precise handwriting. "McGonagall would handle routine Tournament matters herself. Involving me suggests either Dumbledore is looking for additional information, or they have something specific to discuss that requires my presence."

"Will you go?"

"Yes, but I'll schedule it for after the solstice ritual. The Horcrux destruction remains our priority."

The meeting was arranged for December 23rd, giving them two days after the solstice to analyze the results of their ritual before Hadrian would need to return to Hogwarts. It was a tight schedule, but manageable with proper planning.

On the night of December 21st—the winter solstice—Hadrian and Lupin traveled to the ancient stone circle they had prepared for the ritual. The night was clear and bitterly cold, stars blazing overhead with unusual brightness. They had chosen to test the ritual on the diadem Horcrux, reasoning that it would be the most stable of the three they had recovered thus far.

The stone circle had been meticulously prepared with runic inscriptions carved into the ground between each standing stone. In the center, they placed the goblin-silver cup that would temporarily contain the extracted soul fragment, surrounded by a complex pattern of crushed gems, rare herbs, and symbolic objects representing the four elements.

"Are you ready?" Lupin asked as they completed the final preparations. "Once we begin, the ritual cannot be interrupted without significant magical backlash."

Hadrian nodded, placing the containment box with the diadem in the designated position at the eastern point of the circle. "Let's proceed."

The ritual began with a series of complex incantations in ancient Hungarian, alternating between Hadrian and Lupin as they moved in a precise pattern around the circle. The magical energies built slowly at first, a subtle luminescence growing in the runic inscriptions as the solstice power reached its peak.

As the critical moment approached—exactly midnight on the longest night of the year—Hadrian opened the containment box, exposing the diadem for the first time since its retrieval from Hogwarts. Even within the protective circle, the malevolent presence of the Horcrux was immediately palpable, a cold weight pressing against their mental shields and magical defenses.

"Now," Lupin said quietly, as the stars aligned overhead in the precise configuration their calculations had predicted.

Together, they spoke the final words of the ritual—a complex phrase that had no direct translation in English but approximated to "Separate that which was forcibly joined, return to natural state that which was corrupted, cleanse through wisdom what was defiled through hubris."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the diadem began to tremble, a black mist seeping from the tarnished metal as though being drawn out by an invisible force. The mist coalesced into a writhing shape that bore a horrifying resemblance to a distorted human face—Voldemort's face, contorted in agony and rage.

The extract hovered between the diadem and the silver cup, seemingly torn between returning to its host and proceeding to the prepared vessel. Hadrian and Lupin maintained the incantation, their wands moving in synchronized patterns that guided and contained the malevolent energy.

Suddenly, the soul fragment let out an unearthly shriek that echoed across the silent countryside. The sound contained such pure hatred and despair that both wizards faltered momentarily in their casting, their concentration shaken by the primal horror of it.

That moment of hesitation proved costly. The soul fragment, sensing weakness, lashed out with unexpected force, sending tendrils of black energy toward both casters. Hadrian raised a shield charm instinctively, deflecting the attack, but the momentary disruption to the ritual created a dangerous instability.

"The containment is failing," Lupin warned, his voice strained as he reinforced his side of the magical boundary. "We need to complete the extraction now or terminate the ritual entirely."

Hadrian made a split-second decision. "Focus all power on the extraction. I'll maintain the boundary."

Redirecting his magical energy, Hadrian strengthened the ritual's outer perimeter while Lupin channeled his full concentration into compelling the soul fragment toward the silver cup. The strain was enormous, testing the limits of their magical endurance as they fought against Voldemort's corrupted soul magic.

For what seemed like an eternity but was likely only seconds, the outcome hung in balance. Then, with a final wretched scream, the soul fragment was wrenched completely from the diadem and forced into the waiting cup, which immediately turned black as though charred from within.

Lupin quickly sealed the cup with a specialized containment spell they had prepared, while Hadrian maintained the protective boundary until the violent magical energies began to dissipate. Only when the air within the circle had cleared of the oily, dark residue of Voldemort's magic did they finally lower their wands.

Both men were exhausted, drained by the immense magical exertion and the psychological toll of direct exposure to such concentrated evil. But their expressions held grim satisfaction as they surveyed the results.

The diadem lay on the ground, now just an ordinary tiara with no trace of the dark magic that had previously infused it. The cup, conversely, radiated malevolence, though safely contained by their prepared spells.

"It worked," Lupin said quietly, his voice hoarse from the ritual casting. "We've successfully separated the soul fragment from its anchor."

"Only partially," Hadrian clarified, carefully examining the cup. "We've transferred it to a new container, but it still exists. Now comes the destruction phase."

This was the simpler part of their plan. With the soul fragment contained in a vessel they controlled, rather than one chosen and protected by Voldemort himself, they could destroy it through conventional means. Hadrian retrieved a small vial of basilisk venom from his robes.

"Would Fiendfyre be more efficient?" Lupin asked, eyeing the cup warily.

"Perhaps, but also more dangerous and less controlled," Hadrian replied, carefully unstoppering the vial. "The venom has proven effective on multiple Horcruxes in my timeline. No need to introduce additional variables."

With steady hands, Hadrian carefully dripped three drops of the potent venom onto the cup. The reaction was immediate and violent—the cup hissed and bubbled as though being dissolved in acid, black smoke pouring from it accompanied by that same unearthly scream they had heard during the extraction. The sound rose to an agonizing pitch, then abruptly ceased as the soul fragment was destroyed.

When the smoke cleared, the cup remained, blackened but intact, no longer containing any trace of Voldemort's soul.

"Remarkable," Lupin murmured, examining their handiwork. "The ritual worked even better than we'd hoped. The soul fragment was completely extracted, leaving the original vessel undamaged except for some minor scorching."

"This confirms our approach is viable," Hadrian agreed, carefully collecting the now-harmless diadem. "The ritual is complex and draining, but effective. With refinement, we could potentially use it for all the remaining Horcruxes."

Including, though he didn't say it aloud, the one in Harry's scar. That remained their most complex challenge—extracting a Horcrux from a living host without harming them. But tonight's success brought that possibility one step closer to reality.

As they dismantled the ritual site, removing all traces of their magical working, both men were buoyed by this significant victory. Three Horcruxes had now been neutralized, representing half of Voldemort's soul anchors. The cup in Gringotts and Nagini (who would become a Horcrux after Voldemort's rebirth) remained challenges for the future, but their mission had progressed further than either had dared hope at this stage.

"We should celebrate," Lupin suggested as they prepared to depart, the cleansed diadem and supplies carefully packed away. "A modest toast, at least, to acknowledge what we've accomplished."

Hadrian nodded, allowing himself a small smile. "A toast is appropriate. Though our greater celebration will come when all the Horcruxes are destroyed and Voldemort is truly vulnerable."

That night, back at their Cornwall safe house, they shared a glass of firewhisky in quiet acknowledgment of their progress. Neither was given to excessive celebration or premature victory declarations, but both recognized the significance of the night's achievement.

"To one step closer," Lupin said, raising his glass.

"And to those who made it possible," Hadrian added, thinking of Hermione's brilliant research and Luna's innovative magical theories that had laid the groundwork for tonight's success, even across timelines.

As they drank, Hadrian's thoughts turned to his upcoming meeting at Hogwarts. The first task had been navigated successfully, the Yule Ball would soon provide its own unique challenges and opportunities, and now they had proven their method of Horcrux destruction was viable. The pieces were moving according to plan, with small but significant improvements to the original timeline already evident.

The question now was whether Dumbledore's summons represented another opportunity for positive intervention, or a complication that might disrupt their carefully constructed plans. Whatever awaited him at Hogwarts, Hadrian would approach it with renewed confidence, bolstered by tonight's success and the growing evidence that his mission might actually succeed where his original timeline had failed so catastrophically.

The path ahead remained long and fraught with danger, but for the first time since his arrival in this timeline, Hadrian allowed himself to believe that a better future was not just possible, but increasingly probable. It was, in its own way, the greatest gift the winter solstice could offer—a spark of genuine hope in the darkest time of the year.