Shadows Of Another Time - Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter 7: The Arrival of Champions

October 30th arrived with a burst of autumn color across the Scottish Highlands. Hadrian apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade village just after noon, his traveling cloak pulled close against the crisp wind. The weather was unseasonably cold, with a hint of early snow in the air—different from what he remembered of this day in his original timeline, a small but noticeable divergence.

He checked into the Three Broomsticks, where Madam Rosmerta greeted him with the familiarity of a semi-regular patron. Since his arrival in this timeline, Hadrian had made a point of visiting the pub occasionally, establishing himself as a recognizable but unremarkable presence in the village.

"Here for the big event at the school, Mr. Peverell?" Rosmerta asked as she handed him the key to his room.

"Indeed," Hadrian replied with a pleasant smile. "I've been invited to witness the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations. Quite the historic occasion."

"The whole village is buzzing about it," she agreed. "We're expecting quite the crowd over the next few days—journalists, Ministry officials, families of the foreign students. Good for business, of course, but makes for a hectic time."

"I can imagine. I'll try not to add to your burdens unduly."

After settling into his room, Hadrian reviewed his plans once more. The schedule for the evening had been provided by Dumbledore: the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations would arrive before the feast, there would be a formal welcoming ceremony and dinner, followed by the unveiling of the Goblet of Fire and the announcement of the selection process. Guests would then be escorted back to Hogsmeade, with the option to return the following evening for the Halloween feast when the champions would be selected.

This official itinerary provided the perfect framework within which to execute his real mission: retrieving the diadem Horcrux from the Room of Requirement. Hadrian had identified a window of opportunity during the feast when the castle's attention would be focused on the Great Hall, allowing him to slip away to the seventh floor unnoticed.

The key was to establish a plausible reason for his brief absence. To that end, he had prepared a special enchanted message that would arrive during the feast, ostensibly from his "research contacts" regarding an urgent development that required immediate correspondence. This would allow him perhaps twenty minutes away from the festivities—time enough to access the Room of Hidden Things, locate the diadem, and secure it within a specially prepared container in his cloak.

Hadrian was also looking forward to observing several key players in the coming drama. The false Moody would be there, of course, as would Igor Karkaroff, whose nervous behavior in the coming months would be a clear indicator of Voldemort's growing power. Then there was Madame Maxime, who would later play a role in the diplomatic outreach to the giants, and most significantly, Cedric Diggory, the ill-fated Hogwarts champion whose death Hadrian was determined to prevent.

With several hours before he needed to depart for the castle, Hadrian took the opportunity to meet with Lupin, who had arrived in Hogsmeade the previous day. They had arranged to rendezvous at a small, out-of-the-way tea shop that catered primarily to locals rather than Hogwarts students or tourists.

Lupin was already seated at a corner table when Hadrian arrived, a cup of tea and a worn leather portfolio before him. He looked slightly better than Hadrian remembered from this period—still shabby and prematurely aged, but perhaps less gaunt, with a more purposeful air about him.

"Hadrian," he greeted with a nod as Hadrian cast privacy charms around their table before sitting down. "Everything prepared for this evening?"

"As much as possible," Hadrian confirmed. "I've secured the necessary container and mapped out my route through the castle. If all goes according to plan, I should have the diadem in my possession before the feast concludes."

"And if things don't go according to plan?" Lupin asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Then I improvise," Hadrian replied with a slight smile. "Something I've become rather adept at over the years."

"Indeed." Lupin pushed the portfolio across the table. "I've completed the research you requested on alternative methods of Horcrux destruction. There are several promising avenues, though none as straightforward as basilisk venom or Fiendfyre."

Hadrian opened the portfolio, scanning the neatly organized notes with appreciation. Lupin had been thorough, compiling information from obscure sources throughout eastern Europe and even consulting—discreetly—with a renowned curse-breaker in Egypt who specialized in soul magic.

"This is excellent work," Hadrian said, genuinely impressed. "Particularly this ritual from the Hungarian grimoire. It seems adaptable to our specific needs."

"It requires a significant magical expenditure," Lupin cautioned, "and specific astronomical conditions. But it has the advantage of being less physically dangerous than Fiendfyre and more readily available than basilisk venom."

"We'll need to test it, perhaps on the diadem once it's secured," Hadrian mused. "Speaking of which, have you made progress on locating a secure location for storing the Horcruxes until they can be destroyed?"

Lupin nodded. "I believe I've found something suitable. A property in Cornwall, owned by an old Order sympathizer who's moved abroad. Remote, magically obscured, and with foundations that would support the kind of containment wards we'd need to establish. I've made initial inquiries about leasing it under an assumed name."

"Perfect. And your conversations with Sirius? Has he mentioned anything about Grimmauld Place that might help us access the locket?"

"He's still reluctant to discuss the house in detail," Lupin admitted. "Too many painful memories. But he has mentioned that Kreacher is still there, maintaining the property after a fashion. That could complicate matters, as the house-elf was fanatically loyal to Sirius's mother and brother."

Hadrian nodded thoughtfully. In his timeline, Kreacher had indeed been a complication, though eventually an ally once his true loyalty to Regulus Black's final wishes was revealed. The house-elf had hidden the locket Horcrux that Regulus had stolen from Voldemort's cave, unable to destroy it but determined to fulfill his beloved master's last command.

"We'll need to approach that situation carefully," Hadrian said. "House-elf magic is powerful and often underestimated. For now, let's focus on the diadem. Once that's secure, we can turn our attention to the locket and develop a strategy for dealing with Kreacher."

They spent the next hour refining their plans, with Lupin providing valuable insights about the current dynamics at Hogwarts based on his correspondence with Harry and other former students. As a recent professor, he also had knowledge of the castle's layout and security measures that complemented Hadrian's own memories.

"Be cautious around Moody," Lupin advised as their meeting drew to a close. "Or rather, the person impersonating him. From Harry's letters, it seems the impostor is playing his role convincingly, but he's also more observant than most. Your interest in Harry combined with any unusual movements during the feast could attract his attention."

"I'm well aware," Hadrian assured him. "I've prepared a few subtle misdirections should he take too much interest in my activities. The beauty of dealing with a paranoid personality is that they tend to see conspiracies everywhere—making it easier to lead them down false trails."

Lupin smiled slightly. "A clever approach. Still, don't underestimate him. Barty Crouch Jr., if that's indeed who it is, was brilliant before he went to Azkaban. Fanatical, but brilliant."

"Noted," Hadrian said, rising from his seat. "I should prepare for this evening. We'll meet tomorrow to discuss the outcome?"

"Same time, same place," Lupin confirmed. "Good luck, Hadrian. And... take care with Harry. This will be your first meeting since the World Cup. He's excited about it, based on his most recent letter."

Hadrian nodded, feeling a familiar mix of anticipation and caution at the thought of seeing his younger self again. "I'll be appropriately distant but friendly. The concerned relative, nothing more."

As he left the tea shop, Hadrian couldn't help reflecting on the strange position he found himself in. Being a mentor to his younger self while maintaining the façade of a distant relative required a delicate balance—showing enough interest and care to build trust, but never revealing the depth of his emotional investment in Harry's welfare.

It was yet another mask to wear, another role to play in this elaborate deception designed to create a better future. Sometimes, in quiet moments, Hadrian wondered if he would ever be able to simply be himself again, or if these layers of deception had become an inextricable part of who he was now.

Pushing these philosophical concerns aside, he focused on the immediate task ahead. The diadem awaited, and with it, another step toward ensuring Voldemort's eventual defeat.

* * *

Hogwarts was resplendent in anticipation of its international guests. As Hadrian approached the castle that evening, he could see that the grounds had been meticulously maintained, with fresh gravel on the paths, polished suits of armor flanking the entrance, and banners representing all three schools hanging from the towers.

Professor McGonagall greeted the invited guests at the entrance, checking names against a list and directing everyone to a reception area adjacent to the Great Hall. Hadrian presented his invitation with a polite bow.

"Mr. Peverell," McGonagall acknowledged with a nod. "The Headmaster mentioned you would be joining us this evening. Please proceed to the antechamber where refreshments are being served. The students and staff will be assembling on the front lawn shortly to welcome our guests, after which everyone will proceed to the Great Hall for the feast."

"Thank you, Professor," Hadrian replied. "It's a pleasure to see Hogwarts again, particularly on such a momentous occasion."

McGonagall's expression softened slightly. "Indeed. The Triwizard Tournament is a historic event, one that these students will remember for the rest of their lives."

*Some more than others*, Hadrian thought grimly, though he maintained a pleasant expression as he made his way to the antechamber.

The room was filled with an eclectic mix of visitors—Ministry officials in formal robes, journalists including the distinctive figure of Rita Skeeter with her acid-green quill hovering nearby, and various dignitaries who had connections to the three schools. Hadrian accepted a glass of mead from a passing house-elf and positioned himself near the window, where he could observe the room while maintaining a low profile.

His attention was drawn to a group of Ministry officials huddled near the fireplace. Among them, he recognized Bartemius Crouch Sr., looking as stiff and formal as ever, and Ludo Bagman, whose jovial manner stood in stark contrast to Crouch's severity. These two would be overseeing the Tournament as judges, along with the three school heads.

In his original timeline, Crouch Sr. had been murdered by his son before the Third Task, his body transfigured into a bone and buried in Hagrid's garden. Bagman, meanwhile, had fled after the Tournament due to gambling debts owed to goblins. Neither man had been particularly significant in the larger war against Voldemort, but their roles in the Tournament made them worth observing now.

A commotion at the door drew Hadrian's attention as Dumbledore entered, resplendent in formal robes of deep purple embroidered with silver stars. The Headmaster greeted various officials before his gaze swept the room and settled on Hadrian. With a gentle nod to his current conversation partner, Dumbledore made his way across the chamber.

"Mr. Peverell," he said warmly, extending his hand. "I'm delighted you could join us for this historic occasion."

"The pleasure is mine, Headmaster," Hadrian replied, shaking the offered hand. "It's not every day one gets to witness the revival of a tournament that dates back seven centuries."

"Indeed not," Dumbledore agreed. "And I'm sure young Harry will be pleased to see you as well. He mentioned your correspondence in a recent conversation. Your influence appears to be having a positive effect on his studies."

There was a question beneath the statement, subtle but unmistakable. Dumbledore was probing, as always, seeking to understand Hadrian's intentions toward his charge.

"I'm glad to hear it," Hadrian said carefully. "Harry strikes me as a young man with tremendous potential, though perhaps in need of guidance from those who have his best interests at heart."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, though his scrutiny remained sharp. "A sentiment I share completely. Ah, I believe it's time to welcome our guests. The Beauxbatons delegation should be arriving momentarily, followed by Durmstrang. Would you care to join the receiving line?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude on what should primarily be a ceremony for the schools," Hadrian demurred. "I'll observe from here, if that's acceptable."

"As you wish," Dumbledore said with a slight bow. "Please join us in the Great Hall afterward for the feast. I've arranged for you to be seated at the Gryffindor table near Harry and his friends, as I believed that would be most comfortable for all concerned."

"Thank you, Headmaster. Most thoughtful."

As Dumbledore led the official party out to the front lawn, Hadrian moved to the window for a better view. The Hogwarts students were already assembled in neat rows, organized by house and year, with the youngest at the front. He quickly spotted Harry standing between Ron and Hermione in the fourth-year Gryffindor section. Even from this distance, Hadrian could see the excitement on the trio's faces as they scanned the darkening sky for signs of the visiting schools.

Right on cue, a massive powder-blue carriage appeared in the sky, drawn by enormous palomino winged horses. The Beauxbatons delegation had arrived in exactly the manner Hadrian remembered. Moments later, a disturbance in the lake heralded the emergence of the Durmstrang ship, rising majestically from the depths with its skeletal appearance and billowing sails.

The formal greetings proceeded as expected—Madame Maxime towering over everyone as she exchanged pleasantries with Dumbledore, followed by Igor Karkaroff's more reserved welcome. Hadrian studied Karkaroff carefully, noting the nervous darting of his eyes and the way he constantly adjusted his sleeves, as though already feeling the burning of the Dark Mark that would intensify as Voldemort grew stronger.

Most interesting was the moment when Viktor Krum was recognized by the Hogwarts students, causing an excited murmur to sweep through the crowd. Hadrian watched as Ron pointed enthusiastically, clearly starstruck by the famous Quidditch player, while Harry seemed more interested in the overall spectacle than any individual visitor.

Once the formal welcomes were complete, the assembled students and guests moved into the Great Hall. Hadrian timed his entrance to blend with the crowd, making his way to the Gryffindor table where a space had indeed been reserved for him near Harry and his friends.

Harry spotted him first, his face lighting up with genuine pleasure. "Hadrian! You made it!"

"As promised," Hadrian replied with a warm smile, taking the seat across from the trio. "It's good to see you again, Harry. And you must be Ron and Hermione? Harry's told me a great deal about you both in his letters."

"Nice to meet you properly," Hermione said, extending her hand with a slightly analytical look that Hadrian remembered all too well. Even at fifteen, her mind was constantly processing, evaluating, making connections. "Harry's mentioned your correspondence. The book you sent him on shield charms has been quite useful in our practice sessions."

"Glad to hear it," Hadrian said, shaking her hand. "Defensive magic is a particular interest of mine. I understand you have quite the talent for magical theory, which is essential for advanced spellwork."

Hermione looked pleased at the recognition, while Ron, who had been staring somewhat awkwardly, finally spoke up.

"Harry says you were at the World Cup too," he said. "In the stands, not, uh, after..."

"Yes, I was there for the match," Hadrian confirmed, understanding Ron's discomfort in referencing the Death Eater attack. "Magnificent flying by Krum, even if Bulgaria did lose."

This steered the conversation to safer ground, with Ron eagerly discussing Quidditch while they waited for the feast to begin. Hadrian used the opportunity to observe the staff table, where the false Moody was seated next to Professor Sprout, his magical eye sweeping the hall in continuous surveillance.

As if sensing Hadrian's scrutiny, the eye swiveled to focus directly on him. Hadrian maintained an expression of casual interest, neither avoiding the gaze nor challenging it, before turning his attention back to the conversation at the Gryffindor table.

"So what exactly is it you do, Mr. Peverell?" Hermione asked during a lull in Ron's Quidditch monologue. "Harry mentioned research of some kind?"

"Please, call me Hadrian," he replied. "And yes, I'm a researcher specializing in comparative magical traditions. Currently, I'm studying the historical connections between European and Native American magical practices, particularly in the realm of protective enchantments."

"That sounds fascinating," Hermione said, clearly intrigued. "Are there significant differences in how protective magic is conceptualized across cultures?"

"Enormous differences," Hadrian confirmed, warming to the subject. It was one area where his cover story overlapped with genuine knowledge he had acquired during the war years, when they had been forced to incorporate magical techniques from various cultures to strengthen their defenses. "European magic tends to be highly structured and wand-focused, while many Native American traditions achieve similar results through more intuitive, wandless methods often connected to natural elements."

The conversation continued in this academic vein until Dumbledore rose to officially welcome the visiting schools. The Beauxbatons students performed a graceful entrance that included the release of butterflies, while the Durmstrang delegation demonstrated impressive martial magic, culminating in a fire display that formed their school crest above the tables.

With the formalities complete, the feast began. Hadrian engaged in casual conversation with Harry and his friends, careful to maintain the persona of an interested relative without revealing too much of his true knowledge or connection. The food was exactly as he remembered from Hogwarts feasts—abundant, diverse, and of exceptional quality, including some international dishes added in honor of the visitors.

About halfway through the main course, Hadrian's enchanted message arrived as planned—a small owl swooping into the Great Hall and dropping a sealed letter directly onto his plate. He made a show of opening it, his expression shifting to one of mild concern as he read the contents.

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked, noticing the change.

"Yes, just some unexpected developments with my research," Hadrian replied, tucking the letter into his robes. "I'm afraid I need to send a response immediately. Please excuse me for a few minutes—I'll try to rejoin you before the dessert course."

"Of course," Harry said, though he looked slightly disappointed. "Do you need directions to the owlery?"

"Thank you, but one of the staff mentioned a visitors' writing room off the entrance hall where owls are available," Hadrian said, having fabricated this detail specifically for his cover. "I shouldn't be long."

Rising from the table, Hadrian made his way out of the Great Hall, aware of several pairs of eyes tracking his departure—Dumbledore's curious gaze, the false Moody's suspicious magical eye, and most concerningly, Rita Skeeter's calculating scrutiny. None of them followed, however, and once in the entrance hall, Hadrian quickly disillusioned himself and headed for the nearest staircase.

He moved swiftly through the castle, using hidden passages remembered from his school days to avoid the few people not attending the feast. Within minutes, he had reached the seventh floor corridor containing the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet.

Hadrian paced before the blank wall three times, focusing intently on his need: *I need the place where hidden things are kept... I need the place where hidden things are kept... I need the place where hidden things are kept...*

A door materialized, and Hadrian slipped inside, finding himself in the cavernous Room of Hidden Things—a vast cathedral-like space filled with thousands of objects concealed by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. Mountains of furniture, banned items, forgotten treasures, and discarded contraband stretched in every direction.

In his original timeline, Hadrian had spent hours searching this room with Ron and Hermione before locating the diadem. Now, with the benefit of that experience, he moved directly to the section where he remembered finding it—a corner containing a discolored bust of an ugly warlock, atop which sat a tarnished tiara.

Approaching carefully, Hadrian cast several detection spells to confirm this was indeed the Horcrux. The malevolent magical signature was unmistakable—dark, corrupted, and bearing Voldemort's distinctive magical imprint. The same sickening aura he had felt from the ring, though perhaps slightly less potent, as this Horcrux had been created later in Voldemort's descent into darkness.

From within his robes, Hadrian withdrew a specially prepared container—a small box made of lead lined with dragon hide and inscribed with containment runes, similar to the one he had used for the ring. Using his wand to levitate the diadem, he carefully maneuvered it into the box without physical contact.

As the lid closed, Hadrian felt the oppressive presence of the Horcrux diminish, contained by the box's protective enchantments. He secured the container inside an inner pocket of his robes, then cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on the pocket itself—a redundant precaution, but one that satisfied his paranoia.

The entire operation had taken less than ten minutes. Hadrian retraced his steps back through the castle, still disillusioned, making his way to a rarely used bathroom on the third floor. There, he canceled his disillusionment, splashed some water on his face to give the appearance of having been engaged in normal activities, and proceeded back to the Great Hall.

He returned to the Gryffindor table just as the dessert course was being served, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. Research colleagues can be quite demanding with their timelines."

"No problem," Harry assured him. "You haven't missed the important part yet. Dumbledore's going to explain how the champions will be selected after dessert."

"Excellent timing, then," Hadrian said, accepting a portion of treacle tart—coincidentally or perhaps not, Harry's favorite dessert as well. "Have I missed any other excitement?"

"Just Malfoy making snide comments about Durmstrang sitting with the Slytherins instead of us," Ron said, gesturing toward the Slytherin table where Viktor Krum and his classmates were indeed seated with Draco Malfoy and his cohort. "Prat's been showing off all evening."

Hadrian followed Ron's gaze, studying the young Draco with a complex mix of emotions. In his timeline, Malfoy had eventually become an unlikely ally, though only after suffering tremendously for his family's allegiance to Voldemort. The transformation from the arrogant, prejudiced boy before him to the broken, then redeemed man he would become had been one of the more unexpected developments of the war years.

"I wouldn't worry too much about school rivalries tonight," Hadrian advised mildly. "The Tournament is about international magical cooperation, after all. Though I understand historical house tensions run deep at Hogwarts."

This diplomatic response seemed to satisfy Ron, though he still shot occasional glares toward the Slytherin table throughout dessert. The conversation turned to predictions about what the Tournament tasks might entail, with the trio speculating based on historical accounts they had read or, in Ron's case, heard from his brothers.

Hadrian listened with a strange sense of déjà vu, remembering his own excited discussions with Ron and Hermione before the reality of the Tournament had become clear. He contributed occasionally, careful to suggest nothing too specific that might alter Harry's approach to the tasks he would eventually face.

Finally, as the last of the dessert plates disappeared, Dumbledore rose to his feet. The Hall fell silent as he explained the procedure for entering the Tournament—placing one's name in the Goblet of Fire before the following evening, with an Age Line to prevent underage students from entering.

Filch brought forward a wooden chest encrusted with jewels, from which Dumbledore extracted the Goblet of Fire—a roughly hewn wooden cup, unremarkable except for the dancing blue-white flames it contained. Hadrian studied it carefully, knowing that this innocuous-looking object would soon be bewitched by Barty Crouch Jr. to accept Harry's name under a fourth school, setting in motion the events leading to Voldemort's return.

As Dumbledore concluded his explanation, warning the students not to enter the Tournament lightly, Hadrian observed the reactions around the Hall. Fred and George Weasley were already whispering excitedly, clearly plotting ways to circumvent the Age Line. Many of the older students had expressions of determined ambition, while others looked relieved that they were too young to enter.

Harry, interestingly, seemed more thoughtful than excited. "Wouldn't want to be in it anyway," he muttered to Ron. "Sounds like more than enough excitement without adding mortal peril."

Hadrian hid a grim smile at the irony. If only his younger self knew what awaited him, regardless of his wishes.

As the feast concluded, students began filing out of the Hall. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations departed for their respective accommodations—the carriage and ship—while the Hogwarts students headed for their common rooms. Guests were invited to enjoy a final round of refreshments in the antechamber before returning to Hogsmeade.

Harry lingered at the table, clearly wanting to speak with Hadrian before they parted. "Will you be back tomorrow for the selection?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll be attending the Halloween feast as well," Hadrian confirmed. "I'm staying in Hogsmeade until Sunday. Perhaps we could find some time for a longer conversation tomorrow? I'd be interested to hear more about your studies this term."

"I'd like that," Harry said with evident enthusiasm. "Maybe after breakfast? I don't have any classes on Saturdays."

"Perfect. Shall we say ten o'clock in the entrance hall? We could take a walk around the grounds if the weather permits."

Before Harry could respond, a gruff voice interrupted from behind Hadrian. "Potter. Shouldn't you be heading to your dormitory with the rest of your classmates?"

Hadrian turned to find the false Moody standing there, his magical eye fixed disconcertingly on the pocket containing the boxed diadem.

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied quickly. "I was just saying goodnight to my relative, Hadrian Peverell."

"Peverell, eh?" Moody growled, his normal eye joining the magical one in intense scrutiny of Hadrian. "Interesting name. Old wizarding family, that. Thought they'd died out centuries ago."

"The British line, yes," Hadrian replied calmly, rising to his feet and extending his hand. "My branch emigrated to America in the early 1800s. You must be Professor Moody. Harry's mentioned your... distinctive teaching methods in his letters."

Moody ignored the offered hand, his magical eye now sweeping up and down Hadrian's form as though searching for concealed weapons or dark artifacts. "Have a particular interest in Defense Against the Dark Arts, do you, Peverell? Harry says you've been sending him books on the subject."

"Among other topics," Hadrian acknowledged, lowering his hand without comment. "I believe a solid grounding in practical defense is valuable for any young wizard, particularly in these uncertain times."

"Uncertain, are they?" Moody challenged, his scarred face twisting into what might have been a smile on a less disfigured countenance. "What makes you say that? Something you know that others don't?"

The implied accusation was clear, but Hadrian had been prepared for this confrontation. "Merely an observation based on recent events. The incident at the World Cup suggests that dark elements remain active in wizarding Britain, despite the Ministry's assurances to the contrary. Vigilance seems advisable, wouldn't you agree, Professor?"

Moody's expression shifted slightly, perhaps recognizing his own catchphrase being repurposed. "Constant vigilance," he corrected gruffly. "Something too few wizards practice these days. Well, Potter, off you go. Curfew's approaching."

"Right. Goodnight, Hadrian," Harry said, clearly uncomfortable with the tension between the two adults. "See you tomorrow at ten."

"Goodnight, Harry," Hadrian replied with a reassuring smile. "Sleep well."

As Harry departed, Moody remained, his magical eye still focused on Hadrian's pocket. "Interesting little trinket you're carrying, Peverell. Ancient, by the look of it. Family heirloom?"

The direct reference to the concealed diadem was concerning. Hadrian had expected the containment box to block most magical detection, but Moody's eye was apparently more powerful than anticipated. Still, he maintained his composure, neither confirming nor denying the implied accusation.

"I collect historical artifacts," he said with deliberate vagueness. "Professional interest, given my research focus."

"Research," Moody repeated skeptically. "Into protective enchantments, I heard you tell the Granger girl. Funny thing to be researching while carrying an object so heavily cursed it practically screams dark magic."

This was becoming dangerous. If the false Moody became too suspicious, he might report back to Voldemort about a mysterious wizard with access to ancient artifacts—potentially alerting the Dark Lord to the hunt for his Horcruxes far too early.

"I find it's difficult to study protective measures without understanding what one is protecting against," Hadrian replied, injecting a note of academic passion into his voice. "The theoretical principles of containment and nullification require practical applications to be properly developed. But I assure you, Professor, everything I carry is securely contained and poses no threat to Hogwarts or its students."

He gestured subtly toward Dumbledore, who was observing their interaction from the staff table. "The Headmaster is fully aware of my research interests and has extended his hospitality nevertheless. I trust his judgment in such matters is sufficient?"

This calculated reference to Dumbledore's authority had the desired effect. The false Moody's eye swiveled toward the Headmaster, then back to Hadrian, narrowing slightly.

"Just doing my job," he growled. "Protecting the school. Particularly with so many foreign elements present."

"A vital role," Hadrian agreed solemnly. "And one I understand requires a certain... skepticism of newcomers. If you'll excuse me, Professor, I should join the other guests before returning to Hogsmeade."

Moody made no move to detain him further, though his magical eye remained fixed on Hadrian as he walked away. The encounter had been unsettling but not entirely unexpected. Barty Crouch Jr. was playing his role as the paranoid ex-Auror perfectly, and that included suspicion of anyone showing interest in Harry Potter.

The greater concern was the eye's ability to detect the diadem even through the containment box. Hadrian would need to strengthen the enchantments or risk further scrutiny. For now, though, the immediate mission had been accomplished—the diadem was in his possession, and tomorrow would bring the opportunity for a more extended conversation with Harry before the champion selection ceremony that would set the Tournament's events in motion.

As he joined the other guests in the antechamber for a final glass of wine before departing, Hadrian felt the weight of the boxed Horcrux in his pocket. Two down, three to go—not counting the living Horcruxes in Harry and Nagini. Progress, certainly, but the most difficult challenges still lay ahead.

"An interesting evening," a soft voice commented from beside him. Hadrian turned to find Dumbledore, who had approached with characteristic soundlessness despite his age. "I trust you found the festivities to your liking, Mr. Peverell?"

"Magnificent," Hadrian replied sincerely. "Hogwarts has outdone itself with the welcome for the visiting schools. The Tournament promises to be a historic event indeed."

"Yes, though not without its risks," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes studying Hadrian over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "All great endeavors carry an element of danger, particularly those involving powerful magic and youthful ambition."

"A wise observation, Headmaster."

"I could not help but notice your conversation with Professor Moody," Dumbledore continued casually. "He takes his protective duties quite seriously, as befits his background."

"As he should," Hadrian agreed. "In these times, vigilance is indeed advisable."

"Indeed." Dumbledore sipped his wine, his expression thoughtful. "I've often found, Mr. Peverell, that objects of great power are best handled with extreme care. Their influence can be... transformative, shall we say, to those who possess them."

The statement was layered with meaning, and Hadrian wondered if Dumbledore had somehow detected the diadem as well. More likely, the Headmaster was making a general observation based on his own experiences with powerful magical artifacts, perhaps even the Elder Wand he carried.

"I couldn't agree more," Hadrian replied carefully. "Power without wisdom is a dangerous combination. History is littered with the cautionary tales of those who failed to respect that principle."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, though whether with amusement or calculation was difficult to determine. "Precisely so. Well, I shall not keep you from your return to Hogsmeade. I understand you've arranged to meet with Harry tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, if that's acceptable," Hadrian confirmed. "A walk around the grounds, nothing more. I've found our correspondence beneficial for building a relationship, but face-to-face conversation has its own value."

"I quite agree," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Harry has few connections to his family history. Your presence in his life, whatever its precise nature, seems to have had a positive influence thus far. I would not wish to impede that."

The implicit permission was graciously offered but accompanied by an equally implicit warning—Dumbledore was watching, evaluating, and reserving judgment. His ultimate priority was Harry's wellbeing, a goal Hadrian wholeheartedly shared even if their methods sometimes differed.

"Thank you, Headmaster. I assure you, Harry's welfare is my primary concern as well."

With a final nod, Dumbledore moved away to attend to other guests, leaving Hadrian to consider the layers of their interaction. The Headmaster remained an enigma—supportive yet suspicious, welcoming yet watchful. It was precisely the complex, often frustrating duality that Hadrian remembered from his own school days.

As the evening concluded and guests were escorted back to Hogsmeade by Professor Flitwick, Hadrian's thoughts were already turning to the next day's events. The champion selection would set in motion the sequence leading to the Third Task and Voldemort's rebirth. But first, there would be the morning meeting with Harry—an opportunity to strengthen their connection and perhaps lay additional groundwork for the challenges that lay ahead.

The diadem secure in his pocket, Hadrian walked through the crisp autumn night toward Hogsmeade, stars glittering overhead in a sky untouched by the magical warfare that had scarred the heavens in his original timeline. Another small victory in the long campaign to ensure this world never experienced the darkness he had left behind.

* * *

The following morning dawned clear and cold, a layer of frost coating the grounds of Hogwarts as Hadrian made his way up from Hogsmeade. He had spent the early hours securing the diadem in a magically reinforced compartment in his room at the Three Broomsticks, adding several layers of protective enchantments to prevent detection. Lupin would collect it later that day while Hadrian attended the Halloween feast, transferring it to their secure location in Cornwall for eventual destruction.

Harry was already waiting in the entrance hall when Hadrian arrived, bundled in his Gryffindor scarf and winter cloak against the autumn chill. His face brightened at the sight of Hadrian, a reaction that still caused a complex mix of emotions—pride, protectiveness, and a touch of melancholy for the relationship they could never truly have.

"Good morning," Hadrian greeted him warmly. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting long?"

"No, just got here," Harry assured him. "Ron and Hermione are in the library. Hermione's helping him with a Potions essay due Monday."

"And you've completed yours already?" Hadrian asked with a raised eyebrow, suspecting the answer.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Er, mostly. I'll finish it tomorrow. Thought this was more important."

The casual prioritization of their meeting over schoolwork was touching, though Hadrian made a mental note to encourage better academic habits in future correspondence. It was strange to think that he, who had so often relied on Hermione's help during his own school years, was now in the position of advocating for academic responsibility.

"Well, I'm flattered," he said with a smile. "Shall we walk? The grounds look particularly beautiful this morning, despite the cold."

They set off toward the lake, their breath forming small clouds in the frosty air. The conversation flowed naturally, with Harry describing his classes and the excitement surrounding the Tournament. Hadrian listened attentively, asking questions that prompted Harry to elaborate on areas where additional guidance might be beneficial.

"Professor Moody's classes sound particularly intensive," Hadrian commented as they reached the lakeshore. "The Unforgivable Curses are usually reserved for sixth-year study, if addressed at all."

"Yeah, Hermione said the same thing," Harry agreed. "But Moody says we need to know what we're up against. 'Know your enemy' and all that."

"A valid philosophy, though perhaps a bit advanced for fourth-years," Hadrian said carefully. "Still, there's value in understanding the darker aspects of magic, if only to better defend against them. His demonstration of the Imperius Curse on students was... unconventional, but you mentioned you were able to resist it?"

Harry nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. "Yeah, at least partially at first, then completely after a few tries. Moody seemed really impressed. He said it was rare."

"It is," Hadrian confirmed. "It suggests a strong will and a natural resistance to mental manipulation. Those meditation exercises I suggested likely helped as well—they strengthen the mind's ability to recognize and reject external influence."

"Is that why you recommended them?" Harry asked curiously. "You knew they'd help with something like the Imperius Curse?"

Hadrian chose his words carefully, balancing truth with necessary omission. "I suggested them primarily to help with your nightmares, but yes, they have broader applications in mental defense. The ability to center your thoughts and recognize foreign influences is valuable in many magical contexts."

They continued walking along the shore, discussing various defensive techniques that might complement what Moody was teaching. Hadrian was careful to frame his suggestions as supplements to Harry's formal education rather than replacements, always positioning himself as a supportive mentor rather than attempting to usurp the role of Harry's professors.

As they rounded a bend in the path, the Durmstrang ship came into view, anchored in a secluded cove of the lake. Several students in their heavy furs were visible on deck, including Viktor Krum, who appeared to be doing morning exercises despite the cold.

"Have you put your name in yet?" Hadrian asked, gesturing toward the ship. "Krum, I mean. As a professional Quidditch player, he must be a favorite for Durmstrang's champion."

"Did it last night right after the feast, according to Ron," Harry replied. "Most of the Hogwarts seventh-years have entered too. Angelina Johnson from our Quidditch team, Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff... quite a few others."

"And what about you?" Hadrian asked, knowing the answer but curious about Harry's perspective. "If there were no age restriction, would you be tempted to enter?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, considering the question seriously. "Honestly? No," he said finally. "I've had enough excitement the past few years. The Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius last year... I'm not looking for more danger."

The response was exactly what Hadrian remembered feeling at that age, before fate had forced him into the Tournament regardless of his wishes. The irony was painful—Harry wanting nothing more than a normal school year, yet about to be thrust into the most dangerous challenge yet.

"A wise perspective," Hadrian said softly. "Though sometimes circumstances have a way of thrusting responsibility upon us whether we seek it or not."

Harry looked at him curiously. "That sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Perhaps," Hadrian acknowledged with a slight smile. "Let's just say my own school years involved more... adventures than I might have preferred. It taught me the value of preparation, even for challenges we don't anticipate."

They had reached a small, sheltered clearing near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hadrian transfigured a fallen log into a comfortable bench, and they sat down, looking out over the grounds toward the castle in the distance.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Harry said after a brief silence.

"Of course," Hadrian replied, though he felt a flicker of caution.

"Why did you really come back to Britain?" Harry asked, his green eyes—so familiar to Hadrian—focused intently on his face. "I mean, I know you said it was partly because of your parents dying and wanting to connect with family, but... I get the feeling there's more to it."

The question was perceptive, hitting closer to the truth than Harry could possibly realize. Hadrian had prepared for this line of inquiry, but still found himself wanting to offer more honesty than his cover story allowed.

"You're right," he admitted, choosing his words with care. "There is more to it. The full story is... complicated, but I suppose you could say I came back because I felt there was something important I needed to do here. A purpose that couldn't be fulfilled elsewhere."

"What kind of purpose?" Harry pressed, clearly sensing the significance behind Hadrian's vague response.

Hadrian turned to look directly at Harry, allowing some of his genuine emotion to show through the carefully maintained façade. "To protect what matters most. Family. Friends. The future. I've seen... I've studied what happens when dark forces are allowed to rise unchecked. The cost is too high, Harry. So I'm here to do what I can to prevent that."

It was as close to the truth as he dared come, and he could see from Harry's expression that the boy understood the seriousness behind his words.

"You think something's coming, don't you?" Harry said quietly. "Something to do with Voldemort."

Hadrian hesitated, then nodded slowly. "There are signs for those who know how to read them. The attack at the World Cup wasn't random or simply drunken revelry, as the Ministry would have people believe. It was a statement, a reminder that certain ideologies and loyalties remain intact despite years of supposed peace."

"I've had dreams," Harry confessed suddenly, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "About Voldemort. In one of them, he was in a house with Wormtail—Peter Pettigrew—planning something. Talking about a faithful servant at Hogwarts and... and killing someone. It felt real, like I was actually there."

This was a development Hadrian hadn't anticipated—Harry voluntarily sharing information about his connection to Voldemort. In his original timeline, he had kept these dreams largely to himself, only discussing them in detail with Ron and Hermione.

"Have you told anyone else about these dreams?" Hadrian asked carefully.

Harry shook his head. "Just Ron and Hermione. And I wrote to Sirius about my scar hurting earlier this summer, but not about the recent dreams. I didn't want to worry him while he's in hiding."

"I see," Hadrian said, mind racing as he considered how to respond appropriately. This was a critical moment—an opportunity to establish himself as someone Harry could confide in about the Voldemort connection, while also providing guidance that his younger self had lacked.

"Dreams can be significant in the magical world, Harry," he said finally. "Particularly for those who have... unique connections to powerful magical forces. I'm not suggesting your dreams are definitely prophetic or literal visions, but they shouldn't be dismissed either."

"You believe me, then?" Harry asked, a note of relief in his voice. "You don't think I'm just imagining things?"

"I believe you," Hadrian confirmed firmly. "And I think you should continue to pay attention to these dreams, record them if possible, and yes, consider sharing them with Sirius or Professor Dumbledore if they become more frequent or detailed. Knowledge is power, especially when dealing with potential threats."

Harry nodded, visibly relieved at being taken seriously. "That's what Hermione said too, about telling Dumbledore. But it's hard to explain... these dreams. They're embarrassing, like I'm somehow connected to him."

"There's no shame in it," Hadrian assured him. "If there is a connection, it's not one you chose or created. It was forced upon you by Voldemort's actions, and using it to gather information is simply turning his weapon back against him."

This perspective seemed to resonate with Harry, who sat straighter, his expression becoming more resolved.

"You're right," he said firmly. "If I am seeing real things, then maybe it could help stop whatever he's planning."

"Exactly," Hadrian agreed. "Though I would caution you to be careful about how much you rely on these visions. Information gathering is valuable, but not at the expense of your own mental wellbeing."

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching a group of first-years on the far side of the grounds having an impromptu snowball fight with the light dusting of early snow that had fallen overnight. The simple joy of their play was a poignant reminder of what Hadrian was fighting to preserve.

"Will you be staying in Britain long term?" Harry asked eventually, trying to sound casual though Hadrian could hear the underlying hope in his voice.

"Yes, I believe I will," Hadrian replied with a gentle smile. "My work here is just beginning, and I've found connections that make staying worthwhile."

"Good," Harry said simply, but his expression conveyed much more—gratitude, relief, and the beginnings of genuine attachment to this mysterious relative who had unexpectedly entered his life.

As the morning wore on, their conversation shifted to lighter topics—Quidditch strategies, Harry's friends, and humorous anecdotes from their respective school experiences. Hadrian was careful to modify his stories, setting them at Ilvermorny rather than Hogwarts, but many of the emotions and lessons remained true to his actual experiences.

Eventually, it was time to return to the castle for lunch. As they walked back up the sloping lawns, Hadrian felt a sense of accomplishment. The meeting had deepened their connection while also providing an opportunity to offer guidance that his younger self had sorely needed—validation of his concerns about Voldemort, encouragement to trust his instincts, and support without excessive intervention.

It was a delicate balance, one that Hadrian would need to maintain throughout the coming months as the Tournament unfolded and the countdown to Voldemort's return continued. Each interaction was both an opportunity and a risk—a chance to improve this timeline, but also a potential trigger for unforeseen consequences.

As they reached the entrance hall, Hadrian paused. "I'll see you at the feast this evening, but I wanted to say I've enjoyed our conversation, Harry. Your letters are always welcome, of course, but there's something special about speaking face to face."

"Yeah, it's been great," Harry agreed with genuine enthusiasm. "Thanks for making time during your visit."

"For family," Hadrian said simply, "there's always time."

The word "family" brought a light to Harry's eyes that made any risks worthwhile. For a boy who had grown up believing his only family was the resentful Dursleys, the concept of a magical relative who actually wanted a relationship with him was clearly powerful.

They parted ways, Harry heading to the Great Hall for lunch while Hadrian returned to Hogsmeade to meet with Lupin and transfer the diadem. As he walked the path back to the village, Hadrian reflected on the morning's conversation. The groundwork had been laid, connections strengthened, and subtle guidance offered. It was, in many ways, the most personally satisfying part of his mission so far.

The greater challenges still awaited—the Goblet of Fire would select its champions that evening, setting in motion the sequence of events leading to the graveyard and Voldemort's return. But for now, Hadrian allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. His younger self would still face trials, but this time, he wouldn't face them alone or unprepared.

The pieces were moving into position. The game continued to unfold. And with each small victory, the possibility of a better future grew incrementally stronger.