Iris Potter stood just inside the threshold of the Tonks household, fingers clutched around the edge of her new coat like it might vanish if she let go. The air inside was thick with the smell of cinnamon, pine, and something buttery that reminded her faintly of Christmases she had watched through frosted windows but never tasted.
She wasn't sure what to do.
Professor McGonagall had brought her here late in the evening, promising safety, warmth, and… people who would care. That word—care—felt suspicious in her mouth. Dangerous, even. Like one of Dudley's toys she'd been told not to touch.
"Welcome, Iris," said Andromeda Tonks with a kind smile and warm eyes. "You can leave your shoes on if you want. We're not too fussy."
"I'll take them off," Iris said quickly, her voice still cautious, almost mechanical.
Ted Tonks gave her a small wave from his armchair, where he sat nursing a mug of cocoa with far too many marshmallows. "We've got a room all made up for you, but you're just in time for biscuits. Nymphadora just finished hiding the burned ones."
"Dad!" came a shout from the kitchen. "Those were strategically disguised, thank you!"
And then—
Another voice. Lighter, amused, but sharper underneath. "Tell her to save me one. The least burnt."
Iris turned.
From the hallway emerged a boy her age, hair a wild mess of dark curls, eyes sharp and grey. His features were angular, but not harsh. His posture was relaxed—but something about him felt… wary. Like her.
They stopped a few steps apart, studying each other.
"Hey," he said.
"…Hi."
He frowned a little. "You're the girl McGonagall brought?"
She nodded slowly. "Iris."
"I'm Hadrian."
They stared a moment longer.
Something prickled. Something under her skin, like an echo too faint to place. She didn't know him, didn't recognize him—but the sight of him stirred a flicker of… something. Not familiarity.
Curiosity.
"Come on, you two!" Dora's voice called. "If you're awkward for more than five minutes, it becomes permanent. Like a hex."
Hadrian shrugged and gestured with a slight smile. "You heard the menace."
Iris followed him into the kitchen.
The table was already a mess of parchment wrapping paper, enchanted ribbon curling itself into bows, and trays of biscuits in various states of edible. Dora leaned against the counter, eyebrows green, hair flickering between lilac and pine-needle green.
"You must be Iris," she said with a grin.
Iris blinked. "And you're… Tonks?"
"Yes, or Dora."
"She hates her full name," Hadrian added, "but she'll hex you slower if you use it."
Iris actually snorted before she caught herself—and immediately looked down, mortified.
To her surprise, Dora just gave her a conspiratorial wink.
"Stick with us, Iris. We'll have you laughing like a proper lunatic in no time."
Later That Night
Hadrian sat in his room, fiddling with a scrap of wrapping paper, the Book open quietly in the back of his mind. No edits. No changes. He wasn't even sure why he opened it.
He thought about her face.
The raw way she looked at everything. Like every moment was a test. Like warmth might vanish if she blinked too slow.
He understood that look.
He'd worn that look.
Outside his door, he heard soft footsteps. A creak on the stairs. Hesitation.
Then the floorboards turned away. Back down the hall. A door closed.
Iris, maybe. His sister.
He wants to hold her close, but she doesn't know yet how they are related. Things are still too raw and uncertain and it will take time to build up trust and connection.