The scent of toast, sizzling bacon, and honeyed porridge drifted through the Great Hall like a siren's call. Light poured through the enchanted ceiling, soft and golden, as if the sky itself was in a good mood.
At the Hufflepuff table, the first-years had gathered in various states of wakefulness. Some blinked sleepily into mugs of cocoa. Others were already halfway through their third slice of toast.
Hadrian sat with a warm cup of tea cradled in both hands, comfortably flanked by Iris and Dora. Across the table, a pair of third-years were having an intense discussion about exploding snap strategy, while further down a group of second-years argued about which class would be worst: History of Magic or Astronomy-at-midnight.
He wasn't listening, not really. His attention was on Iris.
She was… eating.
Properly eating.
He watched, quietly and without drawing notice, as she reached for a second helping of scrambled eggs and a warm scone with butter and blackberry jam. She took a bite, smiled absently, and turned to Dora to say something about the enchanted ceiling.
And it hit him, all at once, how far she'd come.
Months ago, she'd barely nibbled at her meals. She'd pushed food around her plate like it was some sort of trap. Even when she'd smiled, there had been shadows under her eyes and bones too close to the surface.
Now—now she looked like a child her age should. Healthy. Bright-eyed. Laughing at Dora's latest metamorphmagus mishap (her hair had turned blue when she sneezed). The dark hollows in her cheeks had softened. Her skin glowed faintly, her movements were stronger.
She was thriving.
Hadrian ducked his head and smiled into his tea. He didn't need to write anything in the book for this. This had grown naturally, with care, time, and real affection.
This was better than magic.
Timetables and Ravenclaws
A bundle of schedules floated down the table, distributed by enchanted parchment and a sleepy prefect who barely opened one eye.
Hadrian scanned his. His heart lifted a little more.
"Looks like we'll have most of our classes with the Ravenclaws," he said, nudging Iris.
"Really?" she asked, leaning over to peek at his parchment. "Charms, Transfiguration, History…"
Dora gave a satisfied nod. "Good. I like them better than the two houses who seem like they're one wrong glance from a hallway duel."
Hadrian snorted. "Agreed. I'd rather not start the year being dragged into someone's inherited blood feud."
"I heard a Gryffindor punched a Slytherin last year because their grandparents had an argument in the war," Dora said, rolling her eyes. "Pass the butter, please."
Hadrian passed it with a grin. "No offense to either, but I'm not interested in playing into the 'glory or cunning' dramatics."
Iris smiled softly. "I like Ravenclaws. They seem curious. Not mean."
Hadrian tapped his temple. "Curious is good. Curious means we can talk about runes and magical theory without someone trying to hex you under the table."
He glanced back up at the enchanted ceiling, where faint clouds floated lazily across a blue sky. Somewhere in the distance, owls swooped in with morning post.
Today would be a day of introductions, spells, and hopefully only a few cauldron explosions.
And if things went right, it would also be a day of laughter, learning, and no duels in hallways.
That, to Hadrian, sounded like a fine way to begin.