It was well past curfew when the quiet hush of the Hufflepuff dormitory settled around Hadrian like a blanket. The gentle breathing of his dorm mates, the occasional creak of old wood, and the distant gurgle of underground plumbing all became background noise as he sat upright in bed, the curtains pulled slightly around him.
The Book rested on his lap, warm to the touch, though it emitted no glow. It was always like this—silent and weighty, waiting for him to shape the past into what was meant to be. He takes it out sometimes to feel how real it is.
He had done so much already. Iris was safe. Dora was his closest friend—perhaps more someday. Hogwarts was fun, the classes engaging, the professors mostly decent.
And yet... something had unsettled him.
Quirrell.
Hadrian frowned, thinking back to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The stuttering, the nervous shuffling, the faint sweat on the man's brow—so familiar. So canon.
And that was the problem.
It shouldn't have been. There was no Voldemort. He had made sure of it. The Dark Lord had died the night Lily Potter cast her final protection. There were no Horcruxes. No Tom Riddle hiding in parasitic form.
So why did Quirrell still act like a man possessed?
Hadrian felt a cold shiver run up his spine. He could not risk the tiniest gap in his safeguards.
He opened the Book and began to write:
As of one hour before the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class in September of 1991, Professor Quirinus Quirrell became noticeably more skittish and unsteady due to an elaborate prank by Fred and George Weasley. The prank, though meant as a harmless joke, triggered a series of minor magical mishaps that left him drenched in green glitter, his hair temporarily reversed in color, and his robes humming loudly for several hours.Since that time, his stammering and nervousness have been purely psychological, a byproduct of being humiliated in front of several faculty members and the entire staff room.He has had no contact with any black mages, dark magic artifacts, or criminal figures. No possession, corruption, or enchantment of any kind has occurred.The reason for his turban is a potion mishap in the summer of 1990 which resulted in total hair loss. He wears it out of mild embarrassment and personal preference. The turban holds no magical properties and hides nothing sinister.
As Hadrian finished the entry, the ink shimmered once and vanished into the parchment.
There. That would keep the world consistent with his experiences while cutting off any lingering threat.
He let out a soft breath and closed the Book with reverence.
This was the power he wielded—not for domination, not for indulgence—but for protection. For stability. For his girls. For the life he had come to cherish.
He laid back down and pulled the blanket up to his chin.