The orphanage gave the children free time on Sundays—a full, unstructured stretch of daylight during which the adults pretended not to notice petty theft, bruised egos, or broken windows. For most of the orphans, it was an opportunity for minor chaos.
For Hadrian Potter, it was time to plan a return to the world that should have been his.
He sat in his usual place under the old oak tree, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes fixed on a group of pigeons that had gathered around the crust of bread he'd "liberated" from breakfast.
Magic was real.
He had it.
He had a twin.
And soon, Hogwarts would start looking for her. Not him. At least as far as he knew.
Unless he made them notice.
The Book of Lived Time flickered open in his thoughts. Its presence was comfortable now, like a second heartbeat. He considered writing a direct note: "Have Dumbledore send someone to my orphanage." But something told him that was the wrong approach.
He needed to be seen by magic itself. The toothbrush incident may not be enough.
Which meant… more magic.
Accidental magic, maybe. But louder this time.
He opened the Book and whispered a new line into the page:
Hadrian's magical bindings begin to fray. The seal on his Metamorphmagus abilities weakens in proportion to his growing emotional strength. His appearance begins to subtly shift in his sleep to align with his Potter heritage.
✅ Confirmed: Partial ability unlocked. Passive metamorphic flux initiated.
That night, he dreamed vividly.
His hands shimmered. His hair shifted to copper, to raven black, to pure silver. His eyes glowed faint green, then brilliant gold. He laughed—older, freer, taller—and something deep within him snapped into place.
When he awoke, Mrs. Catterstone screamed.
"What have you done to your hair?!"
Hadrian blinked. "What?"
He ran to the cracked bathroom mirror and froze.
His messy brown mop was now jet black and silky. His face had subtly sharpened, losing the chubby softness of childhood. And his eyes— intense green.
Magic pulsed in his veins. The bindings were weakening.
That meant the wizarding world would be watching again.
Elsewhere – Hogwarts
Minerva McGonagall peered at the Book of Admittance again. The name that had appeared weeks ago—Hadrian James Potter—was glowing faintly.
"Not again," she murmured, tapping the page with her wand.
The quill beside it twitched, then scrawled a new note beneath the name:
Magical activity spike. London. Orphanage district.
Minerva frowned.
"Albus," she said, sweeping into the Headmaster's office a moment later, "our mysterious Potter is making himself known."
Dumbledore, who had been reading a dusty Muggle comic book called The Beano, looked up with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Ah. Then perhaps it's time we introduced ourselves."
Back in London
Hadrian stood in the bathroom, staring at his changing face.
He could feel it now—the pressure in the air. Magic brushing up against the edges of the world. Something—or someone—was coming, must be.
He straightened his shoulders and looked himself in the eyes.
"I'm ready," he said quietly.