November brought a cold rain to the Muggle streets of the Tonks neighborhood, but inside the house with the lavender door, warmth lived in every corner.
Jonathan—Hadrian, when no one was listening—woke to the smell of cinnamon toast and the sound of Andromeda humming in the kitchen. A kettle hissed softly on the stove. Outside, frost lined the edges of the windows in feathery silver lace.
He pulled on socks, a slightly oversized jumper Dora had insisted he wear ("It's from my rebellious phase last year. So, like, last week."), and padded downstairs.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Andromeda said as he entered, kissing the top of his head without hesitation.
He flinched—slightly. But didn't pull away.
Ted looked up from the crossword puzzle. "We're thinking about starting early this year."
"Christmas?" Hadrian asked, voice light.
"Dora wants to enchant the tree so it dances," Ted said dryly. "We're voting on whether that's festive or terrifying."
"Festive," Dora declared as she marched in, hair already turning a snowy white with sparkles that matched the theme. "Come on, we'll show him Diagon Alley next week. We'll get ornaments and magical tinsel."
"Is there non-magical tinsel?" Hadrian asked.
"Yes," she said solemnly. "And it is inferior."
Laughter bubbled up—real this time. Not the careful, calculated kind he used with adults. This house was a bubble. One he hadn't dared imagine for himself.
That evening, they lit the fireplace with a whispered charm, the living room glowing with gold and soft orange. A few candles floated gently overhead, casting dancing shadows on the ceiling. Nymphadora sprawled on the floor beside Hadrian, head propped on her hands, changing her nose shape every time he looked away.
Ted and Andromeda exchanged a glance across the couch.
"Jonathan," Andromeda began gently. "Or… Hadrian. May we talk about something?"
He froze, but nodded. "Okay."
"We've been calling you Jonathan because that's what you know. But McGonagall told us you know your real name—what the magic itself wrote into the Hogwarts Book of Admittance."
"And we're not trying to force anything. But there's… something important we want you to hear. Something you should know."
Andromeda reached into the drawer beside the couch and pulled out a letter. Yellowed, slightly creased at the corners.
"It's from Lily Potter," she said. "Written during the war. She was your mother."
He took the letter, hands trembling slightly—not from acting, this time.
Real.
Handwriting slanted but neat. Ink faded with time.
*To my dear friends, If you are reading this, I have failed to protect them both. James and I have two children. Twins. If something happens to us, please find them. Please keep them together. Her name is Iris. His is Hadrian. Protect them. Let them grow up together if you can. She always calmed him down when he cried. She would crawl into his cot even before she could walk.* *Tell them we loved them. —Lily*
He had given himself a sister. That had been a strategic wish. But now—
Now she was real. His mother had named her. Lily cared for and loved them both without him having to use the book. He hadn't planned this letter.
"You mean… she's alive?" he asked, voice cracking, his true feelings shining through.
"We think so," Andromeda said. "Minerva believes she is under protection, placed with another family. But this confirms you both existed together. That you are twins."
"Iris," he whispered.
Dora shifted closer beside him, shoulder brushing his.
"You're not alone, you know," she said gently. "Not anymore."
Later that night
Hadrian lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the letter on the nightstand beside him. For the first time, the future felt tangible.