MTLNOVEL Chapter 2: Chapter 1
Chapter 1: Establishing Hadrian Peverell
Hadrian secured a room at the Three Broomsticks with little difficulty. Madam Rosmerta had been suspicious at first of the disheveled stranger, but a few Galleons and a charming smile—along with a subtle Confundus Charm—had convinced her that Hadrian Peverell was a perfectly respectable guest with valid reasons for his current state.
Once alone in his room, Hadrian immediately set up a series of privacy wards, security charms, and proximity alerts. Old habits from decades of war weren't easily discarded, and he had no intention of being caught unprepared in this new timeline.
With his immediate security ensured, Hadrian finally allowed himself to examine the contents of his mokeskin pouch. The magical expansion charms Hermione had placed on it years ago had held through the time transfer, preserving everything he had brought with him.
First, he removed a small wooden box containing vials of healing and restorative potions. He downed a Pepper-Up and a more powerful healing draught to address the remaining injuries from his rough arrival. Next came a shrunken trunk containing a spare set of robes, some basic supplies, and a few personal items he couldn't bear to leave behind—a photo album, a snitch given to him by Ginny before her death, and a few other mementos of the life and people he had left behind.
Most importantly, the pouch contained all the documentation he would need to establish his new identity. Birth certificate, educational records, bank statements, family history—all meticulously forged by Hermione with the help of Luna's more esoteric skills. There was even a wand registration showing that his elder and thunderbird feather wand had been crafted by Thiago Quintana, the famous American wandmaker who had been the only person to successfully incorporate thunderbird tail feathers into wands.
Hadrian carefully arranged the documents on the bed, reviewing the details of his cover story one final time. Satisfied that everything was in order, he took a piece of parchment from his supplies and composed a letter to Albus Dumbledore.
> *Professor Dumbledore,*
>
> *My name is Hadrian Peverell, recently returned to Britain following the unfortunate passing of my parents in America. In the process of settling my affairs, I have discovered a distant connection to the Potter family through the Peverell line. As you are the current magical guardian of Harry Potter, I felt it appropriate to make my presence known to you before making any approach to my young relative.*
>
> *I am staying at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade and would be grateful for an opportunity to meet with you at your convenience. I have documentation regarding my lineage and intentions that I believe would set your mind at ease regarding my sudden appearance.*
>
> *With respect,*
> *Hadrian Peverell*
He read the letter over twice, ensuring it struck the right tone—respectful, forthright, but not overly eager. He wanted to pique Dumbledore's curiosity without raising his suspicions unduly, though he knew the old Headmaster would be suspicious regardless. That was simply his nature.
After sealing the letter, Hadrian made his way downstairs to arrange for its delivery to Hogwarts. Madam Rosmerta assured him it would be in the Headmaster's hands within the hour.
With that task completed, Hadrian ordered a meal and a bottle of Ogden's Finest. It had been years since he'd had a proper meal or drink that wasn't scavenged or hastily consumed between battles. The simple pleasure of sitting in a warm pub, surrounded by ordinary witches and wizards going about their lives without the shadow of war hanging over them, was almost overwhelming.
As he ate and drank, Hadrian discreetly observed the other patrons, cataloging the faces of people who, in his timeline, were long dead. Professor Flitwick was at the bar, engaged in animated conversation with a witch Hadrian didn't recognize. In a corner booth, a group of older Hogwarts students—probably seventh years enjoying an end-of-term visit to the village—were laughing and clinking butterbeer mugs together.
It was surreal, seeing this peaceful world when his memories were filled with bloodshed and loss. For a moment, Hadrian wondered if he was doing the right thing by interfering. What if his actions somehow made things worse?
No. He couldn't think that way. The future he had come from was as bad as it could possibly get. The wizarding world had been decimated, magical Britain reduced to ruins. Any change would be an improvement on that fate.
His meal was interrupted by the arrival of a familiar phoenix, materializing in a flash of flame above his table. Several patrons gasped or exclaimed at the dramatic entrance, but Hadrian merely smiled and reached for the note Fawkes carried in his beak.
"Hello, old friend," he murmured, and was surprised when the phoenix trilled softly and briefly landed on his shoulder before disappearing again in another burst of flame.
The note was brief, written in the familiar flowing script that had become increasingly rare in Hadrian's timeline as Dumbledore's health had failed in the years leading up to his death.
> *Mr. Peverell,*
>
> *I would be delighted to meet with you this evening at 8 o'clock in my office at Hogwarts. Simply inform the gates of your invitation, and they will allow you passage.*
>
> *I find myself most curious about your connection to young Harry.*
>
> *Albus Dumbledore*
>
> *P.S. I am particularly fond of Acid Pops at present.*
Hadrian tucked the note away with a small smile. The password to Dumbledore's office hadn't changed, then. Some things remained consistent across timelines.
He finished his meal and returned to his room to prepare for the meeting. After a long, hot shower—another luxury he hadn't experienced in years—Hadrian dressed in his best robes, a deep navy blue set with subtle silver embroidery that Hermione had insisted on including in his supplies. "First impressions matter," she had said, and as always, she was right.
Before leaving, Hadrian spent thirty minutes in focused meditation, reinforcing his Occlumency shields. Dumbledore would almost certainly attempt to read his surface thoughts, and while Hadrian was confident in his ability to block the Headmaster completely, he had instead prepared a carefully crafted set of false memories and thoughts to present. Total blocking would only increase Dumbledore's suspicions; allowing him to see a controlled narrative would be far more effective.
At precisely 7:45 PM, Hadrian left the Three Broomsticks and began the walk up to Hogwarts castle. The summer evening was mild, the sky still light as the sun moved toward the horizon. The path to the school was exactly as he remembered it, though in his timeline it had eventually become overgrown and dangerous as the wards around Hogwarts had failed and the forest had begun to reclaim the grounds.
As he approached the gates, Hadrian felt the ancient magic of Hogwarts wash over him, familiar yet somehow fresher than he remembered. The school recognized him, despite his altered appearance and the years that separated him from his student days. He wondered briefly if the castle could sense that he was, in some fundamental way, Harry Potter.
"I have an appointment with Headmaster Dumbledore," Hadrian stated clearly, addressing the gates as instructed.
There was a moment's pause, then the heavy iron gates swung open silently, allowing him passage onto the grounds.
The walk up to the castle doors gave Hadrian time to compose himself, to prepare for seeing Dumbledore alive again. In his timeline, Albus Dumbledore had died not at the hands of Severus Snape on the Astronomy Tower, but three years later during a desperate defense of Hogwarts against Voldemort's forces. His death had been a turning point in the war, though not in the way anyone had expected.
The great oak doors of the castle opened as he approached, and Hadrian found himself face to face with Minerva McGonagall. The sight of her, twenty-five years younger than when he had last seen her, sent a jolt through him. In his timeline, McGonagall had survived longer than most, finally falling during the Battle of the Ministry in 2009.
"Mr. Peverell, I presume?" she said crisply, eyeing him with the familiar evaluating gaze that had intimidated generations of students.
"Professor McGonagall," Hadrian replied with a respectful nod. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
She raised an eyebrow slightly at his tone, which perhaps conveyed more warmth and familiarity than a stranger should have shown. "The Headmaster is expecting you. If you'll follow me."
As they walked through the halls of Hogwarts, Hadrian had to work to control his reactions. Every corridor, every portrait, every stone of the castle brought back memories—both the happy ones of his school days and the terrible ones of the battles that had eventually left Hogwarts a broken shell of its former glory.
Students were sparse, as it was the end of term, but those they passed stared curiously at the unfamiliar adult accompanying their Deputy Headmistress. Hadrian kept his face carefully neutral, though he couldn't help scanning each young face, recognizing some who, in his timeline, had become allies, enemies, or casualties.
They reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office, and McGonagall gave the password ("Acid Pops"). As the spiral staircase began to move, she gestured for Hadrian to step on.
"The Headmaster will see you alone," she said. "I trust you will find your way back when your meeting is concluded?"
"Of course, Professor," Hadrian replied. "Thank you for the escort."
She gave him one more appraising look before turning and walking away, her emerald robes swishing around her ankles.
Hadrian took a deep breath as the staircase carried him upward. This would be the first true test of his cover story, and perhaps the most important. Dumbledore was notoriously difficult to deceive, and while Hadrian had no intention of revealing his true identity, he needed the Headmaster's acceptance, if not his trust.
The door to the office opened as he reached it, revealing Albus Dumbledore seated behind his massive desk, surrounded by the familiar silver instruments that whirred and puffed smoke. Fawkes sat on his perch nearby, regarding Hadrian with what seemed like unusual interest.
"Ah, Mr. Peverell," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet with a smile. "Please, come in and make yourself comfortable."
Hadrian stepped into the office, allowing himself a moment to take in the sight of Dumbledore, alive and well. The old wizard looked much as Hadrian remembered him from this time period—long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose, vibrant purple robes embroidered with silver stars. His blue eyes were sharp and alert, missing none of Hadrian's reactions.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Hadrian said, extending his hand. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice."
Dumbledore's handshake was firm, his eyes boring into Hadrian's with the familiar sensation of Legilimency brushing against his mental shields. Hadrian allowed the carefully constructed false memories to float to the surface—childhood in a remote magical community in Massachusetts, parents who were brilliant but reclusive researchers, private magical education supplemented by occasional visits to Ilvermorny.
"Not at all," Dumbledore replied, gesturing to a comfortable chair in front of his desk. "I find myself most intrigued by your letter. It isn't often that we discover previously unknown relations of the Potter family, particularly from across the Atlantic. Tea?"
"Please," Hadrian said, taking the offered seat. He watched as Dumbledore conjured a tea service with a casual wave of his wand—a display of wandless, nonverbal magic that had once impressed him greatly. Now, after decades of magical combat and study, Hadrian could have done the same, but he carefully maintained the expression of someone suitably impressed by the Headmaster's skill.
"I understand your skepticism," Hadrian said as Dumbledore poured the tea. "In your position, I would be equally cautious about someone claiming a connection to Harry Potter."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, handing Hadrian a cup. "The boy has, unfortunately, been the target of many who would seek to use him for their own purposes over the years."
"Which is precisely why I came to you first," Hadrian said, taking a sip of his tea. He noted with amusement that it was prepared exactly as he liked it—a splash of milk, no sugar. Whether this was Dumbledore's intuition or a subtle test, Hadrian couldn't be sure. "I have no desire to disrupt Harry's life or education. My interest is merely in making a family connection, however distant it may be."
"And what exactly is the nature of this connection?" Dumbledore asked, his tone light but his gaze penetrating.
Hadrian reached into his robes and withdrew a folder containing the genealogical documentation Hermione had prepared. "As you're aware, the Potter family descends from the Peverells, specifically Ignotus Peverell," he explained, passing the folder to Dumbledore. "My family branched off in the early 1800s when Arcturus Peverell, a second cousin to Henry Potter, emigrated to America following some political disagreements with the Ministry of the time."
Dumbledore opened the folder and began examining the documents with practiced ease, his expression revealing nothing as he scanned the carefully forged family trees, birth certificates, and official records.
"These appear quite thorough," he commented after several minutes. "Though I must admit, the Peverell name has become somewhat rare in Britain over the last century."
"It's not much different in America," Hadrian replied with a small smile. "My branch of the family has dwindled considerably. With my parents' passing, I'm the last."
"My condolences," Dumbledore said, looking up from the documents. "Your letter mentioned a magical accident?"
Hadrian nodded, allowing a carefully measured amount of grief to show on his face. "They were experimental charmers, working on adapting traditional European spellcraft to incorporate Native American magical techniques. A promising field, but volatile. There was an explosion in their workshop three months ago."
This was a deliberate element of the cover story—the type of magical research described would be difficult for even Dumbledore to verify, as it involved relatively obscure magical traditions that were largely practiced outside the formal wizarding communities that maintained regular contact with Britain.
"A terrible loss," Dumbledore said softly. "And what brings you to Britain now, Mr. Peverell? Surely there must be more than a distant family connection motivating such a significant relocation."
Here was the crux of the matter. Hadrian had prepared multiple layers of motivation for his arrival, knowing that Dumbledore would dig until he found something that satisfied his curiosity.
"Several reasons," Hadrian replied, setting down his teacup. "With my parents gone, there's little tying me to America. I've inherited enough to live comfortably, and I've always been fascinated by British magical history and traditions. My father spoke often of our family's roots here."
He paused, allowing a hint of the genuine emotion he felt to color his next words. "And, to be honest, I've been following the news about Harry Potter since his parents' murder. James Potter would have been my distant cousin, after all. When I learned about Sirius Black's escape and the danger Harry was in this past year, it got me thinking about family responsibilities, connections that transcend generations and oceans."
Dumbledore's expression remained neutral, but Hadrian could see the calculations happening behind those bright blue eyes.
"A noble sentiment," the Headmaster said finally. "Though I must point out that Harry has many people looking out for his welfare already."
"I'm not here to replace anyone in his life," Hadrian said quickly. "Nor am I seeking guardianship or any formal role. I simply thought... well, the boy has so little family. From what I understand, his mother's relatives are his only connection to the wizarding world, and from what I gather, they're not exactly... supportive."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly. "You seem remarkably well-informed about Harry's situation for someone who has only recently arrived in Britain."
Hadrian had expected this. "News of the Boy Who Lived travels far, Headmaster. The American wizarding papers covered his parents' deaths extensively, and there have been occasional updates over the years. Plus, I've made it a point to learn what I could about the British branch of my family since deciding to return."
He leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest. "I'm not looking to disrupt Harry's life or interfere with your guardianship, Headmaster. I simply thought that knowing he has other family—magical family, however distant—might be beneficial for him. But I defer to your judgment on whether and how such a connection should be made."
This careful deference was calculated. Hadrian knew that Dumbledore responded better to those who acknowledged his authority than to those who challenged it directly. The old man had many flaws, but he genuinely believed he was acting in the best interests of those under his care, even when his methods were questionable.
Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, then set the folder of documents down on his desk.
"I find myself in a curious position, Mr. Peverell," he said finally. "Your documentation appears in order, your explanation for your presence is reasonable, and your concern for Harry seems genuine. Yet I cannot help but feel there is more to your sudden appearance than you have shared."
Hadrian maintained a neutral expression, though internally he was impressed by Dumbledore's perceptiveness. The man had always been unnervingly good at sensing when he wasn't being told the whole truth.
"We all have our private reasons for the choices we make, Headmaster," Hadrian replied carefully. "But I assure you, I mean no harm to Harry or to anyone at Hogwarts. Quite the opposite, in fact."
"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, then seemed to come to a decision. "Well, Mr. Peverell, while I continue to have some reservations, I see no reason to deny you the opportunity to meet your young relative. The school term ends in three days, after which Harry will unfortunately be returning to his aunt and uncle for the summer. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting before his departure?"
Hadrian had expected this outcome and had already considered how to proceed. "That would be acceptable, though I wouldn't want to distract him from his end-of-term activities. Perhaps a brief introduction, with your permission to correspond over the summer? I understand his situation with his relatives is... complicated, and I wouldn't want to add to any tensions."
This approach—showing consideration for Harry's existing obligations and relationships—was deliberately designed to ease Dumbledore's concerns about Hadrian's intentions.
"A sensible suggestion," Dumbledore agreed with a nod. "I shall arrange for you to meet Harry tomorrow afternoon, if that is convenient. A short introduction, as you say, with the understanding that any further contact will be conducted with appropriate... oversight."
The implication was clear—Dumbledore intended to monitor any communication between Hadrian and his younger self, at least initially. This was expected and actually worked in Hadrian's favor, as it would allow him to establish the relationship without appearing to be pushing too hard or too fast.
"That would be perfect," Hadrian said with a grateful smile. "I appreciate your assistance in this matter, Headmaster."
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, then leaned back in his chair, his expression becoming more casual. "Now, Mr. Peverell, while we have this opportunity, I wonder if you might tell me a bit more about magical education in America? I've always found the different approaches to instruction across cultures quite fascinating."
Hadrian recognized the shift for what it was—Dumbledore was now probing for inconsistencies in his backstory, testing his knowledge of American magical practices. Fortunately, this was an area Hadrian was well-prepared for. In his timeline, he had spent nearly five years in the United States, working with the American magical community to build alliances against the dark forces that had eventually overwhelmed Europe.
For the next hour, Hadrian and Dumbledore engaged in a wide-ranging discussion of comparative magical education, American wizarding politics, and the integration of Native American magical traditions into the standardized curriculum. Hadrian was careful to display knowledge that was comprehensive but not suspiciously encyclopedic, occasionally "mistaking" a British term for an American one, and presenting viewpoints that aligned with what would be expected of someone with his supposed background.
Throughout the conversation, Hadrian felt the subtle brush of Legilimency several more times, but his prepared false memories and carefully structured thoughts held up to the scrutiny. By the time the clock on Dumbledore's wall chimed nine, the initial tension in the room had eased somewhat, though Hadrian knew the Headmaster was far from completely convinced.
"This has been most enlightening," Dumbledore said as their conversation drew to a close. "I shall send word to you at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow regarding the arrangements for your meeting with Harry."
"Thank you, Headmaster," Hadrian replied, rising from his chair. "I look forward to it."
As he turned to leave, Dumbledore added, "One small matter, Mr. Peverell. I notice you carry a rather... distinctive wand. Elder wood, if I'm not mistaken?"
Hadrian tensed slightly but kept his expression neutral as he turned back. Of course Dumbledore would notice—the man had an unnatural fixation on elder wands, given his history with the Elder Wand.
"Yes," he confirmed, seeing no benefit in denying what Dumbledore had clearly already observed. "Elder wood with a thunderbird feather core. Somewhat uncommon, I'm told, but it has served me well."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with interest. "Elder is a rare and temperamental wandwood. It is said to choose only wizards of unusual destiny."
"So my wandmaker informed me," Hadrian replied with a careful smile. "Though I suspect he says something similar about every wand he sells. Good business practice, you understand."
Dumbledore chuckled at that, though his eyes remained keenly focused on Hadrian's face. "Perhaps. Nevertheless, I find that wandlore often contains more truth than we initially credit it with. Good evening, Mr. Peverell."
"Good evening, Headmaster."
As the spiral staircase carried him back down from the office, Hadrian released a slow breath. The meeting had gone about as well as could be expected. Dumbledore was suspicious, as he had anticipated, but not hostile or openly disbelieving. The groundwork had been laid for what would come next—meeting his younger self and beginning the subtle process of reshaping the events that had led to disaster in his own timeline.
Back in his room at the Three Broomsticks, Hadrian spent several hours reviewing his plans and making adjustments based on his interaction with Dumbledore. The old wizard was sharper than he remembered, or perhaps Hadrian had simply forgotten just how perceptive Dumbledore could be when his attention was focused on a potential problem.
He would need to be cautious, especially in these early stages. Too much change too quickly would draw unwanted attention, not just from Dumbledore but from other parties who might be watching. Voldemort was still a wraith at this point, but his servants were active, preparing for his return. Then there were the Ministry officials, many of whom would later reveal themselves as corrupt or ineffective when faced with true crisis.
Hadrian pulled out a small, leather-bound journal from his pouch and began writing, encoding his observations and plans using a cipher he and Hermione had developed years ago. It was based on Ancient Runes but incorporated elements of Arithmancy and Muggle cryptography, making it virtually unbreakable to anyone who didn't know the key.
His first priority was to establish a secure base of operations beyond his temporary lodging at the Three Broomsticks. He needed a safe house, preferably under the Fidelius Charm, where he could work without observation. Then he would need to access the resources he had brought with him—financial, informational, and magical—to begin implementing his plans.
And most immediately, he needed to prepare for tomorrow's meeting with his younger self. That would be the most emotionally challenging task yet, facing the boy he had once been, seeing in those green eyes none of the hardship and loss that had shaped Hadrian's life.
"One step at a time," he murmured to himself, an old mantra from the war years when the scale of what they faced had often seemed overwhelming. "One small change, then another."
With that thought, Hadrian sealed his journal and prepared for bed. Tomorrow would bring his first real test—and his first real opportunity to begin changing the future.