Evans Residence — Sitting Room to Kitchen
**16 August 1971 — Early Afternoon**
When Natalia and Hadrian returned to the sitting room, they found what could only be described as organized academic chaos masquerading as a children's tea party. The television had been shoved aside to accommodate what appeared to be an impromptu engineering exhibition, with various Muggle household items arranged on the coffee table like treasures in a particularly fascinating museum.
James Potter—his perpetually messy black hair now completely vertical from enthusiastic gesticulating—was demonstrating a hand-crank can opener to an audience of magical children who watched with the kind of rapt attention usually reserved for Quidditch matches or explosions.
"The mechanical advantage is absolutely brilliant!" eleven-year-old James declared, his hazel eyes practically glowing with excitement as he worked the device with theatrical precision. His voice carried that particular Potter confidence that made everything sound like the most important discovery in the world. "No magic, just leverage and applied force—it's like... like controlled violence against tin!"
"Controlled violence," Severus repeated with obvious fascination, his pale features animated by genuine intellectual curiosity. At eleven, his angular face already held hints of the intensity that would define him, though for now it was focused entirely on understanding mechanical principles. His Irish accent made the words sound almost musical. "There's something rather elegant about solutions that don't require magical interference or environmental considerations."
Nine-year-old Regulus looked up from where he'd been examining the can opener with systematic precision, his grey eyes—so similar to Sirius's yet somehow more thoughtful—bright with analytical interest. "It's democratic engineering," he observed with the kind of sophisticated vocabulary that often made him seem older than his years. "Anyone can operate these devices regardless of magical training or natural ability levels."
Sirius, his dark hair falling carelessly into those devastating grey eyes in a way that was already drawing sighs from eleven-year-old witches at various social gatherings, grinned from where he was attempting to master a mechanical egg timer. "That's exactly the point, isn't it?" he said with characteristic confidence, that smile already showing hints of the heartbreaker he'd become. "Muggles couldn't just wave wands around, so they had to get creative with physics."
"Creative is certainly one way to describe it," Bellatrix said with a slight smirk, her dark curls framing a face that already showed hints of the stunning beauty she'd inherit. Even at eleven, she possessed an intensity that was both captivating and slightly dangerous, like a very pretty storm cloud. "Though I suppose necessity really does mother invention."
"Mother invention?" Andromeda teased gently, her warm brown eyes sparkling with sisterly affection. She had the kind of natural grace that made everything she did seem effortless, even sitting cross-legged on the floor examining a battery-powered radio. "Bella, you're starting to sound like our governess."
"I do not sound like Miss Pemberton," Bellatrix protested with wounded eleven-year-old dignity. "I make intelligent observations about socioeconomic innovation patterns."
"Right," Narcissa said dryly, her blue eyes dancing with amusement as she looked up from the mechanical device she'd been studying with scientific precision. Even at eleven, she had an ethereal quality that suggested fairy tale princesses, though her wit was decidedly sharp. "And when you spent thirty minutes explaining why wizard chess pieces should be more strategically aggressive, that wasn't lecturing either?"
"That was tactical analysis!" Bellatrix declared indignantly, crossing her arms in a way that made her look exactly like her mother when contradicted. "Completely different from lecturing!"
"Of course it was," Sirius said with fond amusement, his grin widening. "Just like when Regulus spent an hour explaining why Quidditch broom maintenance schedules should be mathematically optimized, that wasn't obsessive at all."
"Mathematical optimization is practical," nine-year-old Regulus replied with dignified composure, though his cheeks showed just a hint of pink. "Proper maintenance schedules prevent equipment failure during crucial moments."
"See?" Sirius gestured triumphantly. "Not obsessive at all."
*Children,* Natalia thought with warm amusement as she and Hadrian settled back into the group, her red hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the windows. Her green eyes—so remarkably similar to Lily's—sparkled with carefully hidden mischief. *Even at eleven, they're already developing their characteristic argumentative patterns.*
"Find anything interesting upstairs?" Alice asked with bright curiosity, temporarily abandoning her examination of what appeared to be a mechanical egg beater that had become the center of considerable fascination. Her brown eyes held that particular entrepreneurial spark that suggested she was already cataloging potential business applications.
"Just standard suburban arrangements," Natalia replied with casual professionalism, her training making the deflection sound completely natural. "Family photographs, book collections, typical bedroom configurations for non-magical households."
As she spoke, Hadrian discretely slipped something small into her palm—a leather-bound diary that looked entirely ordinary except for the subtle warmth suggesting magical enhancement.
*Linked to mine,* he murmured so quietly only she could hear, his grey eyes meeting hers with brief intensity. *Tap the cover three times and think your message.*
Natalia's fingers closed around the diary, acknowledging the communication with the slightest nod while maintaining perfect conversational flow.
"Suburban bedroom organization is quite fascinating from an architectural perspective," Frank said earnestly, looking up from where he'd been examining a battery-powered torch with methodical precision. His brown eyes reflected the kind of steady curiosity that made him excellent at both academic work and practical problem-solving. "Spatial organization is completely different from magical households—much more efficient use of limited space."
"Limited space?" Bellatrix repeated with obvious confusion, her dark eyes reflecting genuine puzzlement. "But this house is enormous! It's bigger than most wizarding homes I've visited!"
"By Muggle standards, it's quite average for a middle-class family," Alex Evans explained with obvious amusement, his warm brown eyes crinkling with paternal fondness as he watched the magical children puzzle through suburban logistics. "Most non-magical families don't have expansion charms or spatial manipulation magic."
"That must require incredible organizational skills," Andromeda observed with obvious admiration, her intelligent mind clearly engaged by the logistical challenges. "Managing family life within fixed spatial constraints—it's like a constant three-dimensional puzzle requiring continuous problem-solving."
"Which explains why Muggle innovation focuses so heavily on efficiency and multi-functionality," Lily added with characteristic analytical insight, her red hair pulled back in a practical ponytail though several strands had escaped to frame her face. "When you can't magically expand space, you maximize utility of everything available."
*My sister,* Natalia thought with warm pride, *has always been brilliant at identifying underlying principles rather than surface observations.*
"Speaking of innovation and maximizing utility," Melanie Evans announced with obvious pleasure as she emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of refreshments, her warm smile making everyone feel immediately welcome. She moved with natural maternal grace that made hosting seem effortless, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I thought you might enjoy seeing how we prepare food without house-elf assistance."
"Without house-elves?" Narcissa asked with genuine amazement, her blue eyes widening with something approaching horror. "You mean you do all the cooking and cleaning yourselves?"
"Every single bit," Melanie confirmed cheerfully. "Cooking, cleaning, organizing—all done manually with various mechanical assistance."
"That sounds like enormous amounts of work," Alice observed with obvious respect, her brown eyes brightening with what looked suspiciously like business interest as she considered the implications. "The time management alone must be incredibly complex."
"Oh, it definitely is," Melanie agreed with a laugh. "But you develop systems and routines. And honestly, there's something quite satisfying about creating something with your own hands."
"Could we try it?" James asked with explosive enthusiasm, practically bouncing in his seat. His hazel eyes were bright with the kind of excitement usually reserved for new pranking opportunities or Quidditch equipment. "Learning non-magical food preparation could be incredibly useful for understanding different household systems!"
"I'd love to teach you," Melanie replied with obvious maternal warmth, clearly delighted by their enthusiasm. "Though perhaps we should start with something relatively simple. Baking, maybe? It's more forgiving than cooking, and results are immediately gratifying."
"Baking sounds absolutely brilliant!" Sirius declared with characteristic enthusiasm, his grin lighting up his entire eleven-year-old face. "I've always wondered how those amazing cookies at Honeyduke's are made. Well, not exactly like theirs, but you know what I mean!"
"Can we really make something edible from individual ingredients?" Regulus asked with barely contained nine-year-old excitement, his usual composed demeanor giving way to genuine curiosity. "Actually create food ourselves from basic components?"
"That's rather the point of cooking, little brother," Sirius said with fond teasing, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "Though knowing you, you'll probably want to understand the chemical processes involved in every single step."
"Of course I will," Regulus replied with perfect dignity. "Understanding underlying mechanisms makes processes more interesting and probably more successful."
"Probably?" Bellatrix interjected with characteristic intensity. "Either understanding helps or it doesn't. There's no 'probably' about it."
"Well, actually—" Regulus began with academic precision.
"No actually," Sirius interrupted with fond exasperation. "We're making cookies, not conducting scientific research."
"Why can't we do both?" James asked with obvious enthusiasm. "Scientific cookie research sounds absolutely brilliant!"
*Your cousin,* Aslan observed in Hadrian's mind with fond amusement, *approaches new experiences with enthusiasm that transforms simple activities into grand adventures.*
*Family trait,* Hadrian replied privately, smiling as he watched James volunteer for whatever culinary experiment they were about to undertake. *Potters have never met a new experience we didn't want to explore thoroughly.*
What followed was indeed an adventure, though perhaps not the kind James had envisioned. The Evans kitchen, perfectly adequate for normal family meal preparation, suddenly seemed remarkably small when occupied by eight enthusiastic children, supervising adults, and enough measuring equipment to supply a professional potions laboratory.
"Right then," Melanie announced with determined cheerfulness that suggested either exceptional bravery or slight insanity, "we'll make chocolate biscuits—cookies, in non-magical terminology. They're relatively straightforward, quite forgiving of minor errors, and absolutely delicious when done properly."
"Chocolate cookies!" Bellatrix exclaimed with obvious delight, her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation. "That sounds infinitely superior to the nutrition-focused meals our house-elves prepare. They're completely obsessed with proper magical development and entirely ignore chocolate's importance for emotional well-being."
"Emotional well-being through chocolate consumption," Andromeda repeated with obvious amusement, her elegant features showing sisterly fondness. "Very advanced psychological theory, Bella."
"I'm very advanced," Bellatrix declared with eleven-year-old confidence.
"Modest too," Narcissa added dryly, earning a dignified glare from her older sister.
"These are different from tea biscuits," Lily explained helpfully, her familiarity with both magical and non-magical terminology making her perfect cultural translator. "In the non-magical world, 'biscuits' refers to what we'd call 'cookies' in most magical households."
"Cookies," Sirius repeated with obvious delight, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm usually reserved for Quidditch or elaborate pranks. "Brilliant! I absolutely love cookies, and we're going to learn making them ourselves!"
"The key to successful baking," Melanie continued with patient instruction, "is precise measurement and careful timing attention. Unlike magical cooking, you can't adjust ingredients or processes mid-recipe without significantly affecting final results."
"So it's like advanced potionmaking," Severus observed with obvious interest, his analytical mind immediately identifying parallels. "Precise measurements, specific timing sequences, careful procedural attention."
"Exactly like potionmaking," Melanie confirmed with obvious approval for his analytical approach. "Though generally with considerably less risk of explosive failure from minor mistakes."
"Generally?" Frank repeated with obvious concern, his practical nature finding the qualification somewhat alarming. "What kind of dramatic failures are we discussing?"
"Well," Melanie said with gentle amusement, "burnt cookies aren't dangerous, but they're certainly disappointing. And some kitchen accidents can be rather spectacular if you're not paying proper attention."
"Spectacular how?" James asked with obvious interest, apparently finding potential kitchen disasters rather intriguing.
"James," Hadrian said with fond exasperation, his grey eyes showing patient amusement. "Please don't sound so excited about potential cooking disasters."
"I'm not excited about disasters," James protested with wounded dignity. "I'm curious about failure mechanisms in non-magical food preparation. It's educational!"
"Educational disaster analysis," Regulus said thoughtfully, his nine-year-old mind already working through implications. "Actually quite practical. Understanding potential failure points helps prevent them."
"Exactly!" James declared triumphantly.
"Boys," Alice said with fond exasperation. "Can we focus on successful cookie creation instead of theoretical disasters?"
"Success is more fun anyway," Sirius added with his devastating grin.
What followed was organized chaos as eight children, several adults, and one increasingly amused Nundu cub attempted collaborative baking coordination in space designed for considerably fewer occupants.
"Severus, could you measure flour please?" Melanie called over gentle chaos, her voice carrying maternal authority that could coordinate complex operations while maintaining perfect calm. "Two cups, leveled not packed, and try avoiding getting it everywhere."
"Leveled, not packed," Severus repeated with precise attention usually reserved for complex magical theory, measuring flour with scientific accuracy that would impress professional chefs. His pale hands moved with careful precision. "Should I sift it as well?"
"Not necessary for this recipe," Melanie assured him. "Though I appreciate the attention to detail."
"James, you're managing sugar," Melanie continued, having decided delegation was the only feasible approach to enthusiastic crowd management. "One cup, and please try not spilling it everywhere this time."
"I only spilled a tiny bit," James protested with wounded dignity, though his grin suggested he wasn't particularly bothered by gentle criticism. "And I cleaned it immediately using completely non-magical methods!"
"That's because Aslan was eyeing spilled sugar with obvious interest," Sirius pointed out with amusement, glancing toward where the Nundu cub was observing proceedings with dignified curiosity. "I think he was hoping for unintentional snacks."
*I was observing collaborative food preparation efficiency,* Aslan said with sophisticated dignity in Hadrian's mind. *Humans occasionally providing accidental treats during such activities is merely pleasant coincidence.*
*You were hoping someone would drop cookie dough,* Hadrian replied with fond amusement.
*I contain multitudes,* Aslan replied with aristocratic hauteur. *I can appreciate both culinary craftsmanship and opportunistic snack acquisition simultaneously.*
"Bellatrix, you're mixing dry ingredients," Melanie continued with admirable organizational skills. "Gentle folding motion—we want combining everything without creating excessive gluten development."
"Gentle folding," Bellatrix repeated with obvious concentration, attacking the mixing bowl with focused intensity usually reserved for dueling practice. Her eleven-year-old arms moved with determined efficiency. "Like this?"
"Perhaps with slightly less aggressive enthusiasm," Melanie suggested diplomatically, moving to demonstrate proper technique with patient instruction. "We want combining ingredients without overworking the mixture."
"Less aggressive," Bellatrix muttered with obvious frustration. "Everything's always 'less aggressive' with me. Maybe ingredients need more assertive handling."
"The ingredients are perfectly fine with gentle treatment, Bella," Narcissa said with obvious amusement, her blue eyes sparkling with sisterly fondness. "Not everything requires your particular brand of determined intensity."
"My intensity is perfectly calibrated," Bellatrix declared with eleven-year-old dignity.
"For what?" Andromeda asked with gentle teasing.
"For everything!" Bellatrix replied with characteristic confidence.
"Gluten development?" Alice asked with obvious fascination, her entrepreneurial mind clearly engaged by baking chemistry technicalities. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Protein network development that gives baked goods structural characteristics," Alex Evans explained with academic enthusiasm, making complex topics seem accessible and interesting. "Different mixing methods create different protein structures, directly affecting texture and consistency of final products."
*That's exactly why I adore my father,* Natalia thought with warm affection. *He transforms any conversation into educational opportunities without making them feel like tedious lectures.*
"So baking is essentially applied chemistry," Regulus observed with obvious delight, his analytical nine-year-old mind clearly thrilled by the discovery. "With predictable results based on specific chemical reactions and controlled physical processes."
"Exactly!" Melanie confirmed with obvious pleasure at his understanding. "Though chemistry happens at levels making it accessible to anyone, regardless of scientific background."
"Democratic chemistry," Andromeda said with obvious appreciation, her intelligent mind clearly engaged by egalitarian implications. "Anyone can learn successful chemical reaction creation through practice and procedural attention."
"I like that concept," Frank said thoughtfully, his steady nature appreciating the implications. "Skills anyone can develop through effort rather than natural talent or special abilities."
"Though some people," Sirius said with significant look at flour-covered workspace around Severus, "are naturally more precise than others."
"Precision is learnable," Severus replied with quiet confidence, his pale features showing determined concentration. "It just requires attention and practice."
"And patience," Lily added with warm smile, her green eyes showing affection for her friend. "Which some of us have more of than others."
"Are you implying I'm impatient?" James asked with mock indignation, his hazel eyes dancing with mischief.
"I'm stating it directly," Lily replied with obvious amusement. "You've asked 'Are they done yet?' four times, and we haven't even put them in the oven."
"I'm enthusiastic about results!" James protested with characteristic Potter confidence.
"James," Regulus said with nine-year-old wisdom, "enthusiasm is excellent, but anticipation makes final results more satisfying."
"Listen to the nine-year-old philosopher," Sirius said with fond pride in his little brother.
"I'm not philosophical," Regulus protested. "I'm practical."
"Can't you be both?" Alice asked with genuine curiosity.
"Probably," Regulus admitted with shy smile.
Forty-five minutes later, as the first batch of cookies emerged from the oven—golden brown, perfectly shaped, filling the kitchen with absolutely divine aromas—the atmosphere shifted from organized chaos to celebratory triumph.
"They're perfect!" Lily exclaimed with obvious delight, examining cookies with scientific precision suggesting she was already planning future batch improvements. "Golden brown, consistent size, proper texture development!"
"I can't believe we actually made these ourselves," Narcissa said with genuine wonder, her usual composed dignity giving way to eleven-year-old excitement as she examined their collaborative achievement. "Without magic, without house-elves, just our own work and attention."
"It's rather empowering," Frank observed thoughtfully, his steady nature clearly appreciating satisfaction of successful independent achievement. "Creating something useful and delicious through personal effort and learned skills."
"Empowering and absolutely delicious," Sirius declared with characteristic enthusiasm, having appointed himself official taste-tester while sampling results with obvious appreciation. His grey eyes lit up with pleasure. "These are brilliant! Better than anything our house-elves produce!"
"I wouldn't go quite that far," Regulus said diplomatically, though his own obvious enjoyment suggested he shared his brother's assessment. "But they are remarkably good for first attempts by complete beginners."
"First attempt," James repeated with obvious satisfaction, his hazel eyes already bright with plans for future culinary experiments. "That definitely implies additional attempts! Can we try more complex recipes next time? Maybe something with multiple layers or complicated decorative elements?"
"We could work up to more advanced projects gradually," Melanie replied with obvious warmth, maternal pride in their enthusiasm evident in every word. "Bread making perhaps, or pie crusts with proper pastry technique. Though those require considerably more advanced skills."
"Advanced techniques sound absolutely brilliant," Bellatrix declared with fierce enthusiasm suggesting she was already planning to master every aspect of non-magical cooking through sheer determination and force of will. "I want learning everything—from basic techniques to professional-level skills!"
*That girl,* Natalia thought with fond amusement, *approaches new skills like she's planning territorial conquest. It's actually quite impressive.*
"Could we have regular cooking lessons?" Alice asked hopefully, her brown eyes bright with entrepreneurial interest. "I think understanding non-magical food preparation could be incredibly valuable for cross-cultural communication and hospitality applications."
"That's wonderful idea," Andromeda agreed warmly, her graceful features showing genuine enthusiasm. "Learning different domestic traditions helps build understanding between communities."
"Plus," Sirius added with his devastating eleven-year-old grin, "results are delicious, and that's really the most important factor."
"Spoken like true Potter cousin," Hadrian said with fond amusement, his grey eyes warm with family affection.
"Potter cousins appreciate practical benefits," James declared with characteristic confidence.
As cookie-making celebration continued around them, Natalia found herself watching Hadrian with renewed appreciation for their strategic alliance. The afternoon had provided perfect cover for crucial conversations while allowing them to observe group dynamics already forming among their peers.
The diary he'd given her felt warm against her palm where she'd slipped it into her pocket—tangible connection to someone who understood the weight of the future they were trying to change.
*Excellent intelligence gathering,* she thought with professional satisfaction. *And beginnings of exactly the positive relationships we need for altering future event trajectories.*
Genuine laughter and comfortable conversation filled the kitchen as magical and non-magical traditions blended seamlessly into something new and wonderful. For the first time since arriving in this timeline, Natalia felt genuine optimism that they might actually succeed in creating better futures.
*This time,* she thought with fierce determination as she watched Lily teach Severus proper cookie cooling techniques while James enthusiastically planned their next culinary adventure, *we get it right.*
Afternoon sun streamed through kitchen windows, illuminating young faces bright with friendship and possibility, while fresh cookie scents promised that some of life's best things really could be created through patience, cooperation, and love.
*Yes,* Natalia decided with growing certainty as she absently fingered the magical diary in her pocket. *This time, everyone gets to live.*
—
**Evans Residence — Lily and Natalia's Room — Late Evening**
The soft glow of their bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across the room as Lily and Natalia prepared for bed, both still buzzing with excitement from the day's successful gathering. Their shared space perfectly captured their contrasting personalities—Lily's side an explosion of colorful chaos with books stacked precariously and clothes draped over her desk chair, while Natalia's half maintained military precision with everything in its designated place.
Laika, Natalia's Shiba Inu-like familiar, had claimed the exact center of the room as her territory, curled in a perfect circle with her fluffy tail wrapped around her nose. The little pup's fox-like ears twitched occasionally at interesting sounds from their conversation.
"I still can't believe how well that went," Lily said, attacking her wild red hair with a brush while practically bouncing with residual excitement. "When Mum first suggested hosting everyone, I was absolutely terrified something would go catastrophically wrong. But everyone seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves!"
"They did more than enjoy themselves," Natalia observed with clinical precision, settling cross-legged on her perfectly made bed while mentally cataloging the day's social dynamics. "They formed genuine connections. That's considerably more valuable than simple entertainment."
"Listen to you, sounding like you're analyzing a diplomatic summit," Lily teased, pausing mid-brush to grin at her sister. "Next you'll be telling me you took notes on everyone's conversation patterns."
Natalia's slight pause was answer enough.
"Oh my God, you actually did, didn't you?" Lily laughed, shaking her head with fond exasperation. "Only you would turn a casual gathering into a behavioral study."
"Information is power," Natalia replied with unrepentant smugness, her lips curving into the kind of satisfied smirk that made her look exactly like a cat who'd caught a particularly clever mouse. "Understanding social dynamics prevents future complications."
"You say 'prevents future complications' like we're planning a military campaign, not going to magical school," Lily said, though her emerald eyes sparkled with affection rather than irritation.
"The distinction is smaller than you might think," Natalia replied dryly, earning an eye roll from her sister.
"Anyway," Lily continued, deliberately steering them back to safer conversational territory, "the way Severus absolutely lit up when James asked about his research notes—I don't think anyone's ever shown that kind of genuine interest in his intellectual work before."
Natalia felt that familiar twist in her chest at the mention of timeline differences. In Hadrian's original timeline, James and Severus had been bitter enemies. Here, they were developing mutual respect based on shared intellectual curiosity.
"James has excellent instincts for identifying brilliance in others," she replied carefully, choosing her words to encourage the positive development. "And Severus desperately needed someone his own age to appreciate his analytical abilities."
"It's more than that though," Lily said thoughtfully, abandoning her hair to flop dramatically onto her bed. "Everyone seemed to genuinely like each other. Even Bellatrix and Narcissa were being sweet with Alice about her entrepreneurial ideas, and you know how the Black family usually—"
She stopped mid-sentence, frowning.
"Wait. How do I know anything about how the Black family usually feels about anything? We've literally never met their parents."
*Shit.* Natalia kept her expression carefully neutral while internally cursing her sister's inconveniently sharp memory.
"Lucky guess based on traditional pureblood attitudes?" she offered with practiced casualness, simultaneously reaching down to scratch Laika behind the ears. The little fox-pup made a pleased chirping sound and rolled onto her back, providing a perfect distraction.
"Mm-hmm," Lily said skeptically, but she was momentarily derailed by Laika's adorable antics. "Look at her little pink belly! She's so precious."
Laika, ever the opportunist, immediately began making the most pathetic whimpering sounds for maximum belly rub attention.
"Don't encourage her," Natalia said with fond exasperation, even as she complied with the pup's demands. "She's already convinced she's the center of the universe."
"She is the center of the universe," Lily declared solemnly, reaching over to join the belly-rubbing efforts. "Aren't you, baby girl?"
Laika's response was to wiggle with pure joy, her tail wagging so enthusiastically it created a small dust storm on the carpet.
"You're both ridiculous," Natalia muttered, but her expression was soft with affection.
"Says the girl who bought her familiar a custom collar with actual gemstones," Lily shot back.
"They're not gemstones, they're crystals with protective properties," Natalia corrected primly. "Completely different thing."
"Oh, excuse me, protective crystals. How very practical and not at all indulgent."
They dissolved into giggles, the kind of easy laughter that came from years of sisterly banter and shared jokes.
"But seriously," Lily continued once they'd calmed down, "like Sirius and Regulus working together to understand the television technology. I was worried they might compete or argue, but instead they were collaborating and building on each other's observations."
Another timeline difference. Hadrian had mentioned that the Black brothers' relationship deteriorated significantly in his original timeline. Here, they were developing cooperative patterns that could prevent future antagonism.
"They're both brilliant," Natalia said simply. "When brilliant people feel safe to express themselves authentically, they naturally gravitate toward collaboration rather than competition."
"You know, sometimes you sound way too wise for someone who's supposedly eleven," Lily observed, her tone light but her eyes sharp with curiosity.
"I read a lot," Natalia replied with the kind of bland innocence that fooled absolutely no one who knew her well.
"Uh-huh. What kind of reading produces gems like 'brilliant people naturally gravitate toward collaboration when they feel safe'? Because that sounds suspiciously like advanced psychology, not typical pre-teen literature."
*Damn it, Lily.*
"I have diverse interests," Natalia said with dignity that would have been more convincing if Laika hadn't chosen that moment to sneeze directly on her hand.
"Ew, Laika!" She immediately reached for the tissues, breaking character completely.
"She's just showing affection," Lily said innocently. "Maybe it's a magical fox thing. You know, blessing you with mystical snot."
"That's disgusting and you're disgusting," Natalia replied with no heat whatsoever, cleaning her hand while Laika looked completely unrepentant.
"But I'm your disgusting sister," Lily said with a grin. "And speaking of which—"
Her expression shifted, becoming more serious.
"Nat, can I ask you something that might sound strange?"
Natalia felt her pulse quicken, though her professional training kept her expression calm and encouraging.
"Of course. We're sisters. You can ask me anything."
"You've been different lately," Lily said carefully, tucking her legs under herself in the way she always did when preparing for serious conversation. "Not in a bad way! But... more mature somehow. Like you're seeing things the rest of us are missing. And sometimes you say things that make me think you know more about our magical friends than you should."
*Perceptive little witch.*
"What kind of things?" Natalia asked, buying time to consider damage control strategies.
"Like your comment about 'different approaches to spatial organization in magical versus non-magical households,'" Lily replied with growing intensity. "How would you know about magical household organization? We've never visited a magical home. Or when you talked about the social significance of hosting 'distinguished magical families'—how would you know they're distinguished?"
Natalia was quiet for a long moment, weighing options with the kind of careful calculation that had served her well in intelligence work. Lily deserved honesty, but the full truth was impossible.
"I've been doing research," she said finally, meeting her sister's eyes with practiced sincerity. "Extensive research about the wizarding world, about the families we're likely to encounter, about social and political dynamics that might affect our Hogwarts experience."
"Research where?" Lily asked skeptically. "We don't exactly have access to magical libraries, and I somehow doubt the local public library has a section on wizarding politics."
"Severus has been helping me," Natalia replied, which was technically true. "His family may not have money, but they have books—old books about wizarding society and politics. And he's incredibly knowledgeable about magical theory and history."
Lily's expression softened immediately, her natural empathy making her receptive to any explanation involving helping their friend.
"That makes sense," she admitted with obvious relief. "Severus does seem to know everything about magic. And you've always been more... strategic about preparing for new situations than I am."
"I like understanding context," Natalia confirmed. "Knowledge prevents social mistakes and identifies opportunities for positive relationship building."
"Like you did today," Lily said with growing appreciation. "The way you helped facilitate conversations and made sure everyone felt included—it wasn't accidental, was it? You were deliberately managing the social dynamics."
*Too clever by half.*
"I wanted everyone to have a good time," Natalia replied with genuine warmth, deflecting with emotional truth. "These friendships could be important for all of us."
"You sound like you're planning a political campaign," Lily said with amusement.
"Maybe I am," Natalia replied with mysterious smile.
"Sometimes you make everything sound like a military operation," Lily said fondly.
*If only you knew.*
"I prefer being prepared," Natalia said simply.
"I'm excited about Hogwarts," Lily said finally, her voice glowing with anticipation. "Today felt like the beginning of something really special."
*It is,* Natalia thought fiercely. *And this time, it stays special.*
"Me too," she replied, meaning it more than Lily could possibly understand.
---
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