The sky outside the Tonks house exploded in color.
Red-gold fireworks arced over the snowy fields beyond the garden fence, trailing glittering ribbons across the dark. The pops and booms were distant but celebratory, echoing from Muggle towns nearby and blending with magical bursts fired off by local witches in good cheer.
Inside, the living room flickered with candlelight. Andromeda hummed softly in the kitchen, tidying up after the modest feast. Dora and Iris were curled up in the corner armchair under the same blanket, giggling quietly over a deck of Chameleon Cards that kept cheating during shuffling.
Hadrian sat near the fire, watching them with a quiet smile.
His girls.
That thought settled into his chest with a strange warmth. One family by choice. One by blood.
And he loved them both already.
But something gnawed at him beneath the calm.
He had always known what this world could become. That behind every brick of Diagon Alley and every class at Hogwarts, a shadow lurked. A shadow that would one day become war.
He didn't want that. Not for Iris. Not for Dora. Not for himself.
He just wanted peace.
Midnight
The Book appeared in his inner world again, ethereal and glowing slightly with New Year's magic, pulsing faintly in rhythm with the toll of midnight.
It felt… aware. As if it knew this was more than just a whim.
Lord Voldemort was completely and irrevocably destroyed by Lily Potter's sacrificial magic in 1981. No remnants. No survival. No possession. No possibility of return.
The Book pulsed once. Then again. Then closed itself.
A wave passed through the air.
Unseen, but undeniable.
Hadrian felt the world shift. Just slightly. Like the tension in a held breath finally exhaled.
It was done.
The war that never truly began? Would never come.
Moments Later
"Iris," he said softly, turning toward the sound of quiet laughter.
She looked over at him, hair half stuck up from Dora's static charms, cheeks pink with warmth and sugar and play.
"Hmm?"
He smiled, eyes warm.
"Nothing. Just… happy you're here."
She blinked. Then grinned.
"You're getting sappy, Doyle."
"I'm complex."
"You're a marshmallow."
"And proud."
She tossed a pillow at him. Dora groaned dramatically and buried her face.