"What do you say?" Abarax asked, pacing the length of the room like a kitten in heat. "We could try our luck again. Go back. Push through that forcefield—or whatever in Merlin's name that thing was."
"Listen to yourself, Abarax," Orion said calmly, though there was iron beneath his voice. He sat back in the chair in his study, fingers steepled, eyes sharp. "Don't rush this."
They were back in the Black Mansion now, far from the forest. Far from the rip they had finally identified. They had left not out of fear—but restraint. Because both of them wanted to live long enough to be reunited with their wives, not die proving their devotion.
"We finally have a lead," Orion continued. "An actual one. And we are not going to ruin it by charging in blindly. We don't understand the rip, the energy, or how to handle it. Do you know what it felt like?"
Abarax stilled.
"It wasn't just resistance," Orion said quietly. "It was crushing. Like the magic was trying to erase me—obliterate me completely. I'm not saying we won't go back. I'm saying we go back prepared. With knowledge. With safeguards."
Abarax exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
"So how exactly do we do that?" he asked. "Neither the Blacks nor the Malfoys specialise in dimensional travel."
He stopped mid-sentence.
Slowly, he looked up at Orion.
Orion met his gaze, lips curving into a knowing smirk.
"I think," he said, rising from his chair at last, "it's about time we paid our in-laws a visit. Don't you think?"
The air between them shifted—anticipation replacing frustration.
For the first time in years, the path forward was no longer blind.
*******
Hogwarts…
James sat inside the Arithmancy classroom, eyes fixed on the professor—but his mind was nowhere near the equations floating across the blackboard. Truth be told, James Potter rarely listened in class. Usually, his attention was divided between planning his next attempt at charming Lily Evans or conspiring with his friends over some elaborate prank.
But today was different.
He was quiet.
Unnaturally so.
And somehow, that silence drew more attention than his usual chaos ever did.
Remus noticed it almost immediately. He leaned closer, exhaustion etched into his features. The new moon was nearing, and with it came the familiar restlessness—an edge to his temper, a heaviness in his bones. Lately, though, it wasn't just the moon weighing on him. Something had shifted among them. Something unspoken. All of them seemed on edge, as though waiting for an invisible hand to reach through the walls of Hogwarts and tear them from this fragile bubble of safety.
They all knew the truth.
The war wasn't coming.
It was already here—just beyond the horizon.
"What are you thinking about, mate?" Remus asked quietly.
James blinked, startled, then turned to him with a quick smile that didn't quite reach his eyes."I'm fine. It's nothing," he replied, meeting Remus's gaze for just a second before looking away again, lost once more in his thoughts.
Remus wasn't convinced—but he let it go.
On Remus's other side, Sirius sat hunched over his parchment, actually taking notes. That, too, was unusual. If this had been any other day, Remus might have teased him for it. But now, he simply observed in silence.
Sixth year had changed Sirius.
Or perhaps it wasn't the year—it was the knowledge. A father reclaimed. A mother who might have loved him. A family history rewritten overnight. Sirius, for all his bravado, looked like someone trying desperately to prove something—to himself more than anyone else.
Then there was Peter.
Merlin help them, Peter seemed exactly the same.
Remus wasn't sure whether that constancy was a comfort…or something far more dangerous.
****
After the class ended, they collectively decided to ditch the rest of the day's lessons and make their way to the Room of Requirement—something they had discovered early on, long before most students even suspected the castle could bend to will.
This time, the decision came largely from Sirius.
The only one who objected was Peter.
"I really should go to Potions," Peter muttered, already backing away. "Slughorn said—well—something about attendance and marks. I can't afford to skip anymore."
Remus frowned. He knew Peter worked harder than people gave him credit for. Even if his scores were the lowest among them, they were nowhere near failing. Still, before Remus could question him further, Peter had already turned and hurried off toward the dungeons.
Sirius and James barely noticed.
They were already halfway gone, caught in their own current of thoughts and unspoken urgency.
With a soft sigh, Remus gestured for them to move on.
The seventh-floor corridor was empty when they arrived, the stone walls quiet and watchful as ever. Sirius took the lead, his steps quick, restless. He needed answers—more than he was willing to admit aloud. Christmas—Yule, as the purebloods preferred to call it—felt impossibly far away.
He couldn't wait that long.
He closed his eyes, steadying his breath, and began to walk.
Find me a room filled with the memories of Hogwarts.
Once.Twice.Three times.
Suddenly, a door shimmered into existence where bare stone had been only moments ago.
Remus lingered at the edge of the corridor, wand subtly raised, senses stretched thin as he scanned for movement. The Marauder's Map lay folded in his hand, ready—just in case. James stood by the window, staring out absently, confusion clouding his face as though his thoughts were somewhere far beyond the castle walls.
Sirius turned back to them, his jaw set.
"Let's go."
He reached for the handle, his hands shaking ever so slightly, and with a heavy breath—half dread, half hope—pushed the door open.
Inside, the space did not resemble a room at all.
It stretched forward like a long, narrow corridor—eerily silent, the kind of place that made the hairs at the back of one's neck rise without reason. Doors lined both sides, evenly spaced, each marked with dates etched faintly into the wood. Decades. Entire spans of time, preserved and waiting.
The nearest door read:
1960 – 1970
Remus stared, awed and unsettled all at once."Merlin…" he murmured. "The magic of Hogwarts is so… sentient. I never thought it could create something like this."
James let out a low whistle, finally shaking off whatever fog had claimed him since morning."So if we walk far enough," he said slowly, "we might actually see the founders teaching."
Sirius didn't answer.
He had already moved.
His eyes locked onto a door farther down the corridor.
1940 – 1950
Without hesitation, he reached for the handle and pulled it open.
"Siri—wait up!" James called, bolting after him.
Remus froze.
Something was wrong.
The corridor felt… watched.
His instincts flared, sharp and sudden. Perhaps it was because he was a werewolf—because his senses reached deeper than sight and sound. Or perhaps it was because, somewhere along the way, he had stopped fighting what he was and had instead learned to listen.
He had accepted it.
Not because of discipline or restraint.But because the first step to control was understanding—acknowledging even the darkest corners of one's own mind.
His hazel eyes, usually warm as honey, glowed faintly yellow as he scanned the shadows, every muscle tense.
"Remus, you've got to see this!" James called from inside the room.
Remus blinked.
The glow faded. His eyes returned to normal.
He exhaled slowly and stepped forward, following them through the doorway—never noticing the deep crimson slits of eyes that opened silently in the darkness behind them.
Watching.
Waiting.
Had the founders of Hogwarts been there, they would have been horrified. They had been careful—painstakingly so. Their safeguards were layered, ancient, intricate enough that even Merlin himself might have approved.
But something had slipped through....