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Hogwarts : Black family bloodline...
Hogwarts, my partner is Tom…
Hogwarts : He Starts by Deconstructing Avada Kedavra...
The Dementors suddenly retreated in perfect unison, leaving a vacuum of space around the group. A low, vibrating hum of air pressure descended from above—like rolling thunder clouds. It was the oppressive sound of an Obscurus bearing down on them.
Robes plastered against their bodies, hemlines snapping in the wind. Time seemed to slow down. The Obscurus was approaching fast, yet to the terrified onlookers, it felt agonizingly slow.
If Hermione could have pulled up her memories of previous encounters with an Obscurus, she would have realized that this one was darker, more massive, and possessed an oppressive aura far more potent than any single entity. This was a recreation pulled from her own memories—a conglomeration of several Obscurials that had once locked down a museum in Paris, threatening to tear everything apart. The moment it began to form, it felt like the end of days.
Hermione watched the scene, dazed and filled with regret. She shouldn't have used the Time-Turner. It was all her fault. When she noticed things were amiss, she should have notified Professor Levent, her Head of House, or the Headmaster. She shouldn't have dragged Harry and the others into a time-traveling adventure.
She clearly remembered the start of the term when Professor McGonagall entrusted her with the Time-Turner. She had praised Hermione for having Gryffindor courage tempered with prudent wisdom. At the time, Hermione had felt shy but proud. Now, looking at the overwhelming wall of gray fog, she felt she had failed McGonagall completely.
Suddenly, a brilliant silver light exploded beneath the gray fog. The next moment, three voices overlapped in a shout of "Expecto Patronum!" causing the Obscurus fog to stagnate for a heartbeat.
Three corporeal Patronuses charged out. A silver wolf took the lead, followed closely by a grim-like dog and a doe. They sprinted through the air with steady, powerful strides. If Patronuses could roar, these three would be deafening.
A shockwave rippled outward. The forms of the three Patronuses began to crack inch by inch, silver light bursting from the fractures. Their eyes, though pupil-less, shone like stars, illuminating this forgotten slice of the sky.
As his Patronus shattered, Sirius Black clutched his chest and let out a muffled groan. He looked at the Obscurus, which had paused only briefly in mid-air, his face pale as a sheet.
"Merlin's beard, what in the blazes is that monster?"
"It's an Obscurus... I saw them in Paris over the summer," Hermione stammered, her guilt deepening. This was, after all, a Boggart drawn from her fear.
"Kids these days... you really get into some deep water, don't you?"
irkius said this without a hint of blame. He waved his wand again to resummon his Patronus, coordinating with the other two adult wizards to charge the gray fog, finally halting its crushing descent.
Only then did he relax his tensed muscles, exhaling the stale air from his lungs. He gestured frantically at the young wizards. "What are you standing there for? Get back! Move!"
The three adults were veterans of the First Wizarding War. Although Sirius had just escaped Azkaban and his magic was a bit rusty, he was a capable support. Lupin was a genuine Defense Against the Dark Arts expert, and Snape—a former inner-circle Death Eater who had coveted the Defense job for over a decade—was a powerhouse. Even if they couldn't destroy this mass of Obscurus fog, they could certainly delay it.
Harry and Ron, whose own Boggarts had been swept away by the fog, didn't need to be told twice. They hid behind the long, billowing hem of Snape's robes. Whatever the Professor said, they did. No messing about.
In moments like this, they realized there was an upside to Snape's permanent scowl and rigid demeanor; he radiated a sense of absolute security. Occasionally, under Hermione's direction, they would cast a few non-corporeal silvery wisps. It didn't help much, but it made them feel like they were contributing.
---
"Dammit..."
Sirius's Patronus shattered again, the feedback making his head ring. He roared, "Is there a specific counter-curse for this bloody thing? If I have to ram it one more time, I'm going to be sick!"
The silver wolf and doe lowered their heads and accelerated, charging through the air and shaking the gray fog violently.
Snape and Lupin weren't faring much better. Both turned to look at Hermione—the only person present who had actually faced an Obscurus before.
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" Hermione rifled through her memories in a panic. "Back then, there were several Obscurials clustered together. Professor Levent appeared and set a fire... right! It was Fiendfyre!"
[Fiendfyre Unleashed]
A stream of cursed fire screamed from the tip of the birch wand. The orange flames were laced with wisps of black smoke. As a former Death Eater and a master of the Dark Arts, Snape didn't just know how to invent nasty cutting spells like Sectumsempra; he could summon Fiendfyre with a flick of his wrist.
Amidst the rolling waves of fire, the roar of a beast could be heard as the flames instantly devoured a section of the gray fog.
Harry and Ron were stunned. This was the Obscurus that three adults couldn't handle, yet Snape was holding it back alone? Was this the legendary power of Dark Magic? Watching the raging fire, both boys felt a sudden, dangerous temptation to learn the Dark Arts.
However, the advantage didn't last long. As Snape retracted the Fiendfyre, more gray fog poured in from the outside, rolling and crashing down in angry waves.
Snape was forced to summon the cursed fire again and again to intercept it. There was a gap of a few seconds between casts, during which Lupin and Sirius had to cover him with their Patronuses, looking rushed and ragged.
"Snivellus, stop mucking about! Just burn the whole thing down in one go!" Sirius shouted over the ringing in his ears. "And while you're at it, torch those things over there—turn 'em all to ash!"
Snape spared him a sideways glance during a lull and spat out a single word: "Imbecile."
"Don't think I can't hear you! Who are you calling an imbecile?"
Lupin, who had been silent, suddenly turned and grabbed the agitated fugitive. "Calm down, Sirius! The Professor taught us this at school—Fiendfyre isn't like ordinary Dark Magic. It's incredibly easy to lose control. If it breaks its leash, we can't put it out. It'll use the entire space as fuel, and we'll burn right along with it!"
"Dark Magic... never any good comes of it," Sirius waved his hand impatiently.
Hermione lowered her head, remembering how Professor Levent had scorched the clouds. Above the fog-shrouded museum, the sky had turned to fire. The raging Fiendfyre had taken the form of terrifying beasts, yet the Professor had looked as calm as if he were watering plants.
In anyone else's hands, Fiendfyre was a violent, untamable monster. But for Levent, it was as gentle as Bluebell Flames. His control over the Dark Arts was apparently far more sophisticated than even a seasoned Death Eater's.
When Professor Levent was around, Hermione always felt safe, as if any problem—even an Obscurus—could be solved.
As if reading her mind, Ron muttered a prayer, "If only Professor Levent were here."
Hermione didn't reply. Unfortunately, this was a place the Professor couldn't find, and couldn't reach.
The gray fog seemed infinite, pouring down like a sky full of storm clouds. Hidden within the mist were faint, glowing red eyes, suspended in the middle distance, locking onto them with undisguised malice.
Suddenly, near the campfire, Harry and Ron gasped.
"What's that over there?"
"Professor Levent!"
Through the hazy mist, a figure appeared, standing right next to the fire. He wore a perfectly pressed blue suit, his posture tall and straight. As they looked closer, the young, handsome face became clear—black hair, dark eyes, and a gentle smile.
"!!"
Hermione looked up sharply, staring at the Professor in the firelight, her eyes shining with reflection.
Squeak... squeak...
But approaching faster than Professor Levent was the balding, fingerless rat. It let out a miserable wail, scrambling and tumbling toward them. In the blink of an eye, it transformed back into a short, stout middle-aged man, hugging Lupin's leg and sobbing uncontrollably.
"Remus, don't leave me! Please, I'll confess, I'll clear Sirius's name, just please don't leave me behind!"
"..."
Sirius raised his foot to kick him, but as he turned, he saw Hermione's brown pupils contract violently. The young witch screamed, "That's not Professor Levent! That's a Boggart targeting Peter!"
Ron's eyes went wide. He felt a bit of vindictive pleasure, but mostly confusion.
Why was Peter Pettigrew's greatest fear Professor Levent?
---
Meanwhile, in the Present Timeline
Melvin pressed his hand against the knot on the Whomping Willow. The thrashing branches instantly went still, revealing the tunnel beneath the roots. The dirt was marked with many footprints of various sizes, including those of a cat and a dog.
Night had fallen over the castle grounds. Warm light spilled from the entrance hall not far away; the feast wasn't over yet. People were still clinking glasses at the High Table and chasing each other through the aisles.
Guided by the Marauder's Map, Melvin had come here. On the parchment drawn with fine lines, a group of names was flickering right at this spot, yet the space in front of him was empty.
He had searched the Astronomy Tower terrace, found a lost Time-Turner chain, located a sleepy Crookshanks, and consulted the portraits who were busy with their own parties. But he hadn't seen the students anywhere.
Melvin closed his eyes and centered himself.
Faint traces of magic were condensing from an unknown space, crossing heavy barriers to merge with him. This accumulation of magic had been ongoing for years, never stopping. But if he focused, he could distinguish a few strands that felt special—familiar.
He thought he could hear a young witch calling out, her voice urgent and earnest.
Melvin frowned slightly. The gift of the Horned Serpent alone wasn't enough to trace the source or respond to Hermione's prayer.
Locating... Marking...
What the Horned Serpent couldn't do, perhaps the Ouroboros could.
Melvin closed his eyes again, looking thoughtful. His consciousness expanded with his magic, blurring the boundaries of time and space. His mind sank into a vast mist where, aside from scattered starlight, only the constantly rotating Ouroboros symbol was clear.
One mark belonged to Miss Beetle (Rita Skeeter). The other belonged to Mr. Rat.
Melvin's consciousness touched the second mark. A sensation of weightlessness washed over him. His rational mind knew he was still on the Hogwarts grounds, but his perception crossed the void of spacetime, becoming a formless presence.
Waves of searing heat hit him. The gray fog permeated everything. Within the warm circle of a campfire, a stout middle-aged man lay groveling on the ground, listening to disgusted scolding ringing in his ears.
"Speak! You revolting rat, why are you afraid of Professor Levent?"
"Got our hopes up for nothing!"
"..."
Melvin opened his eyes in the darkness. His mind felt a bit sluggish from the spacetime projection. It took a few seconds to fully recover, but an anchor point was now imprinted in his mind—not fully understood, yet detailed and real.
"A place not found on the map... it must be measured by time."
Melvin folded the map, took out the Time-Turner he had found, and opened it. The hands on the timer were ticking away, and the exquisite miniature hourglass in the center was still spinning.
The hourglass wasn't positioned vertically as usual; it was fixed horizontally in the center of the mechanism. Free from the interference of gravity, the sands of time—imbued with magical properties—flowed between the two bulbs.
How many turns?
Clockwise or counter-clockwise?
Melvin stared at the Time-Turner and pondered for a moment.
"Point Me."
The Four-Point Spell. Usually, one would place their wand flat on their palm, and it would spin until pointing North. It was standard for navigation.
Melvin didn't use a wand, and his target wasn't North. he was simply appropriating the intent of the spell.
As he whispered the incantation, magic carrying an undeniable will poured into the delicate, gold-plated Time-Turner. The device immediately began to vibrate.
Tick-tock, tick-tock...
The two hands spun violently—one clockwise, one counter-clockwise.
Inside the hourglass, the sands of time blossomed with golden light.
---
The Space Between Times, The Lost Terrace
Hermione sat by the campfire, staring into the silent flames. The image of Professor Levent (the Boggart) being crushed by the gray fog kept playing in her mind. That was three minutes ago.
Peter was squatting nearby, relieved to be alive, holding his head in his hands. His face and clothes were covered in boot prints—mostly Sirius's, though there were a few from Ron, who had taken the opportunity to kick the rat a couple of times to vent his anger.
But regardless, he was still breathing.
This place was a nightmare. Danger was everywhere.
Outside the circle, the gray fog remained thick. When the mist touched the Fiendfyre, it sizzled like water on a hot iron. Fog and fire clashed repeatedly, neither gaining the upper hand, while Lupin and Sirius provided support.
The adult wizards didn't dare relax for a second, leaving the students with nothing to do.
Peter's wand had been confiscated by Sirius. Powerless, he had to huddle with the students by the fire for protection, the price of which was a body full of footprints.
"How long are we going to be stuck here? Can we even leave?" Ron asked. It was a question, but he didn't really expect an answer.
Harry patted him on the shoulder, knowing Ron was just venting to relieve the stress.
Hermione pursed her lips and gripped the necklace around her neck. She knew they couldn't hold out much longer. The intervals between Professor Snape's spells were getting longer, his movements slower. He was running out of stamina.
The area covered by Fiendfyre was gradually expanding. This was Snape's attempt, conscious or otherwise, to relieve the pressure on his two supporters.
When he could no longer cast Fiendfyre or a Patronus, he might just give up control entirely and let the cursed fire consume the entire space.
At that point, even if they weren't sure it would work, they would have to activate the Time-Turner—either to return to the distant past centuries ago, or to jump into an unknown future.
---