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The dungeon smelled of damp stone, burnt herbs, and whatever dreadful concoction Snape had decided to torment them with that day.
Sirius Black was not paying the slightest attention.
His quill lay abandoned on the parchment, ink drying into useless blots, while his gaze bored into Snape’s back with the intensity of someone mentally composing several creative methods of murder.
Earlier, very loudly and very smugly, Snape had informed Slughorn that Sirius was clearly cheating, because no one of his “limited intellectual capacity” could possibly brew a potion so well without stealing one from other seventh-year.
Sirius had smiled sweetly.
He was now planning a revolution.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden whoomph—a soft explosion followed by a strange, shimmering glow.
His cauldron had turned gold.
Not dull gold, not ordinary gold.
It was bright, liquid sunlight, swirling like something alive. (maybe it was)
Remus nudged him with the end of his quill. “You git. Look. Just how much ginger did you add—”
Sirius gasped, eyes widening with theatrical awe. “Moony. Moony, it’s shining.”
Remus stared at the cauldron, then at Sirius, then back at the cauldron. His expression suggested deep regret over every life choice that had led him here.
“I think I’ve seen this somewhere,” Sirius continued, already rummaging through his battered little notebook, the one filled with half-baked prank ideas, coded notes, and secrets that absolutely should not exist.
He flipped through pages at alarming speed.
“Ah! Here!” he exclaimed triumphantly, jabbing a finger at a scribbled note. “It’s the same colour as that super cool substance Gideon told me about.”
Remus closed his eyes.
Very slowly.
“Define ‘substance,’” he said, voice unamused.
Sirius, meanwhile, was vibrating with excitement. He grabbed a tiny flask and carefully siphoned some of the golden potion into it, as though handling a rare and magnificent treasure, or something that might explode in his face.
“Imagine the possibilities,” he whispered reverently. “If this does what I think it does, we could—”
“We could start again,” Remus interrupted flatly, massaging his temples as though trying to physically push Sirius out of his mind. “Preferably before Slughorn notices that your cauldron is glowing like a radioactive artefact from a Muggle horror film.”
Sirius blinked at him, still clutching the flask.
“…You’re no fun.”
Remus opened his eyes and looked at him with exhausted fondness.
“You knew that when you decided to sit next to me.”
“Isn’t it, you know… poison?” Remus asked later, his voice lowered to a whisper that suggested both concern and curiosity.
“No, Moony,” Sirius replied with absolute confidence, which was always a terrible sign. “It’s like weed. But better.”
Remus stared at him.
The Forbidden Forest was, objectively speaking, the worst possible place to test an unknown potion. Unfortunately, Sirius Black had never been known for his respect for objectivity.
“This,” Sirius declared proudly, stepping over a twisted root, “is the perfect location.”
Remus followed a few steps behind, arms crossed, expression deeply unimpressed.
“The perfect location,” he repeated mildly, “would be the common room. Or the dormitory. Or literally anywhere that does not contain creatures capable of eating us alive.”
Sirius turned around, walking backwards with dramatic flair.
“Moony, please. If we die, all future students will remember us.”
Remus sighed.
“I did not leave my warm bed at midnight for poetry,” he said. “I left because if I hadn’t, you would have tested that potion alone and get eaten by spiders.”
Sirius gasped, offended.
“You make it sound like I’m irresponsible.”
Remus looked at him.
Sirius looked away.
They walked deeper into the forest, the trees growing taller, darker, their branches twisting together like skeletal fingers. Moonlight filtered through the leaves in thin silver threads, and the air smelled of damp earth and moss.
Sirius stopped abruptly.
“Here,” he announced.
Remus looked around.
There was nothing special about the place. Just trees. Shadows. The distant hoot of an owl.
“This is where you want to potentially poison yourself?” Remus asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Sirius considered this seriously.
“…Dramatic ambiance.”
Remus closed his eyes for a second, as if praying for patience.
Blue moonlight makes Sirius look divine, Remus noted, suddenly all less worried.
Sirius pulled the tiny flask from his pocket, the liquid inside glowing faintly gold, almost warm.
“Well,” he said lightly, uncorking it, “if I start foaming at the mouth, you have permission to say ‘I told you so.’”
“If James finds out you spoke to Gideon again,” Remus muttered, “he will hex you into next week. You know they're on bad sport terms.”
Sirius waved the tiny golden flask dismissively. “Please. Prongs has been too busy arguing with McKinnon about Quidditch formations. He won’t notice the tragic disappearance of his best friend during midnight when all he can dream about is the next match. Wouldn’t be the first time with you, either.”
“You dragged me here,” Remus reminded him quietly.
“Yes,” Sirius said brightly. “And you’d have followed if I hadn’t.”
Remus opened his mouth. Closed it. Counted to three.
1,2,3,
“Padfoot, don’t—”
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH
An eardestroying scream echoed trough the forest.
Sirius froze. Remus’s expression changed instantly. The forest went silent, even the owls stopped hooting.
Sirius slowly turned his head toward the sound.
“…That,” he said quietly, “did not sound poetic.”
Remus was already moving.
It took them less than five minutes to find the source of the screams.
Two figures stood in the middle of a clearing, barely visible through the swirling black mist. Tall, cloaked shapes hovered around them, gliding rather than walking, their presence draining the air of warmth and sound.
Dementors.
Remus didn’t hesitate.
“Expecto Patronum!”
Silver light burst from his wand, expanding like a living thing. The wolf surged forward, brilliant and fierce, tearing through the darkness. The Dementors recoiled, shrieking silently, before dissolving into the night like smoke caught in wind.
The forest breathed again.
The two boys collapsed to the ground, gasping.
Remus was already kneeling beside them.
“Are you all right?” he asked quickly, voice calm but urgent. Then he frowned slightly. “I’ve never seen you before. Which year are you in—”
“Where are we?” the taller boy interrupted, breathless.
“And what were those?” the smaller one added, almost at the same time.
Remus froze.
Sirius froze.
They stared at the boys.
The boys stared back.
“Uh…” Remus said slowly, lifting an eyebrow. “…Dementors?”
He glanced sideways at Sirius, lowering his voice.
“Sirius,” he murmured, “I think they’re Muggles.”
Sirius dragged a hand through his hair and began pacing like a trapped lion.
“No shit,” he muttered. “Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be? Because our lives are far too peaceful otherwise.”
Mike and Will exchanged a confused look.
“Okay,” Mike said carefully, “so either we almost died, or this is some kind of very realistic prank.”
Will nodded faintly. “I vote almost died.”
Sirius stopped pacing and turned to them abruptly.
“Right,” he said briskly. “First question: are you hallucinating?”
Mike blinked. “What?”
“Second question,” Sirius continued, undeterred, “do you usually see floating shadow monsters?”
“No,” Will answered immediately.
“Third question,” Sirius went on, “do you know what a wand is?”
Mike looked at Will.
Will looked at Mike.
“…Like Harry Potter?” Mike guessed.
Sirius’s eye twitched.
Remus cleared his throat and stepped forward again, his tone gentle but firm.
“You’re in Hogwarts,” he said.
Mike stared at him.
Will stared at him harder.
The forest was quiet.
Then Mike spoke slowly.
“…The fictional school?”
Sirius threw his hands in the air.
“We are doomed,” he announced dramatically.
Will whispered to Mike, “I told you we shouldn’t have gone into the woods.”
Mike whispered back, “We didn’t choose to go into the woods!”
Remus watched them both, his expression somewhere between concern and disbelief.
Sirius leaned toward him again.
“So,” he murmured, “on the bright side…”
Remus sighed.
“There is no bright side, Sirius.”
“…Yeah, you’re right. I still haven’t drank the potion.”
“One good thing, for once—“
“Wait,” Sirius suddenly turned back to the boys, eyes wide with something between disbelief and hysteria. “Who the hell is Harry Potter?”
He looked like he might either burst into laughter or lose his mind entirely.
Remus stiffened. Then it clicked.
Harry.
One of the many names James Potter had enthusiastically written on his imaginary list of future children with Lily Evans. Merlin help them.
It couldnt be that, could it...?
“And what do you mean by fictional school?” Remus asked, voice calm but dangerously confused. “Muggles don’t even know magic exists—let alone Hogwarts.”
“You know—” the taller boy began, shrugging awkwardly. “The movies.”
“What are movies?” Sirius interrupted instantly.
There was silence.
Mike and Will stared at him.
Sirius stared back.
Remus slowly turned his head toward Sirius.
Sirius blinked once.
“…Right,” Mike said carefully.
“What year are we in?” the smaller boy asked, horrified.
Sirius froze mid-pace.
Remus closed his eyes for exactly one second, as if mentally preparing himself for disaster.
“1979,” he answered calmly.
Mike stared at him.
Will stared at the forest.
Then they stared at each other.
“…Okay,” Mike said slowly. “So either we time-traveled—”
“—or we died,” Will finished.
Sirius blinked. “Well, that escalated quickly.”
Remus sighed. “You are not dead.”
“Are you sure?” Will asked, glancing behind him as if expecting a ghost manual to appear.
“Yes,” Remus said patiently. “Quite sure.”
Mike crossed his arms, trying to look rational but failing miserably. “Alright, new question. If it’s 1979, why are you dressed like you’re in a weird cosplay convention?”
Sirius gasped, offended. “Excuse me?”
“You’re wearing a cape,” Mike pointed out.
“It’s a cloak,” Sirius corrected sharply.
“That makes it worse,” Mike said.
Remus rubbed his temple.
“And you said those things were… Dementors?” Will asked carefully.
“Yes,” Remus nodded.
“Right,” Mike said. “And what are they? Government experiment? Mutated bats? British ghosts?”
Sirius brightened. “I like the bat theory.”
“They are dark creatures that feed on happiness and souls,” Remus explained calmly.
There was a long silence.
Mike nodded slowly. “Okay, I’m officially voting that we are dead.”
Will whispered, “Mike…”
Sirius leaned toward Remus. “Can we keep them? They’re entertaining.”
Remus didn’t even look at him. “No.”
“So,” Mike said slowly, rubbing his temples, “let me get this straight. We went from 1994—”
Remus and Sirius both yelped at the same time.
“—to 1978,” Mike finished, clearly enjoying their reaction a little too much. “Into one of the weirdest wizard movies—” he lowered his voice, leaning closer to Will, “—ever.”
“I actually liked the books,” Will whispered back, almost apologetic.
“What in Merlin’s name—” Sirius gasped, hands flying to his head. “So in the future there are time capsules? And my mate’s son is famous among Muggles?! Wait— JAMES BAGGED LILY?!”
He froze, eyes wide with revelation, then immediately spiraled.
“James Potter and Lily Evans— TOGUETHER—? Since when? Since how? I leave him alone for five minutes and he rewrites destiny?!”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What the hell is a movie,” he muttered, genuinely troubled.
“And they’re British!” Mike added suddenly, as if that were the most alarming part of all this.
Will ignored him. “It’s like… moving pictures. But in a box. Like a book, except the pictures move.”
“Photos?” Sirius echoed, intrigued.
“OH.” Remus snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up. “I think Lily told me about cameras once.” He turned to Sirius, smiling with academic triumph. “It’s like a very long memory, but fictional.”
Sirius nodded gravely, as if this explanation had solved the mysteries of the universe.
“…Right,” he said after a moment. Then he looked back at the boys. “So, uh. How exactly do you plan on getting back…..?”
He gestured vaguely at them, as though their names might materialize in the air.
“I’m Will. And this is Mike,” Will said, pointing between them. “And we have no idea.”
Remus laughed softly, though it sounded more tired than amused. He nodded once, accepting the chaos with unsettling calm.
“And how did you even get here?” he asked.
Mike and Will exchanged a glance.
Then Mike shrugged. “Weird golden drink.”
Remus and Sirius looked at each other.
Their expressions mirrored perfectly.
Shock.
Silence.
Slow realization.
“…Sirius,” Remus said carefully.
“Yes, Moony?”
“I think we might have made a terrible mistake.”
“Or a great solution!” Sirius perked up, suddenly animated, pulling a small golden flask from his pocket as if he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment.
Mike and Will gasped in perfect synchrony.
“You also mixed chemicals this morning?!” Mike asked, half impressed, half horrified.
Remus blinked at him. “Uh, no. We were in Potions class, and this idiot added too much ginger,” he said flatly.
Sirius scoffed. “It was artistic intuition.”
“Whatever,” Sirius continued, waving the flask. “It’s a timeline problem, right? Did you two drink it?”
They nodded.
Remus hesitated. “…I’m not even going to ask why— though I do want to know— what exactly is a chemical?”
Mike snorted so hard he had to look away.
“Mike! That’s rude,” Will sighed, though he was clearly trying not to laugh himself.
Remus shook his head, already regretting everything. “Never mind. I’m fairly certain that if you drink this again— assuming you don’t die first— the problem will be fixed.”
“Not so fast!” Sirius interrupted, holding the flask protectively to his chest. “I want to get to know them before they vanish into the mysterious void of time.”
Remus pressed his lips together.
Of course.
He stared at Sirius for a second longer than necessary, then looked away, expression carefully neutral.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Interrogate the Muggles. It’s not like we have classes in the morning anyway.”
“Love you, Moony,” Sirius said lightly, winking.
Remus rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.
Meanwhile, a few steps away, Mike and Will had already started whispering like they were planning a heist.
“Okay,” Mike murmured, “rule one: don’t tell them about the Russians.”
“We were never going to tell them about the Russians,” Will replied calmly.
“Rule two: definitely don’t tell them about the monsters.”
“We’re literally in a forest with dementors,” Will pointed out.
“Yeah, but those are their monsters,” Mike argued. “Totally different category.”
Will thought about this. “…Fair.”
“And rule three,” Mike added, lowering his voice even more, “try not to sound insane.”
Will looked at him.
Mike looked back.
They both knew that ship had sailed.
Sirius watched them with fascination. “They’re plotting,” he whispered to Remus.
“Yes,” Remus replied dryly. “I noticed.”
“If this doesn’t work,” Sirius whispered—far too loudly, and with unmistakable intention—“can I be the one to obliviate them?”
“Do what?!” Mike demanded instantly.
Will’s shoulders tensed. “Yeah. Do what?”
Sirius opened his mouth, clearly delighted by the chaos he had created—
“NO—absolutely not,” Remus cut in at once, stepping forward and physically blocking Sirius with an arm. “Ignore him. He has a remarkable talent for saying alarming things without context.”
Sirius looked mildly offended. “I was being responsible and cautious.”
Remus didn’t dignify that with a response.
Mike and Will exchanged a look.
“…Okay,” Mike said cautiously. “So uh. We’re ready, I guess. Ask away.”
Sirius glanced around the forest, then back at them, frowning slightly as if reality itself had failed to meet his aesthetic standards.
“We might need somewhere more comfortable.”
Remus sighed, but nodded.
Moments later, the castle corridors swallowed them whole.
And then,
The door appeared.
They stepped inside, and the Room of Requirement unfolded around them like a living thing responding to an unspoken need.
The space was vast and warm, far larger than any ordinary chamber. The walls were lined with tall shelves filled with books of every size and language, some floating slightly off their places, others glowing faintly with quiet enchantments. Soft golden lights hovered in the air like suspended lanterns, casting a gentle glow that erased the coldness of stone.
At the center of the room, several deep sofas formed a loose circle around a low wooden table. The table was already prepared: porcelain teacups, a silver kettle releasing thin spirals of steam, plates of biscuits and sweets arranged with almost deliberate hospitality. A thick rug covered the floor, woven with patterns that shifted subtly when no one was looking.
The air smelled faintly of parchment, herbs, and something sweet—vanilla, perhaps.
Mike blinked slowly. “Okay,” he murmured. “I take it back. This is definitely not a movie set.”
Will walked a few steps forward, eyes wide, as if he were afraid the room might vanish if he moved too quickly. “It’s like… the place knows what you want.”
“It’s called Room of Requiremenrs, it quite gives you just that.” Remus added.
Sirius hmmed and dropped onto one of the sofas with dramatic ease, stretching out as if he owned the room, the castle, and possibly time itself.
“Well,” he said lightly, crossing his arms behind his head. “Now that we’re civilized—”
Remus sat down more carefully, pouring tea as though this were the most normal situation in the world.
“—let’s talk,” Sirius finished.
Mike and Will hesitated, then sat opposite them.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
“What’s a Muggle?” Mike asked, crossing his arms.
Sirius sighed dramatically, as if forced to explain something painfully obvious. “Non-magical people,” he said. “You know. People who don’t do magic. No spells, no wands, no flying brooms, no enchanted castles—”
Remus nudged him sharply.
“I was summarizing,” Sirius protested.
Remus turned back to Mike and Will.
“Hogwarts,” he explained more carefully, “is a school for witches and wizards. We learn magic there. Potions, spells, magical creatures… that sort of thing.”
“Living here sounds nice,” Will said quietly.
The words slipped out without effort, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.
Remus glanced at him, then smiled, small, careful, but sincere.
“It is,” he said. “Most of the time.”
“Anywhere is better than home,” Sirius scoffed, his tone light but edged with something sharper.
Remus shot him a warning look over the rim of his teacup. Sirius rolled his eyes but didn’t elaborate.
Mike noticed the exchange.
Remus turned back to them, his expression thoughtful now.
“You don’t look too shocked,” he said gently. “Which is… concerning. Some Muggles tend to faint, scream, or demand explanations involving trick mirrors and mass hallucinations.” He paused. “Is magic known in the future, or are you simply very calm people?”
“No, it’s not—” Mike started, then stopped himself.
This isn’t even real. A book. He thought.
“But yeah,” he finished instead, quieter. “We’ve seen stranger things.”
Sirius tilted his head slightly, studying them with renewed curiosity, as if they had just transformed from curiosities into puzzles.
They weren’t panicking.
They weren’t denying anything.
They weren’t asking for proof.
They were… accepting it.
He leaned closer to Remus, lowering his voice.
“What if they’re Death Eaters in disguise?”
Remus closed his eyes for half a second.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”
“So!” Sirius clapped his hands, instantly cheerful again. “Enough suspense. Tell us more about yourselves.”
Mike hesitated, fingers tapping lightly against his knee, as though weighing how much truth could be spoken without breaking something invisible. Then he exhaled and shrugged with a forced kind of casualness.
“Mike Wheeler,” he said. “Seventeen. Recently graduated.”
“Graduated from what?” Sirius asked instantly.
“High school,” Mike replied, then added when Sirius blinked, “Uh… like Hogwarts, but without the moving staircases and terrifying creatures.”
Sirius looked faintly offended. So,” he said, leaning back against the sofa closer to Remus, “you’re telling me your world has no magic, no enchanted castles, no flying brooms… and people still willingly go to school?”
Mike blinked. “Yes?”
“That’s horrifying,” Sirius replied sincerely.
Remus sighed. “Sirius, please don’t insult their entire civilization.”
Mike continued, warming slightly to the explanation.
“I started university recently. It’s like school, but bigger. And people actually choose what they study instead of being told what they’re terrible at.”
Remus smiled faintly at that.
“I’m doing creative writing,” Mike added, scratching the back of his neck. “Or something close to it. Stories, essays… I don’t really know yet. I just—” He paused, searching for the right words. “I like building worlds that make sense. Or at least more sense than the real one.”
Sirius hummed approvingly.
“A noble ambition.”
Will shifted slightly beside him.
“My name’s Will,” he said softly, voice almost shy. “I graduated too.”
“And what do you do, William?” Remus asked gently.
Will’s lips curved into a small smile. He gave a nervous laugh, it was weird being called that.
“Art,” he said simply. “Drawing. Design. Anything that lets me turn thoughts into pictures.”
As he spoke, something in him changed.
His eyes, usually guarded, lit up, not brightly, not loudly, but warmly. Like a quiet flame that had been there all along, waiting for someone to notice.
Mike glanced at him, then added, almost teasingly,
“He basically lives in sketchbooks.”
Will shrugged, but he didn’t deny it.
“I like making things,” he said. “Things that didn’t exist before.”
For a moment, the room felt softer.
Sirius watched them both with open fascination.
“Well,” he said lightly, though his gaze was sharp, “you two are far more interesting than most people we meet.”
Remus sighed.
“That was not meant as a compliment.”
Will smiled faintly, glancing at Mike as if silently agreeing that this was not the strangest conversation they’d ever had.
Mike crossed his arms, thoughtful. “Okay, but you’re saying you literally fly on brooms?”
“Yes,” Sirius said proudly.
“…Like witches in fairy tales?”
“Exactly,” Sirius said. “Except we’re faster, more stylish, and significantly less likely to be burned at the stake.”
Remus closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Mike looked unconvinced. “That sounds extremely unsafe.”
“That’s Quidditch,” Sirius corrected cheerfully. “And unsafe is the point.”
Will tilted his head. “What’s Quidditch?”
Remus opened his mouth.
Sirius spoke first.
“It’s a sport,” he said solemnly, “where we throw balls at each other while one special member search for flying golden tiny ball that goes the speed of light. With hoops and scores. Honestly, most of us just follow instinct. Everyone watched, I swear one time I saw a profesor curse a broom—” Sirius rambled on.
Mike stared.
“…You’re joking.”
Remus nodded politely. “Only slightly.”
Will’s eyes widened, impressed rather than alarmed. “That sounds kind of awesome.”
Sirius pointed at him instantly. “See? Finally, someone with taste.”
Mike looked between them. “Your school allows this?”
“Yes,” Remus said calmly.
“And no one has shut it down?”
“Not yet,” Sirius replied.
Mike looked faintly distressed.
After a moment, he shook his head and tried to regain control of the conversation.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “so after you graduate, you become… what? Like magical lawyers or something?”
Remus considered this. “Some people join the Ministry of Magic.”
Mike nodded. “That sounds normal.”
“Some become Aurors,” Remus continued.
Mike frowned. “What’s that?”
“Professional monster hunters,” Sirius supplied helpfully.
Mike froze.
“…That is not normal,” he said.
Will, meanwhile, looked intrigued. “Do you get cool weapons?”
“Yes,” Sirius said immediately.
Remus sighed again. “Only our wands.”
Will still smiled brightly.
Mike pinched the bridge of his nose.
Sirius added his own commentary with less restraint.
“London as something I both belong to and want to escape,” he added. “There’s traditions that feel suffocating, and families that are straight up cults.” He swallowed, and looked at Remus. “But it’s also home.”
“Some families expect that after Hogwarts, people are supposed to follow predetermined paths, marry properly, work respectably, behave predictably….and join the dark lord.” Remus said bitterly.
“And I intend,” Sirius concluded lightly, though something sharper flickered beneath his tone, “to do the exact opposite.”
Remus snorted.
“The dark lord?” Will asked, confused.
“Evil crazy wizard who kills muggles and non-pure blood wizards.”
Sirius watched them both with open fascination, gauging their reactions.
Mike cleared his throat.
The silence had stretched too long, heavy with questions no one seemed ready to answer.
“So,” he said, a little too quickly, “uh… maybe we should change topics.”
Sirius perked up instantly.
“Yes, please,” he said eagerly. “I was hoping for a dramatic backstory. Preferably involving explosions.”
Remus gave him a look.
Mike ignored Sirius and kept talking, his gaze flickering briefly toward Will before returning to the teacup in his hands.
“We’re from a town called Hawkins,” he said. “Nothing special. Nothing magical. Just… boring.”
“Boring?” Sirius echoed, visibly offended, as if boredom itself were a personal insult. “How dare it exist.”
Remus hid a smile behind his cup.
“And before that?” he asked calmly.
Mike shrugged. “Nothing really. Just us and school.”
Sirius sighed theatrically.
“…Muggles. The dark forest didn’t scare you and you expect us to believe that?”
Will lifted his eyes. “As Mike said before, we’ve been to darker places.”
Sirius tilted his head. “Like?”
Mike and Will exchanged another look.
They felt like they weren’t getting out of this one without explaining.
“There’s this place,” Will said quietly. “We call it the Upside Down. It looks like our world, but… wrong. Dark. Cold. Full of things that shouldn’t exist.”
Remus frowned slightly.
“…That’s not normal. I’m going to need you to elaborate.”
Will hesitated, then spoke again, slower now.
“So, uh… basically… I got taken by a monster from another dimension once. We found a girl with powers who helped us. More monsters showed up later, and things kept getting worse instead of better. The monster was Henry who was experimented on. He kidnapped a bunch of kids including Mike’s little sister, and uhh, we freed them and stopped him from basically trying to squeeze the world into something else.”
He paused.
“And it was mostly the government’s fault.”
Sirius blinked.
Will gave a faint, almost embarrassed smile.
“And somehow, we survived.”
For a moment, silence swallowed the room.
Sirius stared at them as if they had just casually announced they’d fought a dragon before breakfast.
“Normal my ass,” he muttered, leaning back dramatically. “This is far more interesting.”
Remus quietly poured more tea, hands steady, expression thoughtful.
“I believe your story still has… unresolved aspects,” he said carefully.
Mike nodded at once, a little too quickly.
“Yeah, but— I mean— we’re fine now.”
Will didn’t answer.
His fingers tightened slightly around his cup.
Sirius noticed.
“So,” Sirius said lightly, eyes sharp despite his lazy tone, “what exactly are you two? Brothers? Partners in crime? Secret agents?”
Mike blinked. “What? No. We’re just—”
He glanced at Will again.
“Best friends,” he finished.
The word landed softly.
Remus looked at Sirius.
Sirius looked back at Remus.
Neither said anything.
But something passed between them, silent, immediate, and oddly serious.
“Padfoot—” Remus began quietly, already sensing the dangerous direction of Sirius’s thoughts.
“And you guys?” Mike interrupted, tilting his head. “What are you, exactly?”
Sirius’s lips curved into a slow, smug smile—the kind that usually preceded chaos.
“We’re—”
“Best friends,” Remus said immediately.
Too quickly.
He nodded once, as if stating a fact that required no further explanation, and lightly elbowed Sirius in the ribs.
“BEST friends,” he added, voice calm, almost cheerful.
Sirius turned toward him, brows knitting in surprise.
“Are we, now?”
Remus didn’t answer at first.
He bit his lip, a habit he only had when he was trying not to say something he felt too deeply. Then he nodded again, smaller this time.
“Yes.”
His eyes lifted to Sirius’s face, pleading, careful, almost apologetic.
He could already imagine it: Sirius teasing him later, laughing it off, drifting away with exaggerated indifference. He could already feel the distance that would follow, the jokes that would hurt more than they should, the inevitable moment when Remus would have to apologize for feelings Sirius had never asked him to confess.
He had taken too long to understand them himself.
He wasn’t about to expose them in front of strangers from another time, no matter how strangely kind they seemed.
Not yet.
Sirius held his gaze for a second longer than usual.
Something unreadable flickered in his expression.
Then he scoffed lightly, leaning back into the sofa.
“Well,” he said lazily, “if Moony says so, who am I to argue with scholarly authority?”
Remus let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Across from them, Will raised an eyebrow slightly.
He didn’t say anything.
But he noticed everything.
Mike, on the other hand, didn’t question it at all.
“Yeah,” he said simply, nodding as if it made perfect sense. “That checks out.”
The room felt suddenly smaller.
“Where do your nicknames come from?” Will asked suddenly, clearly eager to change the subject. His voice was soft, but there was a spark of genuine curiosity in it. “They seem… interesting.”
Sirius straightened at once, as if he had been waiting his entire life for that question.
“Oh, you see,” he began, leaning forward slightly, fingers clasped together in dramatic anticipation, “there’s something called an Animagus. It’s when a wizard learns how to transform into an animal at will.”
As he spoke, his expression shifted, his usual careless arrogance softened into something almost fond, proud, like someone talking about a secret he loved more than he’d ever admit.
“I,” he continued, lifting his chin just a little, “can turn into a big, terrifying black dog. Naturally, the name Padfoot followed.”
Remus wheezed quietly beside him, failing miserably to hide his laughter.
“Sure,” he murmured, voice warm with amusement. “Mr. Puppy Eyes.”
Sirius froze.
He turned slowly, giving Remus an incredulous look, as if he had just been accused of a crime against humanity.
“I do not do puppy eyes.”
Remus only smiled at him.
It wasn’t a smug smile or teasing.
It was the kind of smile that said, I know you better than you know yourself.
Sirius scoffed and looked away, muttering something about character assassination.
Will watched the exchange in silence. He thought of Mike. Of the way people could joke and laugh while saying things that were truer than they seemed. There was something gentle in the way Remus looked at Sirius. Something familiar.
“That’s so cool,” Will said honestly, his voice brighter now.
Mike nodded, though his expression was more thoughtful than amazed.
“So you can just… turn into animals?” he asked, brows furrowed. “Like, whenever you want?”
“Mostly,” Remus replied calmly. “Though it requires discipline. And a rather unpleasant amount of paperwork, depending on how responsible you intend to be.”
Sirius rolled his eyes.
“Moony means yes.”
Mike stared at Sirius for a moment.
He thought about how strange it was that someone could transform into something else and still be the same person. He thought about how Will had once come back from somewhere darker and had never quite been the same again.
“And you?” Will asked quietly, looking at Remus now. “Do you have a nickname too?”
Remus hesitated for half a second.
Sirius answered before he could.
“Moony,” he said lightly. “But that’s classified information.”
Will tilted his head slightly.
He felt like there was more behind that name.
“Are you also an Animagus?” Mike asked, turning toward Remus with genuine curiosity.
Remus hesitated.
“Uh… not exactly,” he said, eyes drifting toward the edge of the room.
Sirius leaned forward immediately, grin bright and unmistakably mischievous.
“Well,” he said lightly, “my Moony here is very special.”
Remus shot him a sharp look.
“Padfoot,” he warned.
But Sirius only looked more pleased with himself.
“Our friends can do it too,” Remus cut in quickly, voice calm but hurried. “James is Prongs, he turns into a stag. And Peter is Wormtail… well, a rat.”
Mike nodded slowly, processing the information like a scientist faced with impossible data.
“And Moony?” he pressed.
The room went quiet.
Even the enchanted lights seemed to dim, just a little.
Remus exhaled, long and slow, as if he had carried the answer in his chest for too long.
“I’m a werewolf,” he said.
For a moment, neither Mike nor Will spoke.
Will’s reaction came first. He just looked at Remus with the same quiet, steady gaze he used when he was trying to understand something painful but real.
“That’s… rough,” he said softly.
Mike, on the other hand, frowned. He stared at the tea on the table, jaw tightening slightly.
Seconds passed.
Then he looked up again, meeting Remus’s eyes directly.
“…Okay,” he said slowly. “And?”
Remus blinked.
“And?” Sirius echoed, surprised.
Mike shrugged, but there was something firm in his voice now.
“I mean, yeah, it’s dangerous. And scary. And complicated.” He hesitated, searching for words that didn’t sound wrong. “But it doesn’t make you less of anything.”
The words landed quietly.
Mike looked almost annoyed now.
“If anything,” he added, “you could’ve just said it. Instead of building all that tension like you were about to reveal you’re secretly evil or something.”
Sirius stared at him.
Will hid a small smile.
Remus didn’t speak at first. He just looked down at his hands.
“…I don’t really like talking about it,” Remus said quietly.
His voice had softened, not weak, but careful, like someone handling fragile glass.
“At first, it felt like being trapped inside something,” he continued. “Like… you’re still there, but not really in control. You watch yourself from the inside, but you can’t stop what’s happening.”
The room felt suddenly very still.
“When you tell people,” he went on, eyes lowering to the teacup in his hands, “they start looking at you differently. Like you’re dangerous. Or broken. Or… not entirely human anymore.”
He hesitated, then looked up at Mike.
“Admitting it feels like admitting I’m… different. And even if I am,” he added, voice barely above a whisper, “it still hurts.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Sirius reached out. He simply took Remus’s hand and squeezed it, firm and warm, as if anchoring him to the present. He was smiling genuinely, proudly.
“I— I get it!” Will suddenly said.
His voice came out faster than he seemed to expect.
Mike turned to him, confused. “You do?”
Remus stared at Will in surprise, his expression open in a way it rarely was.
“I used to feel like I was stuck between two places,” Will said, searching for the right words. “Like I didn’t belong fully anywhere. Not at school. Not at home. Not even with my friends sometimes.”
His fingers tightened slightly around his sleeve.
“Like being locked in a room that looks normal from the outside,” he finished quietly.
Remus’s eyes widened.
“That’s exactly it!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself. “Are you… also a werewolf?”
Will blinked.
Then he laughed, a soft, awkward laugh that didn’t quite match the heaviness of the moment.
“No,” he said simply. “Just gay.”
Mike groaned instantly and rubbed his temple.
Sirius, meanwhile, choked on absolutely nothing.
“Oh, well, GREAT!” he wheezed, throwing his free hand into the air theatrically. “They’re not homophobic, Moony!”
Remus’s ears turned red.
He looked down, embarrassed but oddly relieved.
“…Good to know,” he murmured.
Mike stared at Sirius like he had personally offended logic.
“Why would we be homophobic?” he asked flatly.
Sirius slumped dramatically against the sofa.
“1978,” he sighed. “Most people are.”
Will blinked.
“…That explains a lot.”
Remus squeezed Sirius’s hand back, just slightly.
“Well, in that case,” Sirius said suddenly, straightening as if he were about to deliver a speech to an invisible audience, “Moony and I are not just best friends.”
Remus felt dread before Sirius even opened his mouth.
Sirius cleared his throat with dramatic solemnity.
“He is my sky,” he announced, placing a hand over his heart. “The moonlight of my life. The one and only. My soulmate. And my lover.”
Remus was fairly certain his face had reached a temperature capable of melting silverware.
He stared at Sirius in pure horror.
“Sirius—”
Mike froze.
Will blinked.
The Room of Requirement, for once, seemed little for the words said.
“I’m bi,” Remus blurted out, mostly to stop Sirius from continuing whatever poetic catastrophe he had planned next.
There was a pause.
“Bi?” Will repeated, frowning slightly. “What’s that?”
Remus frowned back, genuinely confused.
“Like… AC/DC?” he tried.
Mike stared at him.
“…What?”
“Boys and girls,” Remus clarified, shrugging lightly. “Both.”
Silence.
Then—
“That’s a thing?!” Mike gasped, sitting up straighter as if he had just discovered gravity was optional.
Remus laughed softly.
“Of course it is.”
“Oh,” Mike said.
Just: oh.
He stared at the table.
His mind, meanwhile, was absolutely not calm.
Okay.
So.
People can like boys and girls.
That’s… logical.
Obviously.
Why wouldn’t that exist?
It makes sense.
He frowned slightly.
Wait.
It makes too much sense.
Mike is thought about it for longer than necessary.
About the way he’d never really understood what was the difference in attraction, how he just felt but didn’t get platonic and romantic.
About the fact that he’d always felt something slightly off whenever people talked about crushes like they came with a default.
About certain thoughts he had carefully labeled as irrelevant and shoved into the back of his mind.
He swallowed.
No.
No, no, no.
That was ridiculous.
He wasn’t—
He glanced sideways at Will.
Will was calmly sipping tea, looking completely unbothered.
Mike felt his brain short-circuit.
He liked Eleven— He had. But also….
“So… are you boyfriends?” Will asked.
The question was simple, honest, and completely unfiltered.
Mike blinked, snapping out of his spiral like someone waking up from a dream.
Sirius didn’t hesitate for even a second.
“Obviously,” he said brightly. “We’re definitely dating. And we’re definitely not separating. Like, ever.” He smiled warmly, and Remus’s heart skipped in a way that felt both terrifying and impossible to ignore.
He stared at Sirius for half a second too long before forcing himself to look away.
“Are you in a relationship, Will?” Remus asked gently, redirecting the attention with practiced calm.
Will hesitated.
His gaze drifted downward. First to his hands, then to the carpet, then to Mike.
“Not really,” he said after a moment. His lips curved into a small, awkward grimace. “I was in a short one, not long ago. But… we broke up.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Remus said quietly, nodding once. “I’m sure you’ll find someone better. Someone who understands you properly.”
Will looked up again.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Sirius leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Well,” he said lightly, as if refusing to let the mood sink too far into seriousness, “if your future partner fails to appreciate your brilliance, we could teach you some spells so you can hex them. Educationally.”
Remus groaned.
Will laughed, and the sound surprised even him.
Mike smiled too, but something in his chest tightened.
Will finding someone else?
The thought came uninvited.
He didn’t like it.
Why did it feel wrong?
They were best friends.
That was all.
That had always been enough.
He was sure Will would always prioritize him.
Right?
Right…?
“And you, Mike?” Sirius asked suddenly, tilting his head with casual curiosity. “Any girl or bloke?”
Mike blinked.
“…The hell is a bloke?”
Sirius looked offended on behalf of British vocabulary.
Mike snickered quietly, but the question lingered.
His smile faded.
His gaze dropped.
For a moment, he looked younger than seventeen.
“My girlfriend disappeared last year,” he said softly.
The room went silent again.
“She was the girl with powers who helped us,” he continued, voice steady but thin. “She… sacrificed herself.”
He paused.
The word hovered on his tongue. He didn’t say it. He swallowed instead.
“I don’t want to believe she—” died.
He inhaled slowly.
“I’m getting over it,” he said, though the words sounded less like a fact and more like a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. “She was also our friend.”
He looked at Will.
Will nodded slightly, his expression tight.
Something in Will’s expression, the softness in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on Mike just a second longer than necessary made Mike look away.
His face burned slightly.
He blamed the tea.
Suddenly, the room trembled.
Not violently, but enough for the teacups to rattle and the floating lights to flicker.
Someone was trying to get in. But of course…It was preoccupied.
“Bloody hell—” Sirius muttered, already rising to his feet.
He glanced at Remus, suddenly serious.
“Moony, stay with them,” he said quickly. “It’s probably one of us. Not many people know about this place, and it’s—what? Three in the morning?” He let out a short laugh, halfway between excitement and annoyance. “Perfect timing.”
Before anyone could answer, he was gone, disappearing through the shifting wall as the Room of Requirement reshaped itself behind him.
Silence returned.
A softer one.
Will exhaled slowly.
“It’s late,” he murmured, eyes widening slightly as reality caught up with him. “My mom will kill me.”
Mike let out a tired sigh.
“I’m sure she’ll believe whatever you tell her,” he said dryly. “You’re good at that.”
Will smiled faintly.
Remus cleared his throat gently.
“Not to be a rude host,” he said, voice warm but practical, “but you should probably leave soon. I’ll ask Sirius for the potion once he comes back.”
Will nodded.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “We had a nice time.”
Mike nodded too.
“Yeah,” he added after a moment. “This was… weird. But not bad.”
Remus smiled.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
A brief silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time.
Will shifted slightly on the sofa.
“So,” he said, glancing at Remus, “does Hogwarts always feel like this?”
“Like what?” Remus asked.
Will searched for the word.
“Big,” he said eventually. “And lonely at the same time.”
Remus blinked.
Mike looked at Will, surprised.
“…That’s weirdly accurate,” he admitted.
Remus hesitated before answering.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It often does.”
Will nodded slowly, as if that answer meant more than it should.
Mike glanced around the enchanted room, the floating lights, the silent books, the quiet magic.
“You guys are lucky,” he said suddenly.
Remus tilted his head.
“Lucky?”
Mike shrugged.
“At least your monsters make sense.”
Will looked at him.
Remus didn’t answer immediately, but his smile this time was gentler, almost sad.
“Take care,” Remus said softly.
Mike paused, halfway to standing.
Remus hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully.
“And Mike… I feel like I should say something,” he added, voice quieter now. “Not everything can be saved. Your world sounds… chaotic. But people sometimes leave, even when we wish they wouldn’t.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable.
“Blimey,” he muttered, exhaling slowly. “I’m terrible at this. I just—” He looked up and offered a small, reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll find a way forward.”
Mike opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, the wall shifted violently.
Sirius burst back into the room like a storm.
“Good news!” he announced brightly. “It was just Reggie trying to sneak into the corridor to practice potions. Apparently he had a nightmare about failing his exam.”
He laughed like this was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.
“Reggie?” Mike repeated, blinking. “Who’s Reggie?”
“Regulus, my little brother,” Sirius replied cheerfully.
Remus stiffened. “And what,” he asked slowly, “exactly did you tell him?”
Sirius froze for half a second.
“That we were shagging.”
Remus’s jaw dropped.
Mike blinked.
Will froze.
“BUT— NO!” Remus panicked, visibly frustrated, “I mean— I caught him sneaking around our dorm yesterday while on duty prefect, and I had to give him detention. He’s going to hate me for being a hypocrite!” Remus buried his face in his hands.
Sirius laughed even harder. “Why did he even sneak gry—”
“…What is shagging?” Will asked carefully.
Silence.
Sirius stopped laughing instantly.
Remus lifted his head very slowly.
“Oh,” Sirius said, suddenly remembering cultural differences.
“Right. Americans.”
“Aren’t you french?” Remus whispered. Sirius ignored him.
Mike crossed his arms.
“…I don’t like the tone of that.”
Remus cleared his throat.
“It means,” he said diplomatically, “something very British and very inappropriate to explain at three in the morning.”
Will nodded as if this was perfectly reasonable.
Mike stared at Sirius.
Sirius smiled innocently.
Remus sighed exhausted.
“Sirius,” Remus said, rubbing his eyes. “The potion. I’m falling asleep standing up.”
“Oh—right!” Sirius exclaimed, snapping his fingers.
But instead of grabbing the familiar pale-gold flask, he pulled out another bottle.
This one shimmered faintly pink.
Remus paused, his fatigue momentarily replaced by suspicion.
“Before that,” Sirius said casually, holding it up like a trophy, “Reg gave me this.”
Remus stared at the vial.
Then at Sirius.
Then back at the vial.
“Sirius,” he said slowly, voice dangerously calm, “setting aside the fact that I do not approve of whatever disaster you’re orchestrating—why, exactly, did Regulus have Amortentia on him at three in the morning?”
Sirius blinked.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“I didn’t ask,” he admitted.
“He told me he’d made it by accident,” Sirius continued, shrugging. “Said he went overboard with—”
Realization hit him like a Bludger.
His eyes widened.
His pupils dilated.
“Oh my GOD.”
Remus sighed.
“Does my baby brother like someone?” Sirius gasped, clutching the bottle dramatically. “This is monumental. This is historical. This is—”
He started pacing.
“Is it a Slytherin? Gryffindor? Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff? Merlin forbid, a prefect? A blood traitor? Someone older? Someone younger? Someone mysterious? Someone brooding? Someone with tragic eyes—”
“Sirius,” Remus interrupted flatly.
Sirius froze mid-ramble.
“OR,” Remus continued, crossing his arms, “he was simply practicing so he wouldn’t fail Potions.”
The silence that followed was almost respectful.
Sirius slowly deflated.
His shoulders slumped.
“…That is unfortunately much more plausible,” he muttered.
Will leaned toward him and whispered,
“Do you think they’re always like this?”
Mike didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose.
Sirius sighed dramatically, as if mourning the death of a beautiful theory.
“…Fine,” he said reluctantly. “But if Regulus is in love, I’m finding out who.”
Remus groaned. “Wouldnt kill you to give him time to tell you himself…”
“What even is that?” Mike asked, glancing at Will, who wore a puzzled expression, halfway between curiosity and distrust.
Sirius twisted the lid off the bottle and handed it toward them. “Don’t drink it,” he said lightly. “Just smell it.”
Will leaned in first. “Woah—!” His eyes widened. “It’s sweet.” He smiled, almost nostalgic. “It smells familiar.” He passed the bottle to Mike. “Like that bubblegum you used to love? The one that got discontinued?”
“No way.” Mike grabbed it eagerly, but his excitement faded the moment he inhaled. His brows furrowed. “It doesn’t smell bad but… it’s not sweet either. It’s like…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Rain. Fresh-cut grass. And—fresh paint?” He looked at Will. “Like your last art kit.”
Will nodded instantly, delighted. “Yeah! It was really good—!” Then he stopped, frowning. “Wait. Why does it smell different for each of us?”
That was all Remus needed.
He stepped forward casually, taking the bottle from their hands. In one smooth, almost invisible movement, he slipped it away and replaced it with another, this one glowing faintly gold, taken from Sirius’s pocket.
“Doesn’t matter,” Remus said calmly. “Here.”
Sirius shot him an unimpressed glance, but said nothing.
Mike took the new bottle and drank half of it without hesitation, then handed the rest to Will. Their fingers brushed as he pulled him closer, their hands interlacing.
“Think we’ll remember this?” Mike asked, smiling, the potion already softening his voice.
“No chance,” Will laughed.
“If we’re alive by your time,” Sirius said with exaggerated elegance, bowing deeply, “we shall meet again.”
Remus stepped closer to him, resting an arm around Sirius’s shoulders, his smile quiet but sincere.
Slowly, Mike and Will began to sway, sleep overtaking them. One moment they were there, breathing, laughing, real.
The next, they weren’t.
“That was… something,” Remus muttered, exhaling slowly as if he were trying to push the tension out of his chest.
Sirius only hummed in response, far too calm for someone who had just handed two boys one of the most dangerous potions in existence.
Remus frowned. “You shouldn’t have given them Amortentia.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “They would’ve figured out their feelings eventually. People always do. There was no need to interfere.”
Sirius turned toward him with that infuriatingly serene smile, the kind that suggested he understood everything and regretted nothing.
“Sometimes,” he said lightly, “people are painfully oblivious, Moony.”
Remus scoffed, but the sound died halfway in his throat.
Because Sirius was right.
It had taken him seven years, seven long, confusing years, to understand what his own feelings truly meant. And even after that realization, he had done nothing. Hesitated. Rationalized. Waited.
Until this year.
He let out a small laugh, almost bitter. Indeed, people were oblivious. Especially queers.
“If they had drunk the failed Amortentia…” Remus continued, his voice lowering. “Or worse—if it had been properly brewed…”
Sirius’s smile faltered, just a fraction.
Remus looked at him now, more serious. “You know what Amortentia is, Sirius. It’s not just some silly love potion.”
Sirius didn’t reply, so Remus did it for him.
“It doesn’t create love,” he said softly. “It twists perception. It makes obsession feel like devotion, dependence feel like affection. It traps people in feelings that aren’t theirs.” He swallowed. “That’s why it’s so heavily regulated. Why it’s forbidden to use on others. Why it’s dangerous. Even if they just found out what it was, realising they truly feel attraction towards the other, Merlin.”
For a moment, the room felt colder.
Sirius clicked his tongue, breaking the silence. “Don’t start with the ‘what ifs.’” He waved a hand dismissively. “Live in the present, Moony. Nothing happened.”
Before Remus could protest, Sirius stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him, suddenly warm, suddenly close. The force of the hug pushed Remus back until he collapsed onto the sofa, Sirius following and pulling him into his chest.
Remus blinked. “Sirius—”
“Relax,” Sirius murmured, already settling in more comfortably, his chin resting against Remus’s hair. “You worry too much.”
Remus tried to reply, but the words dissolved on his tongue. A strange heaviness settled over him, his limbs growing slack.
“Oh….,” he whispered, realization dawning too late. “I feel… sleepy.”
Sirius laughed softly. “Yeah. Same.”
Remus frowned weakly. “I don’t think we’ll make it to classes…”
Sirius tightened his arms slightly around him. “Then we won’t. Might as well sleep.”
And so they did.
The castle continued breathing around them, corridors echoing with distant footsteps, clocks ticking, portraits whispering secrets, while the two of them remained curled together on the sofa, suspended in a quiet moment that felt far too fragile to last.