Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I've always been good at waking up and immediately assessing my surroundings.

It's a skill you develop when you grow up the way I did—shuffled between relatives who made it abundantly clear you were a burden, learning to figure out where you were before you even opened your eyes. You listen first. Catalog the sounds. Determine if you're safe before you give away that you're awake.

So when I woke up to the rhythmic clacking of wheels on tracks and the gentle sway of movement, I didn't panic. I just lay there, eyes closed, and thought: Huh. That's new.

The surface beneath me was cushioned but firm. A bench of some kind. The air smelled like old upholstery and something else—something that made the back of my neck tingle in a way I couldn't explain. There were distant voices, muffled by walls, and the unmistakable sound of a train in motion.

I hadn't fallen asleep on a train. I was fairly certain of that. The last thing I remembered was my bedroom, my laptop open to yet another Marauders-era fanfiction because apparently I had the self-control of a goldfish when it came to Harry Potter content. I'd been reading until my eyes burned, which was a normal Tuesday night for me.

And now I was... here. Wherever here was.

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling above me was wood-paneled, warm and old-fashioned. I turned my head slowly and took in the rest of the space: a train compartment, the kind you'd see in period British films. Red cushioned seats facing each other, frosted glass in the sliding door, a window showing green countryside rushing past under a grey sky.

I sat up.

And that's when I noticed what I was wearing.

Black robes. Actual wizard robes, falling past my knees, with a white button-down shirt underneath and a tie in red and gold stripes around my neck.

For a long moment, I just stared.

Red and gold. Gryffindor colors. I knew those colors better than I knew my own phone number, because I'd spent an embarrassing percentage of my adult life obsessing over a fictional world where those colors meant something.

Okay, I thought, with the calm that comes from years of learning that panicking never helps. Okay. Let's assess.

Option one: I was dreaming. Possible, but this felt too sharp, too real. The texture of the seat beneath my fingers, the ache in my neck from sleeping at a weird angle—dreams didn't have that level of detail.

Option two: I was hallucinating. Also possible, but I'd never had hallucinations before, and this seemed like an elaborate one to start with.

Option three: I had somehow, impossibly, ended up in the Harry Potter universe.

A week ago, I would have laughed. But a week ago, I also woke up in my own bed, so clearly the rules had changed.

I stood up, wobbling slightly as the train swayed, and caught my reflection in the window glass. Same face. Same me. Just dressed like a Hogwarts student.

The compartment was empty except for a trunk sitting on the rack above the seats. I reached up and checked it—there was a name tag attached.

My name. [Y/N] [L/N]. Gryffindor.

Interesting.

So whatever magic had dropped me here hadn't just given me clothes. It had given me an identity. A history. A trunk full of belongings and, presumably, a place in this world.

Which meant I needed to figure out what that place was—and fast—before I said or did something that revealed I had no idea what was going on.

I opened the trunk quickly, scanning its contents. School supplies, textbooks, clothes. A schedule tucked into one of the books confirmed what I'd already suspected: sixth year Gryffindor. The date on the schedule was September 1st, 1976.

The Marauders' era. The beginning of sixth year.

I had time.

The full weight of that realization hit me, and I had to sit back down for a moment. If this was real—if I was actually here, actually in this time—then I knew things. I knew about the Horcruxes, about the prophecy, about every tragedy that was going to unfold over the next two decades. I knew who would live and who would die and who would betray everyone they loved.

I could change it. I could change all of it.

But first, I needed to not blow my cover.

I took a deep breath and thought through my situation. I had a name, a house, a trunk full of belongings. The magic that brought me here had clearly created some kind of history for me—otherwise, people would be asking why there was a random stranger on the Hogwarts Express. So presumably, I existed in this world. I had classmates, teachers, maybe even friends.

The question was: what kind of person had I been?

I thought about it strategically. If I'd been popular, people would expect me to act a certain way, know certain things. That would be dangerous—too many opportunities to slip up. But if I'd been quiet, overlooked, the kind of person who faded into the background...

That would be perfect.

No one questions when a quiet person suddenly starts talking more. They just assume you're "coming out of your shell." It's a narrative people understand and accept without digging deeper.

Okay, I thought. Working theory: I've been at Hogwarts for five years, but I've been quiet. Kept to myself. Didn't make waves. And now, for whatever reason, I'm going to start being more visible.

I could work with that.

I checked my reflection one more time, smoothed down my robes, and slid open the compartment door.

The train corridor stretched in both directions, and I could hear the sounds of students chatting and laughing behind closed doors. Normal sounds. The sounds of teenagers heading back to school after summer holiday.

I started walking, keeping my pace casual. Confident. The key to fitting in anywhere was acting like you belonged. Hesitate, look lost, and someone would notice. Walk like you knew exactly where you were going, and you became invisible.

I'd made it maybe thirty feet when a compartment door slid open directly in front of me.

The collision was inevitable. The train lurched slightly, and I went stumbling forward into whoever had just stepped out, catching myself against a very solid chest.

Hands grabbed my upper arms to steady me, and I found myself looking up into grey eyes and a face I recognized immediately.

Sirius Black.

He was younger than the descriptions in the books—sixteen, maybe seventeen, with features that hadn't quite finished settling into their adult configuration. But the aristocratic bone structure, the dark hair falling in artful waves, the grin that was already spreading across his face—unmistakably Sirius Black.

"Whoa," he said, not letting go of my arms. "You alright there?"

"Fine," I said, stepping back. "Sorry about that. Wasn't watching where I was going."

He tilted his head, studying me with open curiosity. "You're in our year, aren't you? Gryffindor?"

Here we go.

"Yeah," I said, keeping my voice casual. "Have been for five years now."

"Right, right." He snapped his fingers like he was trying to place me. "[Y/N], yeah? You're always in the library, aren't you? Or in the back of the classroom. Really quiet."

I almost laughed. Whatever magic had created my backstory had made me exactly what I needed to be: forgettable. A background character no one had bothered to notice.

"That's me," I said. "The quiet one."

"Well, you nearly knocked me over just now, so maybe not that quiet." His grin widened. "I'm Sirius. Sirius Black. But you probably knew that."

"Hard not to," I said dryly. "You're not exactly subtle."

He laughed—a genuine, delighted bark of sound. "Fair point. Subtlety is for people who aren't devastatingly handsome."

"And modest, too."

"Modesty is overrated. It's basically just lying about how great you are." He stepped back, gesturing toward the compartment he'd just exited. "Come sit with us. James is in the middle of a truly tragic story about his summer attempts to woo Evans, and it needs a wider audience."

I hesitated for just a second. Sitting with the Marauders would give me access to information, help me establish relationships that would be useful later. But it would also mean maintaining my cover for an extended period, which was riskier.

Risk it, I decided. You need allies, and these are the people at the center of everything.

"Sure," I said. "Why not."

"Excellent." He grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward the compartment. "Fair warning: James is pathetic, Remus is pretending to read but is actually judging everyone, and Peter laughs at all my jokes even when they're not funny, which is concerning but also flattering."

"Sounds like a healthy group dynamic."

"We're a work in progress."

He slid open the compartment door and announced, "Lads, I've brought entertainment. You know [Y/N]? She's in our year. The quiet one who's always reading."

Three faces turned to look at me.

James Potter sat by the window, exactly as I'd imagined him—messy black hair, round glasses, a smear of chocolate on his chin that he clearly hadn't noticed. He was holding what appeared to be half a chocolate frog, and he raised his eyebrows at my appearance.

Remus Lupin sat across from him, a book open on his lap. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes, a pallor to his skin—but his smile was warm and genuine. "Hey. [Y/N], right? We had Arithmancy together last year."

We did? I had no idea, but I nodded like I remembered. "Yeah. Professor Vector's class."

"You sat in the back," he continued. "Never said much, but you always got top marks."

Thank you, magical backstory, for making me smart.

"I prefer listening to talking," I said. "You learn more that way."

"Wise philosophy," James said, grinning. "Wish Sirius would try it sometime."

"I have plenty to say. The world deserves to hear my thoughts."

"The world would like a refund."

I let myself smile slightly and took the seat Sirius gestured toward, ending up between him and Remus, across from Peter Pettigrew.

Peter was watching me with something I couldn't quite read—curiosity, maybe, or wariness. He was shorter than the others, rounder, with watery eyes that darted around like he was constantly assessing threats.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Peter."

"I know." I softened my voice slightly. "We've been in the same house for five years."

"Right. Yeah. Sorry, I just—we don't really talk, do we?"

"Not really. I keep to myself mostly."

"So why the change?" James asked, leaning forward with interest. "Five years of being the quiet girl, and suddenly you're sitting with us?"

It was a reasonable question. I'd been expecting it.

"Honestly?" I shrugged. "I spent all summer thinking about how I've barely talked to anyone at school. I have acquaintances but not really friends. And I realized that's kind of pathetic. So I decided to try being more... present. If Sirius Black literally walks into me and invites me to sit with his friends, maybe that's the universe telling me to stop being a hermit."

James considered this for a moment, then nodded like it made perfect sense. "New year, new you. I respect it."

"James is a big believer in reinvention," Sirius said. "Mostly because he reinvents his approach to Evans every other week and it keeps failing."

"It's not failing. It's evolving."

"She hexed you last week."

"That was affectionate hexing."

"That's not a thing."

"It's absolutely a thing."

I let their bickering wash over me and took the opportunity to observe.

James was exactly what I'd expected—charming, confident, clearly the center of this particular solar system. He had the easy charisma of someone who'd never been told no, never been made to feel small or unimportant.

Sirius was performing. I recognized it because I'd spent my whole life doing the same thing—the jokes, the deflection, the constant motion that kept anyone from looking too closely at what was underneath.

Remus was watching everything with quiet attention, his book forgotten in his lap. He looked tired in a way that went beyond normal exhaustion, and I knew exactly why. The full moon was probably coming up soon.

And Peter... Peter was laughing at everything, agreeing with everyone, trying so hard to belong that it almost hurt to watch.

He's not a traitor yet, I reminded myself. He's just a kid who wants to matter.

"So, [Y/N]," James said, pulling me back into the conversation, "what do you think of our little group? Living up to our reputation?"

"What reputation is that?"

"Brilliant, charming, devastatingly good-looking—"

"Troublemakers," Remus interjected dryly. "He means troublemakers."

"Same thing."

"Really not."

I pretended to consider. "I've heard stories. The dungbombs in the Great Hall. The thing with the suits of armor. The time someone turned the Slytherin common room furniture pink."

"Allegedly," Sirius said, but he was grinning.

"Allegedly," I agreed. "I always figured you were either geniuses or idiots. Possibly both."

"Definitely both," Remus confirmed. "The ratio varies depending on the day."

"Today's a genius day," James said. "We haven't done anything stupid yet."

"The day is young."

The conversation flowed easily after that. They asked me questions—about my summer, my classes, my opinions on Quidditch (I didn't have any, which scandalized James)—and I answered with careful half-truths. I'd spent the summer reading, mostly. I was taking all the core N.E.W.T. classes plus Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. I thought Quidditch was fine but didn't understand the obsession.

"You don't understand the obsession?" James looked genuinely wounded. "It's only the greatest sport ever invented. The athleticism! The strategy! The—"

"The way you show off every time Evans is in the stands?" Sirius suggested.

"That's called playing to your audience."

"That's called being a disaster."

I was learning things, too. Not new information, exactly—I knew the broad strokes of their lives from the books—but details that filled in the gaps. The way James's leg bounced when he was excited. The way Sirius's smile went slightly sharp when someone mentioned his family. The way Remus deflected personal questions with gentle humor. The way Peter repeated other people's jokes like he was trying to claim them as his own.

They were real. That was the strangest part. I'd read about them so many times, imagined them in such detail, that I'd thought I knew them. But the reality was different—messier, more complicated, more human.

They have no idea what's coming, I thought, watching James demonstrate his Quidditch grip using an invisible broom. None of them do.

In a few years, James and Lily would be dead. Sirius would be in Azkaban. Remus would be alone. Peter would have betrayed everyone who ever trusted him. Their friendship, this easy warmth that filled the compartment, would be shattered beyond repair.

Unless I stopped it.

Don't think about that now, I told myself firmly. Focus on the present. Build trust. Be normal.

Normal. Right. I could do normal.

I settled back in my seat and let myself be part of the conversation, laughing at the right moments, asking questions when appropriate. Playing the role of the quiet girl who was finally coming out of her shell.

It wasn't even that hard. I'd spent my whole life playing roles.

About an hour into the journey, the trolley witch came by with her cart of sweets. The boys descended on it like a pack of wolves, loading up on chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott's beans and sugar quills.

"Want anything?" Sirius asked, already handing over a pile of coins.

I hesitated. I had no idea how much money was in my trunk, or if I should be spending it on sweets when I might need it for more important things.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Nonsense. My treat." He bought me a chocolate frog and a packet of Drooble's gum before I could protest. "Consider it a welcome-to-the-group gift."

"I've been in the group for five years."

"Welcome-to-being-noticed gift, then."

I took the chocolate frog and didn't think too hard about the warmth that spread through my chest at the casual generosity. It didn't mean anything. People bought each other sweets on the train all the time. It wasn't special.

Don't get attached, the familiar voice in my head whispered. You're here to do a job. Not to make friends.

But as I sat there, surrounded by laughter and bickering and the comfortable chaos of teenage boys, I couldn't help thinking that maybe—just maybe—the two didn't have to be mutually exclusive.

The train carried us north, toward a castle I'd only ever imagined, and I let myself pretend, just for a little while, that I was exactly where I belonged.

About an hour later, the compartment door slid open again.

I looked up expecting maybe another student looking for friends, but the person standing in the doorway made my breath catch.

Red hair like autumn fire. Green eyes sharp enough to cut glass. A prefect badge gleaming on her chest.

Lily Evans.

She was beautiful in a way that descriptions couldn't capture—the kind of beautiful that came from intelligence and fire and the absolute certainty that she was right about everything. Even at sixteen, she had presence.

"Potter," she said, her voice flat. "Black. There's been a report of dungbombs in the third car. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that."

James's entire demeanor transformed. He sat up straighter, ran a hand through his hair (making it worse, not better), and smiled in a way that was probably meant to be charming but came across as desperate.

"Evans! You look radiant as always. How was your summer? Did you get my letters?"

"I got them. I burned them."

"Harsh."

"Accurate. The dungbombs, Potter."

Sirius held up his hands. "Wasn't us. We've been here the whole time. We have a witness and everything." He gestured at me. "Tell her, [Y/N]."

Lily's gaze shifted to me, and I felt the weight of her attention. She was trying to place me—I could see her mentally flipping through her mental catalog of Gryffindor students.

"[Y/N]?" she said finally. "You're in our year, right? I don't think we've ever really talked."

"I keep to myself mostly," I said. "But yeah, I've been in every class with you for five years."

Something flickered across her face—embarrassment, maybe, at not having noticed me. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine. I'm not exactly memorable." I shrugged. "And yes, they've been here the whole time. No dungbombs as far as I've seen."

Lily looked skeptical but let it go. "Fine. But if I find out you're lying, there will be consequences."

"When have we ever lied to you, Evans?" James asked.

"Constantly. About everything. For five years."

"Those were strategic misdirections. Completely different."

Lily rolled her eyes and turned to leave, but then paused, looking back at me. "If you ever want company studying, I'm usually in the library after dinner. It might be nice to actually get to know someone I've apparently been ignoring for five years."

The offer surprised me. "Thanks. I might take you up on that."

She nodded once and left, her robes billowing behind her in a way that suggested she'd practiced the exit.

The moment she was gone, James let out a lovesick sigh. "Isn't she amazing?"

"You're pathetic," Sirius said.

"I'm devoted."

"Same thing."

I watched the doorway where Lily had disappeared, thinking about everything I knew. Her friendship with Severus, destroyed by a single word. Her hatred of James that would eventually transform into love. Her death, protecting a son who would carry her eyes for the rest of his life.

I'm going to save you, I thought. All of you. Whatever it takes.

"You're quiet again," Remus observed.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing important."

He didn't push, which I appreciated. Instead, he went back to his book, and I went back to watching the countryside roll by outside the window.

The train continued north as the sky darkened and the landscape grew wilder. I could feel the anticipation building in the compartment—the boys getting restless, excited to be back at school despite their complaints about classes and homework.

"We should change into our robes," Remus said eventually. "We'll be arriving soon."

"We're already wearing robes," Sirius pointed out.

"Into our proper robes. The ones that aren't covered in chocolate stains."

"That's James's problem, not mine."

"I don't have chocolate stains—" James looked down at his robes. "Oh. Never mind."

I excused myself to the bathroom to give them privacy to change, and took the moment alone to gather my thoughts.

Okay. Summary of what I know so far.

I was in the Harry Potter universe. 1976. Sixth year. I had some kind of magical backstory that made people accept my presence without question—I'd been at Hogwarts for five years as a quiet, overlooked student. The Marauders were real, Lily was real, and in a few hours I would be inside Hogwarts itself.

The castle that housed a Horcrux in the Room of Requirement.

The school where Severus Snape was slowly being pushed toward darkness.

The place where I would need to build the relationships and resources necessary to save everyone.

One step at a time, I reminded myself. First, get through tonight. Establish yourself. Then start planning.

When I returned to the compartment, the boys were properly dressed and the train was beginning to slow. Through the window, I caught my first glimpse of Hogwarts.

Nothing could have prepared me for it.

The castle rose from the cliffs like a dream given form, towers and turrets reaching toward the darkening sky, windows glowing with warm light. It was massive—far bigger than any description had suggested—and ancient in a way that modern buildings simply weren't. You could feel the weight of a thousand years of magic pressing against your skin.

"First time seeing it?" Remus asked, noticing my expression.

"I see it every year," I said, which was technically true for the version of me that had supposedly been here for five years. "It never gets old."

"No," he agreed softly. "It really doesn't."

The train pulled into Hogsmeade station with a final screech of brakes, and then everything was chaos. Students flooding out of compartments, calling to friends, grabbing last-minute belongings.

"First years this way!" a booming voice called from the platform. I caught a glimpse of Hagrid—young and massive, waving a lantern—before the crowd swept me away.

"Carriages are this way," James said, grabbing my elbow. "Come on, before all the good ones are taken."

The carriages were waiting in a long line, and I could see them immediately: the thestrals. Skeletal, strange, beautiful in a terrible sort of way, with leathery wings folded against their sides and pale, blank eyes.

I could see them.

That meant I'd witnessed death at some point—or the magic that created my backstory had decided I had. I didn't know what death I'd supposedly witnessed, but I filed the information away as potentially useful.

"You alright?" Sirius asked. "You're staring at the carriages like they offended you."

"Just thinking," I said. "Do you ever wonder what pulls them?"

"Magic, probably. Or house-elves. Everything at Hogwarts is either magic or house-elves."

He couldn't see them. Of course he couldn't—he hadn't watched anyone die yet. That would come later, after the war started. After everything fell apart.

I climbed into the carriage and let the conversation wash over me as we rode up to the castle.

The entrance hall was packed with students streaming toward the Great Hall, and I let myself be carried along by the crowd. Through massive oak doors, into the hall itself, and—

Oh.

The Great Hall was everything I'd ever imagined and more.

Four long tables stretched the length of the room, packed with students in black robes. The ceiling showed a darkening sky scattered with stars, so realistic I couldn't tell where the magic ended and reality began. Thousands of candles floated overhead, casting warm light over everything.

And at the far end, on a raised platform, sat the teachers.

I recognized McGonagall immediately—sharp and severe, exactly as described. Slughorn, round and jovial. Other faces I didn't know. And in the center, in a high-backed chair, sat Dumbledore himself.

I looked away quickly, not wanting to catch his attention. Of all the people in this world, he was the most likely to notice something off about me, to sense that I didn't quite belong.

"Gryffindor table's this way," Sirius said, and I followed him to a spot about halfway down, surrounded by other sixth years.

Marlene McKinnon, blonde and pretty, waved as we approached. "Finally! I thought you'd missed the train."

"We were entertaining a guest," Sirius said, gesturing at me. "You know [Y/N]? She's decided to stop being a hermit this year."

Marlene squinted at me. "Oh! Yeah, you're in our dorm. You're always reading when I come in."

"That's me."

"Cool. Welcome to being social, I guess."

I took a seat between Marlene and a girl I recognized as Mary MacDonald—quiet, sharp-eyed, watching me with curiosity. On my other side, Dorcas Meadowes was deep in conversation with Alice Fortescue about something that happened over the summer.

These were the girls I would be living with. The girls whose futures I knew—deaths, torture, tragedy. All of them young and alive and completely unaware of what was coming.

Stop, I told myself firmly. You can't fall apart every time you see them. Focus.

The Sorting ceremony began, and I watched as tiny first years were called up one by one. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. The Hat made its choices, the students scurried to their tables, and life went on.

But I wasn't really watching the first years.

I was watching the Slytherin table.

Specifically, the pale, dark-haired figure sitting alone at the far end.

Severus Snape.

He looked exactly as I'd imagined—thin, angular, with lank hair that hung around his face like curtains. His robes were slightly shabby, noticeably less expensive than his housemates'. He wasn't eating, wasn't talking to anyone, just staring at his plate like it held the secrets of the universe.

He looked lonely. Desperately, achingly lonely.

I knew his story. The abusive father, the neglectful mother, the friendship with Lily that had ended in disaster. The years of bullying, the public humiliation that had pushed him past his breaking point, the one word that had cost him everything.

He was sixteen and already so damaged. And if nothing changed, he would spend the rest of his life trying to atone for mistakes he hadn't yet made.

I'm going to help you, I thought, watching him pick at his food. I don't know how yet, but I will.

"You're staring," Lily's voice said, and I startled slightly. She had slid into the seat across from me, her plate already loaded with food.

"Sorry. Just observing."

"The Slytherin table?"

There was tension in her voice, carefully controlled. She wasn't looking at the Slytherin table herself, but I could tell she wanted to.

"Just getting the lay of the land," I said neutrally. "Five years of keeping my head down, I never really paid attention to house politics."

"Consider yourself lucky." She stabbed a potato with more force than necessary. "House politics are exhausting."

I wanted to ask about Severus. I wanted to probe that wound, see how deep it went, figure out if there was any chance of healing it. But I'd only just started talking to Lily today. Pushing too hard too fast would be suspicious.

Patience, I reminded myself. You have time.

The feast continued. Food appeared and disappeared, students chattered around me, and I played my part—laughing at jokes, asking questions, pretending to be the quiet girl who was finally joining the conversation.

It was exhausting in a way that was deeply familiar. The constant performance, the careful calibration of every response, the awareness that one wrong word could shatter the illusion.

This is what you're good at, I reminded myself. Wearing masks. Being what people need you to be. You've been doing it your whole life.

The difference was that this time, the stakes were higher than they'd ever been.

After the feast, students began drifting out of the Great Hall toward their common rooms. I followed the crowd of Gryffindors up staircases that moved beneath my feet—which was disorienting as hell, by the way, no amount of reading had prepared me for the actual sensation of a staircase deciding to relocate mid-step.

The Fat Lady's portrait guarded the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, demanding a password that I didn't know. But Marlene was beside me, and she called out "Fortuna Major" without breaking stride.

The common room was exactly as I'd imagined—warm and cozy, with a massive fireplace and squashy armchairs and an atmosphere of comfortable chaos. Red and gold everywhere, Gryffindor banners on the walls, students scattered around catching up after the summer.

"Girls' dormitory is this way," Marlene said, gesturing toward a spiral staircase. "You know that, though. You've only lived there for five years."

"I tend to come in late and leave early," I said. "Avoid the crowds."

"Yeah, I've noticed. You're like a ghost. A studying ghost."

The sixth-year girls' dormitory was circular, with five four-poster beds arranged around the walls. Mine was apparently the one nearest the window—at least, that's where my trunk was sitting.

I sat down on the bed and let myself breathe for the first time in hours.

I'm at Hogwarts.

I'm actually at Hogwarts.

The reality of it kept hitting me in waves. The train, the castle, the Great Hall—I'd imagined them so many times, and now I was here. Living in them. Surrounded by people I'd only ever read about.

People I was going to save.

The other girls were settling in, chatting about their summers and their class schedules and various gossip I didn't understand. I unpacked my trunk methodically, using the activity to avoid conversation while I sorted through my thoughts.

First priority, I thought, hanging up my robes. Gringotts. I need to get there as soon as possible, figure out what resources I have access to.

The books always mentioned inheritance tests, ancient bloodlines, hidden fortunes. I didn't know if any of that was real here, but it was worth investigating. And even if I turned out to be nobody special, I had information that the goblins would want—knowledge of a Horcrux sitting in one of their vaults.

Second priority: build relationships. I needed to become part of the social fabric here, someone people trusted and confided in. That meant the Marauders, Lily, and eventually Severus and Regulus. The people at the center of everything that was going to go wrong.

Third priority: learn magic. I'd read about spells and potions for years, but reading wasn't the same as doing. I needed to become genuinely competent, able to defend myself and accomplish my goals.

Fourth priority: gather information about the Horcruxes. I knew where they were in the books, but this world might be different. I needed to confirm locations, assess protections, plan my approach.

Fifth priority: don't die.

That last one was probably important.

"You okay?"

I looked up to find Lily watching me, concern in her green eyes.

"Fine," I said. "Just tired. Long day."

"First day back always is." She hesitated, then added, "I meant what I said on the train. About studying together. I know you've always kept to yourself, but... I don't know. Sometimes it's nice to have company."

There was something underneath the offer—loneliness, maybe. I remembered that Severus had been her closest friend, the person she'd spent most of her time with. Without him, she was probably more isolated than she appeared.

"I'd like that," I said, and meant it.

Lily smiled, and it transformed her face from merely beautiful to radiant. "Good. Library tomorrow after dinner?"

"Sounds perfect."

She nodded and retreated to her own bed, pulling the curtains closed. Around me, the other girls were doing the same, their chatter fading into whispered goodnights.

I changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, pulling my own curtains shut. In the darkness, surrounded by the quiet breathing of my dormmates, I finally let my mind work through everything.

I was here. Against all logic, against all reason, I was actually in the Harry Potter universe. I had a backstory, an identity, a place in this world. I had five years before everything fell apart.

Five years to find and destroy the Horcruxes.

Five years to fix the relationships that were going to shatter.

Five years to save everyone who was going to die.

It wasn't much time. But it was more than I'd expected.

You can do this, I told myself. You have to do this. Because if you don't...

I didn't finish the thought. I didn't need to. The weight of all those deaths—Lily, James, Sirius, Regulus, Marlene, Dorcas, everyone—pressed down on me like a physical thing.

I'm going to save them, I promised silently. All of them. Whatever it takes.

And if I died in the process? Well. At least then I would have been worth something.

That's not healthy thinking, a small voice in the back of my mind pointed out.

I ignored it. I'd been ignoring that voice my whole life.

Sleep came slowly, filled with dreams of golden cups and snake-filled lockets and a future I was determined to rewrite.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.