"Turning into a werewolf on full-moon nights and wandering outside—I knew it was risky. It broke the rules Dumbledore set to protect me and everyone else. But I craved the taste of friendship. I couldn't give it up.
"Coming back to Hogwarts made the guilt even heavier. I'd betrayed Dumbledore's trust.
"I hesitated for ages about telling him the truth regarding the Animagi, but I could never bring myself to do it. Melvin urged me several times, but I was too much of a coward.
"I tried to convince myself that Sirius getting into the school was down to dark magic he'd learned from Voldemort—nothing to do with Animagi.
"In a way, Severus has always been right about me. He fought hard against me teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, kept reminding Dumbledore that I wasn't trustworthy."
"…"
Lupin laid bare the truth he'd hidden for so long. He took a deep breath and let it out, looking relieved—as though the confession had lightened his frail body.
Snape said nothing, his expression unreadable.
The three students didn't know what to say. They just stared down at the campfire.
Time ticked by. The magical fire on the Astronomy Tower balcony painted everyone's faces red. There was no crackle of burning wood—just occasional gusts of cold wind as the sky slowly darkened.
"I'm planning to take Peter straight to the Aurors and turn him in…"
Looking into those familiar green eyes behind Harry's glasses, Sirius sounded a little guilty, voice hoarse. "Once my name's cleared and the wanted posters come down, maybe I can come see you properly, Harry."
Harry had just started feeling touched when Snape's habitual sneer cut in: "And why exactly should you be the one to take him? It's not like you're the one who caught the rat."
The tone was icy, laced with faint mockery.
Snape's words had a magic all their own—two light sentences were enough to make anyone bristle with anger.
Harry's head snapped up, glaring. There were five Gryffindors here and only one Slytherin—he wasn't scared of Snape at all. With backup, he stood tall.
"You—" Sirius gripped Peter's wand tighter, knuckles white.
Last time he'd broken into the castle, this man had slashed his arm with dark magic and nearly bled him out.
This time he'd disguised himself as Harry, lured him out on the Firebolt, then dosed him with Veritaserum and Legilimency until his brain felt like mush. Even now his head was spinning, temples throbbing.
Sensing the tension, Lupin waved his wand to make the fire burn brighter, then spoke calmly. "Don't argue. Overturning the verdict won't be simple. This isn't an emergency—the Department of Magical Law Enforcement won't use Veritaserum or Legilimency in a regular hearing. If Peter refuses to confess and there's no other evidence, you could end up back in prison for a long time."
"And…" Lupin sighed, stopping himself.
The Ministry was under Fudge now, and the Minister loved any chance to make things difficult for Dumbledore. An old case like this would be perfect.
"We should tell Dumbledore first and see what the headmaster thinks."
It was a steady, sensible plan. Sirius had nothing to say against it.
Snape didn't object either. He just stared at Peter—curled up in the snow, too terrified to even whimper—with eyes like deep, dark pools.
"Then it's settled!" Hermione said brightly, trying to sound upbeat. She pulled the golden chain from around her neck and fiddled with the hourglass pendant. "The feast starts in an hour. We'll jump forward and everything will be sorted!"
The little device ticked softly as the dial turned. Lying in the snow, Peter felt the countdown matching his racing heartbeat. Then it hit him—these people had come from a few hours in the future. Now they were heading back.
Right now, Harry and Ron should still be locked in the underground office, Hermione waiting at the gates, and Lupin resting alone in his room.
A tied-up rat about to be slaughtered would soon become a stinking corpse. Peter's eyes widened. He stared desperately at the Time-Turner. He wasn't going to just sit here and wait for death—he had to escape alive!
His Animagus form was already exposed. Normal methods wouldn't get him out of the castle, but the power to travel through time? Not even Dumbledore could catch that.
"Animagus…"
With the last of his strength, Peter triggered the transformation and immediately reversed it. The cloth strips binding him tightened around the rat, then snapped as the plump middle-aged wizard swelled back to human size. The torn bindings cut bloody gashes into his skin, but the rat had wriggled free.
It happened too fast. Only Snape—the one who'd cast the binding spell—noticed. The other four were standing in a circle, hands on the golden chain, ready for the trip through time.
Peter lunged toward the young witch. Snape reached to stop him. In the instant golden ripples burst across the balcony, everyone's fingers brushed the chain.
Buzz…
An unimaginable surge of magic enveloped the platform. The Astronomy Tower vanished. The horizon blurred. The distant outline of the Forbidden Forest faded, as though the entire Black Lake was pouring over them. An invisible force yanked their bodies backward. Weightlessness made their heads spin; blood rushed in their ears.
All sound disappeared. The world went silent.
"Did… did it work?"
Peter stared at the unfamiliar surroundings. Definitely not Hogwarts. He had no idea where they were, but there was no rush of triumph—because the others had come with him.
Snape, Lupin, and Sirius closed in slowly, facing outward, shielding the young wizards in the center. The adults' senses were sharper. Something was very wrong. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing their hearts, making it hard to breathe.
"Hah…"
White puffs of breath clouded the air.
Harry looked down at the goosebumps on his arms, then up. Somehow, freezing mist had rolled in.
"Where are we?"
Hermione clutched the golden chain. The sand inside the hourglass had lost its color—dull and lifeless—as though the earlier disruption had damaged it.
This trip was supposed to be a simple return. They'd come from just a few hours earlier. Even without the Time-Turner, waiting five hours would have gotten them back.
But Peter and Snape—two wizards from the past—had crashed into the tunnel to the future, and the tunnel had collapsed.
In a daze, she remembered Professor McGonagall's warnings when she'd handed over the device.
…
Upside-down wooden candelabras held softly glowing candles. On the desk below, a mug of steaming pumpkin juice sent up curls of orange steam.
Hogwarts Castle—Transfiguration professor's office. Across the old desk, an hourglass trickled quietly in the candlelight. Hermione stared at the small box in McGonagall's hand, speechless and dazed.
A magical artifact for traveling through time—applied for by a professor, specially approved by the Department of Mysteries. Only the very best students could use it to help with studies. McGonagall's explanation echoed in Hermione's mind as her eyes glazed over.
From receiving her Hogwarts letter to starting third year and overloading on electives, the Muggle-born witch had grown used to the wonders of the wizarding world. But holding something that could so easily alter reality in her own hands made her feel like the wide-eyed Muggle she'd once been.
"I'm giving you the Time-Turner not because your grades are outstanding, but because you're cautious enough, Hermione."
McGonagall's voice was as steady as ever. "Gryffindors never lack courage for adventure, but only a few understand when courage is needed—and when restraint is."
Hermione lowered her head, feeling a twinge of guilt.
First year: facing a troll head-on, ignoring warnings to explore the forbidden corridor, venturing underground after Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone. Second year: investigating the basilisk, breaking into the Slytherin common room…
She didn't exactly think of herself as a rule-following model student.
"You have five elective courses in third year. Muggle Studies has been scheduled so it won't clash with anything else. For the rest, whenever you use the Turner, stay vigilant and careful."
McGonagall slid the box containing the chain across the desk. The dial was marked with notches; at the center was a tiny, delicate hourglass filled with golden sand.
"What do I need to watch out for?"
"This isn't a shortcut for cheating. Don't use it for exams or to finish Monday-morning homework. It's not a toy for sleeping in, rereading books, or playing wizard chess. Treating time lightly will cost you dearly."
McGonagall paused. "Time won't clear a path for you. It can't change anything. It only lets you return to history that's already happened. If you go back, you can't alter the outcome—that fixed outcome already includes you."
"It sounds like a philosophical problem… a time paradox," Hermione said thoughtfully.
"You can only go back a maximum of five hours. Don't let your past self see you, and don't let anyone see two of you at once. Not out of fear, but because the smallest accident could lead to catastrophe."
McGonagall fixed her with a steady gaze. "When you have time, visit the library and read up on Time-Turners. There are records of many disasters caused by those who took time lightly."
"I've read some of the stories… I thought they were made up," Hermione admitted shyly.
"Any other questions?"
Hermione thought for a moment, then looked up. "Can a Time-Turner only go backward? Not forward into the future?"
McGonagall nodded, her expression turning grave. "The past is closed—stable magical anchors exist. In Melvin's words, coordinates. The future is open and shifting. Every choice you make right now creates a different future. Countless choices lead to countless futures. A Time-Turner can't lock onto a future anchor."
Hermione shrank a little. "So what happens if you try to go forward…? Has anyone in history ever tried?"
"There was a witch named Eloise Mintumble, an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. She used a Time-Turner to travel back during an experiment, but on the return trip she overshot by more than a few hours and died."
McGonagall spoke softly. "Eloise had to keep using the damaged Turner to get back to her original point, shuttling endlessly between past and future. When she finally returned to the present, her colleagues recorded that she'd been trapped in 1402 for five days—but her body had aged five centuries. The damage was irreversible, and she died in St. Mungo's. Her journey altered the fates of many people around her in both past and future…"
"Can I know what changes exactly?"
"At least twenty-five members of the Mintumble family vanished from existence—investigation showed they were never born. There were also disturbing signs that time itself had been disrupted. The day of the experiment was a Tuesday and lasted fifty hours, while the following Thursday was only four hours long."
Hermione gasped, holding her breath. "Why did that happen?"
"No one knows. When she returned, she was so aged she could barely speak. The healers who cared for her recorded fragments. The Unspeakables theorized that the Time-Turner lost its way—she may have been trapped in the ruins of a collapsed timeline for five centuries."
…
The feast hadn't wound down yet.
At the staff table, the half-giant lay sprawled across the far end, snoring deeply, reeking of alcohol soaked into his skin.
On the other side sat the headmaster, the Heads of House, a couple of elective professors, Melvin, and Trelawney—who adored sherry and kept raising and lowering her glass without ever seeming drunk.
Students chased each other up and down the aisles. The twins kept passing by, making a racket—and every time they did, they swiped another pitcher. There'd been mead and eggnog earlier; they'd even nabbed brandy and whisky from in front of Hagrid. At some point, all that was left to steal was butterbeer and pumpkin juice.
There were no lights-out or curfew on Christmas feast night. From experience the last two years, students could keep going till dawn. With Lupin absent, the trio slipping away unnoticed, and Snape silent all evening, things felt a little subdued.
Dumbledore's awful jokes had been collectively shut down. Flitwick's had run their course, and Melvin's limited stock of Muggle jokes had sold out half an hour ago. With Hagrid snoring and glasses clinking, the staff table felt quiet.
Dumbledore tilted his head toward Snape with a smile. "Lady Delores's portrait told me you came looking for me before the feast started. I was dozing in the inner office and didn't hear you knock… You've barely said a word all night. Care to tell me now what it was about?"
"Not yet."
Snape's reply was cool. He glanced at Melvin beside him, then swept his eyes over the Gryffindor table before casually looking away.
The trio had been gone fifteen minutes—clearly not just a bathroom break.
Dumbledore and Melvin exchanged a look. From the little clues, they vaguely suspected something was happening—probably involving Sirius, maybe even the Time-Turner—but they weren't sure what.
Melvin remembered what Hermione had mentioned, plus the hints he'd seen on the Marauder's Map that afternoon. He sipped his drink thoughtfully.
As he wondered what sort of adventure the kids were on, Snape's gaze landed on him again.
Melvin set his glass down, met the dark eyes, glanced at the Potions Master, then at the Gryffindor table, and raised a questioning brow at the right moment.
Snape gave an expressionless nod.
"…"
Melvin half-understood. He thought for a second, then stood and headed toward the doors.