It was a bright Saturday morning at Hogwarts, the kind where the sun softened even the stone walls. The Marauders and the Skittles were sprawled across the grass, sharing a lazy picnic that felt almost unreal in times like these.

Lily sat cross-legged, carefully braiding Marlene’s hair as they talked in low, easy voices. Nearby, Sirius leaned over Remus, tracing idle shapes and half-formed jokes across the back of his hand, while Remus pretended not to mind, a faint smile betraying him. James, entirely unbothered by anything else, balanced a piece of cake in one hand while absently running his fingers through Regulus’s hair, who allowed it with quiet tolerance.

A little apart from them, Barty and Rosier sat shoulder to shoulder, passing a bottle of whiskey between them, their laughter low and conspiratorial. Not far away, Snape lay on the grass with his head resting in Lucius’s lap, one hand holding open a heavy book on the Dark Arts, the pages fluttering gently in the breeze.

For a moment, the war beyond Hogwarts felt distant held at bay by sunlight, shared food, and the fragile peace of being young together.