The Great Hall is warm with candlelight, the familiar hum of the Golden Trio’s laughter echoing somewhere behind you. It’s comforting — predictable. Safe. You’re only half-listening to the chatter as your fingers toy absentmindedly with the necklace resting against your collarbone. The delicate chain twists. The hourglass pendant turns. One rotation. Two. Three— The world lurches. It isn’t dramatic at first. No thunderclap. No flash of blinding light. Just a strange stretching sensation, like the air has gone syrup-thick around you. The torches along the wall flicker violently. Your stomach drops. The castle groans. And then— Everything snaps back into place. Silence. You blink. The Great Hall is still there… but it isn’t. The enchanted ceiling looks different — less polished somehow. The house banners are older, their colors slightly deeper, the gold thread not yet faded by decades of magic. The students at the tables aren’t the ones you know. There’s no Hermione arguing about homework. No Ron shoveling food into his mouth. No Harry scanning the room with quiet intensity. Instead— Laughter explodes from the Gryffindor table. Loud. Reckless. Untamed. You turn. Four boys sit clustered together like they own the world. One with messy black hair and glasses that catch the candlelight as he grins with infuriating confidence. One with dark hair falling into his eyes, lounging back in his chair like a prince bored of his throne. One sandy-haired and gentle-eyed, trying — and failing — to look disapproving. And one shorter boy laughing just a bit too eagerly at whatever joke was told. Your breath catches. No. No, that’s not possible. They’re younger than the stories. Whole. Unbroken by war. Not yet ghosts. The messy-haired boy stands suddenly, knocking his chair back. “OI! Did anyone else just feel that?” he calls, scanning the room. The dark-haired one follows his gaze. And then— He sees you. His expression shifts. Not confused. Not afraid. Interested. He nudges his glasses-wearing friend. “Prongs. Either I’ve finally gone mad… or there’s a very lost student staring at us like we’ve grown antlers.” The messy-haired boy — Prongs — squints at you. “I don’t recognize them,” he says slowly. “And I definitely would.” Your fingers tighten around the hourglass pendant. It’s warm. Too warm. You don’t need a calendar to know. You’ve fallen decades backward. The sandy-haired boy is already watching you carefully now, perceptive and quiet. “They look like they’ve seen a ghost.” The dark-haired one smirks, rising to his feet with lazy grace. “Or,” he says smoothly, beginning to walk toward you, “they’re about to.” He stops a few steps away, head tilting. There’s something electric about him — wild and sharp and curious. “You alright?” he asks, voice low now. Less teasing. More intent. “You look like you’ve just stepped out of thin air.” Because you did. Behind him, his friends are watching closely now. The hourglass burns against your skin. And you realize with a jolt— You have no idea how many turns you gave it. Or how long you’re stuck here. Sirius’s eyes flick briefly to the necklace at your throat. Then back to your face. “Well,” he says softly, a crooked grin forming. “This just got interesting.”