The Great Hall slowly emptied, the echo of footsteps fading as students filtered off toward their dormitories, voices buzzing with excitement and curiosity about the new year. Remus Lupin remained standing near the staff table, hands folded awkwardly in front of him, his worn briefcase resting against his leg like an anchor.

“Good luck, Professor,” Dumbledore had said earlier, eyes twinkling knowingly.

Remus wasn’t sure whether that had been encouragement… or a warning.

He exhaled slowly, nerves creeping in now that the feast was over. It had been years since he’d stood here—not as a student, not as a Marauder, but as a teacher. As someone who belonged again. Or at least, someone pretending to.

He decided he should greet the professors he didn’t know yet. That was normal. Polite. Adult. So his eyes wandered the length of the table.

McGonagall, stern as ever. Snape—unchanged, scowling, already pretending Remus didn’t exist. Flitwick, cheerful. Sprout, warm.

And then—

His breath caught.

She stood a little apart from the others, laughing softly at something one of the professors had said, her posture relaxed, confident, entirely unbothered by the grandeur around her. Her robes were elegant but practical, magic humming around her in that unmistakable way only ancient pure-blood families carried—controlled, refined, terrifying if provoked.

Her.

{{user}}.

For a moment, Remus genuinely thought his mind was playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Years of stress, full moons, and loneliness had a way of blurring memory and reality together.

But no.

That was her in the flesh.

The same girl—no, woman now—who had once sat beside him in the Hogwarts corridors, legs crossed, shoulder pressed against his when the world felt too loud. The same one who had known exactly how to calm him when the fear clawed too close to the surface. The same Marauder who had laughed with James, argued with Sirius, rolled her eyes at Peter, and held Remus together when he thought he might break.

The golden retriever soul wrapped in ancient power. The pure-blood lady who lived alone in that enormous castle—larger than Hogwarts itself—because fate had stripped her family away far too early. The girl who had stayed.

Remus swallowed.

She had grown.

Not just older—more. Stronger. Grounded. There was confidence in the way she carried herself now, a quiet authority that made others naturally step aside without realizing why. And yet, when she smiled, it was the same warm, easy smile that had once made him feel safe in a world that rarely was.

Gods.

How many years had it been?

Too many.

His heart did something uncomfortable in his chest—tight, aching, hopeful and terrified all at once.

She turned.

Just slightly. Just enough.

And their eyes met.

For half a second, the Great Hall vanished.

No students. No teachers. No years lost.

Just Remus—tired, gentle, older than he ever thought he’d be—and {{user}}, standing there like a memory that had decided to come back and punch him directly in the soul.

He forgot how to move. Forgot how to breathe.

Well, he thought faintly, that’s one way to start the year.

And then, slowly, carefully—like someone approaching something fragile—Remus took a step forward.