What the time?

The war was over.

For the first time in Harry Potter’s life, there was no Dark Lord waiting around the corner. No prophecy hanging over his head. No constant fear that someone he loved would be taken from him.

They had survived.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Arabella Black had spent years fighting together. They had lost people, grown up too quickly, and changed in ways none of them had expected.

But now, finally, they had a future.

Or at least, they thought they did.

“I still think we should leave,” Ron said, staring suspiciously at the ancient object sitting on the table.

Hermione sighed. “You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“And I was right twenty minutes ago.”

Arabella leaned against the table, arms crossed. “For once, Ronald has a point.”

Harry looked between them. “You two are supposed to be the smart ones.”

“We are,” Hermione replied.

“Exactly,” Ron added. “Which is why we should leave.”

Harry laughed.

Arabella glanced at him, smiling.

Since the war, Harry had changed.

He was still Harry, of course, but the quiet boy who had spent years carrying the weight of the world seemed to be disappearing. He laughed more. He joked more. He actually enjoyed himself.

Sometimes, Hermione said he reminded her of James Potter.

Harry secretly liked that.

Arabella, however, needed no explanation for where her personality came from.

She was Sirius Black’s daughter.

She had inherited his reckless confidence, his sharp tongue, his stubbornness, and—most importantly—his fierce loyalty.

Harry reached for her hand.

“You okay?”

Arabella squeezed his fingers. “Fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“I learned from you.”

Ron groaned. “Can you two stop being disgustingly adorable for five minutes?”

“No,” Harry and Arabella said together.

Hermione laughed.

Then the object on the table began to glow.

The laughter stopped.

Hermione immediately stepped forward.

“Wait.”

The room filled with a strange humming sound.

“Everyone back!” Hermione shouted.

Too late.

A burst of magic exploded from the object.

Harry grabbed Arabella.

Ron grabbed Hermione.

The floor disappeared beneath them.

And then—

Darkness.

Harry woke to the sound of laughter.

Not Ron’s.

Not Hermione’s.

It was loud, careless, and completely unfamiliar.

He opened his eyes.

Stone ceiling.

Candles.

Hogwarts.

Harry pushed himself upright.

“What happened?”

“Apparently, we survived,” Ron muttered.

Hermione was already examining the room.

“This is Hogwarts.”

Arabella stood slowly.

“No.”

Harry looked at her.

She pointed toward the window.

The grounds outside looked different.

The castle was the same, but something about it felt older.

Then the door opened.

Four boys walked into the room.

Harry froze.

Hermione stopped breathing.

Ron stared.

Arabella went completely still.

The first boy had messy black hair, round glasses, and a familiar scar-like confidence in his smile.

James Potter.

Beside him stood a tall boy with long black hair and an unmistakable smirk.

Sirius Black.

Arabella’s heart stopped.

Her father was standing twenty feet away.

Not the Sirius she remembered from photographs.

Not the man who had died fighting Voldemort.

This Sirius was seventeen.

Alive.

And completely unaware that his daughter was standing directly in front of him.

James frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

Harry looked at Arabella.

Arabella looked at Harry.

Neither of them spoke.

Because they had just realized the impossible.

They weren’t in their time anymore.

They were looking at the Marauders.

And they had no idea how they were ever going to explain why Harry Potter was staring at James Potter like he had just seen a ghost—

or why Arabella Black couldn’t take her eyes off Sirius Black.