The night air around the Forbidden Forest was unnaturally still.
Not a single leaf stirred, not a single owl hooted. The moon—full and pale—hung high above like an unblinking eye, its light filtering down through twisted branches in sharp silver shafts. Somewhere far below the earth, beneath root and rock and age-old wards, a circle of ancient stone pulsed with power.
Lucius Malfoy stood at its center, robes like ink and silver swirling around him as the ritual reached its peak. In his hand he held the ceremonial dagger—elegant, old, humming with enchantments—and before him lay a basin of blood, steaming unnaturally in the chill air.
He spoke in Latin older than Hogwarts itself. His voice was calm, but inside, his magic screamed. The Blue Moon Ritual—only cast once a generation—was said to grant clarity to the caster's path, amplify hidden desires, twist fate like a wand through smoke.
But something was wrong.
The runes under his feet hissed.
The circle was reacting—not to him, but to a disruption in the air. A thread torn in the fabric of the ritual. Uninvited magic.
"Stop right there, Malfoy!"
The voice cracked through the night like thunder.
Sirius Black stumbled into the clearing, hair wild, wand glowing furiously. Behind him, Remus Lupin appeared—pale, shaken, but strong—eyes glinting amber beneath the silver light. And last, breathless and angry, came Severus.
His robe was torn, his lip split, but his wand was steady.
Lucius turned, slow and sure, like a serpent watching prey it had seen a hundred times.
"Didn't your little friend teach you not to meddle in things you don't understand?" Lucius drawled, dagger still held aloft.
"You're twisting blood magic!" Sirius snarled. "This ritual—it's not for clarity. It's a binding curse."
"Very clever, Black," Lucius murmured, almost fondly. "You were always the loud one. But still so blind."
And then came the sound—a hum, deep and low, like the castle itself had groaned. The air rippled. Far away, back at Hogwarts, a book slammed shut in the Restricted Section. Candles flickered. Somewhere deep in the dungeons, Tom Riddle's diary shivered without being touched.
Lord Voldemort—wherever he was hiding—felt it.
The ritual had echoed.
And he knew.
He knew someone had tried to manipulate fate.
A pale hand curled around a serpent-headed cane. Red eyes narrowed. "Lucius," Voldemort hissed, voice quiet as falling ash. "You disobedient snake."
Back in the clearing, Severus raised his wand, but it was Sirius who struck first.
"Expelliarmus!"
The dagger flew from Lucius's hand, clattering across the stone. The blood basin shattered, red liquid hissing like acid against the runes.
Lucius didn't fight back.
He just smiled.
"Too late."
A blast of wind surged from the broken ritual circle, knocking all three boys off their feet. Trees bent. The stones glowed blinding white—and then—cracked. Something had been awakened. Not a creature. Not a being.
But a consequence.
And high above, in the Astronomy Tower, James Potter felt it.
He dropped the book he was reading. Cold swept up his spine, his mark—the one he didn't speak of, didn't understand—burned beneath his collarbone.
He thought of Lillian.
He thought of Snape.
And he stood.
Back in the forest, Severus struggled to his feet, hair tangled, breath catching in his throat. Sirius reached for him but Severus flinched.
"No," he said sharply.
"Snape—"
"I said no."
Sirius froze.
And then—there it was. The tension between them, thick and unsaid and writhing like a living thing. Severus's voice, always calm, now shook with something harder—rage, shame, betrayal.
"You think you're different from him?" Severus whispered. "You think you're better?"
Sirius looked like he'd been slapped.
"I tried to stop it," he said.
"But you watched," Severus said, stepping closer. "You always watch."
Sirius didn't answer.
The silence stretched—and then James crashed through the underbrush, wand out, eyes locked not on Sirius but on Severus.
And Severus—bloodied, braced, breathing hard—looked up.
"You," James said, voice raw.
"Me," Severus replied.
Suddenly , Snape vanished like thin air.
The boys were stunned.
Lillian was nowhere in sight.
But somewhere, far below the castle, he watched through charmed mirrors. Eyes glinting. Smiling softly.
Like a puppetmaster whose strings had just begun to tighten.