Chapter 35

The Moon. Full. White. Merciless. Sovereign.

Sirius rested his forehead against the cold glass of his old bedroom window.

Outside, people were beginning to hang the first Christmas decorations.

On the floor, Buckbeak stared out as well, perfectly still, as though all he wished for that season was to be free.

Like him.

Well… and like Lupin, in his own way.

Because if Sirius longed to be free from his confinement, Remus only wanted to be free from himself. Perhaps that was the harder prison.

Sirius closed his eyes.

And remembered.

It had been around this time of year, many years ago, when James, Peter, and he had discovered Remus Lupin’s secret.

That afternoon, rain had battered the windows in a steady rhythm, as if trying to force its way through the castle walls.

Sirius pulled his forehead from the cold glass, the chill stark against the warmth inside.

James and Peter were sitting on their beds, each lost in thought.

Muffled voices drifted up from the common room below —laughter and distant chatter softened by distance— but in the first-year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, the atmosphere was different.

They weren’t sharing their usual lively conversation. Sirius’s sarcastic remarks lacked their usual spark, and not even Peter’s complaints —which so often sent James into fits of laughter— could break the silence hanging over the room.

All three of them were subdued, as though an invisible shadow had crept inside.

And all because, once again, Remus Lupin had disappeared.

Another night he wasn’t there with them.

No explanation. No clear reason.

And though none of them had asked about his health again —just as Professor McGonagall had requested weeks earlier— the weight of uncertainty was growing heavier with each passing month.

Peter spoke first, his voice low, as if afraid of the answer to his own question.

—It can’t be anything bad… can it?

His gaze drifted toward the empty bed, as though expecting Remus to appear and reassure them. But he did not.

Sirius sat on his bed and idly picked at the edge of his blanket. His expression, usually confident and defiant, was clouded with worry.

—But if it weren’t anything bad… —his voice faltered slightly— would he be gone so often? I mean… that’s not normal, is it?

James remained silent, eyes fixed on the table at the foot of his bed. His mind, however, was elsewhere.

Sirius knew what he was thinking: McGonagall’s words. The seriousness in her gaze when she had asked them not to press Remus. The subtle glint of concern in her eyes. She had been kind, but there had been something in her tone that unsettled them.

Something didn’t fit. Something was there, just out of reach.

At last, Sirius broke the silence.

—James… —he said quietly, unease threading through his voice—. Do you have any idea what could be going on?

His friend didn’t answer at once. Sirius didn’t push him, as though afraid of interrupting the thought forming behind his eyes.

Peter glanced at the calendar hanging beside his bed and frowned, realising something.

—Every month… —he murmured.

The other two turned to him.

—What did you say? —Sirius asked.

—Every twenty-eight days —Peter repeated, swallowing hard—. Remus leaves every twenty-eight days.

He pointed at a marked date.

—I remember the last one because we had our Charms exam that morning.

Sirius rose from his bed and crossed the room to the calendar.

—And before that… —he whispered, flipping a page back and pointing at another square—. Here. I remember because that morning I got an owl from my mother, scolding me for being punished by Slughorn.

James joined them silently, processing the pattern. Sirius cleared his throat.

—Where does he go? —he asked, uncertainty thick in his voice.

—I don’t think he goes to the hospital wing, Sirius —James said gravely, scratching the back of his head and avoiding their eyes—. Last month, I went there pretending I had a headache. Wanted to see if he was there. He wasn’t. Neither was Madame Pomfrey.

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy.

—Do you think he leaves the school? —he whispered.

—But to go where? —James asked—. Hogsmeade?

Peter leaned forward, visibly nervous.

—I hope not —he said, glancing toward the window as though the storm might offer answers—. Have you heard the rumours?

James and Sirius looked at him intently.

—About the screams coming from that run-down house in Hogsmeade… People have started calling it the Shrieking Shack. Scary, isn’t it? They say there’s something there. Something not human. No one dares go near it.

A chill ran through the dormitory. The silence that followed Peter’s words felt so heavy it seemed to thicken the air. Sirius bit his lip, increasingly uneasy.

—That… can’t be good —James murmured, barely audible. Suddenly, an idea formed in his mind —unwanted, yet terrifyingly clear.

Peter let out a nervous laugh.

—Come on, it can’t be that bad… Remus wouldn’t just… go there… would he?

But the question hung in the air, far less confident than it should have been.

Sirius, staring once more at the rain, noticed something.

The clouds were slowly parting, revealing a sliver of silver light.

Cold sweat slid down his spine. A certainty seized him all at once.

—No… —he breathed, barely audible. His face drained of colour, his eyes widening as the pieces fell into place.

He stepped toward the window with rigid movements and pressed his hand against the glass.

There it was.

The moon. Full. White. Merciless. Sovereign.

Sirius turned to his friends. James was very still. Peter looked as though he might tremble apart.

—It’s a full moon… —Sirius said in a cold whisper—. Isn’t it obvious?

He drew a steadying breath, aware that what he was about to say would change everything. Though, in truth, he knew they were all thinking it.

—Remus… is a werewolf.

The rain continued to strike the windows as the world inside the dormitory seemed to stop.

……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……

Remus Lupin lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.

The blanket covered him up to his chest, though he had stopped feeling cold some time ago. He rubbed his temples gently, as if he could erase the persistent ringing in his head —the final remnant of his most recent transformation.

The truth was, he felt better.

He had recovered faster than he had expected.

He closed his eyes.

The silence of Grimmauld Place wrapped around everything.

A dense, ancient silence that seeped through the walls like damp. Outside, the day was fading reluctantly, clouded and cold, as though it, too, struggled to leave its bed.

Remus drew a slow breath.

The calm was deceptive.

The body seemed to heal faster than the mind.

He ran a hand over the blanket, absently toying with the frayed yellow trim at one corner.

He knew Sirius was somewhere on the other side of the house. He could feel it.

Somehow, he could picture him standing at the window, just like back then.

Back then.

When everything had been simpler. Even though the moon already weighed on his shoulders.

Without fully knowing whether he was remembering or dreaming, the image of the Gryffindor common room surfaced in his mind.

He saw himself seated in one of the large armchairs, a book opened in his hands, turning its pages. Though his eyes traced the lines, he wasn’t truly reading.

There had been something in the air that evening —something in his friends’ behaviour— that made him uneasy.

James, who usually radiated contagious carelessness, had been unusually serious.

Sirius, always so confident and animated, wore a faint frown and stared out the window in silence.

Peter, seated across from him, pretended to be relaxed, twirling a pencil between his fingers, but his restless eyes betrayed him.

Tired of the stale quiet, Remus closed his book slowly and looked up at the three of them.

—What’s going on? —he asked, attempting a casual tone, though his own voice betrayed his nerves.

James was the first to move.

He approached and dropped into the armchair beside him, elbows resting on his knees, as though carefully choosing his words. Sirius crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, jaw tight. Peter, still at the table, drummed his fingers against the wood, unable to stay still.

Finally, Sirius turned toward him and broke the silence. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than usual.

—Remus —he began, locking eyes with him— we know what’s going on. Why you disappear every month.

He remembered how his heart stopped.

—Sirius… —he murmured, trembling despite himself.

He couldn’t believe it.

No one was supposed to know.

No one was supposed to see him for what he was.

He had tried so hard to keep the secret, and in the end, it had been for nothing. His friends stood before him with a certainty that left no room for denial.

Remus stood without a word. His legs felt weak, as though the floor beneath him had turned unstable.

—Where are you going? —Peter asked, anxious.

—I’m going to pack my things —Remus replied without looking at them— I’ll be gone tomorrow. Don’t worry.

He couldn’t bear it.

He couldn’t stay and watch fear appear in their eyes.

He had to leave before pity came —or worse, rejection.

But before he could take another step, a firm hand settled on his shoulder.

James.

When he turned, he found him looking at him with a seriousness he had never seen before.

—No —James said, his voice steady and firm— You’re not leaving. We don’t want you to leave.

Remus blinked, bewildered.

—What we’re telling you —James continued— is that we know. And we don’t care.

The words struck his mind but couldn’t seem to break through.

Peter nodded quickly, his voice softer, though slightly trembling.

—You’re still our friend, Remus. We’re not going to leave you alone.

Remus felt his throat tighten further. His heart pounded against his ribs, disbelieving.

They weren’t rejecting him? They weren’t looking at him with disgust, or pity, or horror? They were still there?

Sirius stepped forward, stopping directly in front of him. His eyes searched his with an intensity that made Remus’s stomach knot.

—We’re not leaving you —he said, unshakeable— Ever.

Remus parted his lips, but no words came. His mind was chaos, torn between a lifetime of fear and the unexpected warmth of acceptance.

—But… —he whispered—. What if you’re afraid of me? What if you realise it’s a mistake? I don’t want you looking at me like I’m… different.

James shook his head, his hand still resting on his shoulder.

—We won’t. You’re one of us. Since the first day.

Sirius, moved by the vulnerability in Remus’s voice, smiled and clapped him on the shoulder —firm but sincere. Peter, quieter, stepped closer as well, the same determination in his gaze.

Before they could say more, a sound behind them interrupted the moment.

A soft clearing of the throat.

Professor McGonagall.

Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes revealed she had heard enough.

—Come —she said in her firm yet not unkind tone— All of you. To Dumbledore’s office. Now.

The air grew heavy as she led them through the corridors. The only sound breaking the silence was the echo of their footsteps.

When they reached the imposing door of the Headmaster’s office, it opened with a gentle creak —as though Dumbledore had been expecting them.

And he had.

Standing behind his desk, Dumbledore regarded them with his characteristic serenity, his eyes gleaming behind half-moon spectacles.

—Ah, good afternoon, my young students —he greeted in that calm, kindly voice that seemed capable of soothing even the fiercest storm—. Professor McGonagall has spoken to me about you. It seems you have something to tell me.

Dumbledore’s gaze moved over each of them.

James toyed with the edge of his robe, Sirius scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and Peter —who would normally have broken the silence with a joke— stared anxiously at the floor.

Remus remained standing, watching his friends and wondering what Dumbledore would do. He had failed in his task; the secret had been uncovered far sooner than he had intended.

At last, James spoke first, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

—So… what’s going to happen? —he asked, tension evident— You’re not going to… expel him, are you?

—Or lock him up somewhere? —Sirius added, darker than usual, not daring to look at Remus.

Peter swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

—You won’t hurt him… will you? I don’t want anything bad to happen to him…

Behind them, McGonagall allowed herself the faintest of smiles.

Dumbledore listened patiently, not interrupting, as though allowing them to empty themselves of every fear before answering. Then he raised both hands in a calming gesture.

—No, no —he said serenely, though firmly—. We will neither expel Remus, nor imprison him, nor harm him. There is no reason to do so. Remus is as valuable a student to me as any of you.

Then the Headmaster smiled.

James let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally relaxing. Sirius exhaled softly, somewhere between relief and disbelief. Peter looked on the verge of fainting.

—Then…? —James ventured.

Dumbledore stepped closer, and a glint of complicity flickered in his eyes.

—What I mean to say —he continued with a faint smile— is that it is admirable how quickly you have discovered your friend’s condition. It was not an easy thing to deduce.

Sirius, James, and Peter exchanged uneasy glances. They weren’t sure whether it was praise or warning.

—But…? —Sirius asked cautiously—. How is that possible? Does everyone know?

—Not everyone —McGonagall interjected, stepping forward—. Only the staff and Madame Pomfrey. And now, you.

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, observing them.

—I trust you understand the importance of keeping this confidential —he added, more serious now, though warmth still lingered in his voice.

All three nodded immediately.

—And… we’re not in trouble? —James asked, a trace of boldness beneath his lingering uncertainty.

Dumbledore shrugged lightly, a smile that seemed to hold endless mysteries.

—No. On the contrary —he said—. I believe you have shown great courage, not only in discovering the truth, but in accepting Remus without reservation. That, my dear students, is something to be admired —and the reason I have asked you here today.

Peter blinked repeatedly, as if still unable to believe it.

—So… it’s all right? —he asked quietly—. You’ll let us stay together?

Dumbledore nodded, his gaze warm.

—Indeed. Now that you know, your task will be to protect Remus, as the friends you are. For in the end, true magic lies precisely in that.

—Of course, Professor! —Sirius exclaimed at once, tapping his forehead lightly as though it were absurd to doubt it. James and Peter nodded with the same conviction.

Remus looked at them, stunned. He had never expected this. Never believed something like this was possible.

Then Dumbledore’s eyes settled on him, filled with that ancient wisdom that seemed to see through everything.

—I told you you would belong, Remus —he murmured gently—. Do you remember? I told you you would belong at Hogwarts.

Remus felt as though a weight had lifted from his chest. He smiled —a trembling but sincere smile.

—Thank you —he whispered, not knowing whether that single word was enough to contain everything he felt.

But it was all he could say.

Thank you.

Because now he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was not alone.

……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……

Remus Lupin opened his eyes and remained still for a moment, listening to the silence.

He looked again at the ceiling of his room at Grimmauld Place. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the window.

He sat up slowly, noticing that, at last, his muscles no longer protested.

He pulled on a patched jacket over a wrinkled shirt and made his way down the worn staircase at an unhurried pace.

The sitting room lay in shadow.

The fire crackled softly, and in front of it Sirius sat hunched over, a cup in his hands. The steam from the tea had long since faded, but he didn’t seem to have noticed.

He was staring into the flames as if searching for something inside them.

—Thinking about life? —Lupin asked with a tired half-smile as he settled onto the sofa beside him.

Sirius didn’t take his eyes off the fire. He let out a sigh and shrugged faintly.

—Something like that —he murmured in a low voice—. I suppose there are days when it’s hard not to.

Lupin nodded slowly. No more needed to be said.

—Yeah… me too —he admitted quietly.

His gaze drifted to the pile of chocolate —smaller now, though still excessive— that Tonks had emptied out of her bag that morning.

Sirius watched him closely, knowing his friend didn’t share his thoughts lightly. Then, with a playful air, he said:

—You know, I thought you’d be annoyed that I let Tonks come up to see you —Sirius confessed, resting his chin in his hand— but I couldn’t exactly say no. She brought a bar of chocolate. Well… several.

Remus shook his head, a smile forming on his face.

—No, not at all —he said. Then he tilted his head, his tone turning thoughtful—. I suppose I didn’t expect… to feel so comfortable sharing my situation with someone. I mean, someone besides you, James, Peter, and… Lily.

Sirius raised both eyebrows with interest.

—Lily, huh?

Remus nodded, feeling the weight of his thoughts.

—I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately —he confessed—. I don’t know if it’s because Tonks is around and reminds me of her, or because all of this makes me think about the time when we still had something to fight for without losing so much…

He sighed and leaned his head back against the chair.

—Tonks reminds you of Lily? —Sirius asked, his tone unusually gentle.

Remus shrugged.

—I suppose it’s her energy. Her relentless optimism. The way she fills a room.

Sirius rotated his cup in silence while Remus lowered his gaze to his hands, as though the answers might be hiding there.

—But there’s something else. When I told Lily about my curse —he explained— I expected her to step away, to look at me differently. But she just crossed her arms, called me an idiot for thinking it mattered… and then hugged me. After that she started asking questions about lycanthropy as if it were a school assignment. As if it were…

—Normal —Sirius finished quietly.

—Yes —Remus repeated with a faint smile—. Normal.

A brief silence followed.

—When I told Tonks…

Sirius narrowed his eyes, attentive. Remus gave a crooked smile.

—She just said, “huh…”.

Sirius let out a rough laugh.

—That’s very Tonks.

Remus joined the laughter, but then his expression grew more thoughtful —and, in Sirius’s eyes, gentler.

—It’s not so much the “huh…” itself.

He toyed with a patch on his jacket as he searched for the right words.

—I thought that once I said it out loud, the usual thing would happen. Just like I feared with Lily. But it didn’t. She simply accepted it. As if nothing had changed.

Sirius frowned slightly. There was no doubt that Remus’s expression softened when he spoke about Tonks. It was clear that he himself hadn’t yet realised what that meant.

But Sirius had.

He could see it in his voice, in his gestures, in the way his gaze drifted away every time he said her name.

—That reminded you of Lily —he said simply.

Remus nodded.

Sirius set his empty cup on the table in front of him and crossed one leg over the other.

—Truth is, I’ve been thinking about Lily lately too. And about James and Peter… about us. Those were the best years of my life.

Remus nodded again, his gaze lost in the fire.

—I suppose telling Tonks all our old stories makes me remember —Sirius said— but I’m not about to get sentimental.

Before getting up, he offered a crooked half-smile.

—Anyway, you’ve got to stop making that face whenever you see her, Moony. It’s going to give you away.

Remus frowned, puzzled.

—What are you talking about?

Sirius leaned back in his seat and gave him a mischievous look.

—Tonks. You laugh with her. Really laugh. Not that sad little smirk you give me when I make a terrible joke. You actually laugh.

He paused for a moment, as if weighing what he was about to say.

—I’ve never seen you laugh like that. Not even with Lily.

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t. Sirius looked at him, more serious for a brief instant.

—And you know what? That’s not a bad thing. Having someone disarm you a little. Sometimes I think you’ve spent your whole life hiding behind your walls, as if you didn’t deserve to be here. But she… she doesn’t let you hide.

He smiled.

—In fact, what she does is take you by the hand and pull you out of there, as if she knows you can’t do it on your own. And the best part is, you don’t even realise it. And that’s a good thing.

With that, he finally stood, gathered the empty cup and the teapot.

—I’ll make more tea —he announced, and disappeared down the stairs.

Remus leaned forward and picked up a chocolate sweet. He savoured it slowly, thinking about the feelings Tonks had been stirring in him lately.

Yes, it was true —Tonks reminded him of Lily.

Like her, she was persistent in her affection. Protective. Even stubborn. She hadn’t faltered when she learned the truth. And she hadn’t allowed herself to be pushed away.

In fact, it had been the opposite: every time he tried to put distance between them, she stepped closer, crossing one by one the walls he had taken years to build.

Like Lily.

—Lily and I… we were very close —he murmured, as if the fire could hear him.

The warmth of the flames reflected his nostalgia, while the smoke curled through the air as though trying to carry his memories away.

But Tonks was not Lily. And what he felt now… wasn’t the same either.

That was what unsettled him, what he hadn’t even told Sirius. What, deep down, he knew he couldn’t tell anyone.

The images that had haunted him on the nights leading up to the full moon. The wolfish hunger that had consumed him so fiercely. The uncontrollable longing for Tonks’s skin. And although he was still convinced that all of it was the fault of the full moon… that had never happened with Lily.

A wave of confusion washed over him as he began to recognise the differences between them.

Tonks looked at him differently; with an intensity that made him feel exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly alive. With every smile, every word, every gesture filled with meaning, she seemed to offer him something deeper. Something he had never experienced before.

And he had to admit that he saw her differently too.

With Lily, everything had been transparent, safe. There had never been confusion. They had loved each other with the purest trust, without ambiguity. And they had never crossed the boundary into romantic love.

—Lily and I… we were meant to understand each other, not to be together —he whispered.

And as he said it aloud, he understood.

The distance between what he had felt for Lily and what he was beginning to feel for Tonks was becoming clearer and clearer.

Remus couldn’t help wondering whether what he was building with the young Auror went beyond a simple friendship.

The conversations he never wanted to end.
The stolen glances.
The walks under the sun or the moon.
The quiet complicity they shared.

And above all, what he loved most: the sense of peace that settled over him whenever he was beside her.

As if the universe were telling him, without words, that this was where he belonged.

And yes, it was true: she made him laugh. A lot, in fact. And yes, he had realised that Tonks could pull him out of himself. Out of his darkness, his sadness, his solitude. She made him see life with different eyes.

Everything pointed toward something deeper, more intimate, and, why not, something nice.

Something that opened a world of possibilities that both terrified and fascinated him.

And no. He couldn’t blame the moon.

This didn’t come from the wolf.

It came from him. An emotion rising from the deepest part of his human soul.

Something he had never believed he would feel. And that now invited him, with the same warmth as Tonks’s smile, to open a door he himself had closed years ago. A part of himself he had avoided discovering.

He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the dizzying feeling building in his mind.

It’s not the same, he thought.

Not the same at all.

……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……

Tonks rested her elbow on a floating railing while she watched, with little enthusiasm, as a planet traced its orbit slowly for the umpteenth time.

She checked her wristwatch. She sighed.

—No matter how much you stare at it, it’s not going to move any faster —Booth commented, rolling his eyes.

—Looking doesn’t hurt anyone —she replied innocently.

Booth tilted his head with a crooked smile.

—Anyone would think you’re in a hurry to meet your boyfriend…

Tonks didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The silence was more eloquent than any reply.

The Universe Room had a peculiar gravity: it seemed to lighten the body, as if one were floating slightly, and yet it made thoughts heavier, as though every reflection carried more weight than usual.

Around them, celestial bodies turned in complete silence, held in place by enchantments that replicated the movements of the cosmos with uncanny precision. Saturn, its rings gleaming, slid through a slow and majestic arc; Jupiter, with its moons dancing around it, seemed to watch from afar like an ancient, knowing eye.

Tonks looked up.

The chamber was immense, like a dome without limits. In theory there was a ceiling above them, but she had never managed to see it. Only darkness, depth, and floating stars —as though the Department of Mysteries housed its own sky.

Sometimes it made her feel overwhelmed.

Other times, claustrophobic.

It was a strange contradiction: to be surrounded by vastness and yet know you were buried many metres underground.

Booth, deeply focused, was taking notes on a piece of parchment, resting it on his folder.

—You know —Tonks finally said, still staring at the cosmos— I think I’ve seen enough orbits to last a lifetime.

Booth chuckled softly without stopping his writing.

—Planets tiring you out?

—They don’t tire me out —she replied, dragging out the words—. Or at least… they didn’t two weeks ago.

She pushed herself away from the railing and walked a few steps, eyes fixed on the artificial sky. She stopped beneath the path of an asteroid slowly crossing the chamber, leaving a trail of golden sparks behind it.

She turned back toward her partner.

He was sitting on the floor, finishing a very precise sketch showing the position of Mars in relation to Saturn and Capricorn that night. Tonks leaned closer to look.

—Wow. That’s impressive —she murmured.

—Thanks —Booth replied without looking up.

Booth was passionate about astrology, and Tonks knew that for him being here was almost a privilege.

She watched the care with which he outlined the Moon’s craters, the orbital paths, the names written in tiny lettering.

—Although I admit you were right and visiting the Department of Mysteries is interesting… I think Moody was right too. This is starting to feel like a waste of time.

Booth didn’t answer.

He simply kept drawing with the same calm patience as always.

—It’s just frustrating not knowing what we’re supposed to be learning —she continued. —Fine, I get it. Time is dangerous, the soul is a mystery, and the universe is bigger than we are. What now? Do we keep coming back until a constellation enlightens me? Isn’t there anything with more… action? Energy? Life?

Booth shrugged with his usual serenity, as though none of this bothered him in the slightest.

—I think that’s exactly the point. Not to learn —but to accept that we don’t know everything.

Tonks glanced sideways at him, raising an eyebrow.

—Brilliant. The finest Auror training of the century: making you feel like an insect staring up at the sky.

Booth smiled with a mixture of resignation and humour, but said nothing.

As if, deep down, he agreed.

At least partly.

A blue comet cut diagonally across the room, leaving behind a trail that flickered like a wound of light. Tonks followed it with her eyes.

This room reminded her of Remus.

He was like the universe before her: visible, tangible… and yet completely mysterious. Just the way she liked it.

She smiled faintly to herself. Lately he felt closer than ever, and that had to be a good sign.

Maybe if she didn’t take too long leaving, she would arrive at headquarters just before the meeting started. And if she was lucky —very lucky— perhaps Remus would be there.

They could share a cup of tea. A glass of whiskey. A conversation.

Some time alone.

—Hey, Tonks —Booth’s voice broke the silence teasingly—. Your heart’s about to float out of your mouth.

Tonks blinked. She had been smiling without noticing.

Booth had stood up and was walking toward her, folder in hand. Without warning, he gave her a gentle shove.

—Hey! What are you doing? —she shouted as she tipped over the railing.

But she didn’t fall. Of course she didn’t. Nothing “fell” in this room.

She flipped once in the air and ended up floating, staring indignantly at Booth.

—Why did you do that?

Booth laughed and jumped over the railing himself, positioning himself beside her, suspended between planets as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

—Aren’t we here to marvel at the mysteries of the Department? —he teased—. Go on then. Marvel. And stop thinking so much. Wouldn’t want them to fail your rotation and make you start over.

—Merlin forbid —Tonks said, though she was laughing.

Booth performed a slow somersault, ending up upside down as he drifted beside her.

—So tell me —he whispered with mock innocence— who’s this charming fellow making you float more than zero gravity?

Tonks snorted.

—What are you talking about?

—Come on, Tonks… lately you can’t look at anything without needing sunglasses. That silly smile, that dreamy look… you’re floating. Even more than usual, I mean.

She covered her face with one hand, caught between laughter and embarrassment.

—All right, let’s see —he continued thoughtfully—. The guy with the coffee cart? The one who sings while making espresso?

Tonks burst out laughing but said nothing.

—No? Then it must be the wand inspection guy. You know —toad face, but probably kisses like a prince. Though… a bit too much slime.

Tonks shook her head, though a treacherous smile remained on her lips.

—You’re impossible.

—Ah, I’ve got it. —Booth snapped his fingers as if solving a puzzle. —You’re into brainy types. It’s a ridiculously handsome librarian, isn’t it? One of those who barely speaks but knows everything by heart.

Tonks covered her face with both hands, red to the tips of her ears.

Booth narrowed his eyes in amusement.

—Or… wait… —he tilted his head—. Maybe you like forbidden things. Perhaps… a professor?

Tonks froze.

—It’s a professor, isn’t it?

He straightened slightly and pointed accusingly.

—I bet it’s one of those tweed-jacket types who smell like old books and have that deep radio-announcer voice.

Booth glanced sideways, suspicious of her silence.

—Tonks?

She turned away, terribly unconvincing.

—He’s not my boyfriend! —she blurted at last, as if every drop of blood had rushed straight to her cheeks. And her hair.

Booth raised his eyebrows, delighted.

—Aha. I love being right.

Tonks snorted and dramatically pulled her hood over her flaming hair, as though she could hide from the entire universe.

—I’m disappearing —she muttered theatrically—. Dissolving into the Milky Way.

Booth laughed.

—Please don’t dissolve yet. It would be a shame if you evaporated right before the professor fell hopelessly in love with you.

Tonks spun around once more and looked at him, his eyes still gleaming with amusement. Luckily for her, she knew how to return the blow. With a sly smile she drifted closer.

—And you, Buzzi, how’s it going with the new cadet on Dawlish’s team? —she shot back sharply—. The one with the endless legs and the magazine-cover smile?

Booth froze.

—What?

—Has she fallen yet? Or is that still just theoretical? —Tonks continued sweetly, pointing at the folder he clutched to his chest.

Booth turned bright red and began to stammer.

—I mean… it’s not… theoretically… well maybe…

He stopped, trying to regain what dignity he could muster while an asteroid orbited lazily around him.

—We’re still in the empirical observation phase.

—Ah, yes. Precise Arithmancy —Tonks nodded solemnly. —Good luck with the practical part. Hope it doesn’t explode in the cauldron.

And without warning she pushed a small floating satellite toward him, which bounced off Booth like a magical ball. He gasped theatrically and launched himself after her.

And so, between planets, moons, orbits, and sharp-tongued teasing, time passed much faster.

When they finally left the Universe Room —a little later than they should have, because they had ended up throwing moons at each other like beach balls and arguing over whether Pluto should count as a planet— they emerged once more into the circular chamber.

The door closed behind them with its characteristic click, and the space began to rotate again.

Tonks stopped dead in the middle, hands on her hips. Twelve identical doors slowly began to revolve around them.

—All right, this kills me.

Booth blinked.

—What does?

Tonks gestured vaguely at the spinning room.

—This. The doors. The dizziness. How do the people who work here not get lost? I swear I once saw someone walk in and go straight to a door without even hesitating.

Booth tilted his head thoughtfully.

He rummaged through his folder, pulled out a folded note and read:

—“The circular chamber is designed to respond to the user’s intention. Stand in the centre and clearly visualise the desired room. The corresponding door will align before you.” —He looked up proudly. —Directional magic. Simple as that.

Tonks frowned.

—That’s it? Just think “I want the planet room” and done?

Booth nodded.

—Yes. But there’s a catch. You have to think it very clearly. If you hesitate, if you consider several rooms at once, or if your mind wanders… the room gets confused.

Tonks stepped into the centre, watching the doors spin.

They reminded her of the gates of a forgotten temple.

Or the gears of a clock without hands.

—What if we choose the wrong one?

Booth shrugged.

—You shouldn’t go through any unless you’re an Unspeakable. For everyone else, if you cross without authorisation… alarms go off. Literally.

—Wonderful —Tonks muttered.

She stayed in the centre a moment longer. Closed her eyes.

Universe room, she thought.

The doors slowed.

One of them stopped in front of her with a sharp, perfect click.

Tonks opened one eye.

—It works!

Booth approached, nodding approvingly.

—See? You’ve got it.

—Or so I think —she said sarcastically—. Shame we can’t actually check.

Booth rolled his eyes.

—Yes. Exactly. No.

He corrected himself seriously.

—I’d rather not explain that we were just testing what the alarms sound like.

Tonks raised both hands in surrender and stepped back.

—All right, all right. I’ll behave.

No way in the world did she ever want to hear those alarms again.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

And that’s it for today’s chapter.

As you can see, this time the Marauders have stepped right into the spotlight. I’ve been really looking forward to telling MY VERSION of how James, Sirius, and Peter start putting the pieces together… and to putting words to that exact moment when reality hits like a slammed door: the moon, the calendar, the silences, the certainty. I hope my reconstruction of events works for you — to me, it feels very them: curious, uneasy, stubborn… and, in the end, incredibly loyal.

Also, I’m finally showing you one of the Department of Mysteries rooms I’m most obsessed with: the Universe Room. In my head, it’s like a huge interactive planetarium, but with that weird, beautiful, absurd Rowling magic: strange gravity, comets slicing through the air, planets orbiting all around you… and a feeling that’s half “wow, this is incredible” and half “I’m losing my mind in here.” And yes, I also picture it a bit like a ball pit, the kind you were obsessed with as a kid… and, honestly, as an adult it’s even better (because now you actually appreciate how therapeutic it is to throw yourself into something ridiculous and stop thinking for five minutes). So, Booth and Tonks messing around between orbits was inevitable.

If you enjoyed it, I’d love to read you in the comments: what hit you harder: the Marauders’ discovery, or the cosmic chaos of Tonks floating around in there? I know you wish you could be there, trust me, I can read your minds ;D

If you enjoyed the chapter, any interaction — a like, a comment, sharing it — means a great deal. It supports me more than you might think and keeps me motivated to continue writing.

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