"First, pin down the exact timeline."
"Harry arrived last night—half a day ahead of me."
Argus murmured to himself as he cast a Disillusionment Charm, rendering his form nearly invisible. He had no intention of charging after Harry recklessly. Why gamble his neck when he was here for a job? Better to handle his own business first.
His primary mission was rescuing Peter Pettigrew, but the moment hadn't arrived yet. The version of himself from the unaltered timeline hadn't captured the rat Animagus.
Pulling out the Marauder's Map, Argus located Harry and gave a slight nod. At least the boy hadn't been fool enough to come storming after him upon arrival. If he had, even Dumbledore might not have pulled him from the fire.
"I've been using the Time-Turner for classes lately," Argus reasoned. "Step out now, and there'd be three of me roaming Hogwarts simultaneously. One slip, and it's all exposed."
He needed to bide his time in a safe spot until his first Time-Turner self looped back. Stepping out too soon would risk a collision with his counterpart, ripping the timeline apart.
The first-floor bathroom had been his ritual spot for Time-Turner sessions. Lingering here now would clash with that earlier self, creating paradoxes. In the original events, Harry had looped back to save Sirius without directly crossing his past self—no rifts, just seamless cause and effect. Argus wasn't about to play hero and jeopardize that for Harry's sake.
Decision made, he slipped under the Disillusionment Charm toward the castle's outskirts, melting into the shadows as he waited for dusk. Only when the map confirmed his earlier self had vanished on the Time-Turner did he check Harry's position again.
But a headache loomed: two Harrys dotted the map inside Hogwarts. Which was the Time-Turner version?
The map was a castle marvel, spotting even Harry under his Invisibility Cloak, but it only named dots—no details. Like the time Harry mistook Barty Crouch Sr. for Jr. in the books.
No time to waste. Argus trailed the map to the stairwell. Harry should be above, but the landing was empty. Instead, Lupin crept downward, stealthy as a shadow.
If Argus hadn't been watching closely, he'd have missed him entirely.
"This must be right after Harry startled me by accident, drawing me after him," Argus thought. "So this Harry's from the original timeline—not the looped one."
He'd researched before arriving. Rescuing someone lost in a time rift meant intercepting just before the deviation, preserving the path. Yank them too early, and you'd unravel everything, stranding both versions. Botch it, and the rescue failed.
Worse, he had no clue when or where Harry had veered off.
Then, through the stair layers, Argus spotted himself emerging from the library. Watching one's past self from afar was an odd thrill—eerie, almost surreal.
But unease crept in. Lupin and Harry were pulling away, yet the stone statue that should have toppled remained upright. No alert.
A wild thought struck: "Bloody hell, was that shadowy figure from before... me?"
If so, it clicked. Everything aligned.
As Harry and his past self drifted farther, Argus flicked a silent, wandless spell. The statue toppled with a muffled thud, drawing the original timeline's gaze upward.
The track realigned.
...
"Mr. Potter, do you realize the punishment for assaulting a professor at Hogwarts?"
"You're just like your father—resorting to cheap tricks!"
In the Shrieking Shack, Snape's voice dripped venom.
From outside, Argus spied Harry trailing them under his Invisibility Cloak. He'd clocked the boy the instant he slipped from the castle. The cloak hid his shape but left footprints, disturbed air—sloppy details Harry ignored.
As minutes ticked by, Snape's fury built. Dark curses flew at the trio inside: Harry, Ron, Hermione, and especially Sirius, who drew the worst.
Argus held still, eyes on his past self in the room. It was a game of wits stacked against him—his current knowledge outmatched the oblivious original.
Time was slipping. If Snape kept pressing, Sirius would be too battered to flee.
His gaze shifted to the Shack's sagging roof. Abandoned since Lupin's graduation, save for the Weasley twins' pranks, the place was a ruin.
"Collapse the roof? Easy. But triggering Lupin's change... Boggart's no good—its forms are fixed. A glowing orb won't mimic a full moon convincingly."
"Even Dumbledore couldn't Transfigure a proper moon without knowing its makeup."
Stalemate.
Inside, the group's defenses crumbled under the onslaught. Impatience gnawed at Argus.
"Snape, you're the Potions Master, aren't you?" he muttered. "Why are you a damn duel monster? Slow down—give me a second to think!"
Then it hit: no need for a real moon. Wolfsbane Potion tamed werewolves on full-moon nights, keeping their minds intact. Flip it—use counter-ingredients to shatter that control, forcing a frenzy?
He'd prepped for this in the Room of Requirement, anticipating Sirius's plot. He'd stocked supplies, even recent hauls from Hagrid.
Perfect.
"Wolfsbane Potion's core: aconite, monkshood, wolfsbane leaves..." Argus recalled. "Substitutes: nightshade, silverroot—close enough."
"Transfigure them into a moon's glow, and it'll catalyze the shift for Lupin."
With that, the plan solidified—time to brew a wolf's awakening.
---
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