It had been another late evening of studying. The trio wandered the quieter corridors of the castle, far from the bustle of common rooms and classrooms, their parchment notes on Animagi rolled up and tucked under their arms. They were talking in hushed excitement about what they'd uncovered so far—rituals, ingredients, and magical theory—but Hadrian couldn't shake the feeling that something was still missing.
Yes, they had scraped together a surprising amount of information for first years. But instinct told him there was more—something deeper, more complete—waiting to be found.
As they moved down a little-used hallway somewhere between the fourth and fifth floor, Hadrian paused.
Ahead was a door.
Not hidden, but overlooked. Its brass handle was dull with time, the wood dusty and unblemished by fingerprints. He hadn't noticed it before. Something about it… called to him.
He slowed, heart thudding. With a quiet thought, he opened the book in his mind and made a change: Let Iris feel this tug—faint but real—pulling her toward the room.
Behind him, Iris stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed.
"…Do you feel that?"
Dora blinked. "Feel what?"
Iris tilted her head toward the door, frowning. "I… I don't know. It's probably nothing, but it's like… I think we should look in there."
Hadrian turned toward her, feigning curiosity. "In there? That door?"
She nodded, already stepping forward.
"Alright," he said, and just as his hand reached the handle, he made one more change with the book in his mind: Let this room contain an expanded trunk hidden behind a repair table—once belonging to the Marauders. Let it contain all their Animagus research and prank supplies. And let there be another book… Lily Evans' personal potion notebook, filled with seven years of brilliance.
With a faint click, the door creaked open.
Dust billowed around them. The scent of aged wood, oil, and something faintly magical hung in the air. The room was long forgotten, with broken or half-dismantled trunks piled against the walls. Old tools were scattered across tables, enchanted wheels and hinges frozen mid-repair.
"This must've been a trunk repair workshop," Dora said in wonder.
"Looks abandoned," Iris murmured, stepping inside and brushing her fingers across a rusted clamp.
They spread out, peeking into old drawers and overturned trunks. But Hadrian was drawn toward the back—toward the far-right corner, where a wooden table half-covered a trunk that shimmered oddly in the dim light.
"There," he said, moving aside the table with Dora's help.
The trunk was dark brown, reinforced with brass corners. It looked unremarkable—except for the faint magical signature it emitted. Hadrian touched it, and with a satisfying click, the trunk's lid popped open.
Inside was… more space than there should have been.
The trio exchanged excited glances, then climbed in.
They found themselves standing in a magically expanded interior, dimly lit by enchanted sconces. Shelves lined the walls—some collapsed, some still neatly stacked. There were piles of joke items: Puking Pastilles, Detonating Dice, Fanged Frisbees—but unlike the Weasleys' newer chaos, these were prototypes, experimental and bizarre.
In one corner sat stacks of parchment tied with red twine—handwritten notes, schematics, timelines.
"This… This is the Marauders' trunk," Dora whispered, her voice reverent.
Hadrian moved to one of the stacks and read the top label: "Animagus Trials: Sirius, James, Peter – Year 5."
He exhaled. "Exactly what we needed."
"And look," Iris said, holding up a slim, leather-bound book. She blew off the dust and read the name engraved on the cover. "Lily Evans."
The book was filled with meticulous handwriting, potion diagrams, improvements, experiments, even side-notes speculating on adapting certain potions for modern ingredients.
"She really was a genius," Dora murmured.
There was silence as they sat in the soft glow of the sconces, each of them paging through treasures of another time. It felt like the Marauders and Lily had left a part of themselves behind—not just for legacy, but for someone they might never know. For future mischief-makers. For kin in spirit.
That night, back in their dorms, the trio carefully tucked the Lily Evans book into Iris's bottom drawer and wrapped the Marauders' Animagus notes in enchanted parchment for safekeeping.
"Now," Hadrian whispered as they settled into bed, "we really have everything we need."
Not just information, but a connection. A spark. A trail of magical breadcrumbs left by those who had walked the path before them.
The Animagus dream was no longer distant.
It was destiny—waiting.