The sky above Hogwarts was deep blue, the sun already gone behind the forest, and the wind carried the smell of pine and something older—stone, wax, dusted memory.
Cronos Greywood stood just outside the gates of the castle he once called home.
Behind him, footsteps echoed with soft confidence.
"Talking to yourself already?" came the familiar dry voice of Severus Snape.
Cronos smiled faintly. "You'd prefer I talk to you?"
Snape fell into step beside him. "I'd prefer silence. But you never respected that."
"Some things don't change."
"Unfortunately."
They passed beneath the winged boar statues and through the open gates. The courtyard was dimly lit, the torches casting long shadows on the walls.
Snape glanced at him sideways. "Still wearing that ridiculous monocle?"
Cronos adjusted it with two fingers. "It helps me see through sarcasm."
Snape's lips twitched. "Then it must be broken."
As they walked through the castle's outer halls, the sounds of the feast carried faintly from the Great Hall. The corridor glowed with flickering torchlight and the hush of old stone.
Cronos slowed as his hand brushed along the wall—quietly, instinctively.
It's all still here.All the questions. All the weight.And something else… watching.
Snape walked a step ahead, his voice lower now. "Dumbledore trusts you enough to give you a class."
"He always did like risky bets."
"I would've guessed you'd end up in the Department of Mysteries, or dead."
Cronos shrugged. "One's not far from the other."
They reached the side door near the staff entrance. Snape paused, his tone briefly more curious than cutting.
"Do you remember your Sorting?"
"Vividly," Cronos replied. "The Hat said I was either dangerous or brilliant."
"It was half right."
Cronos chuckled. "You never liked me much, did you?"
"I like quiet. You weren't quiet."
"Still not."
Snape gave a thin smile and opened the door.
"Try not to frighten the children."
"No promises."
Inside the Great Hall
Candlelight floated above enchanted plates, flickering gold over the four long house tables. The ceiling above swirled with stars and wisps of night clouds. It was almost identical to his memory—down to the smell of warm bread and polished oak.
Cronos entered with little fanfare and took a seat near the far end of the staff table, not far from a vacant chair he assumed belonged to Hagrid. Dumbledore gave him a slight nod from the center of the table. The twinkle in his eye was unreadable.
Across the hall, rows of wide-eyed first-years stood before the Sorting Hat.
"Ronald Weasley!"
Cronos watched the nervous red-haired boy stumble toward the stool. His monocle shimmered faintly—so faint no one but him would notice.
Not a crack, he thought. Just... a flutter.
A flicker in the atmosphere. Brief. Harmless.
"Gryffindor!"
Cheers erupted from the table in red and gold.
Then—
"Hermione Granger!"
A bushy-haired girl walked briskly to the stool. As the Sorting Hat touched her head, Cronos's monocle brightened for the briefest second.
He blinked.
Bright aura. Very bright. Maybe too bright for her age.
"Gryffindor!"
The same flicker of applause, but Cronos was still watching her—calmly, without expression.
Then came the name that tilted the air.
"Harry Potter!"
A pause rippled through the hall.
Cronos leaned forward slightly.
The boy walked forward with quiet nerves, black hair untamed, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He sat. The hat fell over his head. The room held its breath.
No shimmer. No flicker.
But Cronos felt it.
Something subtle. Like a second heartbeat behind the first.
"Gryffindor!"
Applause burst out again, but Cronos didn't move. He just watched.
Harry made his way to the Gryffindor table—just another boy in the crowd, except...
He glanced up. Their eyes met for a heartbeat.
Cronos's expression didn't change. But inwardly, a thought echoed:
He doesn't know me. But the moment recognizes itself.
He adjusted his monocle and looked back to the front.
The threads are in place. For now.
Cronos blinked slowly as the applause for the last student faded into chatter.
The golden glow of the Hall dimmed slightly in his mind, and for a moment, he wasn't sitting at the staff table. He was eleven again.
He remembered standing before the Sorting Hat, heart pounding, arms stiff at his sides.
The hat had barely touched his head when it spoke.
"Well, well. You're already asking questions. Most don't dare. Hmm... Ravenclaw, perhaps. But you're not just clever. No, there's something deeper. Old. Restless."
"I want to understand," he had whispered in his thoughts. "Everything."
"Understanding is dangerous," the Hat replied. "And you? You might just be a danger to more than yourself. Slytherin would hone that edge. But Ravenclaw... might keep you curious enough not to break things."
"Put me where I'll find the truth."
The Hat had chuckled.
"RAVENCLAW!"
He remembered the uncertain applause, the long table of students who didn't know whether to cheer or be wary.
And Dumbledore's calm eyes watching him even then.
The Hall had emptied. Only the hum of floating candles and the quiet clinking of plates remained.
Cronos stood near the high windows, watching the stars shift above the enchanted ceiling.
"You've returned with less grey than I expected," said a warm voice behind him.
Cronos turned. "And you've got more."
Dumbledore smiled, his half-moon spectacles catching the candlelight. "It suits me. I find that wisdom grows easier when the hair fades."
They stood for a moment, letting the silence breathe.
Then Dumbledore's voice lowered, gentle but probing.
"How does it feel to be home?"
Cronos glanced around. "Familiar. But not quiet."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "There's never silence where time is watching."
"It's watching a little too closely," Cronos said under his breath.
Dumbledore studied him. "You felt it already?"
Cronos nodded once.
"Subtle tremors. No cracks, but the current is shifting. Some threads are... louder than they should be."
"Harry," Dumbledore said simply.
"Him. And the girl. Hermione. And another... Longbottom, maybe."
Dumbledore sighed, not in frustration, but in weight.
"The timeline isn't broken, Cronos. Not yet. But something ancient has stirred."
Cronos looked at him. "You mean Voldemort?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with something far older than fear.
"Not just him. There are older names. Older shadows."
He stepped forward and placed a hand gently on Cronos's shoulder.
"That's why I brought you back. Not just to teach. But to listen."
Cronos gave a soft, ironic smile.
"To listen to time?"
"To listen before it screams."
Dumbledore stepped lightly around a table, retrieving two teacups from a floating tray that hadn't yet returned to the kitchens. He offered one to Cronos.
"Professor of Temporal and Spacial Theories," he said, sipping calmly. "Has a nice ring to it."
Cronos smirked. "Bit much for a timetable slot."
"Most students will hear 'theories' and expect diagrams and equations."
Cronos raised a brow. "They'll be disappointed."
Dumbledore's smile faded slightly, his tone more serious now. "Just how much do you plan to teach them?"
Cronos looked into the teacup, watching the steam swirl like mist over a memory.
"Only what they can survive."
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened. "That's still too much."
He moved to the high window and glanced out over the distant Black Lake. The moonlight made his silver beard shimmer like threads of starlight.
"Time magic is a razor," he said softly. "Most minds bleed before they understand it. And some… never stop."
Cronos was quiet for a long moment.
"You think I'll break them?"
"I think you'll awaken things they're not ready to hear," Dumbledore said. "Some truths have gravity. Once spoken, they pull."
He turned to face Cronos fully now.
"Teach the history. Teach the theory. The safe edges. But don't hand them the blade."
"Even the most brilliant student might try to cut the future open—just to see what falls out."
Cronos nodded once. "Understood."
Dumbledore studied him a moment longer.
"The Hat told me you had the curiosity of a god and the patience of a thunderstorm."
"It also called me annoying."
"I'm sure it meant it kindly."
The candles in the Great Hall began to dim, one by one, as the castle settled into the night.
Dumbledore turned, stepping toward the side door.
"Your classroom has been prepared. Fourth floor, west tower. I thought you'd like the view."
"As long as it has a clock," Cronos said quietly.
"Several," Dumbledore replied, already walking away. "But none that run quite the way yours does."