~Phantasma~

Ashes of secrets
The pride of the fallen;
Eternal abyss of time
The enemy of indecision;
Silver veins of memories
The haunted specters following...

She stared blankly at the varnished table before her, scattered with various parchments and peacock quills. Her dull grey eyes strained to take in the two vials centered among the papers, one starkly empty and the other a cloudy, ghostly green that reminded her of the specters she’d seen in graveyards. Her stomach balked at the ghastly color, a strong reminder that she was, once more, going against her father’s wishes. She imagined silver streaks among the smoky liquid, and wondered if she should go forward with her plan. The potion didn’t seem deadly after all.

But where was he? She already felt chills on her pale skin from sneaking to this chamber, but now her heart beat out a sense of foreboding, pulsing imaginary words, â€�“Trap… It’s a trap.” The very idea caused her to shudder.

She recalled meeting him that fateful day outside of Borgin and Burkes, resplendent in velvet robes of a dark forest green. He held himself in a way that suggested wealth and power, and she had done her best to remain hidden in the cobblestone alley, despondent and ashy grey. But he had spotted her and seemed to guess who she was.

â€�“What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be keeping the house for your father?” His tone wasn’t altogether accusatory; instead, a slight amusement played on his lips.

She didn’t answer, trying to find a way to escape, to get away from the watching world. But she needed to buy certain ingredients right then- or wait for the next minimal sliver of opportunity to arrive.

â€�“Say, what’s your name again? Calliope?”

Her eyes were blinking a little too fast as she narrowed her gaze to her dirty, naked feet. She gave the tiniest shake of her head, wanting to vanish into the brick wall.

â€�“Well, what is it?”

Why was he bugging her? Couldn’t he just stroll on by, forget she even existed? But she saw the tiny curly M embroidered into the velvet cloak and recognized it as the Malfoy trademark. Her father had talked loudly and boastfully of a friendship with the Malfoys. She wondered if it wasn’t just another lie, meant to degrade her lack of magical connections with the outside world further.

Hesitating slightly, she raised her heavy-set face to the man. â€�“Merope,” she mumbled inaudibly, but it was enough of a sound for Malfoy to pick it up.

â€�“Merope Gaunt. That’s what it was! Pity about your brother and father,” He didn’t sound sorry at all, an insincere sympathizing smile plastered onto his young face.

She didn’t return the smile, reverting back to staring at the ground, her lank hair hanging in thin, ugly twists.

â€�“Never seen you at Hogwarts. I graduated two years back, landed a job with my father’s company and now I have some standing in the community. Gold is never too far away from power,” he knowingly said, striking an arrogant pose. She wondered briefly what it would be like to have some gold in her possession. Perhaps she’d be able to impress Tom, and buy a lifetime of supplies for the love potion she planned on making. But the only gold to her name was an heirloom, a depressing reminder of how low her family had stooped and squandered away whatever fortune they may have had. That locket lay in a drawer, gathering dust, having been abandoned when her family had been thrown into Azkaban.

â€�“Let me buy you a drink,” the man suggested slyly, barely containing the eagerness he had for information. Merope’s face grew, if possible, heavier, but she reluctantly stumbled after the young fellow to the bar.

That day didn’t seem that long ago. He had thrown his money all around the bar, buying drink after drink and gossiping with the other men, springing questions on her that she felt compelled to answer. She feared that if she didn’t cooperate that this seemingly friendly man would turn nasty and become like her father, abusive and rowdy.

His name was Abraxas, and he was indeed a Malfoy. He joked about the conditions of those in prison and gloated over the fact that he was higher in status than many men. He even boasted that he was an old hand at magic, graduated top of his class.

She didn’t know what was truth and what was lies. Half the time, Abraxas contradicted himself, saying that he had grown up in a pureblood town up north and later recalling having a childhood in the south of France. But she patiently bore the noise, unwilling to speak up or leave.

Somehow, the conversation had turned to her. What was she doing out here, in Knockturn Alley? Why wasn’t she at home, like a good daughter, tending her duties?

Lying had never been a strong suit of hers. She stuttered out a story of wanting to brew a potion, but not having the means to do so. But she remained quiet on her intentions.

â€�“I am an excellent potioneer!” Abraxas bragged. â€�“Let me help you. I have all the gold to help you out and I even have a lab set up where I can brew the potion. What potion did you want?”

Her lungs seized up, but she didn’t have the strength to resist the question, and she did need the money. â€�“A love potion,” she whispered, half to herself, her eyes boring into her hands.

The table now in front of her was daunting. She didn’t know much about potions, but it seemed that Abraxas had succeeded in brewing something. She still couldn’t understand the ulterior motives Malfoy had, but she was grateful for the help.

Until she picked up the papers.

Curiosity nabbed her when she finally tore her gaze from the vials and glanced at the strange symbols on the parchment. Her hand, shaking with a slight tremor, delicately held up the paper. Her mind whirred with the revelations she was reading.

In black ink, several formulas had been written down, and drawings of an odd nature were depicted, showing loops with hazy streams and men stumbling into them. Two words stood out against all the rest: Time Travel.

She almost sunk to a heap on the floor. To be able to travel in time! She could do anything, become anyone, gain every dream.

Merope wasn’t very intelligent- her father continually shouted this at her - but she could feel her brain whirring, taking in this new revelation, especially when she flipped the parchment and found a drawing of the vials on the table.

She could go back in time by drinking the potion!

Slowly, her euphoria depleted. Where was Malfoy? He had promised to meet her here. And why was one vial empty, when the drawing showed both of them full?

Her wits finally came about. Abraxas must have drunk the potion. He must have gone back in time.

But how was he to get back?

A new sense of adventure thrilled through her veins, but she coiled from them. Never before had she such a desire to be rash. Abraxas was probably merely late. Her mind told her that this was probably the love potion, but her heart screamed approval of the adventure. It would be a new leaf, a new life. The tendrils of silver steam rising from the potion attached themselves to her heart, tugging her forward, gently whispering of dreams and glory.

She grabbed the vial full of the murky green liquid. Her mind quailed at the color, but she forced it aside. It was too late for doubts now.

Yet she paused anyways. Would she be able to get back?

The notes on the table were scattered in every direction, but she felt it would be wise to gather them up. Abraxas might need them. If she didn’t find him, perhaps she could decipher the notes and actually use magic. Actually brew a potion. Then she wouldn’t be the Squib her father saw in her. She would be a real witch.

The dream excited her even more, and she hastily gathered up the parchments, rustling them into a messy bundle, unaware that one piece slid from among her arms and settled into the niche between the farthest table leg and the stonewall.

She only had eyes for the green potion, which she put to her lips, and deeply drank, anticipating the journey back in time.

---

Nothing happened for a heartbeat as the liquid rushed into her bloodstream. The vial fell to the floor, shattering, but before the glass could penetrate her skin, a tremendous tug yanked her into blackness, her body fizzing out of the present.

Flicks and streaks of light swirled around her, sometimes grazing her pasty arms with a slight buzz. She could feel her body convulsing, stretching, desperate to fall apart and become a part of the wandering particles zipping past. She almost let it happen. Almost. But as she sped along, her mind berated her for having made such a rash decision. Who knew when she would return? Who knew where she was going exactly? Or to be more precise, when? The unanswered questions plagued her.

Her body tingled with loneliness and despair as she realized she might never see Tom again. She almost burst into tears, but she had long lost the ability to do so. An empty, hollow ache expanded in her stomach. Desperately, she conjured up an image of her beloved Tom, struggling to remember every detail- his sharp nose, hollowed cheeks, rich dark eyes, wavy raven hair...

It kept her together, this memory of him. She no longer wished to meld with the time stream. She longed to return home, to be rid of this terrifying experience. But she couldn't. Not yet. She didn't know how.

Her grey eyes stayed shut through the entire vile journey, unwilling to let go of the image of Tom, imagining him smiling warmly at her. Dreaming of a future with him.

She quite suddenly found herself standing unsteadily, warmth enveloping her from some unknown source. Her hold on the notes relaxed, her fingers unclenching in the serene air.

Her eyes flew open in curiosity, and Tom dissipated from her conscious. The golden sun blazed above, not a cloud in the sky. It was a vibrant baby blue, a color she had never experienced much before, slaving around the hovel and stumbling around the murky allies. The blue filled her eyes, making her look less despondent, and actually thinning her face out, especially considering the fact that she was smiling slightly at the view before her.

And what a view it was! The verdant fields were lush and springy, the trees full of brightly hued leaves, lazily shading various parts of the meadow. Dark rich shrubs bore vibrant morning glories and forget-me-nots. In a large clearing that not far away, a fantastic ruin of marble and limestone stood, lonely and majestic.

Merope tentatively strolled to the ruin, enjoying the luscious feel of the spongy ground beneath her feet, the grassy texture inviting after years of stumbling on stone and dusty wood. She wanted to just lie down and take in the new experience, but there was too much else to see! She allowed herself to slowly trail along the tops of the grass blades, awakening a new sense of passion inside her deprived heart.

The ruin was made up of chairs in a grand circle, almost as if it had once been the site for many council gatherings. There were five, to be precise, of the gray marbled thrones that delicately sparkled in the warm sun, with their high backs that had been chiseled away by the weather over the years.

She had never sat down in such a chair- she had never sat in a chair, for that matter. She had always been resigned to the muddy floors for her meals and never been given a special place to do any sewing or yarn work. Not that she particularly enjoyed those activities. But the fact of the matter was that she had never truly sat in a chair. Not even when Abraxas had bought her a drink. She had stood by the counter because the place had been full to bursting with drunk patrons.

But now, she wanted to sit. She yearned to settle into the carved seats. The thrones were inviting, and the silver veins in the limestone and marble drew her heart in, whispering into the light breeze to cast her burdens aside and relax.

Her thin fingers traced the back of the largest chair, marveling at the feel of the cool, smooth texture against her calloused hands. It felt clean and invigorating. Tiny stars fizzed in her nerves, causing her to pleasurably shiver. Something radiated off these stones. Something spoken of, but rarely understood by mankind. Something that filled her soul with an expanding glow of airiness, warmth, and power. Something that tore off the veil she had lived behind for years in her mind, arousing a renewed sense of immortal being...

She stumbled back, her grey eyes suddenly dulling from the electric blue hue they had taken on. Fear thrilled inside her. Never had she so strongly desired power, to lift up her wand and use it commandingly. Trembling, she sunk to the verdant ground, tears welling in her eyes. Tears! She gingerly wiped one with the tip of her finger and marveled at the tiny drop. It was irregularly colored, reflecting startling reds and violets. She peered closer, interested in spite of herself.

Within the tiny globe, a massive building stood, a beacon of hope. But suddenly, it was crumbling, shrieking with agony, red and green streaks slashing the air. Dark and vile figures overtook innocent ones. At the very front of the matter was a skeletal being, stark white with slits for a nose and angry red eyes. He laughed a high, cold sound that caused the tiny hairs on Merope's skin to rise. She was shivering uncontrollably now, and her head bowed into her knees, the teardrop evaporating into the silent air.

She lay there, sobbing, wailing, unable to stop herself. She couldn't say why, only that her heart suddenly felt as though it had been cleaved into several bloody pieces. Levers and hammers struck against her head, searching for the right niches to break off her stone figure. She ached from crying, her throat burning with the passion of hellfire, drowning with leaden sorrows. Darkness encompassed her, flooding her mind, her heart, her soul...


---

She did not know how long she knelt on the plush grass, all her emotions flooding the pleats of her bedraggled skirt, searing pain racking her entire body. All she knew was the raucous laughter rankling her, refusing to release its terrifying hold on her.

When she finally raised her slick and oily face, night was approaching swiftly, the sky splattered with various oranges and vivid pinks. An icy tint stung the silent air, and she knew that she had to get moving or else become victim to nature.

She glanced at the ruin that had caused her distress, now reflecting the colors of the sky with silvery hues. Innocently, it stood there, the revelation of earlier power extinct and unknown to the unenlightened mind. But she could not shake the previous agony that had erupted inside her. Still trembling, she struggled to her feet. She knew she would not soon forget the image of that skeletal creature, wickedly laughing at the world, its distant echo still pounding in her poor ears.

Turning her back on the ruin, she searched among the trees for a way out. She realized with startling fear that she hadn’t any idea where she was- nor when she was, for that matter. Her eyes roamed over some small podiums to her right, appearing similar to that of old sun dials. She cautiously approached them, remembering what had happened when she had touched the throne.

The tiny structures were similar in makeup as the thrones, a warning sign in her beleaguered mind. Yet still, she drew closer, curiosity and desperation hounding her.

When she stood directly in the center space between two podiums, a path suddenly twisted opened before her, lined by hundreds of trees and covered in an infinite amount of miniscule grey pebbles. Her feet quickly pushed her forward, but she resisted, unsure of what lay ahead. Indecision sickened her, a hot swooping sensation boiling her belly. Why was it that she was terrified of being bold and daring? Perhaps because she was, at least, somewhat safe in this clearing. Who knew what was in the distance, waiting to cause her more pain?

The chilled breeze sank into her bones, and she hugged her arms close to her frozen chest, her breathing sharp, the papers providing little warmth that she still clung to. She cast a cursory glance at the still podiums that were simple in their nature. She longed now to stay, to sit in the chairs and relax, but the biting cold was her savior. She feared that if she sat, she would be overwhelmed more than she had been and be unable to escape, eventually freezing to the thrones and becoming a part of the ruin. This was nonsense, of course, but still, it saved her from becoming stagnant and simply staying behind.

Desperate for warmth and for answers, she set one foot on the revealed path. Nothing stupendous happened. Relaxing, she continued on the path, yet the laughter followed her.

She had been walking for perhaps a minute when she turned her eyes to what was behind her. All she saw was foliage, swallowed up in darkness. She gasped. Merope traced her steps backward, but the path extended into a dead end, a large rocky wall covered in twisting vines. No clearing, no podiums, no marbled ruin.

Dejectedly, she pressed forward onto the never-ending path, now spooked by each sound in the trees and the pebbles. At least the sky was available overhead, slowly fading into a deep, inky blue.

Something was wrong. The coloring of the night sky was all right, but it was not peppered by the stars. There wasn’t a cloud obscuring them, either. And she could see no evidence of the elusive moon. The sky was just a blank, dark blue canvas.

The trees were similar. Uniform in a dark, evil forest green; unpatterned, the leaves were as smooth parchment, without veins. The pebbles below her were perfect spheres, just as blank.

Thoroughly disconcerted, she shut her eyes from the disturbing images. She was met by complete darkness. The usual spots of purple or yellow did not even appear. Just utter blackness. Try as she might, she could not conjure up any images in her thoughts. What had time travel done to her?

The laughter still echoed in her ears.

With a cry of distress that she could not even hear, she began to race along the path, parchments furled up in her fists, the pebbles digging into her bare feet as sharp swords. Identical trees passed by not in blurs, but in sharp focus. It spurred her on faster, wishing, yearning to find the end of the trail. But she had never ran for her life before. Within a few minutes, her body quit, and she collapsed to the pebbled floor.

Confusion swept through her. What was going on? She had drank a potion, traveled to a ruin, found this trail, and was now unable to focus on anything but the blank, uniform shapes and the terrible laughter that refused to leave her be.

She crawled over the pebbles, ignoring the pain of the indentations they placed into her weak knees. Was she crazy? She struggled to recall past events, but only the skeletal figure came into her conscious thought.

She paused in her efforts to move, and let her shoulders slouch from weariness.

Magic.

The word penetrated her exhaustion. Magic.

She stared down at the papers in her hand, miraculously unharmed from the trip. Magic had surely brought her here. Magic could save her.

Hand shaking, she reached into a bedraggled pocket and clasped her wand. Magic.

The wand wasn’t much, having gotten it from a second-hand shop, but it had, as her father had distastefully grunted, chosen her. But she was wary of it. Never had she been much of a witch. She knew of spells, but found that she lacked conviction and confidence in her ability. Of course, she didn’t see it that way. She honestly thought that she was mediocre, as her father said. It was why she sought to make a potion, rather than use a spell, to get Tom to fall for her. She knew she could cook, at least.

Magic. She didn’t know if she liked it. It felt alien within her mind. But perhaps it would save her from this confusing circumstance. Yet what should she do? Abraxas had been right- he hadn’t seen her at Hogwarts. She had never gone to school.

Something caught her eye in the distance. A velvet green rag waved to her from a low branch, similar to the cloth Malfoy wore.

The laughter had yet to die out, but it had slowly taken a back seat to her other thoughts that now shoved her to be heard. Malfoy’s cloak. That meant he had come through here. And he must have gotten out, since she didn’t see him.

She slowly plucked it from the branch. As her fingers touched the material, her mind cleared, and she only had a single thought. Finite Incantatem.

Dropping the velvet, she quickly seized her wand, and loudly stated, â€�“Finite Incantatem!”

The blankness fell away, stars twinkled above, and a breeze flitted by her face. Ahead, the trail came to another clearing.

Bewildered at what just happened, Merope could only stare down at her wand. Magic. Had she really just performed magic?

The trail was more inviting now than before, and the worried creases in the sorrowful folds framing her face smoothed themselves out. There hadn’t been any danger. At least, she was safe, right?

Stowing her wand away, she hurried along the path to the clearing she could see, the bundle of loose parchments rustling in the wind, eager to share the knowledge inked upon them.

---

She was growing weary now of time travel. The clearing a couple miles back had been just that- a clearing. She had continued along the path, and now found herself deep in some forest somewhere. If this was time travel, she wanted desperately out. She was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted. The night continued to mock her, and the laughter still hadn’t fully dissipated. What was she to do now?

She’d given up on stopping. It was too cold to do so. Every now and then she leaned against a tree for a respite, but she wouldn’t allow herself to sit down. She knew if she did, there wouldn’t be a getting-up-again.

It irked her that she hadn’t found Malfoy. She still held those stupid papers that she was tempted to just toss on the side of the trail, but some deeper instinct inhibited her from doing so. If she lost the notes, she may as well lose her normal life in the future. Or in the past? She wasn’t sure. For all she knew, she possibly hadn’t even traveled in time. She considered the idea. And almost immediately let it go. Her brain hurt from thinking, especially since the laughter kept interjecting how it felt.

The hours passed by, and her breathing became more weighted; her pace, deadly slow. The stars slowly lost their twinkle and began to disappear, taking on a paler blue. Rays of yellow light started to inch along the canvas above, and morning dawned, silent and early. The silence pricked at her heart. She found that she missed company, even if it was rude and raucous company. Even if the company glared at her and hissed at her in Parseltongue. Or maybe not. Maybe being alone had its advantages. But she truly missed Tom. She hadn’t gotten a chance to see him before drinking that dratted potion. Who knew when she would see him again?

She could go no more. Her will dissolved and she found herself collapsing against a skinny, mossy tree. She noticed that the path had changed from pebbles to dirt. Scrumptious dirt. Like the dirt at home. Like the dirt thinly veiling her skin.

She was surrounded by patches of clover that were a lustrous green brighter than even the grass back home. Clover. It made her smile. Clover reminded her of the crazy Irish she had read about. Of the gold at the end of a rainbow. With a small sigh, her shoulders rolled back against the tree. What she wouldn’t give for a rainbow right now or a pot of gold.

She plucked one particular weed from the compact ground and twirled it in front of her. such a small thing, barely discernable from the rest of the patch. She wished fervently that she could blend in just as well, become one with the background so nobody could pick her out. Yet, she had picked up this one. This particular clover. Maybe it didn’t blend in. Maybe nothing ever did.

It was time to sleep. Exhaustion yanked at her deprived mind, and her head lolled onto her bony shoulder, the laughter still echoing in her sore ears.

---

Something buzzed in her face. It was irksome more than ticklish, and the noise was starting to become worse than the infernal laughter that still continued to permeate her thoughts.

Instinctively, she flicked her hand in the air to ward off the annoying cretin, eyes still full of sleep. Something like a small painful needle suddenly pierced her skin, jolting her straight up.

She took in the hot afternoon sun, and the now swarming crowd of lacewing flies that hastened about the little area she had settled into. Charming. Tiredly, she glanced down at her hand and saw a very small sting near one of her knuckles. Wonderful. At least it was just a small sting.

She failed to notice the brightly colored waspish insect sailing into the treetops.

She realized, though, that she was wasting precious time. If she wanted to escape, she had to find Malfoy.

She scrambled to her feet and quickly found herself nauseous and dizzy. She swayed on the spot, unsteady and ready to fall back into the pillow-like clover on the ground. No. She had to keep moving forward.

The nausea now took a front seat to the laughter, the two intermittently switching their roles to torment the poor girl.

The trail stretched on for eons, but eventually it finally escaped the forest, and she was amazed to see large rolling hills in the distance, covered in tons of rock, moss, and grass. She had never gotten to see the mountains before.

Her throat severely burned from thirst, so she set her sights on water. There had to be water somewhere!

After climbing over various rocks (just about causing her body to shut down from overexertion), she spotted what appeared to be footprints on a particular vein of silvery stone. As far as she could tell, the prints were from boots, and they had been imprinted on the rock by something wet! Instinct kicked in. Water had to be somewhere close.

She eagerly searched the surrounding area until an awful smell caught her. It reminded her closely of rotten eggs, and the nausea suddenly became all too real. Retching, she clutched her frail belly and sunk to her knees.

When the vomiting had subsided, she gingerly hoisted herself, briefly touching the silver stone that encompassed much of the area.

She yelped. The cruel power had enthralled her again, just as before when she had traced the back of the throne. Something sinister was afoot. The laughter expanded into several more octaves higher, her mind a grand hall that echoed the sound mercilessly.

Immediate drowsiness shadowed her, yet she determined that Malfoy had to be close by.

"Abraxas," she called into the wind softly, so much so that even a dog would have ignored the sound. Her voice shook with weakness, as though she had aged a hundred years in the time stream. It wasn't an unpleasant voice, but it lacked strength, like tea that had steeped for but a few seconds.

Her grey eyes no longer seemed blank. A new dark life had stirred in them, but it was barely noticeable under the drooping eyelids. Her head nodded to the side. Sleep. How she longed to just curl up on a patch of rock and sleep.

She crawled to what resembled an above ground pool, and rested against it. She was no longer thinking straight, or she would have seen the steaming water within the structure. As it was, she could only lean back onto the rock. Her eyes began to flutter, losing focus.

Unbeknownst to her, the tiny sting near her knuckle was no longer small. It pulsed raggedly, expanding across her ghostly skin and injecting it with a slow poison that colored an ugly green.

Her breathing shallowed out, rasping in her throat. And the condemned laughing bellowed inside her fading thoughts.

The sluggish wind caressed her ear and she swore that she heard a deep sound on its wave.

Merope.

What was that?

Merope. Merope.

Her sapped will only flopped onto the rocky crevice.

Merope.

The laughter stung in her welling eyes.

Merope.

A concerned face loomed into her view, but she could not fight the drowsiness drowning her in a vale of tears. Something rustled in her arms, something lightly tugged back her lank hair. But she only sensed the looming abyss that received her ailing soul.

~Reverberation~

Shadows of despair
The qualms of magic;
Vile laughter
The poisoned heart;
An empty field
The forfeit of will…

Evil laughter pounded mercilessly through her groggy mind, pulsing with each beat of her hollow heart, too rhythmic and fanatic. She attempted to make a sound through the pressing darkness, but it muffled through the rolling waves of thick water. Her lungs, shriveling from the burning sensation, silently screamed for release…

Merope.

A heaven sent blessing, squeezing through all the rusted torments and perverse pain. Her own name, a beacon, a swirling blue star, pulling her out of the melancholic reverie.

Merope.

Her sticky eyes fought to open, and streams of flickering light filtered into the tiny crevices under the lids of her eyes. Fire. Like a pulsating star.

Lucky.

Snippets of sentences breached the laughter, melodious to her deprived ears. Something warm and velvety cushioned her back, better than anything she had ever lain on. It reminded her of rich, fluffy cream and silky garments that she had seen in the passing store windows. It reminded her of the green cloth wrapped on the tree branch… Malfoy. She began to struggle, yearning to be awake, to understand. Something strong held her fast, and after a few fruitless wrestling movements, she quieted, the effort nearly draining her of energy. She almost succumbed to the vile blackness again.

Nasty.

More snatches. They didn’t connect to one another, weaving in and out in garbled tones.

Time.

Time. Time. Time travel. Time travel! The potion, the ruin, the forest, the rocky mountains…

Instinctively, her body rolled over and heaved. Soft hands immediately grasped her; something cool and moist touched her forehead. In that instant, her cheeks began to flush and sear from some unknown source of heat.

Disgusting.

Shh. Terrible… Surprising… Delicate…

A moan at last escaped through her glued lips. Bile rose in her throat, but she suppressed the urge. Her bones tingled and ached wearily, as though rattled from slamming into an unforgiving rock wall. Her dull, almost brackish eyes finally creaked open.

She was staring at a wooden ceiling. A ceiling! She was indoors, finally. She turned her head a slight fraction and found that near her bed stood a young man and an elderly woman, both dressed in the oddest assortment of clothing, even by wizard and Muggle standards.

The man noticed she was awake, and he beamed at her. It was none other than Abraxas Malfoy. Her jaw dropped as far as it could go in her weakened state, and she uttered a gasp that almost made her vomit again.

â€�“Merope! You actually drank that potion! I can’t believe it. I thought you would have just left when I didn’t show up. Thanks for bringing my papers. Now I can create the antidote.”

The elderly woman glared at him reprovingly and wrung out a cloth in her hands. â€�“Dear girl, you will be well again. No lasting damage. If this young man hadn’t found you, the hawk’s poison would have dragged your soul down to the fiery depths of hell.”

â€�“Hawk?” Merope managed to choke out. The talking gave her a dizzying spell.

â€�“Yes, the tarantula hawks are fairly common around here. Nasty insects. They sometimes actually hunt down unfortunate stranded folks. Venom worse than vipers’. At least with the vipers’ poison, you die almost immediately. Less suffering. Now the hawk - best leave it to the Pantheon to sort out. I’m sure that the hawks will be wiped out soon. They aren’t useful for anything. I hope that the intelligent professor who bred that particular insect is hanged. I’ve seen five hundred cases alone in the last month or so.” The woman shuddered, dipped the cloth into a wooden bucket, and brought it to Merope’s sweating face. Merope frowned in confusion at Malfoy, but a quick shake of his head kept her quiet.

The next few hours consisted of her drinking some sour soup, and having to sit through a painful detoxing. The woman’s wand drained the poison out slowly, the liquid coming out in vibrant green wisps. The process seemed to take forever, but the nurse explained that the longer the poison stayed in the body, the more it increased in quantity. It would take a few days before she was fully detoxed.

When the woman left her bedside, Malfoy sometimes took up post. Merope idly wondered if the sympathetic faces he gave her were all for show. He didn’t seem at all troubled by the fact that he had gone back in time.

When strength began to return to her legs, she took short walks outside. She was surprised to learn that she was in Hogsmeade, a wizarding village she had dreamed about visiting for years. It did seem rather odd to her that all the buildings were simple and made of wood, but she figured that the village must be that way. After all, it didn’t seem likely that she had traveled back in time too far. And if she had, she wouldn’t know, having never really studied the history of architecture.

And then he dropped the bomb.

Malfoy had assured her that they had indeed traveled back in time, though he refused to be approached on the subject, especially when she wanted to know when the antidote would be ready. She desperately wanted to return home. Her memories of Tom were disappearing faster than she liked. But Malfoy let it slip that they weren't just a couple years in the past. More like hundreds upon hundreds of years. Around a millennium ago. One thousand years.

The staggering figure haunted her. She didn't want this. She didn't want to be stuck a thousand years in the past. It didn't even occur to her in those moments of stark fear that she was in the same general era as her ancestor - Salazar Slytherin. She only brooded on returning home.

Even after the poison no longer pulsed in her veins, the bouts of nausea and the maniacal laughter continued to rent her body. She stayed quiet on the matter, though, afraid it would delay the trip home.

Having lost the sense of time passing, she found herself one morning by the old window, staring at the rising sun, recalling the agony she had experienced with the poison. Her name had saved her. She knew it was the name of a distant star. Not as grand as the sun now painting the dawning sky, but a star, nonetheless.

In her family, names meant everything. At least, the name of Slytherin did. And Peverell. She didn’t remember her mother, but she figured that her mother must have named her. Perhaps her mother had tried to name her Stella, after the sun, but her father had settled for a lesser star. No matter which way she had gotten her name, she was eternally grateful for it. True, it didn’t have much glory, and was a rather weak glowing entity, but it had pulled her from the depths of despair.

Abraxas cut across her thoughts as he gallantly sat in the chair near the window. â€�“How fares the lonely maiden?”

Silence was her only weapon.

â€�“I suppose you are curious about several things. Indulge me, if you will.”

She thought about walking away, but this morning was a lazy one. So she decided on the one question that bothered her more than anything else. â€�“Why did you help me?”

Abraxas raised a curious eyebrow. â€�“A maiden in distress is always in need of rescuing.”

â€�“No,” she muttered, already tiring of the talk. â€�“Why did you decide to make the potion?"

A shadow flitted across Malfoy’s brow, but his smile stayed plastered on. â€�“How better to serve a maiden in need?”

The chivalry didn’t fool her. But she didn’t press the question any further. Instead, she immersed herself in gazing out the window, ignoring the impatient Malfoy, the irritating laughter still echoing in her bleeding ears.

---

Later that same day, Abraxas attempted to strike up another conversation with her. She was still by the window, a deep sense of loss coursing through her. To think that she was so close to home, yet so far away.

"I have some bad news," Abraxas stated roughly.

Her heart plummeted at his tone, expecting the worse. Was it possible to have all the bad karma in the world?

"What?" she replied breathlessly. It amazed her that she talked more readily now, though in truth, talking kept her attention elsewhere instead of focusing on the wretched laughter that still haunted her. The last night had been one of the worst, the red gleaming eyes of the skeletal figure leering at her from daunting nightmares. Talking gave her momentary distraction. She found that it actually helped to keep her sane.

The Adam’s apple on Abraxas throbbed nervously. "I had a look at my notes you brought me, and a piece of parchment is missing."

The laughter mocked her. A painful prickly branch twisted in her soul. It could not be. Please, Merlin, no! Home. Home! Please, don't do this.

He sensed the depression and agony rippling off her. "It's not your fault. I didn't bind them together. You couldn't have done a better job!"

Her breathing was leaden, laborious and wrenching. Guilt. No, please, God, no!

â€�“It’s going to take a bit of time to rework the antidote,” Abraxas confided in her. â€�“But if I did it once…” His voice trailed off as he lost himself in thought.

The room was spinning, Tom fleeing from her memories, blackness creeping into her focus, the sinister laughter amplified...

"Wake up! Merope! Are you okay?" He gently tapped her flushed cheeks. Miserable and exhausted, she attempted to sit up. Waves of nausea washed over her, and rusted nails stabbed at her heart.

"Merope?" She realized then that her eyes had drooped, and she tried to steady herself - a difficult feat when her head felt extremely heavy.

"M'okay." The words tasted salty and sour, like hot blood.

"Listen, I know that you aren't feeling well, but I need someone - well, you - to do me a little favor. The missing page won't set me back, as long as I have a couple things." All said with a calculated soothing tone and persuasiveness.

"What things?" she spat out, her tongue more rough than sandpaper. She could still feel her heart racing, her treacherous breathing, and the laughter. She felt the laughter within her own cleaved soul.

"I made a list. You can find it all in the Forbidden Forest, except for the fang. That will be found at Hogwarts." The statement sunk into every tissue of her body. Hogwarts. Forbidden Forest.

â€�“Forbidden?”

Abraxas waved the question aside. â€�“Only to the students. You should be fine. Listen,” he stated, straightening her head to stare at him. â€�“I can’t go with you to get the items. Not if you want to go home soon. I suggest you begin your search after dinner, so you have plenty of time before the sun sets. I’ll have the nurse pack you a small supper, just in case you’re not back before dark.”

He gently clasped her hand onto a thick parchment. â€�“This is the list. I have to leave now, but make sure that you have rested before going off.”

And with those words, he stalked out of the room, leaving her in the worst state of confusion.

It seemed rather odd that he had so quickly left. She also felt that the compassion in his tone was fake. No man could ever be that nice to her. Granted, she was gathering this from her own experience with menfrom her own family.

The paper wrinkled easily in her hand, the ink on it not quite dry. She fervently wished that the paper was blank, because the first few items caught her off guard: hair from a centaur, bark from a wiggentree, the stalk of a shrivelfig, and the petals from a moly plant. How she was she to find all this?

Utterly hopeless, she sunk in despair against the window. It was a while before she realized she was staring at a patch of white flowers with black stems. The moly plant!

Hopping to her feet, she dashed out of the wooden building into the moly patch. Her hands grasped the first flower and at once the evil laughter ceased, and even her nausea dissipated. Serenity infused her being, and for once, she didn't feel as hampered at being so far away from home. A new strength imbibed her, and she found herself thinking that it wasn't hopeless. She could do this! After gathering a few moly flowers, she quickly prepared for the trip into the Forbidden Forest. Dinner was hastily eaten, and she bounded out the door, the prospect of home charging her onward. She walked along the roads to the forest, a moly petal inserted between her fingers for luck.

The forest was pitch black, even during the day. Unsure of what to expect, she slowly pulled out her wand. It didn't offer much protection, but for some reason, it helped her feel more secure, like a child's blanket would do.

She hadn't ventured into the forest yet when she saw, through the outer trees, a large magnificent castle. If she had known anything about Hogwarts, she would have realized only magical beings could see the castle. As it was, she was filled with a sense of awe and wonder. If only she could have attended the school!

She could have gazed in that direction for hours, but for some reason, the handsome Tom floated into her conscience. No time to brood over what could have been. She had to focus on what could happen if she didn't succeed in fixing the set back. And what could happen definitely terrified her all the way down into her bones.

---

She found herself wanting the laughter back in her head as she cautiously poked around the foreboding forest. The eerie silences interrupted by hair-raising wails caused her to tremble and sweat, despite the icy darkness.

The trees stood gigantic and gnarly, twisting into unsettling images. Several of them were petrified and ashy, the wrinkles of age penetrating the ghostly bark. And if the leaves had any pigment, the blackness swallowed it.

Roots and prickly branches intertwined monstrously, often snagging her clothing, hair, or feet. The snags caused her to bleed, especially when a particular nasty sharp thorn slashed her cheek. If there had been light to walk by, everything would have been different. As it was, she didn’t even have the courage to lift her wand and light it. The tiny beam would be tantamount to her shouting out for all vile dark creatures to converge on her. So in evil shadows, she strolled, eyes seeing but not truly seeing.

It was as she feared- fruitless. The gloom offered no dramatic sign posts of what to pick out from among the thousands of other dangerous plants and animals. Just variances in the deepening blacks surrounding her. She tried not to imagine the horrors that could be lying in wait for her around each bend or bush she came across.

Something rusted overhead, and she froze, her heart stopping for a beat. Nothing. Just nothing.

Flushed, she hastened forward, clutching the moly flower for dear life. The sinister air entrenched her pores, causing her more distress. It was worse than when she had traveled the unending trail full of blankness. This was full of nightmares.

She frantically searched for the items on her list, but to no avail. Surely there was an easier way to accomplish this daunting task! Guiltily, she glanced down at the folds in her clothes that hid her wand. Hadn't she made the rash decision to drink that time potion so she could perhaps learn magic? Hone the skills that had been suppressed by pain and fear? Yet here she was again, rejecting it.

The image of her enraged father drifted into her musings. The memory of his filthy hands and sour breath wrenching her halfway across the house, bellowing the entire time of purity, shoving her to the weakening floor like a heavy sack of potatoes. Screaming his rage at having a Squib for a daughter, wildly swinging his drunken fists.

A sound like dead leaves crinkling interrupted her thoughts. Accompanying the sound came a slippery voice from the shadows- "Blood. Ssss... Ssslither to me, my sssssavory friend..."

A rather large snake wound its way around the trunk of the tree nearest her, its forked tongue tasting the scents in the bitter air. It paused as it noticed her, standing stock still, and lifted its smooth head.

"Kill... KILL!"

She reacted swiftly, turning on her heel and sprinting as fast as she could from the creature. Never mind that she was a Parselmouth; she had no desire to tangle up with a beast known for its devilish trickery.

The hissing words followed her, haunting her. Without looking back, she continued to run, the flee response too strong to be overcome by reason. In fact, her ears filled with the sound of scales rustling against wood and leaves, chasing her. Terribly frightened, she spied light in the distance.

In haste, she wended her way to the patch of daylight that soon expanded until she was scampering across an empty lawn and onto cobblestone floors paving the grounds surrounding Hogwarts. Once the sun's rays hit her, her breathing eased up. Safe. She was safe.

The enormity of the castle pressed down upon her, the parapets reaching proudly into the heavens to the point that they vanished among the few scattered clouds. She was a seedling to the gigantic towers, barely discernible among the scaling walls.

She glanced back at the impossible list. Hadn't Abraxas told her one item would be found at Hogwarts?

In tiny dark green letters, the object jumped out at her, and she quailed at the task. There was no way she was going to risk everything for that!

In frustration, she tossed the list on the ground and leaned against the wall, head in hands. The parchment landed gently on the ground, but it might as well have slammed to it for the heavy weight it shifted onto her weak shoulders.

And in perfect forest green calligraphy, the ink shone out under the sun:

Basilisk Fang.

~Ethereal~

Hushed silence
The devilish depths of hell;
Breath of lies
The dismal battlefield;
Mists of truth
The deadly sword exposed...

Perhaps she realized that she would never return home and might as well make the most of what she was given. Maybe she noticed - to her utmost surprise - a crowd of young children beginning to converge among the outside courts. Her heart ached at the sight, so desperately did she want to belong and be a part of that magical learning. It didn't help that she also thought it might be nice to have a little child herself, and see to it that she raised him so he would be the happiest babe on earth.

Or she might have noticed that the sun was beginning to sink on the horizon, and was beginning to panic because she didn't know her way back to Hogsmeade.

Whatever her reason, she found herself actually slipping into the castle, the list lying forgotten, glaring at her retreating back.

If the enormous front of the castle caused her to tremble and feel insignificant, the inside extended on forever in every which way, causing her to mind to balk. She could not even decipher a ceiling above, and found herself staring at millions of staircases and billions of portraits - the most terrifying of all these things was that she had only seen the Entrance Hall. The castle seemed a different world in its own right.

It occurred to her then that she would not be able to blend in. All the people she saw wore lengthy black robes, some sporting traditional black hats, conversing cheerfully about upcoming events. She wore a ragged grey dress that barely hit her knees, and she was also barefoot. Every inch of her was conspicuous.

Just to prove it, she had barely entered the castle when she caught a child staring at her in astonishment.

Merope did what felt natural - flee. She scuttled down the long hall, glancing back to see if anyone was following her. She rounded a corner sharply and-

Smack! Oof! She crumpled to the cold ground.

After what seemed an eternity, she lifted her fearful face and noticed a pair of leather boots directly in her path. She didn't dare look further, but she didn't need to. The person wearing the boots squatted down to her level.

It was an older man, perhaps in his early forties, with thick black hair, and a scruffy beard that connected to a thin mustache. His eyes were dark and large, and his lips were upturned into a mischievous smile.

"And what brings you here, into my castle?" His voice was quiet, with a slight hissing.

Shaking, she bit her lip and let her greasy hair occupy the front of her face.

"Maiden, I asked you a question. I demand an answer." The force reminded her of her father, and the memory caused hot tears to well up in her eyes - not from homesickness, but from awful fear.

With a sigh, the man hoisted her off the ground, surprisingly gentle. He brushed the lank ropes of hair out of her face, and presented her with his best glare. "No need to cry, miss. I have simply asked why you are in the castle. You are not a student, nor a professor, and I'm sure you are not a parent. For what purpose, then, are you here?"

She shook her head, too afraid to open her mouth.

Growing impatient, he began to steer her down the hall, passing large double doors that concealed a grandly lit room milling with more students. Past rows of shining new armor, one of which actually waved a salute to the man. Past stone columns thousands of feet high. Finally, they came to a smaller door, glittering with emeralds and flecks of silver - very similar colors to what the man wore upon his robes.

"Open," he hissed, but not in human tongue. This startled her further- he had used Parseltongue. It dawned on her then who this must be.

"Slytherin," she gasped.

He paused in the act of pushing the door open and gave a scrutinizing glance back at her. She stood a little straighter under the gaze.

"Yes? I was wondering whether you knew of me."

She gulped, but forced herself to speak, albeit in a tiny voice. "Yes, master, I know of thee."

She swept him a clumsy curtsy.

He looked taken aback, but recovered with booming laughter. "Thee? Master? My, I have never been treated with such respect!"

He strutted into the room, still laughing, and she quickly followed.

"Maiden, what is your name?" He began to pour her a cup of an unknown beverage, nothing remotely resembling tea or water.

She was reminded strongly of the day she met Abraxas. "Merope, sir."

The name caught his attention sharply, but he didn't comment. "Please, sit down. Have a drink. You must be thirsty."

He waved a grand gesture to an intricately carved chair, not even noticing her stiffening at the prospect of actually sitting. Instead, he strolled to his fireplace and threw in some powder - not even recognizable powder. The flames in the fireplace turned a vibrant purple.

"Godric, come to my office," Slytherin shouted into the fire.

He then turned back to see Merope still standing. "Please, sit."

She gave her head the tiniest of shakes. She greatly feared what would happen if she sat.

His eyebrows rose in a curious manner, but he didn't press her further. Instead, he handed her the beverage and then promptly sat down. Seconds later, the fire roared, and another man came walking through, roughly the same in age as Slytherin, with dark brown hair and pleasant brown eyes, dressed in robes shining with rubies and strips of gold.

"What do you want, Salazar? I was entertaining a guest."

"As am I. Please, sit, and stay awhile."

Godric sat and then saw her, despondent and grey. "This is the company you keep?"

Slytherin chuckled. "Hardly. I found this running into me outside the Entrance Hall. Called me master."

If she were a stronger woman, being referred to as "this" would have infuriated her. As it was, it degraded her and made her feel even more worthless. But she didn't speak up. She took a small swallow from her drink. It tasted nutty and bitter, and some heavy burden suddenly lifted off her shoulders, her mind now filled with a blissful fog.

"Master?" Godric squinted his eyes and stared at Merope. "Girl, where are you from?"

Did she have a choice? Abraxas hadn't told her to not reveal they were from the future. He had probably assumed she wouldn't.

She didn't want to be berated anymore. Her tongue loosened and she found herself spilling every secret, every fear, every minute of her journey.

A hushed silence struck the other two men. When she mentioned the basilisk fang, Salazar paled and and threw a glance at his friend. But Godric couldn't take his eyes off her.

She began to feel weary, and her tongue slowed down, eventually clamming up. Horror came over her as she realized she had just told them everything. Everything, including her infatuation with a Muggle. A hot swooping sickness boiled inside her.

Salazar spoke up when she had quieted. "I know this Abraxas you speak of. He came to me for money."

Godric cut him off. "Time travel? How likely is that, Salazar? If man could travel through time, the world would be turned upside down, for every man would be hopping between eras. Since that hasn't happened, how can we be sure she is telling the truth?"

Slytherin glared at him, and made an inconspicuous gesture to his friend. A light overcame Gryffindor's eyes, and he suddenly gave her a horrific stare.

"The future..." he said in awe.

Slytherin turned on his charm, and smiled at Merope. "Lady, you must be starving. How about Godric takes you to the Great Hall for supper, and I will find your misplaced list and gather the items you seek. I'm sure you miss your own time terribly."

She nodded, but Godric looked furious at the task he had been set. It was clear that he wanted to find these items, too. A glare from Salazar quelled his desires, and he stood up.

"Very well. Merope, kindly follow me to the dining hall. I'm sure you will enjoy the meal immensely." He swept out of the room without another word. She hesitated, but after a reassuring glance from Slytherin, she followed Godric out the door.

Hurrying down the corridor, she caught up to the swift strides of the bristling Founder. He didn't speak any further to her, just swept along until they reached the large double doors she had passed earlier. With aplomb, he pushed them wide open.

The Great Hall was grandly lit with an abundance of floating candles, and loud chatter echoed off the sparkling walls. The tables were stocked with several students and laden down by dishes of rich food. Merope was aware of how out-of-place she appeared. Dismal and ragged compared to cheery and grandiose.

Despite the scrumptious new food she'd never eaten before, she hardly noticed it passing into her mouth. She could only stare out at the boisterous hall, and wonder just what was going to happen to her.

After ten minutes, she could take the noise and company no longer. With a sideways glance at Gryffindor to see if he was paying attention (he was drinking and laughing with a pale woman sitting next to him), she quietly slipped out a side door near the table. It wasn't hard to do, considering she had been kneeling at the feast table, not sitting on one of the golden chairs.

Once in the corridor, she battled with herself on which direction to take. She was liable to get lost, and she didn't think any shepherd would come looking for a weak, skinny runt like her.

It seemed more comfortable to turn left, so she did so, her bare feet complaining about the cold stone floor and all the walking she'd already done.

It was nice, at least, to be walking inside a grand building. But after various twists and turns, she knew she wouldn't be able to find her way back. It didn't help that she was suspicious of the staircases and doors, for they hummed with mysterious magic.

She took a route that led her downwards into an area that chilled her insides. It was bleak and gloomy down here - something she was quite familiar with. A door to her right stood ajar, decorated with black iron, a little window square in the center wrought with thick bars.

Curious, she slipped inside, and saw a wooden table covered in the strangest assortment of items- evilly smiling clay jars, surrounded by sharp curved clay objects that hung on twine fastened to a marble wall inlaid with silver veins and radiating a powerful aura. And off to the side, thick parchment lay in a scattered pattern, depicting two awful words in recognizable calligraphy - time travel.

Heavily conflicted, Merope took the chance to fully take in the room she had entered. It was rather dark, with a few candles lit here and there, slowly melting away. But the warmth cast from the tiny flames did nothing to ward off the sinister chill permeating throughout the small space.

She glanced back at the table, unsure of what was going to happen. Cautiously, she picked up one of the jars and peered inside to see a thick green paste smelling of frog spawn and lemongrass. With a shudder, she quickly placed it down.

A bright flicker on the wall caught her eye. Silver veins reflected the shining candles, and when she peered closer, it began to swirl with faint starry purples. Remembering her experience with the marble ruin not too long ago, she swiftly stumbled backwards, not wishing to repeat the experience. She landed in sturdy arms.

â€�“Hello, Merope. Fancy seeing you here. Did you get all the ingredients?”

It was Abraxas, smiling that insincere smile, as though she would become putty and do his will. A spark of anger exploded in her heart.

â€�“No,” she responded defiantly, surprising even herself. Abraxas immediately stopped smiling.

â€�“No? NO? Then what are you doing here? How do you expect to get home to your precious filthy mudboy if you fail on the job?”

Mudboy. The comment stung more than any previous ones she’d encountered. Mudboy. Tom didn’t live in the mud! He was just as rich as Abraxas was, and more handsome. Mudboy. And then, it occurred to her that she had never told Abraxas about Tom.

â€�“How did you-â€�“

He cut her off angrily. â€�“How did I know that a pureblood like you wants to slovel around with pigs? I talk to people, that’s how. Thought your brother would keep it quiet? He’s a raving lunatic in Azkaban, spouting all kinds of spew. And then you mention a love potion - it had to be true.”

Merope could feel the world shrinking, suffocating her, crushing her belittled soul. â€�“Why’d you help me, Malfoy? Why’d you help?” Her words had venom in it that she never knew she could muster.

â€�“I didn’t help you. Did I make a love potion? No. Did I think you would follow me back in time? No.” Each word slashed into her being, a heavy stone in her gut.

â€�“Then why did you come find me? Why did you save me from that hawk thing?”

There was no compassion in Abraxas’ eyes. They burned with cold fury. â€�“Because of the stupid prophecy! When word reached me that you had come along into the Ruin of Delphi, I kicked myself. Of course you had been foolish enough to touch the marble. Of course it chose at that time to open your mind to the future.”

â€�“Prophecy?” Her throat closed up, and she instinctively backed away from the angry Malfoy, her back to the marbled wall.

â€�“I knew then that I had to get you out of here, how else would you fulfill your role? At first, I tried to fight it. When the seer told me, I laughed and laughed and didn’t believe a word. But of course doubt crept in, and I dragged all the information I could out of the crazy woman.”

â€�“My role?” she repeated faintly.

â€�“I was doomed unless I found you. Luckily, you weren’t so far away from the village, and to top it off, you had the notes with you. But the paper I needed was missing. Inevitable, I suppose. Providence saw fit to grant me my memory, at least, so it was only a matter of time before I finally had the antidote drawn up.”

The words continued to crash into her. The revelations didn’t make sense. Her brain almost shut down, wanting to keep the last bit of sanity she had.

â€�“But I needed the basilisk fang. And there was no way to black market it in this time period like I did before. I went to the only person who could help - the great snake master himself. I told him of my need, but I was wary to tell him everything. He assured me a basilisk fang was nearby, but that I would have to drive him a bargain he couldn’t refuse. So I sent him you, instead, hoping that he would help out a woman.”

Her grey eyes could open no further in shock, and she weakly pressed against the wall, sliding to the floor.

â€�“But here you are, without any success! And now even I can’t return to the twentieth century if needs be. You are pathetic! Even the drive for you to go home wasn’t enough. You spent most of your time sick and weak and depressed. How can you be Slytherin’s descendent?”

â€�“That’s enough,” a soft voice interrupted from the shadows. Abraxas whipped around to see Slytherin, leaning against a dark wall.
Salazar Slytherin stepped forward, menacing even in the calm state he exuded, while Merope struggled to take in his sudden appearance.

â€�“I won’t have you beleaguering this lady any further. She’s been through an enormous ordeal, something I think even you would collapse under.” His tone dared Malfoy to argue with him, but Abraxas remained silent for once.

She couldn’t take it anymore. It was all too much for her to bear. In vain, she attempted to stand up, but as she did so, her hand slipped onto the marbled stone behind her. Immediately, her mind filled with vibrant blues and greens and reds, power surging into her veins. With a cry, she fell forward.

Slytherin rushed to her side at once. He gently pushed her into a sitting position as she abandoned the fight to not sob hysterically. Tears coursed down her heavy face, each drop containing miniscule castles and maniac skeletal figures. The laughter erupted inside of her as though it had never truly left her. It was so strong that she soon realized that the laughter was pouring out her mouth, high and cold.

Salazar whipped out his wand and waved it with a complicated movement. A black cauldron full of a deep red liquid appeared by his side. A block of what appeared to be dry ice was submerged in the thick potion, giving off a slight mist. With great effort, Slytherin pulled out a cup and poured the liquid into Merope’s mouth. She choked and sputtered, the laughter dying out. But everything else became hazy. Purple streaks began to stream past her, little lights buzzing her as they flicked past. And then all she knew was blackness.

---

Slytherin and Malfoy watched the last sparks of her fizz out, the red liquid hissing on the floor. When even her imprint had faded, Slytherin turned a disgruntled face to Malfoy.

â€�“You brought the wrong girl. There is no way she would father my heir to finish my work when I am gone.”

Abraxas hung his head in shame, trying to retain some dignity, but knowing it was a lost cause. â€�“She’s a living descendent. Your only living descendent, unless you count her brother and father.”

Slytherin stroked the short beard on his chin. â€�“There must be someone else.”

Abraxas shook his head. â€�“I scrolled through all the family histories, sir.”

Slytherin threw him a sharp look. â€�“You’re young. Three years of searching is not enough. I want you to return to your time, and make a reference of every descendent. Don’t come back until you think you have found the right one.” He motioned for Malfoy to lean in closer. â€�“I expect the task to take more than another five years, if you get my meaning.”

Malfoy paled. â€�“Sir, are you sure Merope wasn’t the one? She touched the marbled stone and saw the future. Is it not possible? Did you not say that those who do your work would be compelled to drink the potion?”

The older man threw back his head and laughed. â€�“A coincidence, nothing more. Perhaps she does some trivial work for me in her time, but it is not what I seek. Besides, there are many people who have the ability to see some future events, but aren’t true seers or chosen ones. My heir is not coming from that slovenly wench who hasn’t the courage to even profess love to a common creature like a Muggle. My heir will be pure-blood, not some half-blood just because the father happens to be handsome or the mother is some ravishing beauty.”

Abraxas nodded. His life would have to be put on hold, but what did he expect when choosing to serve the master?

Slytherin chuckled, the ever-warm host. â€�“Remember the reward, Malfoy. Remember the reward.”

The blood-like potion continued to steam, wafting over Malfoy’s young features.

â€�“So this is goodbye?”

Salazar cocked his head in thought. â€�“More of a promise from you to return. If you don’t, I know your family, and I know where you live. And when.”

Malfoy nodded, and he picked up the cup that had fallen to the floor.

â€�“By the way,” Slytherin added. â€�“Nice acting. The silly chit will not suspect a thing about our plan. And it’s a good thing she is quiet.”

â€�“Should I wipe her mind? It would not do for her to run into another intelligent wizard and give up your secrets.”

Slytherin shook his head. â€�“No, the wench won’t give it up. She’ll be thinking it merely a nightmare. I know the type.”

Malfoy wrestled with himself, not wanting to quite leave just yet. â€�“Sir, what of your friend? I saw him with the girl. Surely he won’t keep quiet.”

Annoyance flitted across Salazar’s mischievous features. â€�“Godric wasn’t meant to hear the entire story. I was a fool to drag him into this. But he had to be there out of necessity.”

â€�“Necessity? What for?” Abraxas lifted a curious brow to his master.

He was met with a glare. It was obvious that Slytherin did not intend to reveal his plan further. Malfoy hung his head in shame at not being trusted.

â€�“It’s time for you to go. You’ve overstayed your welcome.” The words were cold and piercing.

â€�“Until the next communion,” Malfoy said bitterly, raising the cup in a toast to Slytherin. He drank deeply, allowing the spell to take hold of his being. And then, he faded from the past.

---

A blanket of grey
The abandonment of hope;
A harrowed soul
The echoes of lost love;
Phantasmic memories
The daunting ghosts that follow...

Merope grunted as she got up from the bed, weak sunlight streaming in through the tattered window. Her belly protruded out quite far, giving her the appearance of a pregnant stick. Her heart still ached from Tom’s abandonment, something she knew she would carry to her grave and beyond.

A newspaper lay across the bedside table of the inn room (which she had gotten for one Sickle that night) bearing a picture of AbraxasMalfoy arguing with the Minister. The article below stated that Abraxas had tried to make off with some private records and been caught red-handed.

It seemed a distant haunting dream that followed her wherever she went, and sometimes it was easier to believe it never happened. But there were those nights when she awoke screaming, tears cascading down her hollowing cheeks, maniacal laughter ringing in her bleeding ears.

When she allowed herself to believe it, she often doubted the allowance. She never understood why Malfoy had agreed to the potion making in the first place. And the prophecy pounded against her belief. It seemed all too fantastical. She often thought that she had probably hit her head and imagined that horrific experience.

Yet still, it followed her, a fading ghost that twisted in her mind, stretching her will out thin.

The day was still young, but she, Merope, felt eons old. As she stepped out of the inn, ready to begin that day’s begging walk, she sighed heavily at her life. As she did so, a part of her heart detached to remain behind, leaving a ghostly trail that followed her dejected gait down the cobblestone allies.