Disclaimer: I am borrowing these characters from J.K. Rowling, except for the ones I made up. I do not own them, and am not making any money from this.

"Dear Lily,"

the letter said,

"The last year of school is going to be the greatest. Too bad you had to go to that place or you would know what I mean in a couple of years. But we are the rulers of this place - and those babies in the lower forms know it. I'm even going to a dance with a university boy next weekend - he's on the porky side but he's getting a degree (from Birmingham!) and he's the right sort, anyway.

Well, I told Mum I'd write you and I have. Have fun with your wand-waving. No need to write back, I won't have time to reply and I can't have any owls appearing in my bedroom window, can I?

Your sister,

Petunia.

P.S. - If you've nicked my Beatles album I want it back. You don't have anything to play it on anyway."

Further down the Gryffindor table a fourth-year called Wendy was yelling out from a letter in her hands, "My brother reckons he caught an 'undred gnomes in our garden last weekend!" On Lily's other side her friend Alison was busy telling Minna Wilkins that her sister had written of buying a new robe for her first formal reporting assignment with the Daily Prophet. Lily sighed, and stood up from her bench to exit the Great Hall.

As she walked back toward Gryffindor Tower, something made her veer around the usual staircase and take an indirect route past the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office. In all honesty, she wanted to see if it would happen again - the thing that had distracted her so effectively from her worries the week before.

It did happen. As she passed the headmaster's office she heard a voice say conspiratorially, "Have you heard what happened to Medea?" Another, less distinct voice replied, "It's horrible! And the child not even born yet!"

Lily glanced around her and sank to the floor beside the entrance to the hidden staircase, just as a firm female voice was saying, "Professor, Apoleso's spies have killed Rona Flitwick. They must have found out . . ." As the voice trailed off, it was replaced by another saying, "I won't have him be a Squib! You saw what happened to Argus Filch . . ."

The very mention of the caretaker's name made Lily shiver. She hadn't known Filch was a Squib, but it made sense. She wondered if Rona Flitwick was any relation to the Charms professor. He had always been Lily's favorite, and she didn't like to think of anyone in his family being murdered. If in fact they ever had been.

The voices had first come when she was walking down the corridor the previous week. At first she had thought there were people in Dumbledore's office, but then she realized that Alison, who was with her, couldn't hear anything. Then Lily heard one of the invisible witches mention a fight against Grindlewald, and she knew something wasn't right. Grindlewald had been defeated long before she was born.

She finally came to the conclusion that she was hearing ghosts, albeit ghosts that no one else could hear. While this was strange, as Lily was Muggle-born and had never shown signs of having any exceptional power or ability in magic other than the ability to study hard, she had learned that nothing in the magical world was ever wholly impossible.

"Muggle-borns?" said one of the voices now, and for a moment Lily thought it was talking to her. The voices had never seemed to notice her presence; it was as though they simply allowed her to eavesdrop on old conversations. When the voice went on, "But Stephen, you know Muggle-borns have the same amount of power as pureblood wizards. Look at Brian King's daughter, top of her class and her half-blood and all . . ." Lily realized it wasn't responding to her at all.

"Miss Evans?"

That voice, on the other hand, was definitely talking to her. She looked up slowly. "Hello, Professor."

The Transfiguration teacher stood over her, arms crossed in an attitude of curiosity. "What are you doing there, Miss Evans?"

"I was -" Listening to voices in the headmaster's office? Resting? "- just sitting."

"Miss Evans, if you don't pay attention you are going to blow up Mr. Rowell!"

Lily jumped. That voice hadn't come from the professor in front of her, it had come from one of the invisible witches and wizards. And it seemed to know her name, but she didn't know anyone called Rowell. When she looked back up, the real professor was staring at her very intently.

Inwardly Lily sighed. She supposed the easiest thing now would be to tell the truth, even if they made the voices stop - and she was rather beginning to enjoy the voices; they kept her company even if she couldn't figure out what any of it meant.

"I was listening for ghosts, Professor. Invisible ones. In the wall."

Professor McGonagall looked as though she would like to accuse Lily of making up a story, except that Lily had never done so before. "Invisible ghosts?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, ma'am," Lily replied dully. "They've been talking in the wall since last week. But I think I'm the only one who can hear them."

"I see." Professor McGonagall was quiet for a very long moment. "I think you'd better come with me, Miss Evans."

The professor gave the code for Dumbledore's office, although she looked as though she would rather take Lily to Madam Pomfrey and have her head examined. For the second time in a week and a half, Lily found herself riding the spiral staircase up to the headmaster's inner sanctum.

Dumbledore sat quietly while Professor McGonagall recited what Lily had told her. Then he turned to Lily and asked very calmly, "Anything else, Miss Evans?"

She shook her head, but said nervously, "Alison Freed was with me last time, and she couldn't hear anything. And today one of them - the ghosts, I mean - one of them said my name. But I don't think he meant me, really. I think it was someone else called Evans."

"I see." The headmaster shifted in his chair. "And they talk to you, these invisible ghosts?"

"Not really, sir," she replied. "They talk to each other. I just hear."

"And have they ever mentioned any other names? Other than Evans, I mean?"

Lily thought carefully. "Medea. And Stephen, and someone called Brian King. And - Rowell, I think that was it. And last time there was someone called Grania . . ." Or more likely Grainne, she thought, remembering a name in her own family Bible. "And - Rona Flitwick. And Apoll-e-something."

Now she thought the headmaster looked interested, but he asked her a strange question. "Who are your parents, Miss Evans?"

"My parents?" Lily asked, frowning. "They're - my father has a bookshop."

"I mean their names."

"Oh. John and Rose. Evans. Well, my mother was Carlysle." She still didn't understand why Dumbledore wanted to know about her parents. "They're Muggles, you know, sir. So is my sister."

"Yes, yes." He seemed to dismiss her comment, and looked at her carefully over the desk. "Can you hear the ghosts now, Miss Evans?"

She hadn't even realized it, but she could. The voices were still with her, but more quiet. In fact, oddly, someone was talking about a little boy called Albus. "Yes, sir," she said dutifully.

"I want you to concentrate on them for a moment. Try to say something back."

With both professors watching her, McGonagall looking confused, Lily obediently tried to communicate with the strange voices. In her head she repeated hello, more and more firmly, until suddenly her ears rang with the words, "Hello. My name is Niamh."

Lily's eyes widened, and she told the headmaster eagerly, "I think she talked to me. She said her name is Niamh."

Now Professor McGonagall looked startled. "Niamh, did you say?"

Professor Dumbledore was looking rather surprised as well. "She told you her name was Niamh?" He gave it the one-syllable pronunciation - Neeve - as opposed to the way the ghost and Professor McGonagall had said it, Nee-ahv. Lily liked it better the ghost's way.

"She said, 'Hello. My name is Niamh,'" Lily confirmed.

"Try speaking to her again," Dumbledore urged.

"All right." Lily was beginning to be a bit frightened, but intrigued as well. What if Niamh was a former Hogwarts student who had gone missing, and was trapped as a ghost in Dumbledore's office? What if . . . ? She took a deep breath, and concentrated very hard. My name is Lily, she thought firmly.

The voice was clear as a bell, although McGonagall and Dumbledore didn't look as though they'd heard a thing. "Hello, Lily. I'm very happy to meet you."

"She's happy to meet me," Lily reported.

Dumbledore nodded. "Miss Evans," he said, "you must ask her whether she will share her thoughts with you."

"I think she already has," Lily said, but obediently she asked in her head, Will you share your thoughts with me?

"Of course, daughter of John."

Lily jumped. "She knows my father's name," she said shakily. "She said yes."

"One more question," Dumbledore said. "You must ask her if you are her granddaughter."

"Her what?" Lily exclaimed. "My grandmother's name is Gertrude." Professor McGonagall, for her part, was looking completely stunned.

"Her granddaughter," Dumbledore said calmly. "Please."

"All right." Lily took a deep breath. Please, am I your granddaughter?

"My great-granddaughter in fact, little one."

"She says I'm her great-granddaughter."

Dumbledore nodded, looking pleased. "That explains everything, then."

"Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore, but - it does?" Professor McGonagall's voice was shaking.

"Indeed." Dumbledore looked up at Professor McGonagall. "You have guessed to whom Miss Evans is speaking, Minerva?"

"I - it must be Niamh Ni Farrell," said Professor McGonagall, or at least, that was what it sounded like. "Does that mean that Niamh is - dead?"

"She may be, she may not," Dumbledore said. "But she is not a ghost in my office, at any rate." He smiled at Lily. "I think you'd both better sit down. Miss Evans looks ready for an explanation."

When they were both seated, Dumbledore said, "When Niamh and Mordai went away, Niamh felt they were leaving one thing left undone - one end not quite tied up."

"Grainne," Professor McGonagall said somberly.

"Just so. Knowing Grainne's great power, and her birthright, Niamh guessed that the family line might not produce only Muggles forever. She guessed that one of her own grandchildren would eventually come back to Hogwarts, and since she would no longer be here, she wanted a way of telling that child its family story. She felt quite sure that Grainne would not tell it.

"Niamh also knew that most of the players in the drama of 1904 to 1914 would be gone soon, and that no one would remember what happened in that dark time. She wanted to preserve the memory, so that something like it could never happen again."

"She should have written a book," Professor McGonagall said a bit bitterly. "And sooner, and for everyone. This comes a bit late." Lily knew she was thinking of He Who Must Not Be Named, who even now was being blamed for strange and awful things in the wizarding world.

"Perhaps so," Dumbledore said. "And perhaps she can still be of help. Perhaps her memories will help answer some questions about Tom. I do not know what may be.

"I do know that she also wanted to preserve the prophecy, which was lost immediately after it was made and which few alive now remember."

"I have heard rumors," Professor McGonagall said, "but I do not know its exact contents."

"All who heard it have died now, except perhaps Niamh - and Mordai," Dumbledore said. "I do not know its contents myself, although I know it concerns a future Dark time. Niamh did tell me that she was afraid of what would happen if the prophecy were widely known, that the original hearers never told anyone else for exactly that reason. She trusted her own descendant to hear it, though, and keep it a secret."

"I don't know just what you mean," Lily put in, "but if I hear it, I'll tell you."

"That may not be wise, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said, surprising her. "But we shall see."

He settled back in his chair to continue his story. "Niamh came to me before they left, and she told me that she wanted to leave a record in the school. She had invented a new sort of Pensieve, one that would hold all the memories she chose while not actually removing them from her head - that would, in a way, copy her memories and store the copy. She put a powerful charm on the Pensieve, so that it could only be entered by one of her own blood.

"Then she did something more impressive still. She put another charm on the Pensieve, so that when one of her own blood entered the school, the Pensieve would recognize that person and make itself known."

"But this is my fifth year!" Lily interrupted. "Why hasn't it recognized me before this?"

"Because Niamh's charm, while powerful, is not a wireless or an owl that can find its way to any person it chooses. It could only locate you when you came close enough . . ."

"When I was in your office last week," Lily realized. "It was the first time I had ever been here."

"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "And that was my mistake. I should have tested the children, moved the Pensieve about - certainly when you arrived I should have tried you, although there have been many Evanses in the school and none related to another. It is a common enough name.

"But when you were in my office, Niamh's Pensieve recognized you as a child of her blood. Her memories began to - to leak out to you, bit by bit. To call you closer, so that you would find the Pensieve. When you came back into this room - as I suspected - you were close enough for Niamh's charm to talk to you."

He crossed the room now and took from a top shelf a dusty-looking silver bowl with a stem like a wine glass and a lid like a bubble. Blowing the dust off, he set it down on his desk. "Niamh left this here in 1956, not long before you were born, Miss Evans. Can you read the writing?"

Lily gently brushed some more dust away with her finger so that she could see the words engraved on the side of the bowl. "Evans," she read in wonder, "and - Ni - Fear - F-E-A-R-G-H-A-I-L."

"Ni Fearghail," Professor McGonagall said, pronouncing it indeed something like "Farrell." "That was Niamh."

"You may take it with you, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said. "It is yours, it was created for you. I daresay it will change your mind about being Muggle-born."

"So I wasn't, truly," Lily said.

"No, you were not. Your great-grandmother's Pensieve will show you many things - wondrous things, mystical things. It may even give us clues to some of the greatest mysteries of our times. But, Miss Evans, I imagine it may also show you horrible, terrible things. Niamh saw her share of those, as well."

Lily nodded and picked up the Pensieve. "I'm ready," she said nervously.

"Good girl. It's late now, why don't you return to your dormitory."

"Yes, Professor." She turned back as she reached the door and nodded to Professor McGonagall as well. "Goodnight, Professor. Thank you."

Professor McGonagall's eyes looked a bit wet as she nodded back. As the door closed behind Lily, she could hear Professor McGonagall saying, "Imagine, Albus - Niamh's family, back where it belongs."

In the hallway, Lily held the Pensieve tight against her chest, curling her arms around it. Experimentally, she thought, Great-grandmother? Are you still there? Will I be able to speak to you always?

There was a long pause, and then a firm female voice in her ear. "Call me Niamh, dear."