Potions. I thoroughly despise potions. Considering who my parents are it really could have gone either way, love or hate. Any love I may have had for the subject has officially dissipated, vanished right along with my life long best friend and her weird amused-shocked-terrified look. In all honesty, I had no idea why she was looking at me like that at the time as I'm sure that my face was curled in a disgusted sneer as a rather nervous looking boy named Paolo Zabini exploded his cauldron. I knew the boy. Grew up with him. He really was a sweet kid but he was rubbish at potions. I hated the class but luckily got the talent for it despite negative feelings.

Now, here I sit, emerald eyes blinking owlishly as I glance back and forth between two long dead professors. One is collecting samples of the purple spotted pea green potion that's coating my school uniform and the other is simply smiling serenely with an odd twinkle in his pale blue eyes. From what I've gathered, whatever concoction Zabini ended up developing was not the anxiety draught that my sixth year class was meant to be making.

"Thank you, Severus." Said the old man in the odd robes, "I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry. I am terribly sorry, my dear, for the secretive and silent treatment that you have received but we had to be certain."

"Certain, sir?"

"That you weren't associated with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, of course."

I blanched and looked between the Headmaster and man in black in stunned silence for a ridiculous amount of time. Death Eaters? Voldemort? There hadn't been a single mention of them in twenty one years apart from the yearly memorial and celebration associated with the Battle of Hogwarts. When I had woken in the hospital wing with the two men before me hovering over my bed, I had thought that my father had decided to play an elaborate joke. He had always said that I never took the lessons from his time at school seriously. Now, however, I could feel the panic setting in as I was beginning to realize that this wasn't a joke. No one was going to jump out at me and reveal that they were trying to teach me a lesson. I was not just far from home in the sense that I was safely at school awaiting Christmas break so that I could see my family; I was far from home in the sense that Paolo Zabini had literally catapulted me back in time.

My breathing came out in hurried, painful gasps and my eyes filled with tears. This was not happening. I was not sitting in ALBUS DUMBLDORE'S office in 1996. Severus Snape was not handing me an actual anxiety potion. I was in my dorm room having an extremely vivid dream. My parents were at work planning to eat supper with my aunt and uncle tonight as it was Thursday. My brother was in his common room staying up entirely too late playing exploding snaps.

I took the potion given to me and felt the effects instantly. My mind cleared, my breathing returned to normal, the tears dried on long blonde lashes, and emerald eyes met pale blue. They eyed me curiously but gave me a few moments before anything was said.

"Are you alright?" professor Dumbledore questioned.

"No, but I'm better. Thank you, Professor Snape." His eyebrow arched.

"Now, might I ask your name, child?"

I took a deep breath and looked rapidly between the two men before licking my lips, "Alexandra."

"Alexandra," he smiled, "Lovely name. Might I have your last name so that we may contact your parents?"

"I believe you'll find contacting my parents difficult, sir."

"Oh, and why is that?" He smiled at me jovially.

"Because my name is Alexandra Narcissa Malfoy-Potter. My parents are at work some twenty years in the future."

The two men looked at me stunned, obsidian and blue eyes blinking owlishly at me and, against my better judgement and despite my current situation, I laughed harder than was necessary.