The sun was shining through the trees, birds chirped from the high branches and a warm breeze stirred the air. The blue sky reflected off the lake and created a picture-perfect beauty, almost surreal in nature. Hogwarts. A pair of dragonflies hovered just above the water and sunlight glinted off their rainbow wings. Despite the deep tranquillity of the moment, Amanda Elliot could sense unrest and tension hanging in the air. Something was not right. In fact, that was a bit of an understatement. It was one of the worst days of Amanda's life; and that was saying something.
The beauty around her paled in significance to the news she'd just received. He was free. The man who had ruined her life, made her an orphan and only child all in one bloody night. A night that she hadn't even been present for. She hadn't even been able to say goodbye. How stupid was fate?
He was free. It was plastered all over the newspapers. She wasn't sure how Dumbledore had been able to keep her in the dark as long as he had considering it was the news everyone was talking about. The first person to ever break out of Azkaban. Amanda hoped the dementors found him and sucked out his soul; it'd serve him right after the damage he'd done, ruthlessly murdering thirteen innocent people. She hoped that they did it nice and slowly. Twelve years in prison wasn't enough to make up for thirteen lives lost; not even close. If she could get her hands on him for an hour . . . Ah but that would never happen.
Amanda paused at a gargoyle and ran a hand through her hair, trying to remember the password. The headmaster had quite a sweet tooth. Acid pops? Jelly slugs?
"Ice mice!" she exclaimed. The gargoyle began moving and Amanda stepped onto the ground next to it as it ascended to the headmaster's office. She'd been up this way many times before, but it always made her nervous, as if she'd done something wrong and just couldn't remember what.
Dumbledore's office was empty and Amanda frowned. He'd asked her to meet him here, so where was he? Dumbledore was never late. She glanced around the room and noticed a few things that were new since last time she visited: a portrait of a young girl with red hair hung above the door and in the far corner was a strangely ornate bench with a sink set into it. Amanda walked over and peered inside, seeing the misty substance that swirled inside it. She knew what it was without having to be told. A pensieve. The place where Dumbledore stored his old memories. She'd never imagined being so close to such a wonderful store of knowledge and the idea of actually having access to it made her knees weak. She was in Ravenclaw for a reason. Amanda craved new knowledge like others craved chocolate. It was her bread and butter, the thing that made her world go around. And to be so close to the memories of a man as old and wise as Albus Dumbledore – it fairly blew her mind.
Amanda looked over her shoulder and muttered, "Come on, Dumbledore. Hurry up."
Fawkes was sitting in the corner and titled his head at her words. She shivered, feeling remarkably like he was watching to make sure she didn't mess anything up.
"What're you looking at?" she asked. Unsurprisingly, Fawkes didn't answer. Amanda found her attention drawn back to the pensieve and she bounced nervously on the spot. So much knowledge. It was taunting her, and she didn't like it. How many people had an opportunity like this one? How many would pass it up?
"Oh, screw it," she said, reaching her hand down to the memories. "What could go wrong?"
Later, that would be the moment she looked back on as the first portent of doom.
The world started spinning and writhing before her eyes, tilting up and down until she thought she was going to lose her breakfast in Dumbledore's pensieve. How terrible that would be. When the world finally righted itself, she realised that she was no longer in Dumbledore's office. She was downstairs in the Great Hall and it was filled with unfamiliar students. A group of first years were gathered at the front, shifting nervously from foot to foot. They were at the welcome banquet, Amanda decided, and the sorting was about to take place. She studied the first years curiously and wondered why she'd been brought into this particular memory. Had it been accessed recently? What was the significance?
Professor McGonagall pulled a list of names from her pocket and read the first one. "Sirius Black."
Amanda's stomach plummeted to her shoes. Oh my god, she thought, desperately scanning the crowd of kids. Oh my god! No wonder she'd been brought back to this moment. This was when it all began; when he started studying at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was a small kid, not very impressive. Short in stature with scruffy black hair and eyes that were nearly glacial, he stalked to the sorting hat with a smirk that already hinted at the wizard he would become. At the monster he would become, she corrected herself. Even at eleven years of age he thought he was better than everyone else. Amanda was frozen to her seat as she watched the sorting hat deliberate, appearing to wage a silent war with itself.
"Gryffindor!" it called out eventually. McGonagall read another name off the list and then Amanda felt the world up-ending again.
This time she had the forethought to brace herself and wasn't nearly as disoriented when she stopped at a new setting – or rather, memory. She was back in Dumbledore's office, but it wasn't his office as she knew it. The Professor himself sat behind the desk, flicking through a stack of papers. Amanda was tempted to say hello but knew that he wouldn't be able to hear her. Behind her, the door opened and she experienced the same gut-wrenching sensation of betrayal at the sight of a slightly older Sirius Black entering the room. Why hadn't Dumbledore seen his evil heart? Although, admittedly, Sirius Black didn't look evil. Not this incarnation, anyway. He was only a few years into puberty and his limbs were long and lanky, his hair fell over one eye and his robes were patched up in a few places. He still carried himself proudly though, with his shoulders back and head held high. Dumbledore looked up from his work and smiled.
"Ah, Mr Black; how can I help you today?"
Sirius Black raised a haughty eyebrow. "I was under the impression it was you who wanted to see me, sir."
"You are correct, of course, Mr Black. It was merely a . . . pleasantry," he replied. "I wanted to inquire after your mother."
"My mother?" Black asked doubtfully.
"She is a singular woman, is she not?" Dumbledore continued.
"That would be one way of putting it," Black muttered, glancing down at his shoes. "I can't really say, sir. My mother and I are somewhat estranged. I guess it'd be too much to hope she'd crawled into a corner and died?"
Dumbledore pretended he hadn't heard Black's question, but Amanda gasped at his callous attitude and cruelty. Sirius Black truly was a beast.
The floor gave way beneath Amanda one final time, and she clenched her hands into fists, opening her eyes to a setting completely different to any that had come before. She was in a homely lounge where several people were gathered in the centre of the room. Overcome by curiosity, Amanda edged closer and peered over someone's shoulder. A baby boy was lying in a bassinet, gurgling happily as a dark-haired man twirled a mobile over his head. The man raised his head and she did another take. It was him again. Was there no escaping this nightmare? Sirius Black grinned at the man standing next to her; a guy in his early twenties with black hair and glasses. Don't you know? Amanda wanted to demand. Can't you see what he is? She tried to grab the man's shoulders to shake him but her hands didn't meet any resistance and passed straight though him. He looked familiar, but she couldn't figure out why.
"Will you be the godfather?" the man asked Black.
There was a tugging on Amanda's stomach and then she was jerking free of the pensieve; free from Dumbledore's memories of a murderer. Amanda put her hands over her heart to try and calm the racing beat, but it was no good. Agitatedly, she picked up the nearest object – a delicate chain with a glass sphere suspended on it – and started twisting it around. She couldn't make sense of all that she'd just seen. What could it possibly mean? She clamped her fist closed around the glass and gave it a good shake, purely out of frustration. It was only when she looked down that she finally realised what it was. Only it was far, far too late to fix the damage. Amanda had been fiddling with a time-turner.