Author's Notes: This is my own translation of a fanfic that I grew very attached to. You can find the Polish version here. I hope you will love it as much as I do. Oh, and to my absolute delight, now I was finally able to show one of my character's true colours! Meaning: accent. Gotta love English. Okay, ladies and gents, let's get on with it, shall we? Yes, I think we shall.

Disclaimer: As you all might have already figured out, I am, in fact, not J.K. Rowling, nor do I claim any rights to the world and characters she created. Everything you see here is a figment of my twisted imagination and was written purely for my amusement. Any resemblance between the characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental (except you, Jessica… B—ch).

2006

Hannah Abbott tried to do whatever she could to leave behind her altogether silly teenage years. Her sudden attempts to grow interest in literature other than Witch Weekly were rather hopeless, though she did finally become very fond of puzzles and crosswords, especially that one in the Muggle Times. It turns out that her initial efforts in the logical department weren't half as futile as she thought they would be, so Hannah decided to pursue her career in management and magical accounting — because nothing says "sensible" quite like numbers.

Pleased with today's quarterly financial statement, she stretched out her legs and straightened the desk plate that said: "Hannah Abbott — Independent Accountant". She was proud of the cosy little life she had built for herself. Professionally, she was at the top of the ladder, romantically… Well, maybe not so much but the weekend is coming and surely something nice along with it. Nothing was going to spoil that particularly pleasant Thursday afternoon.

'Fifteen more minutes and then lunch?' Hannah rather stated than asked.

Beatrice Stevens, the witch sitting by the desk next to Hannah's, belonged to that exceptionally annoying category of people who always just pretended to work and never really did anything. She leaned out from behind Cosmopolitan and tried to look apologetically.

'Don't know. I'm totally swamped.'

Hannah was just about to say something but suddenly her ancient, brick-like computer monitor, adapted to support the magical accountancy program CHARM (Central Harmonious Accountancy and Relevant Magic) started glowing blue, then flickered and finally switched off completely.

'Oh no. No, no, no!' Hannah, utterly mortified, slapped the screen once or twice and when that didn't change anything, she started to hit it with all her might.

'No, no, no! My whole quarterly statement!' she moaned. 'Work, damn it! What's the matter with you!'

Beatrice hid behind her magazine and said:

'It might be a fuse. Couple of days ago Jessica from the fifth opened an unauthorised Floo connection and all her data went to shit.'

'Merlin's beard…'

'Try Flooing to the IT.'

The sheer idea of doing so frightened Hannah more than the perspective of losing her statement.

'What? I'll fix it myself!' She tried to lift the monitor up, but it was too heavy.

'Iggy Pratt?' Beatrice sighed and frowned suspiciously when Hannah turned red.

'Oh, great Morgana!' She smacked Hannah with her Cosmo. 'One of these days you're just gonna have to try and talk to him! Like people do!'

'Never!'

The screen was then swat with a stapler but that didn't seem to work either.

'Listen.' Beatrice finally rose from her chair and sounded way more scientific than she should in her position. 'You really must read this article. There's this personality test to it that will totally change your views on relationships.'

She then covered the screen with Cosmopolitan, which caused Hannah's left eyelid to twitch frantically. Hannah pushed her friend aside and whipped out her wand, now starting to wave it around desperately.

'We didn't even go on a single date. Why should I bother?' she said. 'What am I even going to say?'

'I thought he finally asked you out.'

'He did! And then stood me up! Arsehole.'

'Are you trying to cast a Healing Spell on your computer?'

'Maybe…'

Hannah sighed and fell into her chair, slowly getting acquainted with the thought of having to visit the IT office but then the monitor flickered and started to flash blue again. Hannah nearly jumped and grabbed the machine from both sides, squinting her eyes and trying to read the message on the screen:

'Your files are exactly where you left them? WHAT!'

'If I were a computer that has just messed with your whole quarterly statement, I'd probably say the same,' said Beatrice.

'But… what does it even mean?'

'Have you tried turning the Network off and on again?'

'No, CHARM is not compatible with Floo.'

'So it's not a virus.'

'Merlin knows what it is!'

A couple of minutes later, when Hannah was already forming her monthly notice in her head, the message on the screen disappeared. Instead, the former Hufflepuff was greeted with good, old and familiar white tables — full of numbers and other data.

'Sweet Helga, thank you!' She grabbed her monitor and made a solemn promise to herself that next time she will definitely, totally, absolutely make a backup. Just as she was toying with an idea of some sort of a good spirit that was surely keeping an eye on her, the numbers in the tables flickered and started to multiply — first slowly, then faster and faster, finally reaching impossible quantities.

'Hannah…' Beatrice looked over her shoulder and pointed to one of the recapitulation columns. The department responsible for the mess seemed to be the Department of Mysteries.

'Oh no, don't! This isn't happening!' Hannah ran to the door.

'Where are you going?'

'Crowley cannot see those numbers!'

The desperate accountant rushed through the corridor in a frantic race against time. However, she did not expect to run into a, quite substantial, obstacles, which here means: two janitors armed with mops drenched in perilous floor rinse. Hannah slipped spectacularly and banged her head against the floor. One of the men dressed in denim overalls impatiently knocked his mop against the sign that said: "Caution! Wet floor!"

'Can't Hufflepuffs read?' He stood over her and tsk-tsked disapprovingly. "Goyle, hand me that rag, will yeh? The damned witch made smudges."

The main problem with places that accumulate high level of magic is that sometimes they end up attracting unpredictable anomalies. Tensions in the magical aura surrounding the Ministry of Magic could not, however, be held entirely accountable for the afternoon's turmoil — though such concentration of unstable aura could indeed be potentially dangerous, the head of the Financial Department always paid close attention to it. He would never allow it to cause any unpredictable costs — since he always kept a neat budget, obviously.

It goes without saying that when that fateful afternoon CHARM suddenly spit out those dreadful sums, Silas Crowley was not amused. He immediately threw in some Floo powder into his fireplace and, as soon as he saw the Operator's head, he roared:

'Get me accountancy! The noo!'

Minerva McGonagall was used to facing the impossible. Having lived through two Wizarding Wars, many personal disasters, the fall and rise of Voldemort and long and painful term of office of Cornelius Fudge, it is safe to assume that she was a woman prepared for the worst. However, she never even suspected that sudden disruptions in her daily routine would happen in the very first week of the new semester. Since the Weasley twins were long done with pursuing their educational excellence, things were rarely out of the ordinary at Hogwarts.

"Well, I never!" she murmured disapprovingly towards the tea saucer that started to tremble uncontrollably as soon as she put her cup down.

After that, when her whole desk followed and the whole school was shaken from the dungeons to the roof, the Headmistress retreated to the window and begrudgingly turned her head towards the portrait of Severus Snape.

'Your Slytherins at it again?' she grunted but was surprised to see that the Potions Master was absent from his canvas.

Before she could farther consider that fact, the whole floor shuddered again.

'As Gryffindor is my witness, what is going on here?'

She rushed towards the door, which unexpectedly opened ajar without the smallest interference on her part.

'Professor!'

On the doorstep to her office stood a sixth year Gryffindor, completely short of breath. She looked scared out of her wits. Her robes were so stained that Minerva wondered if the girl had poured on herself the entire contents of her cauldron and her face and tie looked soiled — as if she had taken part in a pyrotechnical experiment of some sort.

'Miss Carter.' Minerva was trying to stay calm. At first she wanted to comment on such flagrant violations of the established rules concerning school uniforms, but decided to do so later. 'Will you please explain what is going on in the dungeons?'

'It's… Professor, it's him!' The horrified student covered her mouth and leaned onto the antique armchair that stood nearby.

'Him?'

The Gryffindor moaned and rubbed her forearms, nodding.

'Miss Carter, please control yourself.' Minerva guided her towards a chair, trying not to think too much of the situation. 'Slowly and clearly: what is going on there? Who is 'he'?'

'He's back!' squeaked Carter, nearly reduced to tears. 'I don't know how, I don't know why but he's back! He just… He just came out of the wall!'

'What? Miss Carter, please stop saying nonsense. None of our resident ghosts is-…'

'He is in the dungeons and he's terrorising Professor Goodart!' The Gryffindor waved her hands, as if trying to highlight her point.

'A ghost?'

'Worse!'

Then the girl repeated herself about the wall, which made McGonagall sigh and decide that there was nothing else for her to do but go down there and see it for herself. It must have been one of the students. A failed potions experiment, it must be some sort of Confundus effect. Not to worry, though. A quick Finite Incantatem and she'll be able to get back to her tea and documents. Of course she'll probably have to put another kettle on…

Suddenly, the Gryffindor started to give out hysterical sobs. Minerva was almost sure that between her mumblings she had heard a more than familiar name. But… No, surely not.

'Miss Carter, that's quite enough. Please go see Madam Pomfrey and wait for me in the Hospital Wing.'

'But…' Huge, tearful eyes were fixed on Minerva, who was slowly losing her temper.

'Now, Miss Carter!'

When the still trembling girl raced down the stairs, jumping over every other step, McGonagall looked at the amused portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who was currently struggling to get a caramel out of the rustling paper.

'If it's Voldemort again, I will Avada him myself,' she informed him curtly.

'Now, now, my dear' he sucked on the candy with obvious content 'even he wouldn't invade us right before the weekend.'

When Hannah started to regain consciousness, the first thing she saw was her boss' alarmed face. His dark eyebrows were frowned so hard that they nearly met above his crooked nose and the angered looks he was giving her were not a sort of thing one would like to see after having just fainted. Hannah, quite obviously, tried to get out of there immediately, but two strong hands firmly pressed her into the armchair.

'There, Miss Abbott, no sudden movements,' said someone behind her.

When she turned, she saw an older man in a healer uniform. He was just taking off his stethoscope and packing an old-fashioned medical bag.

'Sae she's gonnae be okay?' asked Silas Crowley, in whose armchair, as she finally realised, she was currently sitting.

'Mr. Crowley, I'm not a Seer,' replied the healer, scribbling something on a prescription that he begrudgingly handed to the younger wizard.

'But if ye hud tae guess…'

'In that case I would also have to consider changing my profession. Healing magic is not a jigsaw puzzle, sir! Good day to you,' he growled and put on his fedora before slamming the door behind him.

Hannah was silent and Silas looked with righteous indignation on the prescription and then on the door, as if it had insulted him personally. The young accountant eyed the eerie and gloomy office that she had seen only twice before and had no intention of staying in any longer than necessary. At the same time she pondered why was her boss so concerned for her. When Crowley finally looked at her and loosened his tie even more, she saw fear in his eyes. Suddenly everything was clear.

He was afraid. And she knew exactly why. There was only one thing that the head of the Financial Department was scared of, namely — lawsuits. He clearly thought that she was going to… How does it go? Sue him for 'failing to ensure a safe work environment'? She will have to look into that. For a moment Hannah has lost control over her own face and she smiled brightly. Crowley, seeing that she was better, outstretched his arm and handed her the prescription, as if scared that any kind of human contact might turn him into a frog.

'Ye feelin better?' he asked, unconvinced of his own concern.

Hannah stopped smiling at once and fell into the armchair. She glanced upon a creepy, stuffed raven that stood in the corner and pressed her cold palms to her cheeks.

'I don't know. I'm a bit dizzy, actually,' she whispered, as convincingly as she possibly could.

If, as she suspected, she was to be fired for her tragic mistake in the financial statement, at least she was going to get a proper requital out of it.

'Ye hit yer heid, yoo're gonnae be fine,' Silas stated the obvious, then flicked his wand and summoned a bottle of water from a mini-fridge that was enchanted to look like a vintage trunk.

'Everything's… Kind of blurry,' said Hannah, graciously accepting the water as if she were the queen of England, but then gave it back. 'I can't open it,' she hinted, trying to look like a proper damsel in distress.

Crowley, being one of those who avoided having people over as much as he humanly could, opened the bottle so forcefully that he spilled most of the cold water on his desk and on Hannah. The accountant screeched and jumped, while Crowley swore under his breath, his accent even more pronounced than usual. Before Hannah could think of any excuse for the irrefutable denial of her earlier stories about her agonising state, the office door opened abruptly. In it stood Perseus Jones, the young vice-head of the main division of the Unspeakables.

'Crowley!'

'Jones, git oot!' Silas, impossibly busy with trying to dry his Extremely Important Scrolls, didn't even notice how excited his friend was.

'Crowley, you have to see this! We found-… Oh, just come!' Jones didn't even look at Hannah, who was currently calculating the chances of her not getting her head ripped of by Crowley.

'What th' heel ur ye gettin oan aboot?'

'We found your whole budget and something… Something even better! Merlin's beard, Crowley, come on!'

Having said that, Perseus stormed out of the office just as suddenly as he appeared. Silas shook his head and ordered Hannah before he ran out too:

'Abbott, wait fur me 're!'

Pacing the corridors and passages of the Ministry, Crowley wondered what the hell could be going on here. When the two wizards went into the elevator and descended to the Department of Mysteries, the familiar, cold and irrational shiver went down Crowley's spine. It's been more than ten years and he still couldn't get over what the Death Eaters did here after Voldemort murdered Rufus Scrimgeour.

'We there yit?' he grumbled, following Perseus through pitch-black corridors and feeling more and more unsure.

'You're kidding me, right? I could get into so much trouble for this and you're complaining?'

'Whaur we gaan?'

'You're the only person from the outside who'll be able to see this!'

'Aye, that is precisely what's worryin me.'

'Stop your whining.' Perseus pushed open the heavy doors at the end of the dark corridor and came through first.

Silas stopped talking and let his friend take the lead. The round, black hall was lit only by the torches on the walls and their gloomy, blue flames. Jones immediately knew which door to choose next and so Crowley followed, really not wanting to stay there alone. When they came to the next hall, the first thing he noticed was the smell. It smelled of dirt, rotting wood and air that stood still for at least a couple of years. The two wizards found themselves in a room that resembled a dark cave. There, in the very middle of it, stood an eerie stone arch and from its insides gaped a dark, cosmic hole, glowing with an inner shine that resembled a supernova. The light and the smoke curling in it, along with spectral whispers coming from the inside, made Silas' skin crawl.

'Is 'at-…?'

'It used to be,' explained Perseus, noticeably excited. 'Now… We don't even know what it is. A group of interns messed something up this morning, we're still cleaning up after them, and so then it turns out… It turns out that it has some sort of a field! Do you even know what kind of permeability we're talking about?'

'Permeability?' Silas blinked a couple of times.

'Of the light waves.'

'Start 'spikin bludy English, will ye?'

Perseus was almost glowing with joy.

'What you're seeing, Crowley, is the Ether.'

'The Ether?' Crowley stepped closer to the arch but was immediately stopped by the Unspeakable.

'We still don't know how far it reaches. Stay where you are.'

''Hoo far? Whit is 'at? Ah thooght it was some kin' ay a portal an-…''

'Because it is a portal. That's the problem. We still don't know whether it's stable or not or how it even happened but we know that something has-…'

'Impossible!' Silas stepped even farther back. 'Impossible! All portals waur closed an' e'en if ye cood reopen 'em... They wooldnae look like 'at! ' He pointed at the milling, cosmic light. 'Somebody must hae messed wi' it!'

'That's what I thought! At first we started to make calculations but there was no interference from the outside.'

'Yer tellin me something's gotten oot!'

'Today we tested the light beams.' Perseus picked up a random pebble and threw it into the portal. 'Look.'

Something in the inside hissed and then started to swirl and explode with bright light. Then, ghostly streaks of something that looked like liquid moonstone emerged from the portal. It stopped moving only to suddenly blow up again, turning into what seemed to be hundreds of thousands of grains of sand that stopped in the air just in front of the two wizards.

'Wha' th' bloody hell is 'at?' Crowley couldn't believe his eyes.

Perseus smiled and touched some of the grains, which now resembled tiny, gleaming diamonds.

'Time particles. In their pure form.'

The first thing that Minerva McGonagall saw when she entered the dungeons was a trembling group of distressed Gryffindors, trying to calm one another. They whispered to each other and some of them looked like they needed immediate medical attention. Once they noticed Professor McGonagall, most of them relaxed instantly.

'Go back to your Common Room,' she said and they complied without an ounce of hesitation.

They rushed towards the main corridor and ran up the stairs, while the already worried Headmistress pushed open the door that led to the potions classroom. Normally she would have expected to find there the décor to which, after nine years, she was already used. However, in those circumstances, she remained extremely vigilant. Minerva had a hunch that no Confundus was in fact responsible for that mess — especially since the new Potions Professor was not an incompetent witch. In general, Minerva could trust her when it came to the students' safety. Even though sometimes her decorating aspirations had a tendency to slip out of control.

Euphemia Goodart, a plump witch in her mid-fifties, thanks to few tasteful paintings, nice lighting and pleasant gold-and-purple wallpapers was able to turn this particularly nasty lair into a more than bearable surrounding. By the way, Minerva thought that this makeover actually did the classroom and the subject a lot of good. She didn't miss the hysteria and the panic attacks that followed the previous Potions Master's infamous reputation.

When Minerva closed the door behind her, what she saw was virtually impossible to be adequately described. The new Potions Professor stood in the corner, pressed against the wall, and looked positively terrified. She was looking at someone who was eagerly throwing books off the shelves. Just before Minerva, in the middle of the largest wall, outstretched a hole, which shone with warm, glistening light and was buzzing with an inner energy of its own. A thread-like material gleamed around its edges like a supernatural spider's web. The entire floor was covered in potions remains and littered with overturned desks and cauldrons. And there, in front of the bookshelf that was usually holding rows of neatly stacked books, stood…

'Impossible!' whispered Professor McGonagall, tucking in her wand and looking anxiously at Professor Goodart.

The terrified witch gasped while the man continued to throw on the floor her, until recently, perfectly arranged potions textbooks and other scientific volumes.

'Nonsense,' growled a horse, unpleasant voice.

'Rubbish!' Another book landed in a puddle of spilled potion with a loud 'plop'.

'A disgrace in its merits!'

Slam! Another book flew right in front of Minerva.

'Horrifyingly incompetent translation, this has to be read in the original… Though I can't see those dunderheads getting much out of it.'

When he got hold of another book, he straightened up and made the sound of a basilisk suddenly awakened from its slumber.

'Well, really! One does sometimes wonder how is it even possible for some to purchase a scientific position that lacks a proper bibliography!' Having said that, he turned around and faced Professor McGonagall, who cried out in shock and took a few steps back, hitting her leg on one of the overturned cauldrons.

'Minerva.'

Right in front of her, barefoot and in a somewhat tarnished robe that used to be black, stood Severus Snape himself — the converted Death Eater, double spy, until recently presumed dead war hero and a teacher from hell, responsible for the trauma of generations of students.

'I can see that you decided to redecorate my classroom.' Snape smiled sardonically.

'It's not your classroom anymore,' whispered the Headmistress, trying not to look too much into the portal.

She had a gut feeling that the more she looked; the more she got the urge to jump into it.

'Excuse me?' Snape seemed to be honestly surprised with the information, so she decided to enlighten him.

'Severus… You died,' she said, as firmly as she could. 'Nearly ten years ago.'

Initially shocked, he impatiently adjusted one of his torn sleeves, stained with a silvery substance of an unidentified origin, and looked around the dungeon with a clear disgust.

'And this is the person you decide to replace me with?' He gestured towards Professor Goodart, who, as soon as Snape shifted his attention to her, let out an agonising scream.

'Please… I didn't mean to! If only I had known that-… How were we supposed to know that you didn't in fact-… That…'

'Severus, please.' McGonagall finally decided to approach him and took away the book he was still holding, with which he was suddenly unwilling to part. 'You're dead.'

'Yes, go towards the light,' shrieked Professor Goodart. 'Over there!' She pointed at the portal, still trembling with fear.

'I will not go towards any bleeding-…!'

'SEVERUS!'

'The woman decided to hang wallpapers, Minerva!'

'Well, nobody forbids the teachers to decorate their classrooms.'

'It's my dungeon!'

'Technically, it's mine,' said Minerva, ending the discussion. 'Sit.'

She beckoned towards one of the desks, where the confused Potions Master was finally seated as if he were a stubborn pupil. He was glaring at the portal, his breath heavy and hoarse.

'Severus… You remember the Shrieking Shack?' McGonagall decided to go around it gently.

'I remember,' he admitted. 'But not much else. Nothing after that. Not this.' He gestured towards the portal. 'Nor the… Moments before.' He waved his hand around, trying to mean something by it, however Minerva couldn't even begin to imagine what.

'Has it really been ten years?' he asked promptly, straightening up his usually slightly hunched back and looking at the Headmistress piercingly.

Even if he was some sort of a ghost that was not yet known to the Wizarding World, Professor McGonagall had to admit that he was quite convincing. Because Severus couldn't really… Magic couldn't really bring anything back to life, could it?

Before she was able to suppress her thoughts, it was too late. Dead or not, Severus Snape remained an inhumanly skillful Legilimens.

'Salazar have mercy!' he roared, slamming his hand against the desk. 'If I really were dead, would I be able to do this?' He stood up and grabbed a piece of the stripped, cream wallpaper and then yanked half of it down in one, sharp movement.

This turned out to be too much for Professor Goodart who, with a quiet rustle of her robes, finally fell to the floor.