CHAPTER 1: THE BEGINNING (SO CLICHÉ)

Thunder rumbled, a baritone which would have intimidated the resident of a well-kept mansion resting underneath the heavy grey clouds if they were not resting in oblivion. Only one was up working.

A woman sat on a chair in the middle of a ridiculously extravagant study room. Quick quote quills were flying furiously across the pages of a floating spiral notebook as the woman dictated. "Cases have occurred in which the subjects find themselves at a different place and time, depending on the rotation of Jupiter's third moon, Amalthea. Subjects are rarely non-muggles, with the exception of pure-blood witch, Carla Sasmund (head of the well-known quidditch team, Holy head harpies,1932.) who claimed that she fell from her broom in an accident during practice but ended up in the carriage of sir Alfred Goodman (Order of Merlin, first class) in the year 1628 for 15 minutes. Sir Goodman later claimed he thought it was an amateur attempt at apparition by an injured goblin spawn. "

"It wasn't until Sasmund's death in 1967 did the ministry of magic begun looking into this matter. It is rumored that Unspeakables have been experimenting with time turners but with no such luck, as even time turners could not mimic the methods of the time and place exchange. Such phenomenons, though rare, have happened in B.C. 257, 1250 and A.D.1356 and 1618 respectively and are recorded as "strange yet oddly fascinating" by ministry of magic worker, Vern Sholley. Unlisted cases (where the subject does not report the incident to the department of mysteries) are suspected to have occurred in various stages. Most subjects, being muggles, are given potions or immediate treatment to ensure the statute of secrecy-"

She stopped. God, she was dying for a cup of coffee. It was time for a well-deserved break. A few biscuits wouldn't suffice either; she had skipped dinner just to finish this article.

Ed should be so lucky, the researcher thought, as she got up and stretched her sore back. Said editor was a tough, no-you-may-not-have-another-day–to–finish-this-article type of person. Big bloke with watery eyes. But he was a dear to let me write this one. She'd practically tackled him and shouted "yes!" in front of her colleagues when he suggested her writing about the Tempus Viators.

Slowly, as two hours of non-stop research was starting to take its toll on her, she made her way into the kitchen.

Tempus Viator, literally the translation of time traveler, though not the way muggles usually pictured them with telephones and enginge…thingies. She thought, taking some iced biscuits of the tin. They tended to romanticize things. Muggles were curios that way.

Tempus Viators usually appeared when the universe decided it needed to break the barrier between the wizarding world and the muggle world. Stupid law of the universe. Where was an available Tempus Viator when you needed one to interview for the 1981 witches' weekly collection: magic and secrets forgotten (the name was cheesy but the contents were brilliant, if she could say so herself) ?Besides, the wizarding world needed a hero or at least some someone to stand up to he-who-must-not-be-named now that his death eaters were running rampant on the streets killing- no, Rosie, don't let yourself go there, what's happened has happened, Robert's gone. She mentally scolded herself, she vowed never to think of her deceased husband and the gaping hole in her that he left but here she was, doing it again. She gave an involuntary shudder. She would die to protect her boys from him.

Just as she lifted her mug, filled with warm sweet-smelling liquid, her kitchen door exploded.

Spontaneously combust, really, but no one corrected a murderer. It could only be the work of magic. She thought as her head hit the floor, shrapnel flying past her and her thin frame sprawled onto the floor. No… no…nonononononononononoo, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.

But it was too late. A snake slithered in, followed by a tall man in a sweeping robe with glowing red eyes and slits for the nostrils.

"Leave my boys alone." she all but whimpered. Voldemort smiled, not a kind smile or I'm-going-to-kill-you smile, it was a chilling smile that froze your blood and welcomed incurable fourth degree frostbite. It was as if it were some sort of recreation he often did. Lining them up for slaughter one by one weekly, smiling at them the way he was smiling at her now. And knowing what he was capable of (she had researched him), he probably did.

"please." She begged, Tim and Joshua, bright minds, cheeky faces, safe, unharmed, alive… 'Your reputation has grown, Mrs. Linney. 'Was his reply before a flash of green engulfed her senses. She lay limply, a troubled expression on her face, clearly dead, still worrying about her children.

Two hours later, away from the glowing dark mark that was hovering over the smoking remains of the linney's once-beautiful house, Ophelia Trelawney's voice dropped an octave.

Her daughter, Sybill, stared at her, face quite flushed. Sybill had been looking for some last minute panty hoses to pack in her trunk for her trip. ( "a promising teaching career", she had bragged to her neighbor, unaware that Mrs. Chan had no idea what the mad girl was on about and had no intention of asking, "at Hogwarts, too. Best school there is." Mrs. Chan had nodded politely, too tired of telling the girl that should really brush her hair.)

Sybill didn't often pay attention to her mother's prediction, partly because her mother was so sensitive about the future (possessing the sight of a proper seer, her mother had told her,), she tended to pick up every single bloody thing, from what time it was going to be in two minutes ("your grandmother was proud of my gift", Ophelia had said haughtily to her when she doubted it was a useful trait.) to what would happen six millennia from now( "one can never be too informed."). Also, partly because she thought she would see whatever was going on and she was missing using her sight rather than mummy's some time later. She was mostly wrong, because she had no idea, even when she tried marshalling the forces of the oracle.

But, this time it sounded important, so she decided to listen, just this once until she had the vision herself anyway. The only problem was, because she had been very hectic and frenzy from the packing and shoving, she'd decided that some sherry would do her good, so she had a bottle. More or less.

The only words she caught were "a decade later" and "the alligator triumphs" (or was it "the viator triumphs"?). Oh well, she would pick it up soon enough.

Sybill dragged her trunk across the room to her mother, who was still in her trance, (she was used to it anyway, if anything she preferred It.) told her to stop fussing, that she would write weekly and loved her (the usual drill) and that there was cake in the pantry (to show she actually did love her) and apparated.

Ophelia, once out of her trance, shocked and terrified from the recent prediction, could only breathe, "god help us, we need someone."