Title: Hourglass

Rating: K+

Genre: Sci-fi/Adventure

Main Characters: Roxanne Weasley, Fred Weasley (I and II), Molly Weasley II, Lorcan Scamander, Lysander Scamander, Albus Potter, George Weasley

Summary: Roxanne Weasley finds out just how many secrets the castle can hide the day she discovers the hourglass. And when tragedy strikes, Roxanne and the gang discover just how deadly a weapon time can be if it falls into the wrong hands.

A/N: This is a time travel fic, essentially, that kind of follows my plotline from Kiss From a Rose, although it's not really a sequel. The story follows canon for the most part, including the information we were given after the series. A good chunk of the story takes place during Order of the Phoenix. And lastly, if anyone would like to beta, that would be awesome.

Disclaimer: All rights to the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling, whom I am not, unfortunately. All names, locations and other properties recognizable from Potter belong to her too.

Prologue

Gregory Goyle was jerked awake by a loud, resounding series of clunks. It took him a moment to get his bearings before he realized what it was that had woken him. It was coming from the front door, though it was astounding that someone would knock with enough force for him to hear it from his bedroom, and in the depths of sleep. He slipped on a housecoat and slid his feet into a pair of shoes beside his bed and stalked out to the door.

There was a fresh round of loud banging before he swung the door open grumpily. He was slightly taken aback when his eyes landed on the dark silhouette in his doorway. There was a moment of shocked silence. Then—

"I didn't expect you to drop by, considering that I haven't seen you for about ten years," Goyle said slowly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too, Goyle," came the grunt of a reply. A man draped in a dark, heavy cloak shoved his way into the house. He invited himself into the drawing room and took a seat, removing his cloak and the bulky, dragon hide boots on his feet. "What have you got to drink?" he asked, shoving a cigar into his mouth.

Goyle grimaced at this blatant lack of manners. A plain, petulant-looking woman came to the doorway, wearing a dressing gown over her pajamas. Her beady eyes rolled over the man reclining on their sofa, his stocking feet on her coffee table, and widened.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"The antipathy is simply heartwarming," he replied with a comfortable grin. "You two always were so very hospitable."

Goyle gave him a nasty look before turning to the woman. "Get our visitor a drink, Pansy."

She gave the visitor an equally dirty look before turning on her heels and disappearing from the room to obey her husband.

"So what are you really doing here?" said Goyle. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "What do you want?"

"Have a seat, Goyle," said the visitor, still smiling.

Goyle grunted. There was a game being played here, but he would have to play along if he wanted his house intruder-free. He trudged over to the sofa and sat as far away from his unwelcome visitor as possible.

Meanwhile, his guest looked perfectly at ease. He slipped his hands into his pockets, the slick grin never leaving his face. "So, Goyle, how have the last ten years been?"

Goyle clenched his jaw to stop himself asking yet again why he was here. "Fine," he grunted.

"I see you've been busy," he observed, indicating the portraits on the wall. "Who's in the picture?"

Goyle had barely looked around before he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The visitor chuckled quietly to himself. Silently, he tiptoed out of the room after Pansy. He stunned her as she was walking down the hall; the bottle of wine and cocktail glasses she'd been holding shattered. He stepped over her and made his way down the wide hall of the manor.

"Now, now, Goyle," muttered the visitor thoughtfully. "Where do you keep your treasure?"

The visitor walked briskly down to the south wing of the gargantuan house, down in the dank and musty chamber that led to the cellar. He pressed a palm flat against the cold stone wall, dragging it slowly along as he walked, a contemplative expression on his face. Suddenly, he stopped.

"I always was one to take notes, Goyle," he murmured breathlessly, a sinister grin on his lips. He leveled his wand at the wall, muttering a series of words under his breath. In wave of brilliant green light, a section of the wall exploded beneath his fingertips, creating a hollow large enough for him to stand in.

At every place he touched, a shelf materialized and projected forward out of the stone. The visitor made his way through the jumble, pocketing a gold necklace here, a silver kettle there. His time was running out: by the time he got out and made his way back up to the foyer, the Goyles would be coming round, this time better prepared for an attack. A vehement groan of frustration escaped him, and he sent a whole row of ornaments crashing to the floor. He was desperate—why else would he have come? And time, as usual, was not on his side.

He was just stepping out to continue his search farther down the wing when he noticed it sitting there, innocuous and camouflaged among the little ornaments.

He reached out a shadowed hand and picked up the little glittering hourglass. He watched the grains of sand, sparkling like crystals, flow from the top of the hourglass to the bottom, a smile spreading on his face. It wasn't the treasure he'd come for, it was true, but it would more than suffice.


"That was one incredible pass, Angelina," said Eleanor "Robbie" Robinson, a fellow Chaser on Puddlemere United. Her head emerged from the top of a violently pink T-shirt, her jet black hair forming a disheveled halo around the crown of her skull, and she reached over to slap palms with her teammate.

"Well, I'd have to say that was one incredible catch, Robbie," Angelina replied, beaming. She was lying casually across the locker room bench, keeping her title of the fastest dressed. There was grace in her haphazard position, making the accidental casualness of it look almost intentionally refined.

Everyone on the team was in high spirits after a brilliantly orchestrated practice. Everything had fallen into place, including the warm, breezy weather and the seamless healing of their Seeker's broken arm. They felt like conquerors, just waiting for the poor team that was bold enough to challenge them to a match. But their good humor and general feelings of camaraderie were best bestowed elsewhere today, because the last match of the season wasn't for another month, at least.

"Are we doing dinner tonight?" Robbie asked, now dragging a wet comb through her wayward locks. "I'm all for Italian."

"We should go early, then. I'm probably heading home for the weekend, since school starts in a couple weeks. This is around the time when tension in the house reaches an all-time high, and I'd prefer that the house still be standing when I get back."

"That bad, huh? We'll stay in, then. I'll cook you a farewell dinner."

"It'll only be a few days." She yawned widely, and her head flopped back down onto her outstretched arms. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Yes, yes, I'm done." Robbie deposited her brush in the big rucksack she stored her things in and swung it over her shoulder. She gestured towards the door, and Angelina rolled off the bench to follow her.

Robbie opened the door and screamed.

"What is it?" Angelina said quickly, seizing her by the arm.

Robbie jerked her arm out of Angelina's grasp and stamped her foot in irritation. "Shit, Wood, what the hell are you doing bloody standing outside the door?"

"Hello, Robinson," said Oliver, unfazed by this hostile greeting. "Actually, I was waiting for Angelina. Is she still in there?"

"I'm here," she said, peering around Robbie. She waved. "What's up?"

"I know you're probably heading back to your flat now," Oliver said. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind walking with me."

"Oh, no problem," Angelina said. "Robbie and I were just leaving, so if you wanted to tag along…"

"No, actually, I was hoping it could just be you and me," he said casually, clearly unaffected by the look of outrage taking shape on Robbie's face.

"Oh… all right, then." She gave Robbie an apologetic glance. "At least now dinner will be a surprise, right?" she said, half gauging whether or not Robbie was offended enough to have changed her mind about making the dinner.

"Yeah," she said, though she shook her head a little. "I'll see you at home, then." She pushed past Oliver and walked down the path.

Angelina pulled a duffel bag onto her shoulder and followed Oliver away from the locker rooms. They walked back out across the stadium, and Angelina recognized that they were taking the longer path to the apartment complex where most of the team lived during the season. Both of them remained silent until they emerged from the exit opposite the door they'd left through after practice.

"How are you?" he inquired, his narrowed gaze focused on the street ahead of them.

"Fine," she said mechanically. But she was just fine, and it was a lovely day in late summer for the long, leisurely stroll they were about to embark on.

"You were brilliant today," he observed.

Angelina beamed. "That's high praise, coming from you. I'll take it. You weren't too shabby yourself. Well, you may have flubbed that last save a little… Kidding! No, I thought today went pretty well. And I managed to go a whole day without getting yelled at."

"Oh, come on. You know you only get yelled at all the time 'cause you're Coach's favorite."

"Today must have been an off-day, then. Oh, how's Ryan's arm?"

"He's completely patched up now. It was taken care of in minutes. I think he's even off to his trainer now, lifting weights. I do think Beldum and Carr could have been more attentive though, and this whole thing could have been avoided. But for what it's worth…"

"They've saved your neck on more than one occasion," Angelina supplied for him. "Don't worry about them, they're usually on point. They'll do their job…"

"…And I'll do mine." He looked at her sideways, half-smirking. "You certainly have a way of putting me back in my place."

"And don't you forget it."

"Yes ma'am," he teased, saluting her. "How long do you think Robinson will stay mad at me this time? A year? Two years?"

"You know as well as I do that she's not actually angry with you. She just…"

"Hates me."

"Yes, maybe. It's nothing personal."

"I know it's not. She thinks I'm stealing you away. Which I have done, just now."

"Hmm," Angelina said thoughtfully. "I do keep forgetting that you're not quite as stupid as you look." The corners of her mouth twitched playfully, but she was able to maintain her cool expression. "Yes, I do think she believes that. Speaking of which, may I ask why you've stolen me?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Really?" was her sarcastic response. "I thought you wanted to be alone with me so that we could pick daisies. What's on your mind?"

There was a long hesitation.

"Oliver, what's up?" Angelina asked with a frown, suddenly sensing that whatever this was, it was serious.

"Remember when we stayed in the stadium after the last match, just the two of us? They'd turned all the lights off, and we were just using our wands to see. I kept thinking I heard something, rustling in the brush, and it was hours after everyone had gone. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but after you figured out how to get the locker room back open, I went to get you, and I swear I saw the tail of a cloak slithering into the shadows."

"Okay, so you're having nighttime paranoia… go on…"

He thought for a moment. "Remember how you said you weren't getting George's letters?"

"Yes," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. She didn't see where he was going with any of this. "Sorry, I'm not following."

"Angelina… I think you're being followed."

Angelina stopped. She looked up at Oliver, a mix of surprise and skepticism on her face. "Why would someone be following me?" she asked.

"I don't know," Oliver admitted, "but something's not right. I know someone else was there that night, and why else do you keep having post problems?"

"I don't know, maybe our owl's just gone barmy and can't find his way anymore. And anyone could have been there that night, Oliver. For all we know, Coach could have been there late, working on new plays."

"In the dark?"

"I don't know! But it's certainly not time to start panicking yet. I appreciate your concern, though."

"I knew this was what your reaction would be," he said, sounding resigned. "But I've thought really hard about this. Just… just watch your back, okay?"

Angelina smiled and punched him playfully on the arm. "Okay, Dad. Consider my back watched."