June 15, 2015

There was no lack of help when it came to rebuilding the castle. So many people came in day after day, repairing the cracked stone, scrubbing the soot marks, mending the tapestries and portraits. A fair number of them, like Alexa herself, had never left the castle after the battle. She had been able to write to Camp Jupiter at least, although they never replied.

Alexa's birth had come under fire, and had made it all the way to the prophet. Apparently her body count during the battle had been notably high and apparent. The damage inflicted with a sword was much easier to trace than that than the damage done by a wand. There were a great many questions thrown her way, and a lot of fear. She didn't bother to hide her tattoos any longer. The burned in SPQR, Pluto's helm, and three black lines stood out stark against her skin.

The history of demigods and wizards was violent and shrouded in mystery. There was animosity and blood shed, but eventually demigods became nothing but a myth. A footnote in an outdated book on magical creatures. As far as Alexa knew, she was the only demigod ever to be caught going to Hogwarts. Because of this, the archaic laws against her kind had never been changed. Technically speaking, she wasn't even allowed to be in England. There were a number of people, mostly the old purebloods who hadn't been involved with Voldemort, that wanted her gone.

Harry hadn't talked to the Prophet much about the war, but in a recent statement he had mentioned that Alexa and Neville had both been critical to the success of the Battle at Hogwarts. Shacklebolt awarding her with an Order of Merlin, first class hadn't hurt either. The ceremony for that would be soon, and hopefully by then the public would be settled. She didn't have anywhere else to go in England. Hogwarts had always been more of a home than anywhere, and now she wasn't sure how to leave.

Kingsley had approached members of Dumbledore's army about Auror positions. He was still acting Minister, but it seemed that when elections came in the Fall, he would have the job. So far she thought he had done well. His task was a huge one, getting the ministry back into working order, and then overhauling the system to remove the elitist laws and prejudice proclamations. Percy Weasley had become something of his personal assistant, and Hermione his missionary. Alexa kept the letter he had sent her regarding the job tucked away in her truck upstairs. She had told him she needed to think about it. She had never had the chance to decide where she would spend her adult life. Would she go back to New Rome or stay in England? But for now there was only rebuilding. And that she could do.

And today was a morning utterly unlike any other had been for the past month. She got up, went to the Great Hall for breakfast, and then filtered out into the castle with the crowd, returning to the tasks they had not finished the day before, or moving on to new ones. They'd file back in for lunch, and again for dinner, and that's where Alexa was heading presently.

"Burn in Hell Seamus!" Neville laughed, giving the sandy haired boy a playful shove with his shoulder.

Alexa plopped down next to Neville, "Sorry, I'm not running any deliveries today. You'll have to wait until Monday."

Seamus laughed, "Like you could ever get me." She chuckled along with the rest of the table, eagerly filling her plate. Hogwarts meals never disappointed.

"McGonagall asked me to tell you to go to her office after dinner," Harry chimed in from across the table.

"Did she say what for?" Alexa asked.

Harry shrugged, shaking his head, "No, but it's probably just something with the castle."

Alexa nodded, "Yeah, probably." Draco came then, sitting down on her other side. He and his mother had remained at the castle, both had been pardoned because they had betrayed Voldemort. Lucius was awaiting trial.

"Peeves almost murdered me today," he said casually.

"It happens," Harry shrugged, "what did he do this time?" Harry, Neville, and Alexa had taken it upon themselves to integrate Draco into their social circle. And Draco, ever the socialite, had merged himself in with all the grace and finesse of his breeding. For the most part.

"He 'accidentally' knocked me off one of the staircases with one of Trelawney's crystal balls." Draco said, "I'm going to have the biggest bruise."

Alexa snorted, "Be glad it was only a crystal ball."

Draco shuddered, "True."

"Who else got an invitation to the Ministry for the memorial next week?" Ron asked, sitting down next to Harry.

"I did," Neville said. Most of the table had, including Alexa herself.

"Everyone is going, right?" Hermione had come with Ron, sitting down beside him. "It's important for Kingsley to have our support publicly."

There was a general murmuring of agreement, and Draco looked distinctly uncomfortable. She finished her food quickly, and rose.

As she made their way to the Headmaster's office she tried to keep her eyes straight ahead. To not look at the charred stones and slashed statues. The bodies were gone. And the castle was quiet. But she could still hear it, still feel it. It was as if the battle was still raging around her. Her heart began to pound and she forced herself not to get dragged into memories. It wouldn't be of any use to her. The signs of the fight decreased with every day that went on. But some of the scars couldn't be erased.

"Fin," she said to the stone gargoyle as she reached it. It leapt aside and she hopped on the turning spiral staircase. She knocked three times on the solid wood door.

"Come in." Came the call from the other side. Alexa stepped in. The office was nearly the same as the last time she had been in there. The delicate silver instruments still did their work, the office was still cluttered and just as mystifying as it had always been.

"Miss Di'Angelo," McGonagall rose from behind the mighty oak desk, piled high with papers and things Alexa couldn't even begin to name, "Please, won't you sit down? Would you like a biscuit?"

"Good evening Professor," she said, taking a seat, "No thank you. Harry said you wanted to speak with me?"

Her friendly expression turned serious, and she sighed heavily, sitting down. "Yes," she said, suddenly seeming far older than she was, "I did." Or maybe she had always been that old and Alexa had never noticed.

"It seems Dumbledore had one last plan up his sleeve for us," she gave a smile that bordered on bitter but faded into fondness. "When Voldemort died, or perhaps when Mr. Potter died, I can't be sure, one of the drawers on this desk unlocked. I had never been able to open it, and neither had Severus during his time as Headmaster. Inside was a letter addressed to you."

Alexa's eyes widened, "Me? I barely knew Dumbledore. Are you sure?"

McGonagall pulled open the drawer and retrieved an envelope with her name across the front in thin, spiralling hand-writing.

"You don't have to tell me what it contains," she assured her.

With numb fingers Alexa broke the wax and opened the envelope. She froze at the date penned at the corner of the paper.

"It's from 1979," she murmured, frowning.

"What?" McGonagall looked positively perturbed, "When were you born?"

"It's a bit complicated professor," she said looking up at McGonagall, "I was born in 1930, but when Jupiter killed my mother Pluto, put me in the Lotus Hotel. I don't know if you've heard of the Lotus Eaters, but they now reside there. While you're in the hotel you don't age, and it doesn't feel like any time has passed. I was in there for about seventy years."

"Merlin…" McGonagall's hand came up to cover her mouth, and Alexa turned back to her letter.

Dear Alessandra,

I write you this letter with the confidence that you will have survived the war. I have no doubts that you fought bravely and admirably. I have no doubts that yours was a critical contribution. I have no doubts you are by far the bravest Slytherin I will ever have the honor of knowing.

I do not yet know you, but by the time you have read this you will have known me. Perhaps I am the one handing you this letter, perhaps not. I know not the outcome of the war. As it stands now, Voldemort's power is only growing. I fear for the safety of all. I hope, for all of our sakes, that you find this letter after your victory, although I know that makes what I am about to ask of you all the more difficult.

Voldemort, or as I knew him, Tom Riddle, was always a troubled child. But it wasn't until 1942 that his path truly turned to darkness. I offer you a chance to change the world for the better. I'm sorry to give you this burden, but due to your unique bloodline, you are the one person who can do this. Enclosed in the drawer you will find instructions for a ceremony that will allow you to travel back in time to 1942, to Tom Riddle's fifth year. Not to kill him, indeed if you go back and cause anyone's death time will ripple and snap much like a muggle rubber band. Lives through time work as a series of tunnels, if one collapses before it's end the others will become unstable. We do not know the consequences of such an act. But, if you could prevent him from becoming Voldemort, if you could save Tom Riddle from his own future, you would save hundreds if not thousands of lives. Perhaps including mine. It is, of course, your decision. All I ask of you is that you think it through thoroughly, and consider every possibility.

The reason why you must be the one I ask to do this is due to the nature of long distance time travel. I trust you are familiar with the concept of time turners? Your average wizard (or witch, of course) can only handle having so much magical energy pulled through their body. A time turner allows a person to travel back in time a week at most, but no farther. This is because any more magical energy, and an individual's body would be destroyed from the inside out. However, because of your father, your body is capable of handling much more energy. I know you will make the best decision you can.

Yours Faithfully,

Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore

Heart pounding she passed the top letter to McGonagall, "This has to be some kind of joke-there's no way..." she trailed off. McGonagall's face went white as a sheet as she read, and she set the letter delicately down on the wooden tabletop.

"I fear," she said, squaring her shoulders, "It is not. Would you like to see the rest?"

Alexa nodded wordlessly. McGonagall squared her shoulder and pulled a small glass bottle with a glowing blue liquid inside. Next she pulled out a thickly rolled scroll tied with a ribbon, a much thinner scroll, tied with the same ribbon, and a folder with a thick packet of parchment-no, paper? Both together, Alexa noted. It was a strange visual.

"May I?" McGonagall asked, hand lingering on the thickest scroll.

"Yes please," Alexa felt like she was choking.

"These are the instructions-but they're not in Dumbledore's hand," McGonagall murmured, brow furrowing, "Do you recognize this?"

The letters were rigid and angular, without any slant at all. Vastly different from Dumbledore's own looping scrawl. She couldn't shake the feeling it looked familiar. She couldn't help but think it looked similar to hers.

"No," she shook her head, "I don't know it."

"How is this possible?" McGonagall was flipping through the numerous pages, "Nobody should know this-this is old, old magic. Long distance time travel has been theorized, but never successfully attempted. It was thought to once be possible, but the magic has been lost for centuries." She was muttering to herself, seeming to have quite forgotten the shell shocked Alexa sitting across from her, "This shouldn't exist…the potion is for you to take with you. Add a drop of your blood and it will go to whatever time you go. If you should ever find your way back to us, add three drops into a goblet of wine and if we drink it our memories of you will come back." she shook her head.

"What's in the other one?" Alexa asked.

McGonagall quickly undid the ribbon of the smaller scroll, "Some kind of poem?"

Alexa's blood ran cold, "Is there any heading?"

"When I visited the oracle," McGonagall read, "She gave me this prophecy." The professor turned back to Alexa, "It's in the same hand as the spell."

"What does it say?" Alexa asked, fists clenched.

McGonagall cleared her throat,

Fate has twisted, time has altered

By the one who's brother slaughtered

To right the wrong that has been done

and reunite with your lost son

So she must return to altered strain

A sacrifice to be made in vain

Beyond the veil, held in scorn

A ghost will live, never mourned

A Child of Death through time once more

To the end of the Giant's war

"Shit," Alexa swore, quickly glancing up, "Sorry Professor."

"Miss Di Angelo," McGonagall said seriously, "I think we're quite beyond that."

Alexa laughed, the shock making her feel numb. "That's a prophecy. Whoever...who ever set this up wasn't Dumbledore. It's the gods." She groaned, sitting forward and putting her face in her hands, "Maybe Apollo? He's the god of prophecy, but Oracle isn't even Roman, it's Greek. The only thing we have that's close is our Augur, Octavian-" she froze, "This is how he found me," she looked at McGonagall, a pit settling in her stomach, "This is why he let me in." It hadn't been kindness, it hadn't been luck-it hadn't been anything other than another strategy in the war, another contingency plan. She felt like she was going to vomit.

"Alessandra," McGonagall reached across the table to grasp her hand, "You do have a choice," she said firmly. "You always have a choice."

Alexa shook her head, "Do I? Never mind the prophecy, I've just been given the chance to go back in time and stop Voldemort. Don't know how they want me to do that without killing him but the prophecy suggests it's possible. How many lives can I save by doing this?" She exhaled deeply, rubbing her hand over her face, "How can I justify not going?"

"If you decide not to go," McGonagall said, "I close the drawer again, and seal it so that it may never be opened. No one will ever know."

"I can't refuse to go." She swallowed, trying to stem the bile rising in her throat, "And Dumbledore would have known that. This isn't an option. This is a quest from the gods. Do you know what happens to people who try to run from their will? Look at the Iliad, Oedipus, look at any story you've ever heard. Look at Harry Potter! Do you remember how many people we lost during the war? They would all be back, it would be like it never happened, Voldemort would never have existed."

"You don't know that," McGonagall said, quickly, "You don't know that things wouldn't be worse. Bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time."

"Lily and James Potter would raise their son, Sirius Black would never have gone to Azkaban, Remus and Tonks would never die, they would know their son. Anthony wouldn't have died, Colin Creevy, Lavender Brown, Fred Weasley-These are just the people I can name off the top of my head, how many others would be here today if it hadn't been for Voldemort? How many wizards died in the wars, and how many muggles who didn't even know what was happening?" She was getting hysterical, and she exhaled deeply, clasping her hands so tightly in her lap her nails left half moon marks in her skin.

McGonagall was silent, giving Alexa a look that could only be described as pitying, "The Fates work in mysterious ways that don't always benefit those involved."

Alexa could only nod, focusing on her breathing. She could save all the people she had failed during the battle, who had died under her command.

"Take some time to think about it," she said finally, "And I'll review the spell-and potion-and figure out how to make this work."

Alexa nodded, "Can I have the letter and the prophecy? And the information on him." she added tightly.

"Of course," McGonagall folded the letter back in it's envelope, tucking it in with the prophecy. She handed both that, and the folder of papers to Alexa.

"Thank you," Alexa murmured, rising.

"Have a biscuit before you go," McGonagall added sternly, pushing the tin forward. Alexa complied, taking a shortbread cookie from the tin with a murmured thanks.

"Goodnight Professor," she said.

"Goodnight Miss Di Angelo," McGonagall said. She must have thought Alexa was out of earshot, because a moment later she turned to the empty portrait of Dumbledore, "What have you done to these children now, Albus?"

What had he done indeed.

Alexa walked through the castle. The choice was obvious. She would go. Even without the prophecy there was no way she could turn away this opportunity. Faces kept flashing through her mind, living and dead. How many lives would she touch and change? She couldn't refuse this opportunity. But how could she possibly stop Voldemort without killing him? She wanted to kill him. Down to the very core of her being she was glad he was dead, she took pleasure in his death. He deserved to die, and she was sure his soul would be in the fields of punishment for the rest of time, and that made her happy. And now she had to stop him by what, preventing him from becoming Voldemort in the first place? Making sure no Voldemort would exist at all?

She stopped short, there had to be a catch. McGonagall was right, the Fates were not known to be forgiving creatures, and surely they would not let her do this? Unless of course, they had something to do with it? Was that even possible? The envelope seemed heavy in the back pocket of her jeans. She had a prophecy. She had no idea what that prophecy meant, but she had one. It said she would go through time. If there was a catch, she would have to figure it out from the past. She would go back. Her mind was solidly made up, it would not change.

But who had given it to Dumbledore?

She ended up at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Sitting down on the stone floor under the stars, she broke the seal on the folder.

"Let's see what's behind door number three…" she murmured. There was a second, thick envelope. She opened it and the first thing she extracted was a letter dated from the previous year.

Alessandra, many years have passed since the first letter I penned to you. I have watched you grow like so many others. War is on the horizon and I fear what it may hold in store for the students I swore and failed to protect. I'm sorry for my failures, and I hope, quite selfishly, that you may right some of them. Enclosed you will find a letter for you to give to myself in the past, documentation for your application at Hogwarts, and all the information I have on Tom Riddle. Please remember, your Gringotts vault is still there, as it was set up by your father for any magical children he may have.

Hoping for your best,

Albus Dumbledore

Sure enough, there was a letter addressed to him in a smaller sealed envelope stuck inside. She opened the thick folder labeled 'TMR' and flipped it open. On the front page was a picture of a startlingly handsome young man. He was pale, with defined cheekbones, dark eyes smoldering under thick lashes, and neatly coiffed chestnut curls. The photo ran in a loop, of his face shifting from sobriety to a smile that almost reached his eyes.

'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' it read, 'seventh year, 1944.'

She closed the folder, unable to look at him any longer. What would she even do?

Once she got to the past, she figured she would get a room at the Leaky Cauldron, and go from there. Probably going straight to Dumbledore would be her best bet. Get enrolled in school again, as a fifth year of all things. That would be annoying. Find Tom Riddle, which wouldn't be too hard considering the hefty packet of information she had, and then…not kill him. She couldn't kill him. Befriend him? Did he even have friends?

She groaned, rocking back and leaning against the stone railing.

Would she tell anyone she was leaving? They wouldn't remember, it really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things if she did or not. Except for that line, back through time. She didn't know why the potion could ever be relevant. She would like to tell them, she would like to say goodbye. She would leave after the memorial, and say her goodbyes after. But she wouldn't tell everyone.

But there was one person she was sure she needed to tell.