Lyra's first class as Professor Rosier wasn't until ten-thirty, so she spent her morning going over her notes and making sure her classroom was ready, for the third time. Hermione Granger came by before her own classes started, and Lyra again stressed the importance of only using the time turner for class purposes. She ran through the basics, showing her how to make sure the chain was looped properly, before carefully loosening the screw holding the turner in place.

"One turn is one hour. Unfortunately, these models can't do smaller increments than that. Four turns is the max, else you start to run into continuity errors within your timeline."

This was only partially true, as Lyra knew five turns was safe, but she wasn't about to trust a thirteen year old to that knowledge.

"Now," she continued, "It is vitally important you do not meet your past or future self. The mental toll of meeting yourself is far more potent than you would expect, even if you are anticipating it."

Granger nodded earnestly, eyes bright and intense.

"Any questions?"

"Er, well, actually, I was wondering, if I looped the chain around multiple people, could we all go back in time?"

Lyra gave the girl a flat stare, "Technically, yes. But if I hear of you bringing multiple people into the past - or even telling anyone that you can - I will remove the time turner from your possession and personally ensure you never get access to one again."

Wide-eyed, Granger nodded again.

"Right, give it a go. Go back an hour, hide from yourself, and return to my office once you know you've left. The current time is-" Lyra checked her clock, "Eight twenty three."

The air shimmered and grew warm, and then Hermione Granger was gone. Lyra counted seconds, until a knock sounded from the door. She opened it.

"Wow," Granger said, breathless, "That was…"

"Intense?" Lyra smiled, "I know. You don't realize how hard it is to go somewhere you go often, until you have to change your route."

"Why don't people use this more often? Think how productive you could be, just redoing hours until you finish something."

"Health reasons, usually. Your body experiences time in a linear fashion regardless of whether you repeat it or not. Your body is now an hour older than it would have been if you'd never time traveled. Travel too much, and you risk aging far beyond a normal rate, leading to various health problems later in life. If you redo two hours a day for an entire year, you will end up about four days older than you otherwise would be," she paused, "I would be lying, however, if I said I never repeated an hour or two just to finish up work, though. Don't tell my boss at the Ministry."

Granger laughed, then looked at the time, "I should get to class. Thank you, Professor."

As the time for her first class drew closer, it disturbed her how nervous she felt. She'd barely eaten breakfast, choosing to ask Kreacher to bring her some coffee, rather than try to face the great hall. By the time the first bell rang and students began to trickle in, her chest was rather tight with anxiety.

The fifth year class was small, as she'd expected. Most students that year were busy with O. , and likely didn't want to crowd their schedule. She had less than ten students - a trio of Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, four Ravenclaws, and one bored looking Slytherin, sitting at the back of the class.

"Right," Lyra said, as the late bell rang, "Before you get too comfortable, I think we ought to mix up this seating arrangement. As there's so few of you, I don't feel like shouting at the back of the classroom. You;" she pointed at the Slytherin, "can tell me your name while you move up here," she tapped a desk a space over from one of the Ravenclaws.

The Slytherin frowned, but stood up and crossed over muttering, "Graham Montague."

Lyra turned to the rest, noting one Ravenclaw with quill and parchment already out, "The rest of you, intersperse yourselves among the first two rows. I'd prefer if no one in the same house were directly next to each other, unless otherwise unavoidable."

There was some mumbling among the group, but they did what they were told. Two of the Gryffindors, obvious twins with flaming red hair, were pulling faces at each other from across the room. Something about them seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She shook the feeling off, moving to stand in front of her desk.

"One of the first things you learn when you leave Hogwarts is how little things like house matter. You still have a few years here, and I know it seems like an age, but believe me, the more friends you have in different places, the happier you will be."

"What house were you in?" the third Gryffindor, a tall black boy with dreadlocks, spoke up from between Montague and the Hufflepuff.

She grinned, "Name?"

"Lee. Lee Jordan."

"I was in Slytherin, Mr. Jordan, and believe me when I tell you I was happy for my inter-house friendships when I left."

There were a few exchanged looks, and Montague sat up a bit straighter.

"But I'm not here to talk about that, I am here to talk about artificing. Can anyone tell me what that is?"

The Ravenclaw with the parchment raised her hand, but Lyra ignored her, choosing to instead point at the Hufflepuff.

"How about you, what's your name?"

The boy looked surprised at being called on, but met her gaze, "Cedric Diggory," he said, "Artificing is when you make a magical object, like a portkey or broomstick."

"Thank you, Mr. Diggory, you are correct, and you've hit one of our topics for this year: transportation. Brooms, portkeys, flying carpets, and even the floo network, are all the results of artificing."

"I thought brooms were just charms," one of the red-headed twins said.

"Do you renew the charms on a broomstick after every match?" Lyra asked.

"No…"

"There is a degree of permanence to an artifact. A feather you've levitated isn't one, because it will eventually stop being charmed. A broomstick may wear out physically, but the ability it has to fly you across the pitch will almost always be there. That is a key difference between an artifact and a charmed object.

"That said, your other classes like charms, transfiguration, arithmancy and runes are important building blocks of magic that can be combined in a field like artificing. Why does Professor McGonagall spend so much time making sure you know how to change a beetle into a button? Have you ever come across a situation where you desperately needed a button, and all you had was a beetle? No, and that's because it's less about the exact incantation or situation, and more about building the knowledge base."

Parchment girl was furiously taking notes, Lyra saw, and a few other students had pulled out quills as well.

"So, we've come to our first topic in this class: What is artificing, and how do the traditional building blocks of magic relate."

The rest of the class was somewhat of a blur. Lyra learned that Parchment Girl was Sarah Fawcett, and she tried to answer every question. The twins were Fred and George Weasley, and they took great joy in being identical. It seemed Lee Jordan could tell them apart, though, and Lyra found herself watching him when he spoke to them, looking for a tell.

By the time the class ended, she was fairly certain she had everyone's name memorized, and was working on the differences between the twins. The bell rang, and the fifth years filed out. Lyra let out a breath of relief. She had a bit of a break; the seventh years didn't come in until after lunch. She spent a few minutes jotting down notes on the class: things to remember for the next introduction and for the fifth years in general. Fawcett would probably appreciate a more extensive use of the blackboard, and the Gryffindor's would need monitoring during the practicals. She still could not think of why they seemed familiar.

When the lunch hour came, she decided that she would make an appearance in the great hall, and joined the throng of students pushing their way down the stairs. She was passing the second floor when her name was called.

"Lyra?"

Lyra turned, stepping out of the way of a Hufflepuff in a particular rush. Remus Lupin was standing in the door to the Defense classroom, looking tired, but not unhappy to see her.

"Lupin," she climbed the steps again, crossing the hall to stand a few feet away.

"I wasn't - I should have - Rosier?" He seemed to be having trouble finding words, "I thought Rosier died before you could…"

She snorted, "No, you're right, he died before we were married. I just didn't want to answer five hundred questions about my brother right now, especially to a bunch of kids."

Lupin nodded, "Makes sense, yeah. How - how have you been? How are you holding up? I saw you mentioned in the Prophet the other day."

She shrugged, "Well enough. Someone really ought to tell Skeeter to keep her quill to herself, I'd barely been home a week before she started sniffing around."

"I take it Dumbledore paid you an unexpected visit as well?"

"Indeed. Kreacher almost threw him out, but I did get to make him drink some of Father's worst whiskey, so it wasn't a total waste. Said he needed an artificer, so here I am," she gestured around herself with her hands, before dropping them to her sides, "You? How are you?"

Lupin genuinely smiled, a sight that reminded Lyra he'd been one of the more attractive boys in the school at one point.

"I'm here, and I honestly thought my prospects of getting a job like this were depressingly low. I have much to thank Dumbledore for."

Dumbledore, and the vampires in Bolivia, it seemed.

Lupin continued, "Roof over my head, a good job, a constant supply of… of…" he broke off.

"A constant supply of...?"

He shook his head, "Nevermind, forget I said anything. Were you on the way to lunch?"

The sudden change in topic made her raise an eyebrow, but she nodded.

"Excellent, I'll join you, I'm starving."

In school, Lupin has always been one of Sirius's friends, someone she knew well enough to give him a nod in the hall, but not much else. After, though, in the year between graduating and everything going to shit, she'd gotten to know her brother's friends a bit better. More than one night they'd sat at a pub, drinking beer and firewhiskey, and laughing at what good they could find in the world. She knew them well enough to be invited to the Potter's wedding, though she always assumed it was out of obligation, rather than genuine want. She politely declined, citing an unavoidable family conflict. It ended up being true, as Regulus disappeared shortly after the invitation arrived, and her father died a few days before the wedding. She spent most of the day drinking, sitting in stoney silence with her mother. When she told Sirius his face grew stoney, and his eyes cold. Good riddance, he said, I hope it hurt. Lyra didn't hang around her brother and his friends much after that.

They entered the great hall, and Lyra almost immediately made an excuse to sit next to McGonagall and Snape.

"I wanted to ask about the Weasley twins," she said, "They seem familiar, somehow."

Lupin smiled, "They're Molly Prewett's boys. You know, Fabian and Gideon's nephews."

That explained it. Lyra recalled the boys as being a few years older than her and Regulus, but quite popular, the kind of boys everyone knew to some degree. She was fairly certain they'd died around the time Rosier did, and the thought was unsettling, leaving her to pick at her food. She left quickly, and spent the rest of the hour writing a strongly worded letter to Colin Jones, on behalf of the decision to give a thirteen year old a time turner.