Hey everyone.. I am so sorry about the delay in updating this story. Just over six weeks ago, I lost my boyfriend. He didn't die, but he left my life irrevocably and it was something neither of us ever saw coming. I've had quite an ordeal trying to get back into fall semester and deal with his loss, but please know that I fully intend on finishing the tale of the five Marauders. I finally feel ready to write again and hope you enjoy the story.. xoxo

After dinner, I left the Ravenclaw table and the company of Lily and Remus for Dumbledore's story. Lily had just divulged the details of her entire afternoon that she had spent in the company of Harry. My cousin had presented her with flowers, treated her to a delicious lunch, and visited several shops in Hogsmeade with her, including Zonko's, where he had purchased a box of Deluxe Sugar Quills for her to enjoy. He had escorted her back to the castle just before dinner, where she had perched herself at the Ravenclaw table and proceeded to tell me what had happened.

My own afternoon - after the encounter with Sean - had been spent in the company of the Marauders. After spending a considerable amount of money at Honeydukes, we had visited Zonko's, but hadn't spotted Harry or Lily. James had seemed rather despondent of the fact. His interest in Lily appeared to be stronger than I had initially guessed. Unfortunately for him, it looked like Lily was completely smitten with my cousin, and had eyes only for Harry.

"Good luck!" Lily called as I left the table. "Don't be nervous!"

Remus waved, smiling, and I took a steadying breath as I walked through the empty corridors past curious paintings and up the moving staircases to the Headmaster's office. I had only been inside a handful of times, and the massive stone gargoyle guarding the spiral staircase looked intimidating as ever. It leered down at me as I shuffled my feet, unnerved.

"Uh," I said dumbly, "blueberry beans?"
The gargoyle burst to life and jumped aside. I flinched, eyeing it carefully as I slipped past and up the winding stairs.

I knocked three times on the black door, which was closed. A moment later, it swung open to reveal Professor Smith, Mara's mother.

My mouth dropped open. "Professor! What are you doing here? How are you?"

She smiled, strikingly alike to her daughter, but with that long scar cutting cruelly across her face. "I don't believe I'm a 'professor' anymore, but it's wonderful to see you as well, dear. I believe you have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore."

I nodded, unable to stop myself from smiling. "It's great to see you! Are you staying long?"

Willow shook her head. "Unfortunately not. I'm needed back at the Ministry immediately, but please drop me a line by owl if you ever need to talk to me. You look well, Amber. Have a good night."

I waved in farewell as she descended the staircase, her long black robes billowing out behind her. I entered Dumbledore's office and closed the door behind me, sealing us in.

"Good evening, Miss Harkstone," Professor Dumbledore said, dipping his head in greeting. He was standing before one of his tables displaying his mysterious tinkling instruments. Fawkes let out a joyful cry and fluttered over, perching on my shoulder and nuzzling me affectionately.

"Hi, Fawkes." I said happily, soothed by the phoenix. "Professor Dumbledore, what was she doing here? Is she alright?"

"Quite." Dumbledore assured me, stepping away from a small, plain-looking hourglass resting on a metal platform. Jagged black sand sat at the bottom of the lower bulb, oddly sinister.

"Professor, what's that?" I asked, drawing closer. Fawkes let out a rumbling purr, comforting warmth radiating from his scarlet and gold body.

"A very rare Dark object." Professor Dumbledore replied, his mouth flattening. "This was purchased as a gift for Alastor Moody, Willow Smith's partner at the Ministry. She has already told me that she confided this information to you, so I do not feel as if you are being told a secret."

I stared at the seemingly innocuous object. "That's a Life Clock?"

"Indeed." Professor Dumbledore said, looking at the object. At my approach, the black sand had suddenly leapt up into the top bulb, the sand making an evil hissing noise. The sand didn't settle, but remained swirling like a black cloud of locusts.

"Professor," I said uneasily, "doesn't that thing tell you how long someone has to live?"

"It does." Professor Dumbledore said carefully. "It will tell you the number of days a person has left if you speak their name, but only the asker may see that number. You will never be able to see your own, and there is a curious enchantment upon the device that prevents you from speaking about your knowledge of the life spans of others."

"So," I said quietly, a dark feeling of foreboding rising up inside of me, "you can see how many days I have left to live?"

Professor Dumbledore gave a small smile. "It appears to be broken. That is why she brought this to me, after Alastor Moody found it to be faulty. Now, let us return to the reason why you are here."

Professor Dumbledore produced something shiny and golden from his robes. I realized with a start that it was my necklace.

"Professor Smith, or, as she is now known, Willow, found this to be in the possession of Lily Evans this evening before she came to my office. I had presumed she had impressed upon you the importance of keeping this necklace in your ownership."

I felt a prickle of shame and confusion. "I didn't know I wasn't allowed to share it, sir. Besides, it was her idea." I added lamely.

"And why would she offer such an idea in the first place?" The Headmaster asked, his eyebrows lifting over his half-moon spectacles.

I frowned, beginning to feel like I was being scolded. "To be honest, sir, she wasn't sure if it was a Dark object or not. I don't think it is, though. It's something my sister gave to me."

"Yes, indeed." Dumbledore agreed. "But perhaps it is time for me to re-evaluate this heirloom. Please, have a seat. Would you care for a cup of jasmine tea? I find it to be very soothing on the nerves."

I nodded as I made my way to a comfortable chintz chair in front of his desk. Dumbledore waved his wand and a blue-and-white patterned teapot whistled shrilly. He added a pinch of dried black tea leaves from a tarnished tin box to the pot and allowed it to steep for a moment, before pouring the hot tea into two China cups. I took a sip of mine, lulled by the sweet heat of the beverage and Fawkes' calming presence.

"This necklace appears not to be a Dark object." Dumbledore said as he tapped it with his wand several times. "Indeed, I may have been mistaken in my earlier assumption that it was a mere copy. There is a very skilled appraiser of whom I know of who would be able to reveal the true origins of your necklace. Would you mind very much if Professor Smith borrowed this for a few days?"

I blinked. "I don't see why not. Is she good at studying these things?"

"As skilled and knowledgable as she is, there is one much more experienced than she. You may have heard of one Caractacus Burke, co-owner of Borgin and Burke's."

I gaped at him in disbelief. "You mean that shop in Knockturn Alley? That shop is devoted to the Dark Arts, sir!"

"Maybe," Dumbledore allowed, "but Mr. Burke possesses a keen eye for discernment and, in my opinion, an unmatched sense of perception when it comes to judging an object's work. He has, after all, been in the business for many decades."
I decided not to express my feelings of concern and uncertainty. If Dumbledore had enough reason to believe my sister's necklace could be examined safely at such a place, then I had to trust him. So far, the Headmaster hadn't been wrong yet in his guesswork.

"Now that we have dealt with that matter, it is time we move onto the subject of tonight's lesson. Last month, you enjoyed a night-time foray into the Forbidden Forest, even though you were asleep while you managed this excursion. You recounted to me already what you witnessed in the trees. But I have heard from someone that you sought out the company of Julian Gray."

I took another sip of the jasmine tea, heart beginning to pound, my palms gathering sweat. "Folsom's son, you mean. Who told you?"

Dumbledore gave me a measured look through his half-moon spectacles. "The Gray Lady, your House ghost. She was rather concerned about you."

I met his gaze squarely, even though his piercing blue eyes turned my insides to jelly. It was like staring down a predatory cat, like a snow leopard analyzing its prey.

"You need not fear me." Professor Dumbledore said quietly after a long moment of silence, broken only by Fawkes' soft purr in my ear. "I only wish to protect you, and to provide you with guidance and, if I can, answers."

My hands clenched into my fists again, so that my nails bit into my palms. "Sir, may I have your word on that?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "You have my word that nothing you confide in me will leave this room or my confidentiality. I will do everything in my power to make sure you are safe."

Fawkes gave another low, musical cry, and the phoenix's song, more than anything, gave me the resolve to answer the Headmaster truthfully.

I recounted what Julian had showed me, everything I had seen from the moment I had fallen asleep in the Chair of Dissonance to the moment I had woken up after seeing Julian's bones. I gave him details concerning what I had heard Tom Riddle and Willow Smith discussing, including their reverence for 'The Master'. When I spoke of Folsom, my blood chilled in my veins so that my hands were like frozen gloves. As if he could read my mind, Dumbledore poured me a second cup of tea, which I held in my hands, warming them.

"...I told my friends." I admitted, when I had finished telling him about what I had seen. "Sir, I think it has something to do with the necklace. I know you and Willow said it was only a copy, but I think it might be the real thing."

"Maybe." Dumbledore conceded, his gaze now trained on a faraway spot, his face impossible to read. Fawkes nibbled my ear, chirping quietly.

"Professor," I asked desperately, "does this mean that I'm crazy? Or that there's something wrong with me? Am I a Seer? Am I just… cursed? I have these feelings sometimes that I'm not completely whole, or right… and I feel like I'm going crazy sometimes. I don't know how to explain it. I don't know what to do. Please… I don't know what this all means."

Dumbledore watched me silently, steepling his long fingers together. He did not speak, but I could see unspoken words flickering across his intense blue eyes like minnows.

"Do you know if there's something wrong with me?" I blurted. "I always wondered if I was somehow damaged, or tarnished, like Tom Riddle was. Maybe I'm just like him. Maybe I'm some kind of monster or I was never meant to be -"

Dumbledore lifted a wizened hand, and I immediately fell silent. I could feel hot tears gathering behind my eyes and fought against them.

"Amber, Amber, you are not a monster." Dumbledore said soothingly. "You are young, and with that youth comes great upheavals of emotions and changes. You are facing trials now that will shape who you are for the rest of your life. I do not think that you are insane, nor do I think you were an accident. I do, however, believe that you may have inherited some kind of gift from your family."

My mouth parted slightly. "What do you mean?"

Dumbledore refilled my cup of tea. I drank automatically, more out of manners than out of thirst.

"When you first arrived at Hogwarts, I sensed that there may have been something special (forgive me for a lack of a better term) concerning you. I had that same sense about Tom Riddle, when I first met him at Wool's Orphanage all those years ago in London. As you know, he eventually dropped his birth name and took up the mask of Lord Voldemort."

I winced at the name, but Dumbledore acted as if he had not heard anything.

"Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, is a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Just as you are a direct descendant of Nicolas Flamel and Peverelle Flamel."

Minnie's words floated back to me from my birthday party. I have the whole geneaology of our family, traced all the way back up to Nicolas Flamel, up in my attic somewhere.

"I… I don't see how that is possible, sir." I stammered. Was this part of the lesson?

Again, as if he could read my thoughts, Dumbledore smiled gently and spread his hands. "Your mother, Lena, once shared a book of your family's with me, recently after she married your father Walter. The book was guarded by enchantments, but your great-grandmother, a former classmate of mine, shared the code with Lena in an attempt to understand what was written inside."

I merely gaped at Dumbledore. "Sir… I believe I may have that book with me. In my dormitory."

"And in our next lesson, you will need to bring the book with you." Dumbledore said, smiling reassuringly. "I believe that once I translate the language for you, you will begin to understand more of what troubles you so. You see, Amber, you are not crazy, nor are you an accident, as I said before. You have been born to rare circumstances and that, I believe, is the reason why you feel so different from your classmates and peers. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Part of the reason why I sought Professor Smith's tutelage of you last summer was not only to prepare you for the danger that awaited you in the form of Folsom, but also to mentor and guide you."

"But, sir," I interrupted, "I thought Folsom wasn't any real threat anymore. I thought that the real danger was Lord… You-Know-Who." I still could not bring myself to say the cursed name aloud.

Dumbledore nodded. "As I have told you, I believe that Folsom is merely one piece of the puzzle. And I also think, as you may have deduced as well, that Lord Voldemort himself may be just that as well: another part of the challenge we face in identifying his ascent to power.

"You mentioned 'The Master' tonight. I believe that though this entity may not be the mastermind behind the rise of the Dark Arts, I believe we may conclude that he had a role, however major, in influencing Lord Voldemort."

"And what about those dead people I keep dreaming about?" I asked desperately, starving for answers. "Do you think they have anything to do with The Master or Lord… You-Know-Who?"

Dumbledore looked deeply thoughtful. He held out the necklace, beseeching. I reached out to touch it. The moment my fingers brushed the pendant, several things happened at once.

Fawkes let out a melodious cry at the precise moment I made contact with the necklace. But instead of soothing me, it caused an instant, splitting headache. I cried out, and Fawkes fluttered away, returning to his golden perch, moaning softly.

"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked. "What happened?"

I held my head between my hands, tears leaking from between my tightly squeezed eyelids. The pain was so bad, as if my skull was about to split open, and Dumbledore's voice was drifting farther away…

My eyes popped open. The headache was gone. I looked up, but I was no longer in Dumbledore's office. The pain subsided, and I found myself standing in the middle of a large stone room. I turned, breath billowing out in small puffs of silver. There was a single red door in the room, and when I tugged at it, it swung open and allowed me freedom.

It took me a moment to realize where I was. A long stone corridor lined with torches and paintings surrounded me at every angle, including a curious depiction of a wizard trying to teach trolls ballet on a floor-length tapestry.

Was I inside Hogwarts?

I tried to make sense of where I was. I touched the cold gray stone wall to steady myself. If it was indeed Hogwarts, it looked remarkably newer. Though torches still burned in the wall and the castle was made up of stone, it was much brighter and cleaner than I had ever seen it. It felt almost… new.

The door I had exited was still there, red and inconspicous in the wall. Maybe I was daydreaming again, or sleepwalking. As long as I knew where the door was, I could roam the castle and return freely.

Feeling slightly revitalized, I hurried down the hallway and down a flight of stairs, passing through the ghost of a long-haired witch, who drifted serenely past as if I had not just rudely run through her. I shook off a chill, feeling as I had just passed through a freezer, and hurried down the familiar flight of moving stairs until I reached the ground level of the castle. Panting slightly, I saw the four hourglasses were still near the Great Hall, filled with precious gems of blue, red, yellow, and green. Again, I was struck by how new everything appeared. The castle did not seem to be as aged as I knew it. I could hear loud voices carrying in from the Great Hall, but I felt no desire to enter the fray. I was drawn to the wall nearest to the hourglasses. This, out of all of the things I had witnessed, seemed the most out of place. Normally, it would have been covered with portraits, nearly fifty, of headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts. Now, there were just eight.

Small golden plaques beneath the paintings revealed their names and how long they had taught at the school. I recognized the four Founders of Hogwarts in a row of their own: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Beneath them were three additional portraits: Quintius Peltier, Bartemius Romsey, and Epona Burkes.

Frowning, I stared at the wall (which I knew was supposed to be filled with many more paintings), when I felt a light tap on the shoulder. I whirled around, reaching for my wand, before I realized it was missing from my pocket.

"Absent from class again." The young man before me said, shaking his head and holding a wand like a baton in one hand. "Looking for this?"

I had never heard his voice before, but I knew his face. He was young, no more than his early to mid twenties. He was tall, very tall, with dark shadows under his eyes. He had to be at least six feet and some inches tall, and his dark brown hair was thick and unkempt-looking. His black eyes gleamed scarlet for the merest second, but it was enough to make me realize who this person was.

He was the pale man from my nightmares. The one who was always in tandem with the blonde woman, who always died before I woke up.

The man frowned down at me. "Strange. Usually, you never let me take your wand for more than a second."

I continued to stare at him, unnerved. The obliviousness I had felt at first had dissolved and given way to a rising sense of panic. Where was I? More important, when was I?

"What year is it?" I blurted. The man chuckled once.

"Very funny, Sapphira," he said, twirling my wand like it was a toy. "Now, really. If you're absent for another one of my classes, I'll have to give you another detention."
I didn't like the way he said it. It was as if he was playing a joke on me, or as if he was really looking forward to spending time alone with me. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as my pulse sped up. His obsidian eyes flickered to my throat and again, I saw an unmistakable red gleam appear in the iris.

"You're scared." He said quietly. "Why?"

"My name isn't Sapphira." I said slowly, glancing between his fixed gaze and my wand, which he still held. He had stopped playing with it.

"What do you mean?" He said cajoling, grinning, and my stomach flipped. His teeth were exactly like Folsom's. He had very pointed canines, just like fangs.

Just like vampire's teeth.

"I think I should go." I said warily, taking a careful step backward. "I need my wand, please."

The man tilted his head. "You look a little pale. Why did you skip my class? This is the second time this week, and I'm not sure I can continue to give you special treatment. It'll look bad to my other students."

Okay, I thought, the panic rising to a fever pitch as sweat broke out on my forehead, I'm either dead, crazy, asleep, or Dumbledore did something to me.

"My wand." I repeated. "Please."

The man watched me for a moment, and then conceded my wand. It looked nearly identical to the one I had purchased at Ollivander's. But something was wrong.

"Sapphira?" The man asked again, sounding uncertain. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I have to go." I said abruptly, leaving the nameless stranger behind. I hurried through the front oak doors, the sunshine blasting me full in the face. It certainly was not October. The trees were fresh and green, the air humid and filled with the scent of lake water, warm grass, and pine trees. Again, I was struck by how new everything appeared. The Hogwarts castle that I knew had an aged, weary look about it from a thousand years of weather erosion and students living inside it. This version of Hogwarts, though, looked young and unblemished. Whole. Recent. Strange.

I paced in the sunshine, trying to gather my bearings and come up for a reason for how things seemed to be. Perhaps I really had finally, truly gone off-my-rocker, into-the-deep-end crazy. Maybe my hold on sanity had snapped under the stress of school, boys, my family, and now my tentative mental state. Maybe I had finally gone crazy.

The young man approached me again, frowning. "Sapphira… what's the matter with you? Are you feeling alright, love?"

I stared at him. He reached out to touch my cheek, but I jerked back. "What year is it?" I blurted, unsure of where the question came from.

Now the young man looked alarmed. "Sapphira-"

"Professor Slytherin!" A voice called. The both of us turned as a pair of young men came bustling down the stone steps and stopped before us. I had never seen either boy before, who looked to be fourth-years. I saw the green emblems of Slytherin on their lapels and swallowed hard.

"Yes, Edward? Philbert?" The young man, Professor Slytherin, said.

"We need you to come right away. Cicero Brown's just tried to Apparate and Splinched himself. We found his legs near the Fat Lady."

"Where's the other half of him?" asked Professor Slytherin.

"In the Great Hall. He failed his test." The shorter boy explained.

"Thank you, Philbert." Professor Slytherin said. He glanced back at me. "Sapphira, we will finish this discussion later." I saw the faintest wink as he turned and followed the two boys back inside the castle, his black robes flickering behind him.

I stared after them, dumbfounded, when I ran pell-mell up the steps and back to the portraits of the Founders of Hogwarts. Sure enough, there was Salazar Slytherin, who looked faintly similiar to Professor Slytherin who kept calling me 'Sapphira'.

"Would you care for a copy of the paper, Mistress?" A small voice squeaked. Jumping, I looked down into the wrinkled face of a house elf, who presented me with a roll of newspaper.

"Uh… sure. Thanks." I said, taking the parcel. The elf scurried away as more voices filled the castle near the Great Hall, where a moan of pain was audible above the babble of students.

Hands trembling, I opened the paper, a copy of the Daily Prophet, and dared to look at the date.

1 June, 1237.

The paper fell from my hands.

It couldn't be true. It wasn't possible. There was no way…

My breathing accelerated in time with my racing heartbeat as I staggered against the wall for support. I didn't have a Time Turner. There was no way I was actually in the past. There was no possible way.

Unless…

I looked down upon my neck. Sure enough, there was a familiar gold and opal necklace hanging from it. No, not opal. Harkenine.

Please, let this work. I prayed as I touched the necklace. A moment later, a splitting headache gripped me, and as I covered my face with my hands and let out a cry of pain, blinding white light overcame my vision, and I knew it had worked. I was going back.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in Dumbledore's office, staring across his desk.

"Amber?" Dumbledore implored, his blue eyes very worried. "Are you alright?"

"Professor." I said croakily. "Say my name again."

Dumbledore frowned, adjusting his spectacles. "You are Amber Luna Harkstone, daughter of Lena and Walter Harkstone, eldest sister to Virginia and Naomi Harkstone. You are a fourth year in Ravenclaw House and you are sitting with me in my office. The day is October 22, 1974, shortly after nine p.m." He paused, leaning forward slightly. "Are you alright, my dear?"

I gazed at him, half-horrified, half-amazed. "Professor Dumbledore, I think I just… had a glimpse of the past. I think I had a vision."

Professor Dumbledore's eyes widened. He leaned back, his face unreadable.

Just then, there was a loud series of knocking at the door.

"Who is it?" Professor Dumbledore called loudly, but his voice was level and calm.

"It's Willow Smith, Headmaster," Willow answered, her voice muffled from behind the door. "I need to speak with you. Urgently."

Professor Dumbledore sighed, pursing his lips. "Is it possible for you to return in a half hour, Willow?"

There was a beat of silence from behind the closed door. "Unfortunately not, sir. It's very important. I've come to tell you… I know. I know the identity of the one who killed Angelina Azadian."