Author's Notes: You probably didn't know this, but I update on fanfiction(dot)net when I update on HPFF, except that I'm four chapters behind the latter when I post here. I'm updating so quickly because I have another chapter written, after only a day, amazingly enough, but I can't post it on HPFF because of some complications in the queue hiatus. So, perhaps I'll end up getting caught up here. If you haven't figured it out already, thirty-eight chapters are already written; I expect to end the story at chapter forty, but I will have to see how that goes. Happy holidays, everyone, and thank you for your reviews.

Chapter Thirty-Four:
The Passage of Time

And then it was May. Each passing month had become redundant, for they always slipped by unnoticed by my eyes. I had always looked to Tom to slow time for me, casting an anchor to fit both of our grasps. Yet now we were both like leaves upon the surface of a pond, and he was gliding along beside me leaving no ripples behind.

After our discovery of the other secret chamber, Tom began to search the castle far more extensively than he had before. Although, I could only compare his obsessive scouring to the previous ones about which I knew. In truth, this number was small, yet as the same familiar look had not left his eyes for quite some time, I decided there must have been something different about it. Often I accompanied him, as this time he was appreciative of the extra pair of eyes searching the corners of the castle he had overlooked.

There were many an occasion when he would utilize the time set aside for our duties as Head Boy and Head Girl to delve deeper into the places unexplored—and those already explored a thousand times again. Late into the night he would traverse the school, until, each time, I would have to return to the Ravenclaw Tower with my eyes so blurred with exhaustion I could hardly see. So distracted was he at these times that I could not distinguish whether or not he noticed I had left.

More often than not, his efforts were fruitless, much to his displeasure. There were some secrets, he said, that were kept too well, and those were the ones that should not be kept at all. When he told this to me, I was not sure that I agreed. On one hand, I could not help but feel as curious as he, and longed to know what most others did not. However, it was then his current countenance that was my concern. If nothing else, his hunger would drive him further into the madness I often hoped to forget was there.

It must have been late in April when next a discovery was made, though if perhaps we had considered the idea sooner, we would have found it more quickly. Once again, the Room of Requirement—which we then called the Knowing Room—was to be invaluable to us. After our last visit, Tom had returned in order to discover precisely how it worked. It had not taken long for him to hypothesize and confirm his theories, and so by then he knew the room well.

While whims were my impetus for curiosity, Tom was driven by suspicions, be they sudden or fermented because of the many times they had been considered before. I did not ask which one it was that brought him to the familiar yet still mysterious room, nor did I query what his thoughts were centered about as he paced thrice the stretch of wall in which the door would soon appear. It sufficed to know that when he opened his eyes and went inside, the space was cramped and comprised entirely of earth; it contained but a scroll of parchment, nothing more.

His excitement apparent, he plucked it from the ground and closed the door. Then he paced thrice more and opened it again to reveal a much larger room, much reminiscent to the library. The largest nuance was the fact that there was a single table at the center of the room, closely surrounded by a long, black, circular sofa. It was to this that he immediately went, and I soon followed, closing the door once more behind me.

He carefully spread the parchment out across the dark wood of the table's surface, and I quickly tapped each corner with my wand so they would not curl inward. The entirety of the scroll was covered in writing, and each portion seemed to have been penned by a different hand. There were also a variety of types of runes in places, and a conglomeration of languages surrounding them. There was little I could recognize with only a quick glance, and when I looked at Tom, disappointment was etched across his face. He could not read it either.

"…would have recognized it," he was muttering, clearly frustrated. "…should not have killed him."

I straightened in alarm and lightly brushed my fingers against his hand. He twitched slightly at my touch and glanced up until his eyes met mine.

"Never mind me," he admonished gravely. "The language of this exceeds the knowledge we will obtain here. Even in the Restricted Section, or—" He suddenly stopped. "Of course. How foolish of me." He rose to his feet and strode to the nearest shelf of books, both in seemingly one swift motion.

After a moment, he sharply called my name. "Come," he beckoned. When I was at his side, he continued. "They have not been marked, these shelves, and their organization is, as of yet, vague. I do not doubt that that the languages we desire to translate have references contained within this library…"

"I will search for what I can," I said in response to the question he had not yet asked.

He nodded, and I began to do as I had promised.

-

This became our project for the next week. Tom and I were equally as eager to decipher the parchment, and so it was only logical that we toiled equally as hard, absorbing ourselves into piles of books for hours at a time.

On the day of our initial discovery, we were able to decode the more common languages and the most basic of runes, though these were few in number. These seemed to linger in the corners; at the top right were several forms of Gaelic, between them, German, and French and Latin took the remaining three. It was the center of the scroll that became infuriating to us, as it seemed entirely unwilling to relinquish its secrets.

Tom took to devoting his time to the runes, as he knew more about them than did I, and I concentrated on what remained. So efficient were we in this method that by the following Sunday, we had completed our task.

It was evening when at last the final word was one that we could comprehend; I knew the time of day only from my own weariness. I flexed my fingers, attempting to rid them of their stiffness, and to my left, Tom yawned widely. It took a moment for the realization of what we had just accomplished to sink in, though when it did, we immediately returned our eyes to the parchment. He was so near to it that his nose brushed against it every so often. I retreated and sighed, content to be through. Little did I know that this would lead to far greater things.

Suddenly, I felt Tom stiffen and freeze.

"What is it?" I inquired, peering at the place upon which his eyes seemed to be transfixed.

"A map," he replied. He sounded breathless, and I was startled. "It is a map of Hogwarts."

"How so?" I asked, leaning closer.

With a long forefinger, he began to trace along the parchment where there were prominent gaps between the clusters of words. Then he rotated it slightly, and though the marks were not truly there, in my mind I could discern the outline of the school.

"And here," he said, continuing his unspoken explanation. "'Entrance', it reads, hidden in context. This is the very front of the castle, and here"—he slid his finger forward and to one side—"there is no mistaking the Great Hall."

Instead of being entirely blank as I had expected it to be, the portion which represented the Great Hall had been filled with such a great amount of writing that it looked like a large stain of ink. The majority of it was runes, and so I had not seen it before. Upon inspecting the corresponding section on the sheet we had used to pen our translations, I realized that each sentence represented something else, something that already existed. This was not simply a map of Hogwarts; it documented the precise location of the castle's aspects that would otherwise be unknown. This map revealed everything that Tom had been so madly searching for.

The moment this came to mind, I found his lips briefly upon my own. "This map…" he whispered when he had broken away, his voice now hoarse."All things that I desire to know… all here at my fingertips."

He seemed to caress the map with both his hands and eyes, and then he rose to his feet, carefully rolling it into his grasp. Instinctively, I plucked the translated pages from the table.

"Where?" I questioned; I knew he meant to test the reliability of our newly-discovered information.

"We will begin in the Great Hall. It will be empty at this hour, and if we encounter anyone, it is because we are conducting our nightly patrol of the castle."

It was times such as this that he caught me off guard, for the speed at which his mind functioned, processing and planning in a few seconds' time, seemed nigh unreal. It was as though he had found the map long ago, and was merely reciting a plan that had been successful in the past. All I could do in response was nod and follow him, as I had done so many times before.

-

"This is a part which you will remember, Albus," I say. "I believe that this portion I have told you once, though it was many years ago."

"I do recall," he confirms, though I was already certain of this. He is not one who forgets even the most minutes of details with ease. For a moment, his eyes flicker to the Penseive, which still lies so near that I can feel the cool caress of mist upon me. "I wonder—"

I smile. "Would you like to view it firsthand, Albus?"

"If you have no objection to it… I find that seeing something from a different perspective often helps one to better understand."

The mirth leaves my expression and my smile is now hollow. I do not miss that his second statement is meant for me to consider as well. I know that it is from kindness that he says so, but I cannot help but feel bitterness. "Perhaps I should utilize the Penseive more often, then."

He does not respond; I know he has guessed what I am thinking. Wordlessly, he carefully sets the stone basin directly in front of me and gestures to it. Yet before he has even done so, I have put the tip of my wand to my temple, and I withdraw yet another silvery strand. This one is slightly greater in length and width, and the memory I know to be greater in depth. I let it fall into the Pensieve, stirring it slightly, then I lean forward and plunge inside.

Everything is as I pictured it in my mind as I was telling my tale to Albus. The exactness is night overwhelming, and I must pause a moment before I can move on. I feel Albus at my side, and he touches my arm.

"I am fine," he tell him firmly, though in truth, I am not certain of this, one way or another.

"Of course." I know he will not question me again.

In the time that it has taken for this to pass, my younger self has appeared at the entrance of the darkened Great Hall. Tom is still obscured by the shadows in my wake, though soon he emerges and closes the door behind me, as chivalrous as I remember him ever being.

Even though we know well that we cannot be seen or heard, Albus and I are silent as we approach Tom and my unmarried self; it is from habit. Soon we are near enough to peer over our shoulders and see the ancient map. Not long after this memory takes place, Tom and I would have the translations and their locations memorized; even as I watch myself study the handful of parchment I have brought with me, there are still parts that I can remember, though some recollections are clearer than others. These clearer ones are mostly riddles. I have always had an eye for patterns with words, though if asked the meaning of them, I would not be able to answer. That talent belonged to Tom.

As I think of this, he sweeps us away to another corner of the Great Hall, pointing at the parchment, then gesturing to a stone in the wall. Albus moves there more quickly than I, and is able to hear what is being said. His eagerness is a restorer of his youth; I am neither eager nor youthful, for this is something I have seen before.

When I have caught up, Tom is tapping his wand against the stone, and I cannot help but smile. It is the rhythm to the Hogwarts School Song. I can remember studying the handwritings upon the map for many hours one night, comparing it to scraps in the oldest of history books. This secret is Helga Hufflepuff's, I discovered, a woman less commonly known for her humorous spirit.

Tom haps the stone a final time, and it begins to shake so violently that it is surprising the surrounding stones are not loosened from their hold. In a moment, it falls still, and suddenly, the Great Hall is filled with the brightest of sunshine I have ever seen, most especially even now, after so many years. It is a feeling I cannot even describe to experience it once more, for thought it is a mere memory, I can feel it purging a layer of shadows within me.

Tom hisses, and my younger self jumps in astonishment.

"Shut it off!" he whispers.

"I do not know how!" I cry, panicked. He pulls the map from my grasp and begins to read it so quickly that his eyes are all but a blur. I begin to laugh, both then and now, so that it combines into a strange sound that is both eerie and mirthful at once. Though I have lived in it for the majority of my life, I am not a being of darkness, and have never been so.

Tom glares at me briefly as he begins tapping the stone once more, though this time the rhythm is backwards. As though an enormous breath of air has just put out the flame of a candle, the room is now cast into blackness even more deep than before.

"Should we not return it to its former state?" I hear myself ask.

"If I recall, you do not know how to do so," he replies, a hint of mocking in his voice. I sigh, slightly from frustration.

"What is next, then?"

Now it is Tom who sighs. "Danielle, you have so many questions tonight, far more than usual."

"I suppose I exhibit my excitement more differently than you, Tom. May I choose our next test, if you do not already have one in mind?"

He chuckles and relinquishes the map to me. "Choose if you must. I fear that there will be no other way to sedate you."

"Why sedate me? Allow me to live, Tom. I promise I shall not be so bothersome come morning."

He place his first two fingers beneath my chin and tilts it upward until his eyes are level with mine. "You are not bothersome," he murmurs. "And you shall live as you like." I smile and kiss him briefly before nearly running to another place in the Great Hall.

The images around me begin to blur as the memory melts away into the present. Albus has seen all that he wishes to, and I am not grieved that he has chosen now to return to what is real. He knows that I endure these things for his sake, and for the sake of the Order of the Phoenix, yet I cannot help but think that he often holds back in order to avoid causing me further pain. What Albus fails to realize is that you cannot hurt someone that has already been broken. I do not doubt that he will revisit each of these memories after I have nothing more left to say.

-

That month, we were preoccupied solely with our discoveries. Our schoolwork we always managed to complete, though nothing was exemplary, and all thoughts of our N.E.W.T.s had been cast aside. For one month our education—at least, that which was directly provided for us—was not the most important aspect of our lives, and it was exhilarating to no end. It did not matter that I felt oddly unlike myself, acting more as a Gryffindor should than a Ravenclaw. At the time, I labeled it as the most dangerous game I had ever played, not yet realizing that I had already been playing it.

And so when that glorious month at last came to an end, we had learned all of the secrets that the map could provide. We found hidden passageways, carved into rock by the very hands of Godric Gryffinor, and located the hiding places of the many spells invented by Rowena Ravenclaw, sent to the bottom of the lake in glass bottles. There was even a hidden room that had once served as a laboratory for the alchemist Nicholas Flamel. In the dungeons, there were rooms that could only be entered in times of great need, which had been utilized as safe havens during a war which had taken place a century after the last Founder's death.

The most chilling things were the cemetery, hidden beneath the kitchens, and the corridor that seemed to have been destroyed by a fire, yet had not been repaired. In the latter were the remnants of a suit of armor that had once been enchanted to serve as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, yet now only whispered countercurses from beneath a layer of ash. Still, it was not useless, for I lingered in the haunting place for night an hour, writing down all that it said in its voice as dry as withering bones. They were spells that were no longer included in the Hogwarts curriculum.

This and many more discoveries contributed to the most enlightening time of my life. A time which ended with the arrival of June.