Keeper and Thief of Time
I was content as an Unspeakable, perhaps more so than I had first anticipated that I would be. Each morning, an hour after Tom had departed for Borgin and Burke's, I Apparated to the main Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. From there, I proceeded to the corridor which I had been shown my first day and vanished into the Department of Mysteries. As the weeks passed, the sun and heat began to penetrate even the most obscure of corners in Knockturn Alley, washing over the world in a stifling wave; yet I was inside, calm and hidden from the weather's onslaught. Tom once joked that this was for the best, for he said that I often grew irritable in the summer months. My protests, he smirked, merely solidified this.
I was given a small room—an office, I supposed, though the term I, for some reason, was not font of—on the department's ground floor. In the beginning, I was unhappy in spite of myself, for the lack of light affected me strongly. Soon, however, I bespelled a false window into my wall, something I had heard rumors of from various other departments. At the time, this was not a common occurrence, and so I was able to change the weather it displayed as I pleased. Most often, the sun shone brightly—though not too much so—and after tampering with it further, the window could be opened to make way for a gentle breeze. At times, though, the section of glass and wood upon my wall served as a portal, in a way. On occasion, it overlooked Borgin and Burke's or our Knockturn Alley home. It was an exceptionally rare occurrence when I located Tom with my window—at least, when he was not in places in which he could easily be found.
It was in this way that I began to discern the nature of his work, and it became nigh a sort of game. It was far more interesting for me to attempt to decipher what I saw than to simply ask him outright, though I often found myself wishing to do precisely that. What would it hurt to inquire such things? Surely I would not have been received in the same manner I had been by Mr. Burke so many afternoons before. The worst he would do, I believed, would be to draw his lips into a thin, snake-like line and shake his head, subtly but firmly enough to end all further discussion of the matter. Yet still, I did not think such a reaction would occur. After all, it was I who was closest to him, and so there was no reason that secrecy should be provoked.
And so when my mind was free—which was not a regular happening—I gazed beyond the glass of my windowpane, silently debating that which revolved around Tom. At times, I jested with myself that this was the most important aspect of my research, though moments later, such jests were swallowed by stacks of parchment or newly-forming demands.
As the season progressed, I graduated from my apprenticeship to Griselda Marchbanks and became an Unspeakable, full-fledged, just as she had once predicted. From then on, I was asked to do things unimaginable—unimaginable even if they had been expected. Nearly at once, I realized that there was an enormous amount of information being kept from the wizarding public, and more often than not with good reasoning behind it.
At first, I was stationed in the Hall of Prophecy, a chamber with a cathedral-like interior in regards to size, and lined with shelf upon shelf for an endless distance. Even more endless, however, was the number of small glass orbs which had—for some—made the shelves their home perhaps centuries before. In the beginning, I was fascinated by the varying dates and slopes of handwriting upon the weathered labels beneath each orb, illuminated only by candles and the tiny, candle-like flames within each rounded glass container. Yet this was only while I was apprenticed, and Madam Marchbanks incessantly was required to pull me away from the shelves, for I would slowly pace each one if permitted, tracing my fingertips along the worn corners of each label that I passed, reading the contents of each and wondering at what it truly held.
I was not permitted to hear the prophecies, save for those which were presented to me specifically. It was these select predictions that I was told to catalogue, copying their words verbatim into a book which was as old as the oldest prophecy held within the room. (I looked at this date one evening; the numbers were nearly all faded, and so I could discern only that it was from the eighth century.) At times, I was asked to decode the cryptic messages that were conveyed, though with this I had little success, for prophecies could be likened to riddles. The only riddle I had ever come close to solving was Tom, and even then, I was far from the answer.
This was why, after only a week, I was whisked away to the Time Room, and it was at this point that I was granted the room in which I would work for many years thereafter. It was in this room that I toyed with the multitude of aspects of Time-Turners, a task which was far more interesting even than reading prophecy labels. I came to discover that I was skilled at reshaping old magic; I should have realized this when I modified Slytherin's diary for Tom. I was not imaginative enough to invent new ideas, only to improve old ones.
Still, I considered this to be my form of artistic expression. With the foundation already lain, I could strengthen it and reinforce its ability. In a way, I began to comprehend Tom's obsession with certain things, for I grew to look upon each Time-Turner nearly as an individual child. Each little hourglass, enclosed in varying shapes and materials, was unique to me, and none had the same abilities as any other. Some I bewitched to enter any time—even before the first prophecy had ever been recorded—and some were so precise that one could go back to relive a single second in the vast expanse of a lifetime. My most favorite acted as a Pensieve could, though a physical memory was not required; minute, silver dials simply needed to be turned, and all around would a particular instance be displayed. Later, I would learn that this Time-Turner had been duplicated and given to several prestigious Aurors who then utilized them in stopping many a dark affair.
I told the entirety of this to Tom one night when duties had kept us both away until the moon had begun to sink. I was prideful of my accomplishments, my enthusiasm cascading from my lips and pooling upon Tom's chest as I smiled against his skin. His breathing was a steady rhythm as I said each word—words that came in a flurry of whispers—and he waited with great patience until I had finished to speak.
"I must pose a request to you," he murmured. The pattern of his breaths changed only slightly, though mine slowed into silence, and I did not reply. At that moment I knew—wondered or feared, even, somehow—what this request would be. It was a moment when the alleged connection between our minds was strong.
"I do not wish to steal," I said, my voice soft. I felt him stiffen, if only just. Then he smirked.
"Perhaps you have known me for too long," he remarked at length.
"There is no such thing," I informed him, more forcefully than I intended.
Tom chuckled, though it was in a manner that was the familiar farce.
"I require only one," he promised, his finger grazing the outline of my lips. I closed my eyes and sighed, though a smile played upon the place he had last touched.
"You cannot seduce me into committing theft. I do not believe that you could have me any more ensnared, Tom." This was true, and we had both long-since known. He already knew that I would do whatever it was that he asked of me, following his commands like a blinded sheep. My conscience had been silenced.
He withdrew his hand and shifted to gaze at me intently. "Only one, Danielle, that is all I will ask of you, and only once. I will understand if you refuse…"
Yet I know that you will not, his eyes seemed to say.
I did not need to think. "Which Time-Turner is it that you desire?"
A subtle gust of warm breath tickled the hairs atop my head as he relaxed. "The one which would allow me to travel to a specific time without knowing the precise date."
"I might have known."
"You already know too many things."
This statement I could often agree to.
By the time I awoke the next morning, Tom had already slipped away. As I rose from my bed, memories of the previous night's conversation came roaring back into my mind, and for a brief moment, I froze, paralyzed by the simple act I had promised to commit. Remnants of my conscience remained, yet as they were only slight, they were soon whisked away. I consoled myself, whispering in my own ear that as a keeper of time, it was justifiable to borrow one of its many tools. For surely, Tom would not keep it; he would not require its use after it had served whatever purpose he was planning to give it.
I breakfasted in contemplative silence, and then Apparated to the Ministry's Atrium. From there, I proceeded to the Department of Mysteries through the hidden door, whose presence and location were only known to Unspeakables. That year, at least. Madam Marchbanks had once told me that the door shifted each time the department's layout was changed. And at the time, the headquarters for this mysterious Ministry branch was as large as the Ministry of Magic building itself, though it was seemingly contained within a single corridor.
I hurried across the shadowed Mysteries Atrium, for I had not realized before that I was nearly late—though it was not as if the times of my arrival and departure were clocked and recorded each day. Though I had not been directly informed of this, I suspected that I was expected to come and go at whatever moments I wished, as long as my work was completed.
I entered the Time Room, pausing only a moment to glance at the dappled green light which was reflecting upon the walls and the many clocks surrounding me. Just where I had left it rested the large glass case in which the Time-Turners were stored. I traced an invisible design into its front with my wand, and it began to shrink until its entirety could rest safely within my palm. Carefully I walked, my fingers closing lightly around the glass. Always was I worried that it would shatter, yet miraculously, it never did—though an Unbreakable Charm hardly constituted a miracle.
A long-bearded wizard nodded at me as I passed him, and I did the same in return. Each morning it was always the same. I would never learn his name, and he would never learn mine. In the Department of Mysteries, Unspeakables had very few ties with one another; everyone was far too isolated with the tasks they were required to do. The only name I would ever become familiar with was that of Madam Marchbanks, though after the termination of my apprenticeship, we made few exchanges.
When I reached my room, I returned the case to its normal size and glanced out my window. At times, it drifted off to places conceived solely by itself, and that day was one of such occasions. It had chosen to overlook a large manor house which rested atop a hill. It had darkened windows, and even the window could not cause the trees around it to stir. The only movement was that of a man in patched garb, the clicking of whose shears as he trimmed the hedges could be heard through the glass. But I waved the image away to a sunny moor, too preoccupied to find familiarity in the former image.
When Tom had made his request, I had instantaneously pictured the Time-Turner that he wanted. It was smaller than many of the others, but all the same, I hoped that it would not be missed. I plucked it from its fellows upon a shelf and turned it on its side. The words Department of Mysteries, M.O.M. were engraved into the dull metal, land after a pause, I rubbed the tip of my wand over them until they smoothed into nothingness. Another pause, and I cast an Untraceable Spell upon it; only then was I satisfied that I would not be caught.
I watched as the little fixture collapsed and flattened, stretching until it was paper-thin, and then I sealed it into a thick parchment envelope. Before the sapphire wax seal had been allowed to fully dry, I had summoned a Ministry owl and sent it to Tom.
Hours passed until it was evening, though each minute which ticked by went unnoticed by me. As had become a habit, I was engrossed with the Time-Turners, determined to better each one with the next to compensate for the one that had been lost. Outside, my sky was dimming and a fire was slowly crawling up from beneath the logs of my fireplace. It mattered not that it was July, for the department paid no heed to the ways of the earth; inside, the corridors were stained with an impenetrable chill.
Suddenly, there came a sharp knock upon my door, and I started at the noise, having heard nothing louder than the falling of grains of sand for the entirety of the day. I placed the large Time-Turner on which I had been working onto my desk and I looked up. The door swung open to reveal Madam Marchbanks, a weary look about her.
"Are you terribly occupied?" she inquired.
I shook my head, feeling that this answer was not a lie.
She sighed. "You're needed, then, in the next room. Bode has been called away for the night. Simply watch the veil." She glanced at the Time-Turners resting in the case at my feet. "You may bring those, if you wish."
Without another spoken word, the old woman swept herself from the room, leaving no further instruction in her wake. Tenderly, I gathered the Time-Turners and what few belongings I was required to bring with me each day. Then I encased my window in its hanging and extinguished all light held within the room. Embers faded into the hearth and the door closed at my heels, locking itself, even as I pressed onward and it melted into its surroundings.
The room was directly across the outside corridor and lay against the Time Room. Beyond the doorway, the air was far more chilled than the remainder of the department, and I shivered as it penetrated the thin fabric of the robes I had chosen to wear that morning. I gently set that which I had brought onto the floor and hesitated with my fingers upon the handle of the door. Strangely, I did not want it to close, though it seemed that I had no say in the matter, for it pressed against my hand until it had fitted itself tightly into its frame. As soon as it had done so, feeble pricks of light sprung up, strong enough only to weaken the shadows.
The room was large but not excessively so, like a stadium that had been shrunk slightly to fit. For indeed, like a stadium, it was lined with rows of benches, all of which came together, it seemed, to slope downward, an inverted pyramid. At the very center, the floor disappeared into a shallow pit, in which stood an archway made of stone. Its edges were worn and crumbling, yet still it appeared to be sturdy, and hanging from it was a weathered ebony curtain. It seemed to billow, though at a speed of a different time, for it moved in slow, gentle rolls. From above, still by the chamber's entrance, I looked down upon it, uneasy. This was most certainly the veil I had been told to watch, yet it appeared to do nothing.
As had often occurred before, I was overcome with a feeling of curiosity, which dissipated the majority of my unease. Though still cautious, I descended into the pit, carefully stepping into the middle of each stone bench as I went. And then I stood before the veil, close enough to feel the cold it seemed to excrete. Forward I reached, wondering what lay on the other side of the curtain, but when I pulled it aside, all I saw was the opposite end of the room.
Befuddled and disappointed, I turned to retrace my steps. Yet as soon as I did so, something seemed to catch upon my robes. I swatted at it in irritation, believing that the fabric had snagged upon a roughened corner of the stone. But then I stopped, my motion hanging suspended. I blinked thrice; each time I opened my eyes, I still saw the ghost of a hand retreating from the hem of my robe until it disappeared. Beyond the veil, a pair of whispers seemed to call my name.
My breath latched in my throat and I staggered backward; I could feel my face draining of its color. In my haste, I felt myself falling, felt myself leaning toward the archway and shifting to the side at the last possible moment. Just as I struck the ground, my arm cushioning the impact, and envelope was slipped beneath the door. I would find it an indecipherable amount of time later, and read the words in the unreliable light, written in Tom's script: a note of thanks for the Time-Turner I had stolen.