For some parts of this chapter, I used an online translator because I sadly don't know how to let characters have a Scottish accent on my own. I hope the translator and I did a half-way decent job, if not please feel free to correct me. :)

Not minding where it would go, Hermione threw everything she got hold of over her shoulder. Shoes, bags, clothes that had slipped off their hangers, more shoes, all of it landed haphazardly across her bedroom floor – until she finally found what she was looking for: A small wooden case she'd put in the backmost corner of her wardrobe when she'd moved in three years ago so she wouldn't stumble over it again and again.

Her pulse sped up when she slumped back against the wooden door. She cancelled the Charm protecting the case and ripped the lid off. The notebook she'd started in her seventh year was still in it, unscathed as if she'd just put it in there yesterday. Hermione took it and struggled to her feet. Then she returned to the living room and sank onto her couch. Browsing through her own notes, her eyes kept darting to the book she'd received earlier. To Severus Snape's notebook.

She'd instantly recognised the hand of her former teacher, even after all these years. But how could it be here now? Addressed to her. To this address. Who might have sent her this book? Was it possible that Snape was still alive?

She dismissed the last thought with a huff. Even if he was still alive, why should he send his notebook to her of all people? Although there were only records of potion experiments in it, she was quite sure that he wouldn't even give these away voluntarily.

Hermione frenziedly skimmed through her notes, then she tossed them aside and reached for Snape's book again. For six years, she'd more or less successfully managed to not think about the mysteries that shrouded this dark man. And now, all of a sudden, he was back.

"So what is it?" Hermione mumbled, "Do you want me to solve this riddle or not?" She pursed her lips. And then she decided that she hadn't got enough sleep during the last forty-eight hours to think clearly. This whole matter had waited six years, it could wait for one more night.

The next day, Hermione had a day off and used the time to return to her bed with breakfast and both of the notebooks to take a closer look at them. First, she skimmed through her own notes because even though she would've thought to have read them often enough to never forget any of them she had now to admit that some details had slipped her mind.

Then she returned to Snape's records and soon she was lost in a world of potions. She excitedly read one page after the other, nibbled either on her toast or her bottom lip and even took the book to the loo. She didn't get out of bed that day and only when she had to switch on her light because it was nearing dusk outside, she stopped – solely because of a two-words-long entry marked with the date of Snape's disappearing: Doll, Brora.

Hermione lowered the book and all of the potions suddenly vanished from her mind. She stared at the ceiling and tried to tame her thoughts going head over heels. Doll, Brora … She'd never heard of it.

In the spur of the moment, she struggled out of her blanket and made herself presentable using her wand. Then she snatched Snape's book and Apparated to the magical main library.

Five days later, Hermione had managed to take some days off work at short notice, packed a bag, and requested a Portkey at the Ministry that would take her directly to Scotland – to a small, drowsy scattered settlement called Doll, in close vicinity to the village Brora. She didn't know what she was searching for, only that she could not not search. The mysteriously appearing notebook caused her urge for answers to flare up more ardently than any detail she'd found out about her potions professor and his disappearance during her last year at Hogwarts.

Before she took the tatty feather to follow her curiosity she scribbled a short letter for Ginny and called an owl from the main post office. At last, she sealed the windows, checked if the fireplace was closed and made sure she hadn't left any easily perishable food in the kitchen. Just before eleven, she was standing in front of her coffee table, her bag clasped in her hand, and stared at the feather that was supposed to take her to Scotland.

This was pretty much the craziest thing she'd ever done – except for the Horcrux hunt. Travelling to Scotland just because of a notebook she had no idea who had sent it to her to search for something without even knowing what it was. Her stomach tingled and she took a last deep breath.

"I seriously hope this is neither a trap nor in vain," she mumbled - and yet she took the feather that instantly carried her off her feet.

Doll was … well, scattered.

Her eyebrows raised high up her forehead, Hermione looked over endlessly sprawling fields, and after she'd turned around herself once she found that there was absolutely nothing to see. Only when she huffed in disappointment she realised that such an insignificant spot of land probably wouldn't have a lot of places that would have been of interest for one Severus Snape either. "Huh."

So she got going, looking for a place to spend the night.

After she'd taken a closer look at the settlement she found that there was only one bed and breakfast. At least only one that was labelled respectively, with an almost illegible ironwork sign at the driveway leading to the small estate house. Elphin Cottage. It was built of stone and overgrown with wild ivy, the grey roof was green with moss and the white varnish was coming off in flakes from the wooden window frames. She went to the door and knocked three times. For a long time nothing happened and she already saw herself sleeping on one of the acres under some trees. But then the door was opened and she found herself face to face with a small, stooped Muggle with sparse grey hair and thick hornrims. "Aye?" he asked hoarsely and only hearing him say that one word she could already make out his Scottish accent. Hermione smiled.

"Hello," she began. "I um … would like to know if you have a room available for me." She cut a quick glance over her shoulder even though she didn't know what she was looking for. But the man eyed her a bit oddly.

"Costs 50 poonds a nicht," was his curt answer.

Hermione gasped softly. For a drowsy village like this that was quite a lot of money. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Make it 30 and I'll stay for three nights."

The man followed suit and eyed her appraisingly. "40."

"35."

A few seconds passed by silently, then he jerked his head in what seemed to be a Scottish way of approval and stepped aside. Hermione went past him and looked around curiously. The walls were covered with a large number of family pictures, the floor with a thick carpet, and only a few steps behind the front door a narrow staircase led up to the upper floor.

"We've ainlie git twa rooms, baith upby." He curled his lips. "Ye kin wale yin, ma'am."

Since Hermione needed a moment to sort out what he'd said (two rooms and she could do what? He was absolutely doing this on purpose judging by the catty smile playing around his thin lips), the first thing she answered was: "I'm not a ma'am."

He bobbed his head indifferently.

"And I'm taking the right one."

"Aye. Tis th' wee'er yin. Mah guidwife is currently oot 'n' aboot. She'll mak' it duin efter. Sae lang ye kin lea yer baggage 'ere 'n' tak' a keek aroond th' village." He pointed at the niche next to the door.

Hermione, smiling despite herself because she did like his way of speaking, actually understood enough to get what he said, and was amused by how he was throwing her out. She stowed her bag away where he'd told her to and returned to the door.

"Whit's yer name?" the old man asked when she'd just opened the door.

"Hermione Granger. Yours?"

"Cahal McCollum. Th' room's duin at twa."

"Great. Thank you," she replied politely and returned to the warmth of spring.

Hermione made good use of the time until the early afternoon to get an overview of the village. The coast was close, a fresh salty wind was tugging on her locks; it could only be a few kilometres away. If she sussed the riddle out in time she would perhaps do a slight detour there before she returned home.

But for now, she limited herself to the few streets crossing through the acres like the lines of a children's drawing. Hermione was glad that Doll wasn't larger; she was busy enough taking a look at everything as it was.

She relished being outside, though, having a look at the scattered farms. Her job normally didn't leave her with enough spare time to just go for a walk. And this scenery was really worth it. Almost all of the houses were built of grey stone and sank in green. There was something magical about this place. Something that had nothing to do with the kind of magic that was circulating through her body.

But there was one place in this village that emitted real magic: an old church. Located a bit elevated at the edge of the village, it got Hermione's hackles up even before she was aware of the building. Now she was heading there determinedly and looked around frowning.

At the large double-leaf doors she found a sign: 'Danger of collapse! Do not enter!' Hermione stepped back and circled the church. When at one point the magical energy got so strong that her hands tingled so badly she could hardly keep herself from casting some random spells, she drew her wand and gulped. Then she clicked her tongue and waded further around the building through tall grass, wild bushes, and low-growing trees.

About fifteen minutes later she arrived back at the entrance of the church and had found nothing that she hadn't already known. She had to take a look around the inside of this decaying house of God.

"Alohomora!" she whispered, her wand pointed at the lock of the doors, and heard a scraping sound. She pulled at the wrought-iron ring and the door opened slowly, creaking dreadfully. Casting a last glance over her shoulder, making sure nobody was watching her, she slipped inside the church.

In comparison to the pleasant temperatures outside, the inside of the church was as cold as a fridge. Her eyes needed a second to get used to the twilight, then she could make out the wide aisle and the rotting benches on each side – and at the end of the aisle an oval, shimmering surface, approximately as high as she was tall, which was – without a doubt – the source of the magic.

Hermione gulped. There was debris everywhere and when she looked up she could see the bright blue sky through some gaping holes. The danger of collapse apparently had not been a subterfuge.

She carefully moved forwards, following the increasing magic making her hair stand on end, treading warily, listening to every sound permeating the silence surrounding her.

At a distance of a few feet, she eventually circled the odd phenomenon, her heart pounding heavily. And yet, she bit her lip and didn't even try to hide her smile. She'd missed this. Not Voldemort or the Death Eaters but the thrill of secrets. Of magical objects that were more than a Lumos here and an Alohomora there. That was even more than the potions and charms she was saving lives at St Mungo's with every day. She'd missed more. And this was more.

And above all, it was a more that didn't seem to be imminently dangerous. And if it was what she suspected that it was then it wasn't dangerous at all. At least not in and of itself.

Her lips pursed, she finally stopped right in front of the shimmering surface and put her hands on her hips. She had to do some research; had to check whether or not she was right with her guess. She wouldn't be so stupid to touch an obscure object without analysing it first.

Still, she couldn't leave this place without giving her theory at least a small try. Gnawing at her lip, she took a stone from the floor, looked at the shimmering oval first and at her hand second before she eventually threw the stone right into it.

It disappeared.

And Hermione grinned. "One hundred points for the slob from Gryffindor," she mumbled to herself and backed away. For now. If it wasn't this that had been of interest to Professor Snape then she didn't know what was.

It was past four o'clock in the afternoon when Hermione returned to the bed & breakfast. She made sure her wand was thoroughly hidden and knocked. This time, it didn't even take ten seconds before the door was opened enthusiastically. Hermione stepped back in surprise.

A portly woman with grey curly hair and weather-beaten skin beamed at her. She reminded Hermione vaguely of Molly Weasley. "Ye have tae be Miss Granger!" she said and gestured for Hermione to come in. "My husband awready tellt me aboot ye. Bit he's sae sparing wi' wurds, that stubborn git. He doesn't tell enough tae git an idea. Och, a'm sorry, a'm sae rude. A'm Eilidh."

Hermione concentrated hard on what she was saying and even though she could tell Eilidh was making an effort to speak as clearly as possible, Hermione still had a hard time catching it all. When she finished, Hermione nodded. "Oh … um … hello. I'm Hermione."

"Hermione …" The woman let her name roll over her tongue as only Scots could do it. "Hermione Granger," she repeated and frowned. Then she shook her head. "A bonny name. Pure tough 'n' profound. Dea ye fancy a cuppa, Hermione?"

She didn't even have time to acquiesce – plus she'd planned to decline. She had to send an owl to London, desperately needing books about … about rifts in time. Her stomach tingled when she first dared to think about her discovery so frankly. A rift in time. That's what she'd found. Probably. She needed to check that.

But the owl had to wait since now Eilidh guided her across the little house into the kitchen and made her sit down on one of the old wooden chairs so insistently that Hermione couldn't help but do it. She sighed faintly.

"A'm sae glad tae hae a quine lik' ye 'ere fur a chaynge. Cahal doesn't lik' th' young folk bit ah keep saying, Cahal, ah say, wi'oot young folk visiting Doll 'n' getting tae ken us we wull juist disappear yin day. 'n' that wid be a pity, richt?" Eilidh put a cup down in front of Hermione and poured herself another one before she sat down opposite her. "Sae, whit brings ye 'ere, Hermione?"

Hermione, who had just taken a sip from her tea, almost choked on it. She gave an embarrassed little cough and cleared her throat. "I … um … holiday." She smiled tentatively. "I wanted to get out, get a breath of fresh air, clear my mind, reflect …" She dragged out the last word, hoping Eilidh would get the broad hint and let her go.

But she didn't: "Barry idea! Cahal kin shaw ye some canny areas. Cahal!" She called for her husband in such a loud voice that Hermione flinched. And when he didn't respond after a solid three seconds – Hermione was surprised Eilidh had even waited for so long – she just kept talking a mile a minute.

"As much as I would enjoy hearing more of your family," Hermione said about two hours later and pushed a stack of baby photos of Eilidh's children across the tabletop, "I really need to go to bed now. The stroll earlier tired me. The fresh air, you know …" She peered at the face of the clock hanging on the wall behind Eilidh. It wasn't even half past six but she certainly was tired. She doubted the fresh air was to blame though.

"O' coorse. If ye aren't used tae living in th' countryside th' fresh air is exhausting." Eilidh smiled and nodded sympathetically. "Git some rest, Hermione, 'n' th'morra …" She faltered, her face lit up. "Hermione Granger, o' coorse!" She looked over at Hermione round-eyed. Hermione tilted her head in confusion. "Hauld yer horses a seicont!" Eilidh rose to her feet and scurried out of the kitchen so swiftly Hermione looked after her in surprise.

Then, however, she sighed, mainly out of relief. For a solid ten seconds, the silence was soothing her ears. She massaged her temples and wondered whether she'd packed a headache-relief potion. Or at least some aspirin. Maybe she still had an old blister in the inside pocket of her bag …

Were Snape's secrets really worth this? Why hadn't she just borrowed Arthur's tent and camped outside instead of booking a room in a bed & breakfast? And why was she only thinking about that option now?

She hadn't found an answer to her questions when Eilidh's return snapped her out of her musings. "Ah knew a've heard yer name afore." She balanced a stack of books on her arms that she now carefully put down on the table. "'twas aboot seven years ago," she explained and wiped her dusty hands on the apron she'd tied around her hips. "An eerie jimmy. Ah wis glad Cahal wis 'ere."

"An eerie what?" Hermione inquired when Eilidh for the first time in two hours wasn't going on chattering but apparently got lost in her memories.

"A man," Eilidh clarified.

"An eerie man?" Hermione echoed dumbfounded.

"Aye, gey eerie. Clad in black. 'n' thae een …" She let her finger circle in front of her eyes and clicked her tongue. "He luckily didnae bade lang. Juist brought th' books 'ere 'n' said ah shuid gie thaim tae Hermione Granger whin she turns up 'ere."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "He mentioned my name?"

"Aye, aye! Dinnae ye ken him?"

"I do," Hermione mumbled, "yes, I think, I know him." She was silent for a second, now lost in her memories herself. Then she returned to the here and now. "Why didn't you give these to me earlier?"

"Ah forgot! Ah knew yer name hud a ring tae me bit ah juist coudnae mind whaur tae pat it. Seven years is a lang time. We've awready thought aboot juist binning thaim. It's a streenge topic, glaciology in th' Antarctic …"

"Um … yeah," Hermione mumbled and rubbed her forehead, her gaze roving across the books. And yet she was smiling because of the way Eilidh pronounced the word glaciology. But the moment faded and the books snapped back into focus. They were lying on the table, their edge pointing towards her, the uppermost so old that the title had become illegible, but Hermione was still sure that they had absolutely nothing to do with glaciology in the Antarctic.

"Dae ye deal wi' it?" Eilidh inquired curiously. "Haes this jimmy bin a colleague o' yers? Bit how come didnae he gie ye thae books his-sel? Is this some kind o' paper chase?"

"Some kind … yes," Hermione stammered. What else was she supposed to say? She decided to end this now. "Thank you for storing the books. I'd like to retreat to my room now."

"Och, aye, o' coorse. Dae yi'll waant me tae ca' ye whin tea is duin?"

Hermione shook her head, already rising to her feet and taking the books. "No, that will not be necessary. Have a good night, Eilidh. And to your husband, too."

She didn't wait for her reply but climbed up the stairs with her unexpected gain. Her bag was standing in front of one of the four doors and Hermione supposed that behind it was the room that had been prepared for her. She first brought in the books, then she fetched her bag.

When she placed it in front of the wardrobe she noticed the burning marks on the clasps and shaking her head, she huffed. Apparently, one of them had tried to take a look at her things and had been surprised by her protecting charms. Served them right.

But the hint of malicious glee faded quickly and curiosity got the better of her. She browsed her bag for something to soothe her headache and actually found an old blister of aspirin. Hermione squeezed one of the tablets into her hand and sniffed at it sceptically; aspirin formed acetic acid when it got old but she couldn't smell anything. Well, it would have to do.

While Hermione waited for the aspirin to take effect she returned to the books. "So you do want me to solve your riddle, Professor Snape," she ascertained after she'd skimmed the titles. Contrary to Eilidh's words, every single one of these books dealt with the theory of time rifts.

Hermione did not sleep a single second that night. After her headache had faded she read through all of the books, she virtually inhaled them. And when the morning dawned in front of the windows she struggled out of the bed she'd made herself comfortable in and refreshed herself quickly.

She pocketed one of the books, a rather thin, more practically oriented one, then she sneaked down the stairs and left the house before Eilidh got another chance to hog her; breakfast wasn't worth it.

But she was still hungry so she Apparated to Brora first thing to buy two buns and a cup of coffee at a bakery, then she returned to the old church. Today she'd done her research, today she would get closer to solving this mystery, today she would not leave again without gaining more information!

Undetected by nosy eyes she slipped into the old building and brushed the dust trickling down the ceiling of her hair. So early in the morning the sun was shining through some of the still unscathed stained-glass windows and painted a colourful pattern of light onto the decayed interior of the church.

Reaching the altar, Hermione put down her bag and took the book. She kneeled down in front of the rift, armed with her wand and the reference text, and experimented with some spells she'd found in the book, taking a bite out of her bun every now and then.

About half an hour later, she slumped back onto her feet round-eyed and blew a strand of hair from her face. "Astonishing," she mumbled.

This rift in time was, as it seemed, stable. It already existed for quite a while and had been crossed several times. The possibility that Snape had undertaken a little time travel during his disappearance in her sixth year was – considering all she knew and had learned by now – not that unlikely.

And apart from that, the spells had told her that the rift was still carrying enough energy to stay open for years to come. Hermione wondered whether the church had been closed by the Muggles or the Ministry. But as unprotected as it was, without any magical wards, without alarms, without anything that kept the church from being entered, she supposed that the Ministry wasn't aware of this rift. And if the books Snape had left for her were right then Muggles weren't able to see it. Maybe there had been cases of missing persons that had been traced back to this church. Or maybe they'd just noticed the magic and abandoned the church because of that. Hermione knew that her parents always felt uneasy being close to magical locations. They'd always been reluctant to accompany her to Diagon Alley and had been glad when Hermione had gone there with the Weasleys.

But there was one thing her spells couldn't tell her: Where this rift led. It had developed due to two powerful magical happenings in time. They'd attracted each other like the poles of a magnet and had been strong enough to coil up the line of time into a loop. Where it crossed itself, the rift had opened. One could use it like a door.

Hermione was convinced that the occurrence that had opened it at her end had been Voldemort's death, maybe in combination with Dumbledore's death and the destruction of the Horcruxes. All of that might have been in the past for some years now but what was a few years considering eternity? The rift had to extend over about fifty years surrounding the war, probably even more.

But in the past, there were several occurrences of magical importance she would trust to have enough power to create this loop. And there was only one way to find the answer: She would have to go and see for herself.

Hermione used the remaining days that she'd paid for in the bed & breakfast to further educate herself on the theory of timelines, time rifts and time travel. And to inconspicuously question Eilidh about the church. "Och, dinnae gang thare!" was the answer, accompanied by a shudder. "It's uncanny up thare. Nobody haes gaen thare fur at least twenty years. If ye'r interested in churches, thare is yin doon in th' village ye kin visit. Bit dinnae gang tae th' auld kirk."

Hermione had let it go at that; apparently, she'd been right with her assumption that the Ministry didn't know anything about this rift. And if she really wanted to pass through it, it better stayed that way.

But that was the big question, right? Did she want to go through that rift? Snape had led her here, it seemed like he wanted her to do it. But why? What had he found on the other side that he'd led her here? And why her, of all people? Why not Harry? Should she really trust Snape that much? Blindly? Even beyond death?

Well, for the time being she decided to take more time. She asked at St Mungo's for more days off (that she was granted, she had some unused holidays from the last years to spare anyway) and informed Harry and Ginny that she would stay in Scotland for longer.

And then she simply pretended to be a tourist until, four days after her arrival, she packed her bag and left the cottage, waving Eilidh goodbye. As soon as she was out of eyesight, though, she disappeared into the bushes and Apparated straight into the church.

Hermione gulped when she was standing in front of the rift again and noticed that she'd worried her brain unnecessarily during the last few days. It was obvious. Of course, she would go through the rift. How could she not? She was a Gryffindor and she couldn't solve one riddle and ignore the next. Snape had wanted her to find the rift not only to look at it and analyse it, he could have done so himself. No, he wanted her to go through it. And since Snape had always wanted to help them – although they'd learned that much too late – he would have had his reasons to lead her here. Hermione sighed. After they'd all wronged him so badly she felt like she owed him.

"So, you want me to go," she mumbled. "Then I will go, Professor. Don't let me regret it."

Hermione raised her chin, took a deep breath, and grasped her wand and her bag tighter. Her fingers were cold, damp, and maybe they trembled a little. Still, she got going and managed to get her legs into a strange automatism; even if she would have wanted to stop, at one point she couldn't have done so anymore.

The flickering surface of the rift came closer and only at the very last moment she squinched her eyes shut and a small whimper escaped her lips. She was scared, thoroughly scared of what would happen now. She expected pain, dizziness, nausea, and felt …

Nothing.

After about ten steps Hermione stopped. For a moment, she did not dare open her eyes. Instead, she wondered if it had worked. Or if she was still in the church, only standing on the other side of the rift. She heard birdsong but they had been there earlier as well. Only belatedly she noticed that the ground underneath her feet felt different. And then she blinked, looked around, and uttered a faint "Huh!", for she was standing in the middle of a forest.

"I would say don't be scared …"

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin and, dropping her bag, she whirled around. Her eyes roved over the trees until they fastened on a woman that was sitting underneath the trees, leaning against a trunk, petting the shell of a tortoise that was resting in her lap.

"… but that's kind of pointless if you are approached from behind." She shrugged her shoulders. "It was worth a try, though."

Hermione stumbled a step back. "Who are you?" she asked and kept looking around. She really was in a forest. Her trainers sank a bit into the soft ground and flocks of chirping birds were surrounding her. The wind rustled in the dense leafage and only a few rays of sunlight found their way down to her. Such a forest, so densely vegetated, so lively, so overwhelming, she'd never seen before. "And where am I?" Or more precisely when?, she quietly added.

"I think it quite impolite to not introduce yourself before starting to question me since you are the guest here …" the foreign woman began and clumsily rose to her feet before she came over to Hermione. "… but I don't want to be awkward. I am Wendelin. And this is Saoirse." She pointed at the tortoise that was just withdrawing its head.

Hermione's eyebrows twitched. "Pleased to meet you, I guess …"

"So, do you mind telling me what your name is?"

"Um, no … I'm Hermione."

"Nice to meet you, Hermione."

"That … um … might sound a little weird but … what year do we have?" A branch cracked underneath her feet and Hermione flinched.

"That doesn't sound weird at all. I mean, you just emerged from a time rift. That can leave you a bit confused." Wendelin gave her a friendly smile.

"Indeed …" And it got worse by the second. Did she really come across another witch? Was she really that lucky?

"The year is 1486 after Christ."

"Wow, we're four-digit," Hermione mumbled. And when Wendelin didn't seem overly confused by her remark she added: "Am I right in assuming that you are a …" She choked on the end of her question. "… witch?"

"I prefer the term magically gifted but yes, I am." Wendelin wrinkled her nose.

"And … are you from another time as well?"

"Maybe." She grinned mischievously. "But now it's your turn. What are you doing here?" She bobbed her head, indicating to Hermione that she should follow her.

Hermione hesitated and glanced back at the rift.

"Oh, don't worry, it's stable. I observed it for quite some time now."

She looked at Wendelin. "What do you mean by quite some time?"

"That's a matter of perspective. So, will you come with me, or do your want to go back?"

"No! I mean, I'll come," Hermione replied quickly. "But … did somebody else come through the rift before me?"

"Not as far as I know. But I don't usually sit here every day to watch the rift so …"

Hermione nodded absent-mindedly. Assuming that she'd really come through the rift first – at least on this side of it – then that would mean that … Snape was still about to come? She frowned. Was it possible that the rift was not subjected to the rules of time? That in it, time didn't move forward linearly but … chaotically? That one could go through later on one side but come out earlier on the other? Or did that mean that Snape …

… that he had never been here. A chill ran down her spine. She had to check this out. Nothing in the books had suggested that she could get here before Snape, but maybe she'd just read over it. She had been tired … She would investigate the rift, explore it. The spells she had used on the other side of the rift would work here as well.

"Will you come now," Wendelin's voice cut through her thoughts, "or will you instantly go back after all?" She tilted her head while she watched Hermione.

She blinked. Actually, she thought, she had nothing to lose. The rift was stable, Wendelin and her tortoise didn't seem particularly dangerous, and this time period was more than fascinating – even though witches might not have had the best of reputations here. But she'd learned to lie low. With each summer that she'd spent with her parents.

And apart from that: She wanted to solve this riddle. More than everything else in the world she wanted to know how all of this – Snape disappearing in her sixth year, his notebook and all of the other hints, the rift in time – were connected. She couldn't go back now and pretend as if she'd never found out any of it.

So she smiled for the first time since she'd arrived at this time. "Yes, I'll come with you." She took her bag and followed Wendelin across the mossy ground.