A/N: After a year of crazy life events, I am back once again! It is my life's mission to see this story told, for my dear readers, so no matter what I seem to always come back here as long as I am breathing! Anyways, without more blabbing, here's Chapter 21! Enjoy.
Lola was nestled in her armchair by the Gryffindor fireplace, notebook pressed tightly against her chest like a covert agent guarding top-secret intel. Fay was sprawled on the rug next to her, muttering darkly about bezoars and mutating potions. But Lola's mind was elsewhere—strategizing. She finally had her cover: Hogwarts' first "student psychic." Now, she could jot down all the major events she remembered under the guise of mystical predictions. If someone found her notes, they'd just assume she had an overactive imagination. Or the gift of foresight. Or both.
As she started writing in what she hoped was her best "mysterious oracle" handwriting, a few familiar voices floated over from across the common room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were huddled around a chessboard, talking in hushed tones, with Harry looking like he'd just witnessed Snape deep-cleaning a cauldron by hand. Which, come to think of it, might be less horrifying than what Harry was actually dealing with. She tuned in, catching snatches of their conversation about Snape's unexpected interest in becoming a Quidditch referee.
"Don't play," Hermione was saying with the brisk authority of someone who'd read the rule book, cross-checked it, and annotated it for loopholes.
"Say you're ill," Ron suggested in a stage whisper, clearly not troubled by the ethics of a casual white lie.
"Break your leg if you have to," Hermione added, deadpan.
"Really break your leg," Ron echoed, like a kid with his eye on a particularly juicy dare.
Lola rolled her eyes and grinned, scribbling in her notebook with relish: *"Gryffindor's match plagued by Snape-shaped obstacle."* She'd have to work on the wording, but she was already looking forward to seeing how it all played out. She was busy thinking up her next "prediction" when a looming shadow interrupted her thoughts.
"Lola?" came Percy's very Head Boy-ish voice, and she looked up with a start. Percy Weasley stood over her, his badge practically blinding in the firelight, and he wore the look of someone about to deliver very important news. The fact that this was Percy made it both a little intimidating and wildly predictable.
He cleared his throat. "I need to speak with you privately."
Lola blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Um, sure, Percy. What's up?"
Percy's eyes narrowed as he studied her getting up from her armchair, clearly wrestling with his thoughts. "Are you… in trouble or something?"
Lola frowned, feeling her heart skip a beat. "No. Why would you ask me that?"
"Because," he began, his voice a little lower, "Professor Dumbledore has summoned you tonight. And I can't think of many reasons why he would call a first-year to his office. Especially not after midnight. You're not… you know, losing points for us, are you?" His last words were spoken with clear apprehension, as if the very idea of lost points were a catastrophe in itself.
Lola's cheeks flushed, half from embarrassment, half from frustration. "No, Percy, I don't think I'm in trouble." Considering the events unfolding around her, lowering Gryffindor's chances of winning the House Cup seemed as trivial as fretting over a speck of dust in the Hogwarts Library. "
Percy seemed only partially reassured. "Whether you think you are or not, Professor Dumbledore usually only calls students who are… 'special cases'." The way Percy emphasised 'special' made Lola shiver. "Just… make sure you're on your best behavior, all right?"
Lola nodded, her nerves now prickling even more intensely. She took a deep breath and made her way to Dumbledore's office based on Percy's given directions, feeling her stomach churn as she replayed Percy's words in her mind.
A short while later, she stood in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Er… sherbet... lemon?" she guessed, remembering the elder wizard's favourite sweet from the second book... of the very Series she seemed to be living in... Realisation after realisation, Lola still could not wrap her head around this mesmerisingly unbelievable information. She was losing her sense of reality, of the life she had before she found herself in the Potterverse. The only explanation she could provide to herself, to prevent her mind from going berserk, was that somehow, some way, magic was in fact a real thing.And J.K. Rowling was perhaps a witch herself...
Which meant she was an actual witch too...
To her relief, before she could confuse her own teenage mind any further, the gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the spiral staircase leading up to the headmaster's office.
At the top, she hesitated for a moment, wondering what Dumbledore could want. She was at a great advantage, knowing the Great Wizard's mysterious background, innermost thoughts and fears, even future events. But her presence had slowly started changing the chain of events that she knew, and Lola wondered if she would be required to continue this adventure totally blind and oblivious after some point in time. The thought sent shivers down her spine, but she had to shake it off and put on a brave face.
Finally, she knocked, and a gentle, "Come in," called from within.
Lola entered to find Professor Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, his blue eyes twinkling under the half-moon spectacles perched on his nose. Despite his calm demeanour, there was something about his gaze that felt… piercing, as if he could see right through her.
"Good evening, Miss Allen," he greeted, his voice soft yet carrying an air of profound curiosity. "Please, have a seat."
Lola swallowed nervously, sliding into the chair across from him. "Good evening, Professor," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
Dumbledore regarded her with an intensity that unsettled her. He then leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Tell me, Miss Allen, you guessed the password to my office correctly," he said finally, his voice calm, yet tinged with curiosity. "I did not give it to you. Tell me, how did you come by it?"
Lola's cheeks went pink as she scrambled for an answer. "Um… I think I just remembered hearing it somewhere, Professor."
He gave a small hum, as if the explanation satisfied him on some surface level, but his eyes told a different story.
Lola shifted again, her gaze flickering to the walls lined with strange trinkets and magical devices, all softly ticking or whirring. She was painfully aware of his scrutiny, and something about his expression made her stomach twist with guilt, as if she were guilty of something she didn't yet understand.
"So, Miss Allen," Dumbledore's tone was patient, but each word seemed to press a weight down on her, "have you… felt that there is something different about your time at Hogwarts?"
A shiver passed through her. Her difference was knowledge of a world she'd read in books, watched unfold in films—but that wasn't something she could say to the man who now sat watching her, expecting her to fess up to… what, exactly? That she was a girl out of time, out of place? That her life in Kent had somehow collided with this magical reality? And if she admitted it… would she wake up? Would this beautiful world dissolve into her ordinary one, leaving her stuck in a life she'd always thought too mundane?
Little did she know, this conversation was happening right off the heels of one very worried Professor Snape leaving Dumbledore's chambers.
"Professor, apart from the events relating to my dear friend Miss Dunbar..." She really didn't want to hover on this subject, she realised with a flinch. "I don't really… think I have sensed anything different," she said finally, measuring her words. "I've been… surprised by a lot of what I've seen. Everything here feels mesmerising."
Dumbledore's expression shifted slightly. It was subtle, but for a moment, his gaze softened, as though he'd glimpsed her private fears. "I see."
He tilted his head thoughtfully, then stood and moved to the back of his office, where an odd, shimmering device sat on a high shelf. It resembled a set of orbs spinning slowly around each other, with faint, silvery threads connecting them at odd angles. Every so often, a spark of light would flash where two threads crossed, illuminating the room in brief, ghostly glimmers. Lola's eyes widened at the strange sight.
The Headmaster examined the device thoughtfully, his expression pensive. "There are always great forces at work, Miss Allen," he murmured, as though speaking to himself as much as to her. "Forces that shift reality like a river changing its course. These are not small ripples—no, these currents affect the very fabric of our world." He paused, glancing back at her, his gaze even more piercing than before. "I wonder if you might… sense them, as I do."
Lola's mouth went dry. She tried to hold her face steady, but the Headmaster's words seemed to pierce through her carefully guarded composure. "I'm… I'm not sure, Professor," she stammered, giving a small, uncertain shrug.
As Dumbledore's words sank in, Lola felt a surge of confusion and unease. How could he have come to suspect her? She'd tried so hard to blend in, to play the part of any ordinary first-year, yet Dumbledore was hinting at something deeper, something almost… supernatural. How could he have picked up on it? She wasn't even sure what she was doing here, much less why she seemed to trigger some hidden alarm in the Headmaster's mind. Was it something she'd said, some unconscious behavior he'd picked up on? Or was it her seemingly uncanny knowledge of Hogwarts and its people—though she'd been careful, she thought, not to let on too much? The thought that Dumbledore might see through her was terrifying, and it left her questioning if he'd even sensed what she was hiding, or if he was reading her mind in ways she wouldn't want to know.
Dumbledore's lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though his eyes remained serious. "There are only a few witches and wizards who have ever had the gift to perceive such forces, to feel the shifts and currents of fate. One such person once passed through these very walls… and her words still echo in the lives of many today." His gaze grew distant, and then he spoke as though recalling a memory that lay heavy on his heart. "She was a quiet woman, often overlooked, rarely taken seriously. And yet, within her was a gift—unpredictable, fleeting, and terribly rare. A talent not for choosing destiny, but for glimpsing it, in fractured, elusive moments."
Lola felt her stomach twist. Sybill Trelawney… he's talking about the prophecy,she realised, her heart pounding with both fear and awe. The thought that Dumbledore might consider her as powerful as a porphet both thrilled and terrified her—but it could also be the perfect cover for the knowledge she was hiding.
"I have reason to believe, Miss Allen, that you possess certain abilities—ones that most witches and wizards do not. It seems… plausible to me that you might be a Seer."
Lola's eyes widened. "A… Seer? Professor, I… I don't know if I am."
The label was a bit much for her. After all, if someone had asked her to predict something she didn't already know due to reading the Harry Potter books, she would make a complete fool of herself.
Dumbledore continued, his gaze never wavering. "Strange visions, feelings of déjà vu, or perhaps dreams that later become reality. These are not uncommon for young Seers. Have you experienced anything of the sort?"
She hesitated, her mind flashing back to the Mirror of Erised and the vision she'd seen within it—a vision that seemed too vivid to be mere imagination. And then there was the odd feeling that had lingered in her chest all night, as if she were somehow connected to Harry's journey in a way she couldn't fully explain.
"Well, there was something," she admitted cautiously. "When I looked into the Mirror of Erised… Sorry, Professor, I read about it and will not look into it more than once," she quickly added after seeing Dumbledore raise an eyebrow. "it felt like I was seeing more than just my reflection. It felt… real."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, as though he'd been expecting this answer. "Ah, the Mirror of Erised. It shows us our heart's deepest desire, but in your case, it may be showing you a path… a thread that binds you to others in ways yet to be revealed."
She let out a slow breath, and forced herself to nod. She was glad he didn't ask what she saw. "I… I suppose I have felt things, sometimes," she admitted, choosing her words carefully. "It's hard to explain. It's like… a strange sense of knowing, of sensing something just out of sight."
Dumbledore studied her reaction with a penetrating intensity. "Sometimes, Miss Allen, gifts come to us unbidden. Often, they arrive long before we are ready to understand them. What's remarkable is that even the most unassuming individuals can hold the key to great events. So, if there is a force within you—one attuned to these currents, capable of sensing the world's subtle shifts—it would be wise to understand it."
Lola let out a sigh. "I do agree, Sir."
Dumbledore studied her with renewed intensity, then gave a small, thoughtful nod.
"A powerful gift it is indeed, Miss Allen. And a rare one. But such gifts are not without their risks. Playing with fate is not unlike playing with fire: it can warm, but it can also consume."
Lola shifted uncomfortably in her chair. I don't want to mess with fate… I just want to keep this world intact, she thought desperately. But she simply nodded, deciding it was best to play along. "I understand, Professor."
"I shall help you temper this gift," Dumbledore said, his voice softer now, almost kind. "But you must promise me to tread carefully, and to speak to me if… these senses of yours grow stronger. It is not every day we have someone so attuned to the threads of destiny in our halls."
The words carried a weight that hung heavily in the air. Lola nodded, unsure what else to do, hoping her expression was convincing.
At last, Dumbledore smiled gently. "You may go, Miss Allen. Rest well, and remember what I have told you. Fate is not always kind to those who try to outwit it."
...
As Lola walked the halls on her way to the Gryffindor Tower, a sense of purpose mingled with unease settled over her. She was no longer just a visitor in the wizarding world—she was becoming a part of it, and the road ahead was anything but clear.
As she turned a corner, her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp collision with… nothing? She stumbled backward, heart racing, before she realized that her hands had met solid air. She froze as two disembodied groans filled the hallway.
"Ow! Who's there?" hissed a voice, muffled yet unmistakably Ron's.
A second voice, equally pained, muttered, "If that's Filch, we're doomed."
Lola gasped as Ron and Harry pulled off an invisibility cloak, rubbing their heads where they'd crashed into her. She raised an eyebrow, both amused and curious.
"Fancy meeting you here," she said dryly, trying to play it cool while her heart still raced.
The boys glanced at each other, clearly caught off guard. "Lola?" whispered Harry. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," she replied, trying not to smirk. "Why the midnight stroll?"
Ron leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes alight with a mix of excitement and dread. "Malfoy," he whispered. "Finally gonna teach him a lesson."
Lola's eyes widened. This was it—the duel that never happened in the first book. She'd never thought she'd actually get to witness it, never mind in person. "You're actually going through with it?" she asked, her voice an eager whisper.
Harry nodded, his jaw set in determination. "We're meeting him in the Trophy Room. He challenged me thrice, so we're not backing out now."
Lola glanced around the deserted hallway and shrugged. "Well, if you're going to duel Draco Malfoy, there's no way I'm missing it."
Ron groaned but didn't protest, knowing they were already too deep into this mess. "Fine, but try not to get us all expelled, yeah?"
In reality, he was happy that Lola was around, for whatever reason that may be. He just wanted to keep her out of trouble.
They made their way through the castle, moving quietly under the cloak, until they reached the Trophy Room. It was dimly lit, with moonlight spilling in through the high windows, casting eerie shadows on the gleaming trophies and dusty plaques. The air was thick with tension as they took off the cloak and waited, listening for any sound of Malfoy—or, perhaps worse, Filch.
After a few tense minutes, Lola whispered, "Do you think he'll show?"
Harry clenched his wand tighter. "He'd better. We're here, aren't we?"
A shadow moved near the doorway, and for a second, Lola's heart skipped a beat, thinking it might be Filch. But a smug voice cut through the silence, sending a chill down her spine.
"So, Potter, you actually showed up."
It was Malfoy, and he had Crabbe and Goyle looming behind him like two oversized, menacing shadows.
A/N: Feel free to leave a favorite or follow if you are enjoying the story so far - it lets me know I should keep going and puts a smile on my face. See you next Chapter!