Happy New Year to All of You! Thank you for reading :)

TN_Chapter 18.

9th November – 2nd January 1994

(16)

Dear Paul,

I was happy to read about you and your friend and the films –

Oh, no! This was so dumb!

Dear Paul,

I keep thinking about you, too. And yes, also about – you know… But don't get your hopes up because there's no way my father changed his mind about letting me to Muggle land again…

Shite.

Another load for the bin. That was the ninth crumpled parchment and the third that didn't make it into the basket by the door. Anne was about to lose her patience again, just like she did the day before when she had given an honest two hours of her midday rest to try and phrase a letter to Paul. With all her good intentions and with seventeen different versions, she had given up. But today, she would nail it!

Anne stared at the empty parchment, and her thoughts helplessly drifted to her research. She'd long abandoned the magical remedy for arthritis. The potion obviously didn't work as it should. Instead, she copied the Muggle practice and broadened her research to Anti-Inflammatory and joint potions. There was a funny version of Skele-Gro she thought might also work for cases where the joints were sore from an old injury and not only by age and propensity.

The main problem was about Filch being a Squib. Although she was yet to have skill enough to reproduce the Arithmancy equations Snape had just scribbled up on a whim, she had already found ample proof about the potions' working mechanisms. They reacted with the consumer's magic, making their effect less reliable for Muggles and Squibs.

There usually wasn't a problem with more simple brews when the brewer's magic infused the draught and acted as a carrier even for non-magical consumers. The tricky thing was that it shortened the potency period for the brew with incalculable time based on the brewer's abilities and the complexity of the draught, so the expected remedy was dubious in these cases.

Unfortunately, the same rule explained her existence, a fact that couldn't escape her notice. Her father brewed most family potions, so she also theorized the contraceptives, which either must have failed to react properly, or simply expired when her mother took them. She tried not to dwell upon her life being a result of either negligence or sheer bad luck.

However, Filch shouldn't suffer the effects of either of those. And here came her summer brewing into the picture, which made her capable of fixing up a base for a salve to apply directly on the skin. If – and that was the crucial point – if she managed to create a strong enough base, infused with magic, provided by not only the brewer but the properties of magical ingredients, and found a way to add a modified version of the Skele-Gro, then she might help Filch. Which would have been an achievement and also an expression of her gratitude.

She scribbled up all her plans and findings on the parchment, thinking Poppy might find her lab time to experiment, even if that wasn't part of the deal with Snape. She dared not hope, but the small success boosted her confidence.

Dear Paul,

I loved –

Hell, no! Oh, for goodness' sake!

Dear Paul,

I really liked reading your letter, and don't worry, it easily found me. The films sound to be all that, and I can't wait to see them! Though, I guess you could let me buy at least the popcorn. I don't know what to give you for Christmas anyway.

So you have a job! My man's working! I don't even know what to say! You're the coolest guy, and I'm proud of you even if your mum wished for more hours of studying. I know how that feels, and you're smart enough to cope! Oh, and I do remember Jack, and you may tell him I said you look much better. By the way, whatever does one do when you work with pets? I've never thought about this, please write more!

But I do wish I was there with you! If we are to forego the cheesy stuff, skip this part, but I sometimes dream about things we did or could do. And maybe even about things we should perhaps try? Not that it's not all good already. It is wonderful as it is. I only have these thoughts about - things. Anyway, I just mean I miss you too. And I hope you didn't expect any tirades about you finally developing a taste in music. It was high time, really. I'll get my Discman and show you some songs next time we meet.

My school's boring. Well, most of the time, there's nothing to write about it, and there's no free time here in the afternoons. Nowadays, it's almost everything about sports anyway, we have a House Team, and my classmates are devoted supporters.

My best friend is a girl a year ahead of me, although I'm unsure whether she would say the same about me. But we have a cool caretaker. A little grumpy, and, well, he's a brute, but also lovely, and he has this old cat I love to spoil.

That's it. Write back!

Anne

She read and re-read the letter and found nothing she should have omitted… but perhaps those daydreams… although there had to be something to compensate for the lack of substance! With a frustrated sigh, she folded the parchment and tried to cut it into a more paper-like shape.

To tell the truth, she was indeed more than ready to explore and experiment more. She knew she had a lot of unhealthy concepts when it came to her body or closeness, but if sex was anything like what she and Paul had discovered, it seemed much less threatening than she had initially imagined. On the contrary, it was the most soothing and diverting thing in the world, at least it was with Paul, and she wished for its effect to switch off her mind at least as much as to feel cared for.

There were only those stubborn thoughts… like her imagination stuck at those kisses Paul had peppered on her jaw and neck, and she wished to find out how they would make her feel if they landed at other places. She also lamented the way he kept caressing her. His touch was always nice and soft, but she guessed some variations could be there too… nothing overly rough, but maybe a little more forward? Thinking about it, she wasn't sure what rough would mean, but she could imagine levels…. And she also regretted they had no time for her to explore more about Paul. Whenever her hands wandered astray, he stopped her. Anne supposed she wouldn't have minded him losing control, even if that meant a short finish. She thought she had enough patience to give it another go a little later and see more of his reactions.

However, none of these were anything she could discuss in a letter. Also, not in a House like Slytherin, where one either was a prude or a whore, and she had no intention to lose respect and fall into the second category only for curiosity's sake. It was all so hypocritical, but she had long learned she wouldn't change the rules, and the warm armchair by the fire wasn't worth the risk.

Thinking it was fruitless anyway because her father would never allow her to London again, at least not for the winter break judging by his shortness with Rachel, Anne gathered her research and the letter and walked down to the Owlery.

The castle had subtly changed since that night in the Great Hall. All the discussions about Black that seemed laughable to her just a week before now became a reality. Anne had never taken this threat seriously and tried not to think about the Dementors. They were much more horrible than any criminal she could imagine. But by entering the castle, that terrible man had taken her ease away.

Seeing Snape's mood change also made her anxious. Just like it made everyone a little weary in Slytherin. She knew it was nuts to believe Snape would just walk up and catch a criminal the Ministry Aurors couldn't find, but somehow, it bothered her he couldn't do it. And it seemed like it bothered him, too.

The only glimmer in her dark musings was the memory of their recent DADA class. Professor Lupin was under the weather, so Flitwick popped in as a substitute, and that was W.I.C.K.E.D! She almost pitied Paul for never hearing about it but had already sent a note for Gavin about a straight duelling class with all the desks and benches shunned to the walls and a legit duelling piste Flitwick had conjured for them! Every deflected hex or jinx was worth a house point, and all the hits added two.

They were with the Ravenclaws in DADA, and everyone had to participate in the pool, so Anne E. Rosier gathered six(!) house points for Slytherin on her own! Which didn't seem much in the greater picture, where Miles singlehandedly collected seventeen points, most of those from hits, or where Slytherin beat Ravenclaw into the floor with sixty-four points against their forty-seven, but still!

Anne swore she would never forget the feeling when she realized that although her legs trembled, her wand stood tall, and she could do whatever she wanted after Marietta fell back with her first Flipendo. She blessed Flitwick for the duelling practice and laughed with the others when Flora mentioned she should have transfigured some of the Claws. It almost felt like being friendly with her year again.

Then she turned back time and cleaned bedpans at the Infirmary because Poppy was preoccupied with two first-year Huffs throwing up all around the ward, and it couldn't wait for a fool at detention like some days before. Oh, well.

Anne watched her owl fly away, and this time, she didn't wait to see if it escaped the Dementors. She didn't want to know about the monsters today. Hestia demanded that all her dorm mates watch the match together, so she turned back the time to avoid being late. It was Hufflepuff against Gryffindor, and the Carrows forgave all faults of the Huffs for the sake of their dreamy new Seeker, hoping Diggory would get one across Potter. When Anne saw the tumult by the pitch, she began to hope he really would!

The weather was so awful they almost snuggled together on the stands. Hestia showed up with some crisps and a paper cup of hot tea, both of which disappeared before Hooch even threw up the Quaffle. The wind was unforgiving, the sky so dark from the storm they rarely saw the players, and the cold began to seep into their bones. What was supposed to be a mindless morning of cheering on the Huffs turned into grumpy bickering, with Hes telling Flora she should have held the crisps and Sophie complaining of a headache.

Anne was reminded of all her worst impressions of the school, her dorm, Slytherin in general, and her dislike for crowds, and when she next looked up, she couldn't see the sky above the pitch, only shadows of dark thoughts and threats tagging above them.

"Dementors!" – she thought she screamed, but in reality, her words were so soft the crowd's roar swallowed them. Then she saw it, too. A body was falling from the sky, helplessly turning and tumbling in the storm like a dummy in a bad kid's room. The Gryffindor-stands were screaming, and she could hear the groundkeeper's booming voice from the crowd.

"Harry!"

"Bloody hell, is that Potter?" – Terence Higgs shouted somewhere close, and in the blurring disharmony of emotions, among the fright, horror, and various madness, Anne sensed glee and anticipation – and her eyes turned to Flora Carrow.

It was impossible to tell anymore whichever she felt more keenly, the freezing emptiness of a hundred Dementors or her classmate's psychotic cruelty, but both scared her beyond coherence, making the pit of her stomach feel frozen and empty and her chest hollow. Anne noticed she was teetering and knew she had about three seconds to decide whether to faint from outside pressure or voluntarily close herself into her mind's house, and she didn't hesitate and chose the second option.

Within the frames that usually held pictures of everything dear to her, she only saw images of herself teaching Sophie to Occlude against the Dementors this time. Obviously, it was something she failed to do now. Why?

A book flew from one of the shelves, and she recognized it as her summer read in her father's study about the Nature of Life. Back then, she only looked for evidence about what Snape might have had to do to "revive" the Gryffindor House Ghost, but now all words about Non-Beings seemed to carry a different meaning. There were also pages added from her studies with Pince. Especially her advanced understanding of Elemental Magic.

Non-beings didn't change because they were not subject to Galen's principle. Anne lowered the book and stared at the dodecagram until its angles let the parts float around the room, ordering and re-ordering themselves in different sets of colourful blocks and runic symbols.

Water, Earth, Air, and Fire - all capable of nurturing or destroying – in one word, change – Wood, Metal, Stone, or Flesh, through Time, Magic, or the intent of the Soul. It happened in Space. However, this time, the blocks gathered into two major groups. The first two four-sets were changeable, material, subject to Galen's Principle, and thus alive, and the third four-set were unchanging, ethereal.

An Empath belonged to the changeable. A Healer protected and nurtured the changeable. She thrived on Magic, Emotion, and Intent, while a Dementor was her polar opposite: Unchanging, Consuming Emotions, Destroying the Soul. It existed in the same place but out of time, for it was unchanging. But Anne's life changed rapidly ever since she tore herself out of her contemporaries' time. At the same time, she also meddled with the psyche (as in with emotions) and Magic (as a witch), putting herself on the same scale where Dementors existed and suddenly sharing space with them!

Of course, she had almost thrown herself into a Dementor's throat! Opposites attracted and extinguished each other! She was only wondering whether she could "kill" a Dementor, which would have counted as an achievement for Dementors theoretically couldn't be killed, being never alive! She had a detached sense of understanding on her own probable cessation if she failed to find a defence against that!

But how could she defend against what was like a shadow to her essence? They pulled her in as much as they repulsed her. Mr. Filch's urgency and worry about her throwing herself off the balcony just to merge with the grey fields, and now she suspected probably the Dementors, didn't seem amusing anymore. The beasts would attract her into ever greater danger if she found no way around the very thing she was or strived to be: an Empath, an archetypical Healer.

Hiding in the centre of her being was counterproductive if she was right. As she helplessly looked around, she saw her mother's drawings reappearing in their frames on the wall and realized she hadn't always been this way. Who was she before she was an Empath? Who was she before she received the Time Turner? Who would she be without them?

She wouldn't know anything about Snape that exceeded her peers' understanding. She wouldn't be friends with Mr. Filch, Poppy would maybe support her, but she wouldn't understand either the mediwitch or Madame Pince at all, and most likely, she would still struggle for her classmates' approval. She would never have known Paul. Could she put all that into a box to shove it under the carpet or bury it six feet under her house? That way, she wouldn't attract the Dementors' senses.

It was the hardest and, perversely, the easiest of things. She found she could seem the one she would have been if she'd never become Anne: Annabella Rosier, not a Squib, wearing a maple wand, wishing for the ease of a Muggle life, entered Hogwarts and swotted her way into the good graces of her Housemates. Everything else was just happenstance; she could pack them under the house.

The basement, however, looked just like her house. Only it grew towards the other side. Downwards. It grew until the whole construct flipped over. Her forest became divided by the roots, one way growing the ebony trees, the other way the maple trees. One way stood her cottage, the collector of her knowledge, and the other way, her airy little house, the collector of her dreams and experiences. She chose the smaller one and walked through the maple woods.

Sophie was leaning above her, and she kept mumbling incoherent lies about things being all right and something about the Infirmary. And Annabella sat up, grabbing her hand.

"What happened?" She was almost surprised to find herself still on the Quidditch stand with all her year mates and dormmates around. The crowd was in a cheerful uproar, and she couldn't sense the Dementors.

"The Headmaster cast a Patronus," – Sophie told her in awe. "It was… oh, Annie, I haven't seen anything similar! Like a bird. It was like a bird with wings as wide as the sky, and it shrieked something, but it wasn't displeasing… and it was so bright I couldn't look, then the Dementors fled. All of them! Can you imagine?"

"Flashy, stupid Gryff," – Flora mumbled. "Of course, he had to first save Scare-Head. He only had time for us after!"

"I didn't mind not seeing him die from that fall!" – Sophie shook her head. "Come, Annie, you need Madame Pomfrey."

"I'm fine."

"Of course you are," – Sophie smiled. "You just like napping. But do you like free chocolate? I could use some."

Annabella felt if she smiled, her face would crack at the edges, but she gave it some effort. "Okay."

"Did you also miss what they were blabbering about?" – Sophie asked after they got inside the castle. When Annabella looked at her curiously, she explained: "That bloody Boggart. Have you heard that?"

"No," – she shook her head, wondering if it subconsciously made her meditate about Non-Beings. She shuddered. How ugly! Good thing she missed them.

"You really need that chocolate," – Sophie noticed. "The Gryffs were talking about Snape appearing as one of the third years' Boggart. Terence and Vaisey heard them when they went to the kitchen before the game."

Annabella almost stopped to just stare. "Freakin' Dementors are flying about with a mass murderer, and one kid's biggest problem is Snapey?"

Sophie cracked up. "You should see your face, I swear…! Oh, Annie, I don't think he's anything like with the Gryffs as he is for us."

"Flora must have been happy to notice," – Annabella mumbled. "She can't stand those morons!"

Sophie shrugged. "The funny thing, at least that's what Terence said that was what they heard, is that the Boggart wore some ridiculous dress robes and a witch's hat."

Annabella tried not to giggle too loudly. "And Lupin just let it go?" Bloody Gryff, that too, should have known better than to pick at the Slytherin House's reputation by making a spectacle of their Head.

"He encouraged it. I wouldn't be surprised if that was the reason for his moods lately."

"I didn't notice. But we should tell Miranda then to avoid the Courtyard. They rile him up, and we bear with him," – Annabella sighed, and they climbed the stairs to the third floor.

Poppy could only spare a glance at them, and she showed a finger at the storage rooms before she returned to her patient. It was Potter, still in Quidditch gear and pale as a ghost. Annabella nodded and led Sophie behind the ward to raid the chocolate reserves. It was heaven. They hid there when the Gryffindor Quidditch team rolled in to see to their Seeker, and later, they hushed each other when Potter received the pieces of his broken broom. It would be a bash in the Common Room when they talked about this!

"You're usually more worried about their feelings," – Sophie mentioned, confusing her friend profusely.

"Whose feelings?"

"Well, I don't mind if Potter can't fly the next match, but it's not your sense of humour."

"We need to get one across them," – Annabella shrugged. "Hey, d'you know whom I've met in Hogsmeade?"

They gossiped and giggled about Mr. Sprout until the Gryffs cleared off and walked down to the Greenhouses to look at the Whomping Willow.

"The poor thing!" – Professor Sprout sighed nearby, watching the broken branches that had fallen around the tree. "It's been here since '71 and had never weathered worse than that Muggle car last year. Now, it finally seemed to recover, only to be attacked by a broom!"

Annabella found it only too hilarious. To talk about a tree like it had feelings, really!

"Why was it planted anyway? This is one of the most dangerous plants, even among those at Greenhouse Three! And in plain sight, too!"

"It has a right to freedom just like anything else," – Professor Sprout replied with a bit of hurt in her voice. "There are reasons enough for its placement. I thought you would guess working with Poppy, Miss Rosier."

Annabella stared at her, but Sprout's face gave no clue. Her chores at the Infirmary were aplenty without discussing plants, thank you very much! She would have renounced them anyway if it wasn't for winning some lab time. She would make the youngest witch with a licensed new brew if she was right about that salve. Slytherin accomplishment. Snape could show that off for the bloody Headmaster, all right! Then she would be ready to return that bloody Time Turner and finally have some sleep.

The Common Room was indeed in an uproar, and the players swore to trash the Gryffs with Potter's broom in tatters. Annabella enjoyed the celebrations like never before and had her first taste of Firewhisky before Snapey glided in and ended the fun.

The following week, she was more light-hearted than she cared to admit, even if their Head of House professed his utter lack of appreciation for their allegedly horrible self-conduct. Poor sod must have forgotten what fun was if he ever knew. Which was dubious in the first place – she had to agree with Hestia on that. Potions were a chore with her additional brewing at the Infirmary lab, but what could she do? Poppy at least celebrated her research and took her parchment of ideas away for further study.

Annabella spent the weekend with well-deserved rest instead of the voluntary detention with Filch. Merlin, that caretaker was really full of himself to think a witch needed his advice on bloody trigonometry! She also made sure to compose a letter for her brother, Caleb, emphasizing in no uncertain terms exactly what kind of an arsehole he was and how much she needed a new school robe. Make it two!

Next week, she proceeded with her lessons, but History of Magic lost its allure completely. She couldn't recall what she might have enjoyed about Binn's drawling voice. And she was sure to sign off Divination next year. Trelawney was the silliest bint she'd ever encountered, criticizing her for denying her "self" in front of the entire class! What did she think of herself?

The Thursday morning owls carried a letter, but as it wasn't from Caleb, she only shoved it into her pocket for later. Then, she reluctantly went about her umpteenth elective class that week and pushed herself through the day, exerting minimal effort. When she was about to be put up with her Infirmary electives, Sophie ran up to her in the corridor and incoherently apologized. Anne shook her off, for she made no sense at all, and walked through the ward to find Poppy in the Brewing Room. With Snape. Blast it. Belatedly, she realized he was holding a familiar parchment in his hands.

"…already that I will not–" – Snape's lips closed with a clap as soon as his student turned up on the threshold.

"I can return tomorrow," – Anabella readily offered, trying to hide the hope from her voice.

"Nonsense, duck, come on in! We were discussing your request for research time."

"Thank you, Poppy," – Annabella cleared her throat, accepting the unavoidable. "Professor," she said as a greeting, and Snape grimaced.

"All the time of the world wouldn't prepare this salve for Christmas, Miss Rosier," – he informed her. "If you were dreaming about to rely upon my consulting-"

"Excuse me, sir, but wouldn't that lessen the credit for individual work?"

"Given the timeframe, it is either fame or success," – Snape spat the words as if they tasted bitter. "Which doesn't present you with a choice, Miss Rosier, for I do remember making myself clear. I will not be forced into this madness, especially not with such a feeble setup and amateurish outlining. Even if the hypothesis might be worth some effort with alterations, it doesn't match the skill level of a fourth-year. It's already a wonder the theory hasn't collapsed on you."

Anabella looked at his arching eyebrow and had the impression she was supposed to understand something between the lines, but if Snape didn't bother to express it, she wouldn't bother to ascertain his meaning.

"There was no time frame mentioned, Professor. This is my research and my idea. I would thank you for only giving me lab time to work through it in my amateurish way."

Professor Snape let the parchment fall on the workbench with an inelegant snort, and he looked at Poppy Pomfrey with a hint of triumph. "There's no case to discuss here."

"But!" The mediwitch swept the parchment and showed around the line of childish Christmas trees circling the title, Mr. Filch's Potion. "Anne, why would you deny what is the best in all of this? Your friendship with Argus is –"

"Probably a farce," – Snape interjected and stepped toward the door.

"Nonsense!" – Poppy stopped him. "Tell him, duck! Tell him how much you care!"

Anabella stared at them, almost confused. "Of course I do! Even if St. Mungo's policy is against dealing with Muggle problems, Squibs are a whole unmined market segment. It's the sensible thing to exploit it. Also, there wasn't a new approach in medicinal magic in the last hundred and fifty years, and the brewer's magic is often unreliable, making the potions expire for a large part of the populace sooner than the rest."

There was a strange moment when she felt as if a ticklish gasp of wind swept into her head, and an image of a forest of maple trees somehow popped into her mind. Anabella shook her head to get rid of the disturbing vision. Merlin, she must be tired! Then she saw Snape's dark eyes rounding in evident surprise.

"Poppy, you're wasting your time," – he shortly concluded. "Miss Rosier had better return to her poetic aspirations," – he swept a dismissive hand towards the workbench, where Anabella saw another piece of parchment. It looked like Sophie's notes. "Not that those would bring her glory. Excuse me," – he stepped around the mediwitch and was out of the Brewing Room before anyone could even think of a reply.

Annabella was taken aback at first, but with all the distaste they carried, Snape's words lacked the edge. She found it unfathomable but swore to hex Sophie for showing Snape her joke about poisons. Of course, Pomfrey huffed and mumbled, eventually cutting their session short. Not that Anabella minded. She knew she was also due to the Library that day, so she retired to her tower for some hard-earned rest, and there she found the letter in her pocket from the morning.

Hi Anne,

Should have known better than to try and impress you with The Cure, but by all means, do come and educate me!

Or just come and tell me about all those ideas you have! I've been thinking A LOT about all you have - well, haven't - mentioned. Hinting something like that is bloody sexy, did you know that? I love to play with ideas about what you might have meant. Honest, I think I did that too much. It feels like you were here, and I could touch you when I think about these things!

I miss you like hell, and it's getting worse every day. Isn't it funny how life is? You don't even know someone exists, then just meet her, and all you thought you knew turns upside down? I wouldn't turn it back the way it had been, even if it was easier in a way. Don't mistake my words for complaining. I'm not. I'm happy to wait. I haven't been waiting for Christmas this much since I was a kid. It's nuts.

The pets… yeah, they need cleaning, food, of course, and supervision after a vet treated them. It's sometimes a little sad but mostly rewarding. They don't talk, so you have to find a way to understand their needs and feelings, which was hard at first, but I think it may come in handy with humans, too, in the end.

I told my mum about you, and she wasn't over the moon but said she thought you must be a good girl. And she wished I told you she hoped you'd be a good influence. I hope you won't! I mean it! I need a girl like you to spoil me rotten. I wouldn't do anything less for you!

Write a lot!

Love,

Paul

At some point, reading the lines, Anne felt the world inside her lurch and flip over. It was like vertigo, with a strange pull about her core, which made everything different and difficult …and then horror struck!

Gods, what had she done!

Emotions she failed to notice or simply dismissed out of hand in the last few days now came to her with a vengeance. Sophie was so contrite! She tried to warn her; she must have lost that bloody parchment, or Snape must have found it…. Merlin, why the hell did she have to write it down?!

And Filch must have anticipated their appointment on Saturday, yet she didn't even send word – she didn't even greet him in this last week or so!

And Madame Pince asked if she felt all right at least four times in their two sessions! The poor witch had never been ready to express her emotions, and now she didn't even support their friendship with a smile or a half-word of gratitude!

Not to mention Poppy…. aw, she must be in stitches!

And she encouraged Flora, knowing her psychosis and most cruel tendencies! Shite!

Although… she didn't know those things. She failed to remember any of this, beginning with Flora's emotions she had sensed on the Quidditch stand when Potter was falling… she wanted to discuss that with Sophie, but she chose to laugh at the Gryffs instead… no, she didn't choose it… it never felt like a choice.

That does not present you with a choice. Anne shuddered.

With practice, she recoiled into her mind's house to find some clues about all that had been done and remembered the Dementors before she had closed the door. All the frames on the wall held the image of that colourful enneagram, and she looked under the carpet to find a basement – with a flip, now familiar, she was in the maple house. Flip back. Ebony. Feelings. Confusion.

Flip. Maple. Self-assurance and annoyance.

Flip. Connections.

Flip. Strength. She was alone in this world and would carve herself a place!

Flip. Love.

Anne opened her eyes and stared at Paul's letter. He signed it with love. Hell, he said he loved her! How could he love such a freak?!

She found herself panting, and her gaze jumped around the room, never seeing the tower. She had let Filch down. Of course, Snape was right! She had bigger holes in her theory than the war trenches, and Paul once had told her those were to be seen from space! Must be a farce – she remembered, and she jumped to her feet. Whatever she messed up, she would make time to right it out after she ensured her friend knew her feelings were not a farce!

The stairs down to the first floor ran so quickly under her feet that they were just a slide until Anne almost flew into the caretaker's office with a short knock on the door.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Filch!" – she panted even before the old man showed up in the doorway that connected his office to his quarters, and without thought or recognizing his distraction, Anne threw her arms around the old brown cloak on her friend's shoulders. It smelled of dust and cigarettes and arriving home. "Mr. Filch, can you forgive me? I have no idea what came upon me! I would never abandon you like this again!"

The caretaker's arms gently but firmly pushed her two steps farther, and he looked her over with curious eyes. "It seems you have a story to tell, lass," – he noted without accusation, still making Anne distraught to the point of tears.

"I wish I knew it! I wish I knew what to say… but… It is like my brain broke into parts. I don't know how it happened! I am not like that girl! I could have been, but I'm not! And I like me better. Even if I'm horrible, at least I love! I'm so sorry!"

"Lass, you make no sense," – Filch warned her, but all she could do was shake her head.

"I only know I'm sorry, sergeant! I'm so terribly sorry! Can you forgive me? I came to apologize."

Before the old man's bewilderment could register, a strong gush of amusement hit Anne from the side, and she jerked her head to the doorway. Professor Snape leaned on the jamb by a shoulder, and his eyes danced in mirth above a peculiar smirk.

"Sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to intrude," – Anne gabbled in confusion.

An image about his arching eyebrow came to memory, and she knew this time without a shadow of a doubt that Snape had praised her efforts in his peculiar way when he had said the theory not collapsing over her was in itself a wonder. That should have been the moment to convince him! Then Anne also remembered his Legilimency tickling her mind. She hadn't recognized that then, and she failed to understand his surprise even now.

"You know what happened to me, do you, Professor Snape? Please, sir!" – Anne resorted to begging when his smirk only grew wider. It felt in the air like almost boyish snickering and gloating but without the usual malice. "Please, sir, help me, just this once more!"

That tickling sensation returned, and Anne felt Snape's presence at the edge of the ebony woods. It carried an image of their Occlumency session about a year before, and then she saw his mirthful eyes again.

"You'll figure it out," – Snape said, pushing himself from the doorjamb and sauntering towards the door. "Argus," – he took his leave from the caretaker, and then he was out of the office.

Anne had no idea how she looked like a disturbed squirrel standing with her mouth hanging open and owlish eyes, staring at the closed office door, but she realized she presented a rare spectacle when Filch began to laugh.

"Better put the kettle on," –the old man finally mumbled and retreated to his kitchenette.

Anne didn't follow him for a moment or two. Occlumency? Whatever did Snape mean? And what made everybody so bloody cheerful about her mess-up? The image Snape planted in her mind slowly turned into motion… he was explaining Occlumency in urgent, carefully chosen words.

The true power of Occlumency only shows when the endeavour is hidden – he had told her. The mind has many layers and aspects you may choose for your benefit. All parts are authentic. All the parts are you, Rosier. Attitudes, mindsets, and even personalities are choices. We learn to be ourselves.

You needed Occlumency to balance out your natural abilities. Your situation doesn't necessitate special treatment – she remembered his parting words. Balance.

Anne tentatively pulled back inside her mind and lifted the carpet to have a good look at the basement. Her houses flipped to the sides, and she could see both forests. Balance. She probably was both those horrible girls. One was fundamentally distrustful, believing herself alone in a hostile world, and the other had hope and experienced others' emotions, which proved most people more complex, difficult, and human than the first personality would have imagined.

She chose what she hoped would save her from the Dementors' influence, and with that, she threw away what she learned about the people. We learn to be ourselves. What Snape alluded to was maturity. Before the challenges of being an Empath with a Time Turner, she used to be a mere child. A frightened child, determined to live. She reacted with basic emotions, fight or flight, and even called her father's and Snape's ire with her stubborn and indifferent ways. She had believed herself on the right side.

Now? Not so much. The world became complex, and people began to matter. Sometimes, they probably mattered too much. Like when she meddled in Caleb's business. Oh, gods, did she really write that awful letter?

"Lass?"

Anne shook herself and decided to try to hold up the balance. She only needed to choose between the two houses in case a Dementor showed up, or her empathetic skills were called for. Snape never talked about being whole, but Anne knew what she wanted to ask if they ever had a chance to discuss this, which he didn't seem to wish for. And he might have two seas within his mind, too… she wondered what use he made of those. Or how frightening his other self would be if this one was enough for most to recoil. Or was the other softer side? The one that had mirth?

"Lass, I will not wait for you to wake up," – Filch stepped in the doorway, and she finally joined him in the kitchenette. Paul's letter was in her tower, waiting to be answered, and she mentioned she had someone she thought she could love.

Madame Pince was distant but otherwise her usual reliable self. Poppy wrote up her idiocy on being afraid of her House's Head and made time for her research in their already scheduled hours. It soon turned out that Snape was right about her paper: she might have worked out the theory and even suggested the base, but the practical side of brewing the salve exceeded the idea about its ingredients.

The substances had to be added in the correct order, keeping in mind their tolerance for heat, the magical properties' reactions to each other, the non-magical components' response to each other, the consequently counted minimal number of stirs, their direction, and the best shapes and sizes for the ingredients' cut. To declare herself overwhelmed was an understatement. And the worst of it was that common logic didn't help much because the magical properties just failed to follow it despite her best efforts.

At least she only had to flee the lab once: on the date, Snape chose to occupy the Brewing Room that month for the whole day and night. He grumbled his annoyance whenever someone approached the door and never mentioned anything had happened in the caretaker's office. If Anne hadn't known him for years, she would have thought he had forgotten they'd even met that day.

Sophie apologized again as soon as she got a chance. She told her friend how Snape had seen the verse she scribbled on one of her notes in a moment of boredom. She only tried to cheer herself, but the Professor swooped down as if he suspected something untoward. Neither of them had a clue how he could surmise it was Anne's handicraft. With her new-found balance, it didn't really matter anymore to Anne. He took no points, only snarled and grumbled, and as Sophie eventually concluded, they shouldn't take away the joy of at least that from the man.

Anne's reply to Paul's letter carried more feelings this time and hopes for the winter break that might never come true. But she managed to maintain the balance between her two little houses until the end of the month. It strangely made her stronger. She didn't hesitate in an argument anymore. She even thought it would come in handy in case of a duel, but she used her skills to understand the people around her. The best of both lives.

She still wasn't ready to challenge herself on the Quidditch stands the day of the next match. Hestia and Flora could praise Diggory's eyes and stature as much as they wished to, but Anne was adamant about choosing the Library instead of the pitch. She also had the ulterior motive of approaching Madame Pince outside her carefully scheduled tutoring sessions and ask her about the proper structure to compose a research plan in Potions or, heaven forbid, a paper on a new brew.

At this point, Irma Pince didn't even surprise her with the twenty textbooks and guidebooks for such endeavours. She only lamented how they had escaped her notice researching for the NEWT students. Anne added them both to her reading list, and the NEWT notes while Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff outside.

Only two weeks remained before the winter break, and she found there wasn't enough time in a day, even living three mornings, four afternoons and sometimes two nights. Miranda and her classmates woke up one day realizing that the NEWTs would be upon them as soon as the hols were over, and they each needed something to show at home about their advances or – in some cases – about an attempt.

There were also Sophie's OWLs, which needed at least a revising schedule soon, and Anne decided to present her friend for Christmas with that and most of the notes, so she couldn't refuse the gift. Anne needed the funds, but she needed friends more. And Sophie was the closest she had ever had to a real friend of her age.

And talking about friends, not of her age… well, she was in a tight spot. Madame Pince had already professed her opinion against accepting student gifts, but Anne felt she owed her a lot. And Poppy – she couldn't even think of a gift that would have been good enough for her. She screwed up Filch's surprise when she talked to Snape using the "wrong mind," if only she could forget that day!

She wasn't even sure how to pay for her brothers' usual chocolate from the Honeydukes or for something banal for her father and something nice but useless for her mum. Which made it all quite simple at the end of the day. Anne used her summer recipes and made toiletries from the last drops of the oils and essences she had brought a year before. Those would make do for Pince, Poppy, her mum, and Kelly. The not-winning brew smelled good enough.

Her father was a problem for another day and Filch would receive her first standard research paper with her best shot at the recipe. It wasn't as valuable as the salve, but she had nothing else.

Homework, classwork, and the last Friday arrived, beginning with two owls, one carrying her brother's letter and another she had never seen before.

Hey, A-bee,

I think the polite way to phrase it would be something like – I appreciate your honesty. Don't think I don't, but I'm somehow glad you didn't send a Howler. And yes, I'm working my arse off so you can have those robes and the two hundred and fifty Galleons sooner than the rest. Promise.

What I have to write about is even more depressing. Father wished you to know that we are not allowed to London for the season. He also forbids correspondence between us and our other relatives, meaning all kinds of relatives, even our mother. She doesn't have access to the owls anymore, so don't even bother.

If I must, I beg you that you accept his wishes just for these two days, A-bee! I will come and tell you all, with Gavin, and we will figure something out together, but PLEASE wait for us!

It was hard enough to convince Father to let me owl you and pick you up. So here's the plan:

Father expects us to get to you at King's Cross and Apparate you home. Instead, we will wait behind Hogsmeade Station (on the side of the thing that looks like a Muggle telephone box) to abduct you exactly one minute before the train departs. People should see you board the Hogwarts Express, but it would be nice if your friends didn't make a fuss when you disappeared. Can you arrange that? It would give us almost a day to work it all out. Just the three of us, A-bee. Please be patient and don't reply!

Also, Gavin told me about your issue, and I don't care how it came around. I owe you one, so consider your request granted. Hell, this letter is almost like I used the bloody Enigma. Anyway. Relax. We'll tell you everything.

Love you, little swot,

Caleb.

Anne opened the second letter without a moment's hesitation:

My Dearest Niece,

What goes around comes around, I'm sure you know what I mean. Be on the first floor of the Three Broomsticks tomorrow at eleven sharp! I know we shall understand each other.

Room 3

D.

The meagre balance of the two forests broke with a snap, and Anabella straightened her shoulders by the Slytherin table, smiling at her classmates.

"Good news, witchling?" – Flora Carrow tried to peek at her letter, but she folded and sank it in her pocket.

"This Christmas will be special," – she replied. "I cannot wait for it! Who else is ready for the last Potions of the year?"

While her other, clueless self was busy at her double Arithmancy, Anabella attracted her House Head's utmost annoyance, giggling with Hestia by the storage cabinet about the presents they wished to receive at home. She then proceeded to Defence class, mingling with her classmates and agreeing with Miles on how much fun they would have if Lupin was ill again. The unfortunate fact that the Professor heard them didn't touch the threshold of her awareness, and if her bracelet hadn't shone to remind her, she would have forgotten to retreat to her tower for her usual private prep time and rest.

Oh, this Time Turner was a chore. She should return it at the end of the year! – she sighed and began the yoga practice her notebook ordered. About five minutes into it, she felt something strange… as if she wasn't whole and missed something important… and then it came to her! Ebony.

Anne sat on the floor in her tower and panted with relief. It worked! She built checkpoints into her day to remind herself of balancing those two worlds inside her. Filch would have called it damage control. But the fleeting joy of success soon gave place to stomach-churning worry: She had a problem.

After the usual hyperventilation, desolation, and doubts, she slowly worked her way through to practicality. Balance. She was determined to survive as a child, and she did. She could do it once again. Anne counted her options. First came to mind the obvious: she would heed Caleb's warning and stay away from Hogsmeade. Although that threatened to call Duvessa's ire. Of course, she could ask for help, which seemed the most reasonable thing to do: hide and call help. The problem was that she was unsure who could aid her.

It was unbelievable, but she did have a hand in Lucinda Talklot's death, all but sending her aunt to "solve the problem," she clearly remembered Duvessa's last words, "I will rely on your assistance, dear. I expect to find you ready whenever I need you." And the even more ominous: "You came to me, dear, because you trusted me more. We all need allies in this nasty world. Don't forget that!"

Oh, she didn't!

Slytherin did not betray the alliance unless he was ready to face the consequences. She called this upon herself. And she wasn't prepared for whatever would have resulted in betraying her aunt. Which narrowed it all down to two questions: Was there anything she feared more than angering Duvessa? And did she have any acquaintance she was ready to mix into dealing with a killer? Filch came to mind, but he had already done enough. Both of her answers were no.

Anne attempted to list whatever was in her favour…

The next day, the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, Anne got up early, was the first to finish breakfast, and to line up for the walk down to the village. Filch even joked with her, asking about reasons for her eagerness. She tried to smile.

As soon as she walked through the Hogwarts gates, she turned away from the path and hid by the forest's edge. She checked her notebook in her pocket. It already contained regular reminders to check her bracelet. She checked her wrist. The word Ebony was half-hidden under the old friendship bracelet. Anne nodded and deliberately flipped the maple woods to the forefront of her mind.

She was to meet up with a murderer, and she knew no better! It was nuts! Annabella remembered clearly how the adults were back in the day. They knew nothing but to raise havoc and tremble from it. Nobody cared for anyone, but themselves, and the world was the most dangerous place. However, she wasn't completely alone anymore. She had herself.

With the ease of her childhood practice, Annabella turned invisible and walked down to the Three Broomsticks. No one had ever seen her like this, and the monsters didn't matter. There wasn't much joy a Dementor could suck out of her anyway… she knew the people too well to be happy or trustful.

It was early enough to enter the pub without bumping into the crowd. Madame Rosmerta was busy cleaning, and soon somebody called her from the back. Anabella tiptoed up the stairs and read the brass numbers on the row of doors. Three. After a minute of eavesdropping, she was confident enough to cast Alohomora. The room was empty.

Across the door was the broad window with its heavy brownish curtain; left from it lay the single bed with the nightstand and a carefully ornamented candle holder, the sole luxurious item around. On the right, she saw an escritoire and a chair, then a single armchair offered comfort by a small wardrobe. She could hide either inside that or under the bed. The wrought iron bedstead looked high enough to provide some comfort for someone hiding under it, and Duvessa might choose to hang her cloak.

Anabella rearranged the quilt so it artfully hung from all sides of the bed to near the floor and had the good sense to soften the floorboards with a Spongyfy before she crawled under the bed and prepared for a long wait.