A/N: Hey! Here's another update — thank you so much for sticking with the story. I'm honestly having such a good time writing this (probably too good), and I hope you're enjoying it. If you're liking where things are going, feel free to drop a review, hit favourite, or follow — it really does help keep me going. Thanks again for reading!


Lola was dreaming about running late to her Potions class — except she was also inexplicably barefoot, surrounded by thousands of frogs, and Professor Snape was barking in Parseltongue. She woke up just in time to see the Gryffindor Head Girl looming over her like a ghost.

"Up," said the girl, clearly unimpressed with Lola's blanket burrito situation. "Professor McGonagall needs you. Now."

Lola blinked. "Did I die? Because it feels suspiciously like detention again."

"Get up."

The Head Girl — Nerissa Appleton, all cheekbones and scowls — practically dragged her out of bed. Within two minutes, Lola was stumbling through a maze of moving staircases in rumpled pyjamas, an oversized sweater, and one sock.

They passed a suit of armour that saluted them both.

She didn't realise where they were headed until the stone walls turned colder and wetter and... greener?

"The Dungeons?" she hissed. "I don't even like to go here."

"You do now."

When the door opened, she was greeted by a weirdly formal semi-circle of professors standing like a jury. Professor McGonagall was tight-lipped, arms folded. Snape loomed like a particularly vengeful curtain. Flitwick gave a little wave. And in the center of the chaos was Professor Trelawney, looking both possessed and profoundly exhausted, wobbling slightly as she recited something in a high, unearthly voice:

"...the threads are severed, the paths undone,
The girl of flame is not The One...
Another walks where one should not tread—
She knows the end before it's said."

Trelawney blinked hard, shivered, and slumped into a squashy chair like she'd just finished performing Hamlet entirely solo. Someone handed her a teacup. She missed and poured it onto her lap.

Lola's eyes had barely processed the scene before they locked on something far more concerning: Professor Quirrell, standing at the edge of the group, pale and twitchy as ever. Her heart dropped straight into her shoes. He wasn't supposed to be here—at least not when she was being scrutinised.

He looked just as startled to see her, though his face quickly smoothed into its usual nervous mask. Lola's stomach twisted. There was nothing she could do about it—not without blowing everything.

Snape turned slowly to face her, eyes glittering like an over-caffeinated raven. "She has resisted every attempt at Legilimency," he said, voice low and dangerous, clearly not thrilled about it.

"I guess I have very good boundaries...?" Lola offered, forcing a smile that came out far too close to a grimace.

McGonagall's expression was unreadable, but her voice was firm. "Miss Allen, this is not a game."

Lola straightened slightly, the weight of the moment finally settling on her shoulders. Across the room, Professor Quirrell lingered near the door, silent, pale, and watching her too closely. Her stomach twisted. Of all the people to be in the room right now—it had to be him. It confirmed what she already feared: this wasn't just about Trelawney's prophecy.

There was no outrunning fate anymore.

Trelawney sat trembling in the squashy chair, eyes glazed, her voice still echoing in the corners of the room:
"The girl of flame is not The One… Another walks where one should not tread…"

Lola's chest tightened. The words felt personal. Targeted. Like someone had read her innermost fears and spoken them aloud.

"I've never encountered such resistance in a child." Snape said, his voice low and distrustful as he looked her over.

The professors exchanged glances. Even Flitwick, normally the most optimistic, looked troubled. Quirrell's eyes flicked to Snape, then away, his jaw clenched tight. Lola noticed the subtle tremor in his hand. No one else seemed to.

McGonagall finally spoke again. "Miss Allen, you are clearly not an ordinary student. We don't yet know how or why — but we do know this: you are interfering with events that were never meant to change."

Lola didn't flinch, but her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Let it all play out? Let people get hurt? Let Voldemort—"

Quirrell winced visibly.

"—return?"

She had to admit it did feel weird - and heaps of chilling - to know that the individual in question was literally in the room with them.

Trelawney shivered violently. "She knows the end before it's said…"

There was silence. Heavy. Charged.

Snape's jaw tightened. He instinctively touched his arm just slightly. The air in the room felt suddenly thinner, like even the walls were holding their breath.

Snape's eyes flicked briefly toward Quirrell, then back to Lola. His expression didn't change, but his nostrils flared ever so slightly. Without a word, he turned on his heel and gestured for Lola to follow. The other Professors didn't protest—though Quirrell's frown deepened as Lola passed her, and Trelawney let out a ghostly little hum.

The door creaked shut behind them, cutting off the low murmur of speculation. Snape walked briskly, his robes whispering with urgency as he led her down a quieter corridor and through a concealed side passage. They climbed a spiral staircase she hadn't noticed before, until they reached a small circular room high in the castle, tucked behind stone walls that shimmered faintly as they entered—warded, clearly.

And there, in the center of the chamber, was the device she'd seen once before —a cluster of orbs, endlessly spinning in slow, deliberate patterns. But now… it was different. More alive. Sparks of light jumped between the threads, faster than before. The threads trembled. Where once the orbs had glided in quiet loops, now some jittered, flickering like a corrupted film reel.

Dumbledore stood beside it, his back to them, watching the device with quiet intensity. His hands were clasped behind him, his shoulders slightly hunched.

He didn't turn. "Ah. Severus. Miss Allen."

Lola swallowed hard, stepping closer to the strange thing. Its glow painted Dumbledore's robes with a shifting, unreal light.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

Dumbledore finally turned, his gaze meeting hers with piercing calm. "A map of possibilities. Realities, branching and breaking. It is… old magic."

Lola stared at the strange, shimmering thing—this so-called map of possibilities—and for the first time in weeks, she felt small. Not in the Hogwarts-sorting-hat-didn't-know-what-to-do-with-you way, or even the Voldemort-is-breathing-down-our-necks way.

No, this was different.

She stepped closer, eyes fixed on the delicate, glowing threads spinning through the air like spider silk strung between planets. Every now and then, one would spark or fray or vanish entirely, and her stomach twisted each time like it somehow meant something.

"A map?" she echoed, voice hushed. "You mean like... fate? Alternate timelines? Parallel universes? Multiverse theory?" She paused, blinked. "Sorry, does the Wizarding World even have multiverse theory yet?"

Dumbledore gave her a faint, amused look. "Some of us are catching up."

"So, if you know so much, Miss Allen," Snape added to the conversation silkily, "perhaps you'd like to enlighten us as to what exactly you think is going to happen?"

Lola hesitated. She could feel it, the tipping point. One wrong word and she'd be locked away in some Ministry vault or sent home—assuming the Ministry even knew what to do with someone like her. But silence wouldn't save her either.

So she chose truth.

"I know Voldemort isn't gone," she said, her voice steadying. "I know he's trying to come back—and he's not doing it alone."

Lola swallowed hard. The weight of their eyes was crushing — Snape's were suspicious and Dumbledore's unfathomable, which made her want to peel her skin off and run screaming into the Forbidden Forest.

"I—I don't know everything," she began carefully, "but I know enough to be worried. There's… something here. In the school. Something important. Something he wants."

Snape's eyes narrowed, and Dumbledore didn't so much as blink.

Lola continued. "It's... powerful. Dangerous. Hidden. If he finds it—if he gets his hands on it—then everything changes."

She didn't say 'the Philosopher's Stone'. She didn't have to.

Dumbledore's fingers tapped absently against the side of the glowing device. He didn't look surprised. "You already told Professor McGonagall you suspected something. I had hoped your senses might have changed."

"Yeah, well," Lola muttered, "I guess, I still feel there is more that can be done, Professor."

Snape stepped forward, eyes sharp as ever. "And how, Miss Allen, did you come by this knowledge? You said yourself you don't know everything."

Lola's mind spun. You're all fictional. I read it in a book in another universe where you're all characters and I've accidentally jumped into your lives like some fanfic-possessed child. She smiled sweetly.

"Dreams," she said. "Strange ones. Some that come true. Some that feel like memories. Or... warnings." She met Dumbledore's eyes, forcing her voice calm. "I see what's possible, not always what's certain."

Snape rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn't sprain a socket. But Dumbledore just… nodded.

"That will be all for tonight," he said finally. "Severus, please escort Miss Allen back to her dormitory."

"But—" Lola started, frustrated. "You're not going to do anything?"

"Oh," Dumbledore said, almost cheerfully. "We already are."

...

The next morning, Lola practically floated down to the Great Hall.

For the first time in ages, the ever-present weight on her chest had lifted. She'd actually slept—like, really slept—without waking in a cold sweat or having apocalyptic dreams. It felt… weird. In a good way. Mostly.

She plopped down at the Gryffindor table between Ron and Fay, who were mid-bicker about whether ghosts had birthdays.

"You're suspiciously radiant this morning," Fay said, narrowing her eyes.

Lola replied breezily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice. "Just achieved inner peace."

"That sounds fake," Ron muttered.

Lola ignored them, grabbing a slice of toast as the morning owls soared overhead, parchment fluttering in their wake. One particularly lazy-looking barn owl dropped The Daily Prophet onto the table beside her with a disgruntled hoot.

Ron snatched it and started turning the pages. "Ugh, politics... goblin rights... a rant about cauldron thickness again—ooh, Quidditch scores!"

His enthusiasm made Lola want to peer slightly, which she did. And then her eyes moved on to an easily-missed headline near the bottom corner:

"Private Magical Artifact Transport Interrupted Near Little Hangleton"

She frowned, reading more.

"The Department of Magical Transport confirmed a brief disruption in one of its covert artifact relocation operations late last night. No thefts have been reported, but several containment wards were reportedly tampered with. The identity of the artifact remains classified."

Little Hangleton.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the paper.

Last night.

It had happened last night.

The same night Dumbledore told her they were "already doing something."

They'd moved it. She knew they had. She could feel it. And now—

Now something—or someone—knew where it had gone.

She tried to keep her face neutral, but her toast turned to cardboard in her mouth.

She thought she'd helped. That she'd outsmarted the game.

Maybe all she'd done was change the board.

And Voldemort was still playing.

...

The air in Dumbledore's office crackled with tension.

Papers flew as Snape slammed the Daily Prophet down on the desk. "This is what happens when we start taking tactical advice from children, Albus!"

"Do not blame the girl," McGonagall snarled, striding across the room like a storm in human form. "She warned us. You heard her. We all did."

"She shouldn't have said anything in the first place!" Snape snapped. "She's eleven!"

"It's not just about her," Flitwick interjected, standing on the tips of his toes to be seen over a stack of teetering books. "That prophecy—Trelawney—whatever it was. We can't afford to ignore that."

"And yet, here we are," Snape muttered darkly. "Because someone decided to move the Stone."

"All precautions were taken," McGonagall insisted. "Albus himself made the call—"

"I am well aware of what I did, Minerva," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but heavy.

Everyone fell silent.

He stood beside the curious, orb-like device now—its silver threads whirling faster than ever, flickering with heatless light. For once, the pattern seemed wrong. Uneasy. Out of balance. Even Dumbledore's gaze lingered on it with quiet apprehension.

"We acted swiftly," he said after a long pause. "And still, it was not enough."

"You should have told the Ministry," Snape said in a low voice. "They have resources—"

"They would have locked her away," McGonagall snapped.

"Maybe the should have!" Snape replied.

Dumbledore raised a hand.

The room quieted again.

"I understand your concern," he said softly. "And your anger. It is not misplaced."

He looked tired—truly tired, for the first time. His blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle, their quiet knowing.

"I believed involving Miss Allen might give us an edge," he continued. "And perhaps it did—for a time. But whatever we hoped to control seems already beyond us."

The teachers glanced at each other, subdued now. Even Snape looked uneasy.

Dumbledore turned back to the spinning device. Threads collided, sparked, and split off into new, unpredictable patterns.

"So… what now?" Flitwick asked quietly.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"I have a plan," he said.

"And the girl?" asked Snape. "Will you tell her?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"Nothing. Not yet — Lola must believe she has done enough."

He gave the faintest smile.

...

Later that evening, in the Great Hall, Lola felt an odd sense of calm. She had no idea what had happened in the shadowy depths of Dumbledore's office, but her gut told her it wasn't good. She glanced around the table, noticing that the teachers seemed a bit more tense than usual. And no one was talking.

She wasn't sure what had really changed.

As she chewed her toast in silence, her mind drifted back to the newspaper headline. She wasn't sure if - or how - the Stone had been moved, but she knew there was still danger. She could not believe her presence wasn't making a positive difference. In fact, were they now in more danger?

She could feel the full weight of the situation pressing on her chest, the kind of pressure that usually made people reach for chocolate.

"I can't believe I'm actually the problem," she muttered under her breath, poking at her food. "I should have just let Harry save the day."

It was easy enough to say — but then she remembered the whole butterfly effect thing.

Ever since she'd landed in this world, everything had started to shift. Maybe the "happy ending" she now vaguely remembered was already toast. Who was to say Quirrell wouldn't find a way around the Mirror of Erised if he was given enough time? For all she knew, the mirror wasn't even in play—Harry hadn't seen it, at least to her knowledge, meaning he hadn't been caught by Dumbledore at all. Maybe the mirror was, and would remain, in that random abandoned classroom.

The stone was in danger. It had been in danger since the moment she showed up with her out-of-context knowledge and questionable decision-making skills.

…Or was that just what she wanted to believe? That she was attempting to fix what she had broken, to at least feel like she was helping?

Her head felt like it was about to explode. She squinted down at her toast.

The toast, unbothered and full of crumbs, offered no comment.

Across the hall, Professor McGonagall shot her an odd look. Lola quickly shoved another piece of toast in her mouth, hoping to avoid any more attention.

I'm definitely not helping here.

And in that moment, she made an imperative, paramount decision:

From now on, I'm just going to chill out, keep my head down, and keep my mouth shut.


A/N: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and/or favourite and follow the story to show your support!