Return to Slytherin
The air was still, the silence profound. Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the room as Theowen appeared. Apparating was never pleasant. It felt as though she was being squeezed through a very tight rubber tube, every part of her body compressed and stretched at the same time. The sensation was overwhelming, a disorienting mix of pressure and force, as if the air itself was being sucked from her lungs. Theowen could never quite get used to it.
The colours around her swirled together in a dizzying vortex, blending into a single, dark tunnel. There was no up or down, no sense of direction, only the relentless pressure and the urgent need to breathe. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, the squeezing sensation abruptly stopped.
She stumbled slightly as she reappeared, the world snapping back into focus. She took a moment to steady herself, inhaling deeply to clear her head. The familiar yet foreboding surroundings of the final repository slowly came into view, comforting in their stability but eerie in their untouched stillness.
The chamber was vast and cavernous, with high ceilings that seemed to disappear into shadow. The air was thick with dust, undisturbed for nearly a decade. Ancient stone walls, cracked and weathered, bore silent witness to the battle that had raged here years ago. The dim light cast long, ghostly shadows that danced eerily across the cold, stone floor.
She glanced around, memories flooding back. The remnants of the final battle were still evident. Scorch marks marred the walls where powerful spells had collided. Rubble and debris littered the ground, remnants of the fierce struggle between her, Professor Fig, and Ranrok. It was as if time had frozen since that fateful day.
In the centre of the room, the repository itself loomed ominously. Its ancient, rune-covered surface seemed to pulse faintly with residual magic, a reminder of the powerful forces it once contained. The silence was almost oppressive, the weight of the past heavy in the air.
She shivered slightly, whether from the cold or the memories, she couldn’t tell. Taking another deep breath, she steeled herself. She was here for a reason, and she wouldn’t let the ghosts of the past deter her.
Theowen moved cautiously through the chamber, her footsteps echoing faintly in the vast space. She had been chasing down every possible lead on time magic for months, her obsession consuming her every waking moment. The idea of channelling ancient magic into a Time-Turner had become her singular goal, a desperate quest to manipulate time and perhaps find a way to stay in the past indefinitely.
She had spent countless nights poring over old texts and deciphering cryptic clues, driven by an almost desperate obsession to master the highly classified and fiercely guarded secrets of Time Magic. Exhaustion etched itself into her features, her sleepless nights and manic determination propelling her forward despite the toll it took on her body and mind. Her journey had been fraught with risk, navigating through the labyrinth of knowledge protected by the Ministry. All her research led her back to this forgotten place. Theowen needed to find a way to harness the power of the repository and infuse it into the delicate mechanisms of the Time-Turner. At last, she had constructed a theory based on Professor Hecat’s notes—now all that remained was to see if it was possible to put it into practice.
Initially, she had simply yearned to return to the moment when Sebastian had cast the fatal curse upon her. However, her relentless pursuit of time magic and the solitude it had afforded her had sparked a deeper introspection. Merely revisiting that tragic instant seemed insufficient; she could not bear to inflict further anguish upon Ominis by potentially altering the fate of his once-bonded brother. Determined to make a more profound impact, she resolved to journey back further—exactly nine years prior. Her aspirations now transcended mere reunion; she sought to rewrite history, to prevent the losses she had once endured or felt powerless to prevent. As she embarked upon this ambitious endeavour, she could only hope her sanity would endure the tumultuous journey through time.
Sighing, she looked upward toward where she believed the map chamber was located. Many regrets haunted her from her time as a fifth-year at Hogwarts—chief among them, her compliant obedience to every demand made by the Keepers. If only she had been more resolute in exposing the true nature of ancient magic, perhaps she could have avoided facing Ranrok or Rookwood alone. Yet, she knew that speaking out might have attracted even darker intentions than those of Ranrok.
She pushed the troubling thoughts aside; there would be ample time later to consider how to involve others in her secret. For now, the paramount concern was ensuring that this would work.
Taking a deep breath, Theowen retrieved the Time-Turner that Hecat had entrusted to her, wishing her success in this daring endeavour. She placed the artifact carefully before her and then drew her wand, its tip pointed resolutely toward the softly glowing repository.
“Don’t let me down now, old friend,” she pleaded toward her wand, trusting it as her most steadfast companion through her most harrowing times.
As Theowen absorbed the enormous ancient magic into herself, she felt an exhilarating surge of power at first, coursing through her veins like wildfire. The raw energy filled her with a sense of strength and purpose, validating her relentless pursuit of this arcane knowledge.
But soon, beneath the intoxicating rush, she began to sense a creeping turmoil. The energy she had harnessed was not merely neutral; it carried the echoes of strong negative emotions—echoes that Isidora Morganach, the ancient sorceress, had meticulously gathered. As these emotions flooded her, they threatened to overwhelm her own resolve.
Internally, she fought a fierce battle to keep the corruption at bay. Her mind became a battlefield, where her own will clashed against the dark whispers insinuating themselves into her thoughts. They were faint at first, like distant echoes in a cavern, but they grew louder and more insistent with each passing moment.
She gritted her teeth, focusing all her concentration on maintaining control. Theowen’s wand hand trembled slightly as she struggled to channel the magic with precision, to mould it to her will before it could consume her completely. Every ounce of her magical training and inner strength was tested in this pivotal moment.
Despite her efforts, she could not entirely silence the whispers. They slithered through her consciousness, taunting and tempting, promising secrets and power beyond imagination. Theowen refused to yield, anchoring herself in memories of her loved ones, the faces of those she sought to save with this audacious gambit.
With a final surge of determination, she managed to suppress the voices to a barely perceptible murmur. The ancient magic, now under her control but still tinged with the remnants of its dark origin, pulsed within her like a subdued heartbeat. Theowen breathed deeply, sweat glistening on her brow, as she realized the weight of what she had just accomplished.
Her breathing remained ragged as the whispers continued to voice harrowing thoughts, threatening to blur the line between her own mind and the intrusive echoes of ancient darkness. Determined not to succumb to the corruption tightening its grip, she forced herself to stand, though her legs still felt like jelly beneath her.
A surge of unimaginable power coursed through her veins, and in that moment, she understood the desperate intoxication Isadora had faced centuries ago. With a steadying breath, Theowen lifted the Time-Turner before her, feeling its weight and significance in her hands. She had meticulously calculated the exact number of spins needed to precisely rewind time by nine years.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered, a prayer on her lips.
Taking another deep breath to mentally prepare herself, she willed the artifact to begin spinning. At first, it rotated slowly, almost reluctantly, before picking up speed. As the Time-Turner spun faster, she felt a shift in the atmosphere around her. The sunlight streaming through the chamber seemed to flicker and stutter, casting erratic shadows that danced around her.
With each rotation, she felt herself becoming lighter, as if her body was dissipating like grains of sand caught in a gentle breeze. The sensation started in her limbs, a gradual disintegration that threatened to pull her essence apart.
Yet, she clung fiercely to her resolve, focusing all her willpower on completing the prescribed number of spins.
As the final rotation clicked into place, time seemed to blur and distort around her. The world faded to black, enveloping her in a void of nothingness. Theowen held onto the fleeting remnants of consciousness, clinging to the hope that her daring gamble had succeeded.
"Theowen..."
"Hmm?" she mumbled, her eyes heavy with sleep.
Soft lips brushed against her cheeks, tickling her senses and eliciting a giggle from her. The owner of those lips chuckled deeply. "It's already midday, dear. At this rate, we'll both starve."
Theowen smiled, her eyes still closed against the invading sunrays. She turned around, nestling herself deeper into the warmth beside her, shielding herself from the morning light. "Just a few more minutes."
Ominis sighed, his arms tightening around her in a loving embrace. "You said that two hours ago," he teased gently, brushing her golden locks away from her face. Leaning down, he pressed a chaste kiss to her exposed ear, making her shudder with the pleasant sensation. When she tried to shy away, he playfully pinned her wrists to the bed, earning a surprised gasp as her eyes shot open.
There he was, his ever-present smile and striking silver eyes gazing back at her. Ominis Gaunt, with his tousled golden hair that fell around his face, and a few strands that stubbornly refused to stay in place. His features were handsome and refined, softened by a hint of mischief in his expression. Before she could react, he showered her with a series of playful kisses that made her squeal with delight and squirm beneath him.
"Should've done this earlier," he teased, finally releasing her to get dressed. The warmth of his body leaving hers sent a shiver down her spine. "You'll catch a cold if you stay like that. Come on, let's grab something to eat. I'm famished," he declared, reaching for his wand on the bedside table. The wand's crimson glow guided him towards the door, a familiar sight in their shared space.
After a moment to gather herself, Theowen rose from the bed, picking up her discarded silk robes from the floor where they had been tossed the night before. With renewed energy, she walked through the doorway where Ominis had gone. Instead of the familiar hallway and stairs of their Marylebone home, she found herself confronted with a yawning, endless abyss of pitch-black darkness.
Her heart raced as the darkness seemed to swallow her whole. Without warning, the floor beneath her feet gave way, and she plummeted into the abyss. Theowen's startled cry was quickly engulfed by the suffocating void, where anguished whispers echoed all around her, twisting and distorting with each passing second.
She shot out from her bed with a terrified scream, her heart pounding violently in her chest as she struggled to breathe. Fear and panic enveloped her senses, her eyes darting wildly around the room, desperate to make sense of her surroundings. Theowen was drenched in sweat, her hair clinging stickily to her face and neck.
For a moment, the darkness of the abyss clung to her memory, its suffocating embrace still haunting her senses. She forced her eyes shut, willing herself to focus, and began breathing exercises to calm her racing heart and mind. Inhale, hold, exhale—each breath measured and deliberate, grounding her in the present. Slowly, her breaths steadied, and her trembling subsided.
When she finally opened her eyes again, she took a measured look around, surveying her surroundings with a newfound clarity. As her vision adjusted to the dim light, familiar details began to emerge. The rich, emerald-green drapes hung heavily around her four-poster bed, shimmering faintly in the flickering torchlight. The ancient stone walls, damp and cool to the touch, were adorned with intricate carvings of serpents and other magical creatures. Silver accents glinted here and there, reflecting the low light and casting eerie shadows that danced across the room.
She slowly looked down at herself, noticing smaller and more youthful hands. Her long, curly hair was braided into two sections, tied perfectly with lilac ribbons that matched the colour of her eyes. A pale, pearly white nightdress adorned her, covering her down to her ankles.
As the realization dawned on her, she shot out of bed and rushed towards the mirror. Her eyes widened at her reflection—she appeared significantly younger. Her features were softer, her complexion clearer, and her height had decreased drastically. No longer did she have the body of a woman; she resembled more of a child now.
Shock and disbelief flooded her mind. She touched her face, feeling the smoothness of youth where lines and maturity once marked her features. Theowen turned this way and that in front of the mirror, trying to comprehend the inexplicable transformation. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced herself to focus, to think logically despite the surreal circumstances.
"What... what happened?" she whispered to her reflection, her voice trembling with uncertainty. Her mind raced with questions, but for now, she knew she needed to gather herself and assess the situation calmly.
In the reflection of the mirror, Theowen noticed the daily newspaper placed haphazardly on the adjacent bed. Her eyes widened as she recognized the familiar logo of the Daily Prophet. Without hesitation, she rushed over to the bed and picked up the newspaper, her hands trembling with a mix of apprehension and urgency.
She quickly scanned the front page, her heart sinking as she read the headlines:
Tragic Dragon Attack Claims Life of Ministry Official en Route to Hogwarts
High-Ranking Ministry Official George Orsic Killed in Dragon Attack on Hogwarts-Bound Carriage
2nd September 1890
In a tragic turn of events, a dragon attack on the Hogwarts-bound carriage claimed the life of esteemed Ministry official George Orsic. The incident occurred on the 1st of September, 1890, as Orsic, accompanied by a 5th-year Hogwarts student and a faculty member, was en route to the renowned school of magic.
As she read the date, her mouth fell agape and the newspaper slipped from her trembling hands. Excitement surged through her heart, electrifying every fiber of her being. She couldn't contain herself, jumping up and down with a mixture of giggles and silent screams of triumph. She had done it. Against all odds, her life-threatening gamble had paid off.
She was back as a 5th-year student at Hogwarts, the first day of her studies after being sorted into Slytherin House. Without wasting a moment, she hurried to get ready. Opening her chest, she gasped as she beheld her uniform adorned with Slytherin colours. She gently caressed the fabric, feeling a rush of sentimentality as she lifted the uniform and placed it carefully on her bed.
Theowen quickly gave herself a wash from the water basin nearby and retied her braid. She wore her uniform once more and stared at herself in the mirror, still finding it all a dream that she had gone back in time. Leaving the dormitory area, she headed down to the common room, where echoes of whispers and students chatting, gossiping, and laughter echoed towards the Great Hall. She looked around in awe as it stretched out with its vaulted ceilings and arched doorways, creating an atmosphere of both grandeur and secrecy. Plush leather armchairs and dark wooden tables were arranged in cosy clusters, offering places for Slytherin students to study or converse in hushed tones. A grand fireplace dominated one wall, its flames casting a warm, inviting glow that did little to dispel the pervasive sense of mystery.
Soft, green-tinted light filtered through the enchanted windows, hinting at the lake's depths just outside, where the giant squid and other aquatic creatures moved silently in the shadows. The room was filled with the subtle scent of damp stone and aged wood, mingling with the faint, sweet aroma of burning pine from the fireplace.
And there, she halted her steps, her heart skipping a beat as she noticed a familiar figure in the distance. It was him, her beloved Ominis Gaunt. His blond hair was neatly slicked back, contrasting sharply with the darkness of his Slytherin robes. Blind from birth, his sightless eyes were a striking feature, accompanied by moles that dotted his left cheek like constellations in the night sky.
Despite his blindness, Ominis stood with an air of confidence, his wand held with familiarity and precision. His posture, though lean and slight, exuded an aura of authority that spoke of a deep understanding of his surroundings. His presence hinted at the complexities of his upbringing—the trauma, the pessimism, and a sharp sarcasm that often shielded deeper emotions.
As she observed him from afar, emotions stirred within her once more. She knew his backstory well, how he had distanced himself from his family's dark traditions, aligning instead with his aunt Noctua Gaunt's desire to uncover the true legacy of Salazar Slytherin. Gathering herself, she took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was a new student here at Hogwarts, and needed to navigate this new beginning with caution and poise.
She stepped slowly towards him, nodding politely and exchanging greetings with other students along the way, until Ominis noticed her approaching. A snicker escaped him as he heard the first-years speculating about a mermaid nearby. "Hmph, doubt mermaids find us that interesting," he remarked, his voice tinged with dry amusement. Then, turning toward her general direction, he smiled. "Ah, based on all the chatter when you entered the common room, I'm guessing you're the new fifth year. I’m Ominis. Ominis Gaunt.”
Theowen fought to maintain her composure, ensuring no hint of surprise or suspicion crept into her reaction. She returned his smile with a sweet one of her own. “Nice to meet you, Ominis. I’m Theowen Thorne.”