Fragments of Time

Theowen clung tightly to Highwing's feathers, feeling the powerful muscles of the Hippogriff ripple beneath her as they soared through the night sky. The familiar sensation of riding Highwing was a heady mix of exhilaration and nostalgia. Despite the urgency of her mission, she couldn't help but feel a surge of joy at being reunited with her majestic companion. The wind whipped through her hair, carrying the crisp scent of the Scotland Highlands, and she felt a deep gratitude towards Poppy for making this reunion possible.

As they ascended higher, the view below unfolded like a mystical tapestry. The moon cast a silvery glow over the undulating hills and jagged peaks of the Highlands, their shadows creating an intricate pattern across the landscape. The dark waters of lochs glittered like scattered jewels, reflecting the starlit sky above. The distant lights of tiny villages flickered faintly, mere pinpricks of warmth in the vast, cool expanse of night.

Theowen's heart swelled with a mix of emotions—freedom, awe, and a touch of melancholy. The beauty of the nightscape was a stark contrast to the gravity of her mission. She couldn't afford to dwell on the past or the future; her focus had to remain on the present. Rookwood Castle awaited, and the stakes were higher than ever.

As they approached the outskirts of Feldcroft, the castle's silhouette loomed ominously in the distance, a dark blot against the star-studded sky. Highwing's trust in her, born from their previous encounters and Poppy's gentle guidance, was a source of immense comfort. The Hippogriff's steady flight and occasional reassuring chirps reminded Theowen that she was not alone in this perilous journey.

Theowen landed with Highwing just on the outskirts of Feldcroft, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on the ancient stone walls of Rookwood Castle. The castle, with its imposing towers and darkened battlements, looked every bit as foreboding as she remembered from her previous timeline. Ivy clung to the weathered stones, and the eerie silence of the night seemed to amplify the oppressive atmosphere.

Dismounting quietly, she patted Highwing's side gratefully. The Hippogriff chirped softly in response, and Theowen whispered, "Stay here. I'll be back soon." With one last look at her trusted companion, she turned and made her way toward the castle.

The castle grounds were unsettlingly quiet, the usual sounds of night creatures conspicuously absent. As she approached the outer walls, she spotted Ranrok's goblins patrolling the area, their armoured figures illuminated by the occasional flicker of torchlight. The goblins were setting up camp, their low murmurs and the clinking of metal the only sounds breaking the silence. Theowen knew that a direct confrontation would be unwise, so she decided on a stealthy approach.

With careful, silent steps, Theowen navigated the familiar paths of the castle. She slipped through shadows and hugged the walls, using every bit of her knowledge from her previous trials to avoid detection. She moved with the grace of someone who had done this many times before, her heart pounding but her mind focused. The goblins, oblivious to her presence, continued their preparations.

Deeper into the castle, Theowen's path led her to the entrance of the Rookwood repository. The last time she had been here, the repository had been a cold, empty void, a place stripped of its former power. But now, as she entered, she could feel the energy pulsing within, almost as if the very stones were alive. The walls, previously dull and lifeless, now glowed with a faint, eerie light. Ancient runes etched into the stone flickered with renewed magic, casting a surreal glow around the chamber.

The repository was brimming with power, a stark contrast to her previous visit. The air thrummed with energy, and Theowen could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She approached the centre of the chamber, where a swirling vortex of magical energy hovered, its light casting strange shadows on the walls. The sight was both mesmerizing and intimidating, a testament to the repository's restored potency.

Theowen stood at the centre of the Rookwood repository, her eyes fixed on the swirling vortex of magical energy before her. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the immense power she was about to absorb. Her fingers trembled slightly as she extended her hands towards the vortex, feeling its energy pulse against her skin.

As she began to draw the power into herself, a surge of strength and vitality coursed through her veins. The sensation was intoxicating—she felt as if she could conquer anything, her mind and body invigorated by the raw magic flowing into her. The air around her crackled with energy, her senses heightened to an almost unbearable degree.

But as the power continued to flood into her, she began to feel the darker undercurrents of the repository’s magic. Whispers, faint at first, started to echo in her mind. They were voices filled with anger, sadness, and despair, the emotions of those who had contributed to the repository's creation. Theowen tried to push them aside, focusing on the sensation of strength, but the whispers grew louder, more insistent.

You are nothing without us, one voice hissed, its tone dripping with malice.

Feel the rage, the sorrow, another voice whispered, almost tenderly.

Theowen's hands shook as she fought to maintain control. The magic was powerful, but it was also tainted, infused with the worst emotions of humanity. She could feel the anger and sadness trying to seep into her consciousness, threatening to overwhelm her. The power was like a double-edged sword, granting her strength but also exposing her to the darkest corners of the human psyche.

Let us in, the voices chanted, growing louder with each passing second.

Theowen gritted her teeth, sweat dripping down her forehead as she fought against the mental onslaught. She focused on her breathing, trying to centre herself, but the whispers were relentless. They clawed at her mind, seeking to take control, to turn her into a vessel for their torment.

You cannot resist us, a particularly strong voice taunted, its tone echoing through her mind like a thunderclap.

Her vision blurred, the edges of her consciousness beginning to fray. She felt the anger and sorrow seeping into her thoughts, threatening to drown out her sense of self. Memories of past struggles, of pain and loss, resurfaced with brutal clarity, feeding the dark emotions that sought to control her.

Feeding the dark emotions that sought to control her, Theowen's eyes glowed red, mirroring the sinister hue of Ranrok's. The corruption seeped through her, clouding her judgment and tainting her thoughts. She howled in pain, clutching her head in desperation as the dark magic took hold.

From the shadows, a group of goblins emerged, their armour clinking softly in the dim light. "Oi! What's goin' on here?" one of them barked, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Theowen's struggle.

Struggling to speak, she managed to croak, "Don't... come any closer... please..."

The goblins exchanged glances, their expressions hardening with malicious intent. "Ranrok would be pleased when I bring your carcass," the leader sneered, taking a step forward.

Theowen's vision blurred, and she felt the last vestiges of her control slipping away. The dark power surged within her, overwhelming her senses. She lost control of her physical body, her limbs moving with a will of their own. Her vision flickered, showing flashes of herself casting powerful spells. She saw the goblins recoiling in shock and fear, but the scenes quickly turned to black.

Pain and rage consumed her, and she felt as though she was drowning in a sea of darkness. She could hear the goblins' cries and the sounds of battle, but they seemed distant and muffled. Her consciousness teetered on the edge of oblivion, the struggle to maintain her sense of self becoming almost unbearable.

In a final, desperate plea, Theowen tried to anchor herself to any shred of humanity she could find. But the dark magic was relentless, pulling her deeper into its grasp. Her mind spiralled into chaos, and everything went black.

The wind howled mercilessly, carrying with it the harsh sting of relentless rain that pelted her from all sides in the dark, cold night of Whitechapel, London. The cold seeped through her clothes, chilling her to the bone, each raindrop feeling like a shard of ice against her skin. She pulled her cloak tighter around her, but it did little to fend off the biting cold.

As she walked through the dimly lit streets, she saw another gruesome discovery had been made. Aurors had already taken over, casting *Obliviate* spells on any Muggles who had seen, erasing the horrifying images from their memories.

From a Muggle's perspective, the alleyway appeared unremarkable, just another narrow passage in a sprawling city. An illusion had been cast, deterring them from entering. Only those with magical blood could pass through the barrier. Theowen stepped through the veil, the enchantment parting for her like a curtain.

The scene before her was a tableau of horror. A young woman, no more than her mid-twenties, lay

 bare on the cold, wet ground. Despite the gruesome state of her body, there was an ethereal beauty about her, a stark contrast to the brutality inflicted upon her. She had been cleanly torn open, her insides grotesquely hollowed out, leaving nothing behind but an empty shell.

Aurors moved with grim efficiency, placing tracking spells and examining the area for any clues. Their faces were hardened, but there was a flicker of unease in their eyes—a recognition of the darkness they were dealing with. Journalists hovered nearby, taking photographs and scribbling notes, their expressions a mixture of morbid curiosity and professional detachment.

Theowen's heart ached at the sight. The brutality of the crime was staggering, a chilling reminder of the malevolent forces at work. The rain continued to pour, washing away traces of blood but not the horror etched into the scene. The sensation of the cold, the wet, and the overwhelming sadness was suffocating, pressing down on her with relentless force. She felt a deep sense of dread, a fear that this was only the beginning of something far worse.

Theowen stood at the edge of the Auror's barrier, her resolve hardening against the relentless rain. An Auror officer stepped forward, his expression stern despite the weather.

"Apologies, madame. Officers only beyond this point," he stated firmly, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Theowen regarded him with a mixture of annoyance and determination. "I may not be an officer, but I have every right to be here," she retorted, flashing her badge as proof of her credentials as a certified curse breaker.

The Auror chuckled dismissively. "A curse breaker has no business being here, please step aside," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument.

Undeterred, Theowen persisted, her voice unwavering. "Summon Officer Stroud. He will confirm my authority," she insisted, hoping to appeal to a higher authority who could override the Auror's decision.

The officer's annoyance was palpable as he gestured to his colleague to fetch the captain. Moments later, the colleague returned, nodding curtly to indicate she was allowed to pass.

"Apologies, madame, for the misunderstanding," the officer said discourteously, stepping aside to let her through.

Theowen huffed indignantly, annoyed at the unnecessary delay. She knew the captain of the Aurors still considered her an interference rather than an asset. He seemed to trust another, less competent, curse breaker working with the other Aurors more than he trusted her.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Theowen rushed her steps, making her way closer to the crime scene. The sight before her was as horrifying as the previous ones: a brunette woman in her mid-twenties, around five and a half to six feet in stature, and thin. The victim type was consistent, but the murderer had made a grave mistake with his previous victim—a pureblood noblewoman from Berlin. Her promiscuous activities in the Muggle world had led the murderer to mistake her for a regular streetwalker.

The noblewoman's family, desperate to recover their relative's dignity, had employed Theowen’s services to hunt down the murderer and break the curse that had transformed her. The curse needed to be undone to return the victim to her original state for burial, a necessary ritual for their cultural practices.

As Theowen approached the gruesome scene, she could see Aurors casting tracking spells and journalists taking notes and photographs. Knowing that her task was both crucial and delicate, Theowen steeled herself for the conversation she knew was coming. Stroud noticed her approach and gave a boorish smirk.

"Ah, Ms. Thorne. Glad you can join us in this fine weather," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Theowen forced a placating smile. It was unwise to openly challenge the captain of the Aurors, given that her presence here was already more than generous of them. Captain Stroud was a boorish man, rough and gruff. His clothes were well-worn, and his face bore the marks of age and experience. He wore a dark, heavy wool coat that seemed to absorb the rain, with brass buttons that had seen better days. A battered bowler hat sat askew on his head, and a frayed scarf was wrapped haphazardly around his thick neck. His trousers, once a sharp grey, were now a dull, mud-splattered mess tucked into scuffed leather boots. In his 60s, with a grizzled beard and deep-set eyes, Stroud exuded an air of authority that Theowen judged as more bluster than competence.

She looked down at the victim and sighed. They had failed yet again to apprehend the murderer.

"At this rate, we might be Obliviating the entirety of London," she murmured.

"Quite right, Ms. Thorne. Which is why I have a proposition for you," Stroud replied, a fat cigar stubbed between his calloused fingers.

She didn't bother looking at him, knowing he was up to something, and crouched nearby, checking for any clues or marks left by the perpetrator. Stroud continued, satisfied that he had piqued her interest.

"I believe that it could benefit both of us," he said.

Her ears perked up, and she looked at the inquisitor with curiosity.

"I noticed that you've been having a very disastrous time investigating due to not having the authority to inspect the crime scenes fully," Stroud continued, his tone condescending.

*So he did do it intentionally*, Theowen thought, staying silent and letting the rat continue.

"Well, I believe I could lend you something far greater than the badge," Stroud said with a self-satisfied grin.

Theowen stood up, meeting his gaze, her brows cocked and her arms crossed. "Which is?"

"A partner, Ms. Thorne. One of my most trusted men," he said.

Theowen scoffed. "So I will be working under supervision?" she questioned, her words filled with annoyance.

"Now, don't be crude. I believe it would benefit us greatly!" Stroud replied.

She glanced around. "Where is this *partner*, then?"

"Oh, he left a long time ago. I've sent him to fill in the reports," Stroud said, handing her a card before she could protest. "But I did tell him that I have arranged a meeting with a valuable asset."

Theowen inspected the card. The letters were embossed in gold, detailing the name of a bar and its address in Diagon Alley. She glared at Stroud, knowing she had no choice in the matter if she wanted to continue her investigation.

Huffing in frustration, she turned and walked away, her anger boiling. There was no point in inspecting a body already affected by the rain; all the evidence would be washed away by the time she arrived.

"Do wear something appropriate!" Stroud called after her with a snicker, which she intentionally ignored.

The Enchanted Chalice exuded a timeless elegance, its velvet drapes and plush seating creating an intimate and refined atmosphere. The rich, deep colours of burgundy and gold dominated the décor, while soft, ambient lighting cast a warm glow across the room. An enchanted orchestra played low, melodic tunes in the background, the music emanating from invisible instruments, adding to the bar's sophisticated charm.

As Theowen walked in, she quickly found a discreet corner and cast a *Multicorfors* spell on her attire. Her everyday robes transformed into a sleek black dress that hugged her figure gracefully. Her hair, once loose, was now intricately braided and styled into an elegant up-do. She took a moment to smooth the dress and check her reflection in a polished silver mirror near the entrance before making her way to the bar area.

The bar itself was a masterpiece of dark mahogany, polished to a gleaming finish. Crystal decanters filled with various potions and elixirs lined the back shelves, each one labelled with elegant calligraphy. Theowen took a seat on one of the plush, velvet-covered barstools, feeling the luxurious fabric beneath her.

Almost immediately, the bartender, dressed in a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a black waistcoat, approached her. His demeanour was professional, yet welcoming.

"Good evening, madame. What can I get for you tonight?" he asked with a slight bow.

"I'll have a Stardust Martini," she replied with a polite smile.

The bartender nodded and set to work with practiced efficiency. Within moments, he presented her with a cocktail that shimmered with an ethereal glow, garnished with a twist of lemon. She placed a few Galleons on the counter, signalling that this would be her only drink for the evening.

"Thank you," she said softly, taking a delicate sip and savouring the magical blend of flavours.

As she enjoyed her drink, a man took a seat beside her, startling her with his silent approach. The first thing she noticed was his scent—an intriguing blend of cedarwood with a hint of ink.

"Whiskey on the rocks," he requested in a low, familiar voice.

Theowen turned to look at him, her eyes widening in shock as she recognized the face. "O-Ominis?" she stammered, her voice filled with incredulity.

Ominis looked puzzled, his lack of sight making it difficult to recognize who she was. His brow furrowed slightly as he tried to place the familiar voice.

"It’s me, Theowen," she said with a small, hearty laugh. "I was in Slytherin like you."

Ominis’ face morphed into one of recognition, a smile spreading across his lips. "Theowen! What in Merlin's name are you doing

 here?"

"I could say the same to you," she chuckled while taking another sip of her drink. "What brings you here?"

He gave her a tired sigh and slightly leaned on the table for support. "Work, mostly. But I do come to this establishment often after I'm finished with my tasks for the day. What about you?"

She leaned on her hand, also sighing with exhaustion. "Not for entertainment, I assure you. I'm here disgustingly for work."

With curiosity, he asked, "What kind of work, if you don't mind me asking?"

She looked at him and replied, "No, I do not mind. As a matter of fact, I was waiting for someone actually. I was commanded to meet his partner here," she said, her words tinged with annoyance.

Ominis gave a sad smile. "Ah," he said, continuing, "I apologize if my company was not expected with candour."

Theowen looked at him with confusion before realization dawned on her. "You are Stroud's partner!?"

He chuckled. "Last time I checked, I believe so."

"Oh, Merlin! I am so sorry," she said, holding her mouth to stifle a gasp. "I swear I did not know, Stroud wasn't very forthcoming on who was his partner."

"No need to apologize. He does bring out the worst in people," he said, confirming deeper, "trust me, I know."

Theowen chuckled. "Why on Merlin's beard would you work with such a man? And I never thought that you would be working with the Ministry."

Ominis shrugged, taking a sip of his whiskey when the bartender quietly came with his drink. "A lot of things have happened since—well, since we graduated."

"I can see that," she said with a smile before her smile faltered. "How—how are Anne and Sebastian?"

With that, Ominis frowned. "Anne," he contemplated sadly, "I haven't heard that name in a while," he said with a sad smile, looking towards her general direction. "She passed in the summer of last year."

"I—I'm sorry," she blurted out, the guilt and memories buried deep came rushing back to her tenfold. "H-how was Sebastian?"

Ominis shook his head. "I don't know. I wasn't able to visit him much after her passing. I... just couldn't face him after it happened."

Theowen could sense that there was more to Anne's death but decided not to push the matter, knowing it could open a can of worms. Trying to change the subject, she smiled. "So, Ominis Gaunt, an officer of the Ministry."

"And Theowen Thorne, a freelance Curse Breaker," he said with amusement.

"I'm a professional, mind you," she replied with the same light-hearted energy. "So it would seem that we will be working together until that bastard is captured."

"It would seem so. Do you mind it?" he asked while raising his glass partially.

She chuckled before clinking her martini glass to his. "Not in the slightest."

As she sipped her drink, the soft music suddenly stopped, an eerie silence falling over the bar. She could feel something coming, something very wrong. Theowen looked around, high alert and panic in her eyes, everyone was still, unmoving. Her gaze whipped towards Ominis and found him frozen in time.

"What—" Before she could process what was happening, the whispers began again.

Clutching her head in agony, she flung the drink away, her mind dizzy as the establishment began to spin. "What... was I doing?" she said in confusion as her memories were all muddled.

Do you not want to save him? The whispers now sounded as if they were beside her. She whipped her head towards the sound, finding a shadowy figure curled with crimson lighting hugging Ominis's frozen body. Petrified, she couldn't move nor say a word. She could feel every fibre of her being wanting to run and cower in fear.

We can save him, the whispers spoke, the voice initially discombobulated before turning into one. The shadowy figure was no more, revealing her very own self, eyes glowing blood red just as Ranrok's. "You just have to let us in."

She couldn't find the words, her heart still gripped with fear. Theowen knew it was wrong, and she just knew that she should never take the hand. Her instincts screamed at her, causing her to buckle.

"No!" she cried out, summoning every ounce of strength within her. The mental strain was overwhelming, as if her mind was being torn apart by conflicting desires. The dark power beckoned seductively, promising salvation, while her own willpower fought desperately to maintain control.

Theowen could feel the shadows clawing at her mind, their icy tendrils wrapping around her thoughts, squeezing tighter and tighter. Pain exploded behind her eyes, a relentless pounding that threatened to split her skull. Her vision blurred, the room around her fading in and out of focus as she struggled to hold onto her sense of self.

The dark reflection of herself snarled, the crimson glow in its eyes intensifying. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, drilling into her mind with maddening persistence. Theowen felt herself weakening, the strain of the mental battle taking its toll.

But she couldn't give in. She wouldn't. With a final, defiant scream, she pushed back with all her might, forcing the shadows out of her mind. The world around her shattered into a million pieces, and she was plunged into darkness.