Fragments of Time

The ground trembled beneath their feet, a deep, unsettling rumble that reverberated through the very bones of Hogwarts. The peaceful stillness of the night was shattered by hurried footsteps and alarmed shouts echoing through the stone corridors. What had once been a sanctuary of learning now thrummed with panic. It felt as though the very walls were bracing for an onslaught.

Theowen and Ominis exchanged a glance, their earlier conversation dissolving in the face of the mounting threat. Together, they edged towards one of the tall, arched windows that lined the ward, their breath catching in their throats as they glimpsed the horror outside.

Theowen’s heart sank. The grounds of Hogwarts, once serene and untouchable, were now a war zone. Dark, twisted silhouettes of goblins and trolls gathered at the periphery, their misshapen forms illuminated by the flickering spellfire. Armoured trolls, their hulking bodies encased in jagged iron, hurled enormous projectiles at the castle. Each impact was a terrifying echo of stone crumbling, of windows shattering, of centuries-old walls giving way. The very air was thick with tension, buzzing with a malevolent energy that seemed to suffocate the life out of everything it touched.

Theowen’s chest tightened, her hands gripping the windowsill until her knuckles turned white. She struggled to steady her breathing, her pulse pounding in her ears. The sight of the armoured trolls lumbering across the grounds, like living siege weapons, sent chills through her. The destructive force of their movements—unfeeling, relentless—made her feel small, insignificant. How could they hope to stop this?

Beside her, Ominis stood rigid, his wand raised, his unseeing eyes narrowing in concentration. He reached out with his magic, feeling the encroaching danger pressing in on all sides. The sheer weight of it—the oppressive swirl of dark magic, the cruel intent—was staggering. “There are too many,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, trembling with a quiet intensity. “They’re closing in… from every direction.”

Theowen swallowed hard, her mind racing. It felt like the castle was suffocating under the weight of the assault. Every breath she took seemed laced with the looming dread of what was to come. “We can’t just stand here,” she muttered, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “We have to act.”

Ominis nodded, his expression grim. “We will. But we need to warn the headmaster first. We can’t go charging into this blind.”

“You inform the headmaster,” Theowen started, urgency sharpening her tone. But Ominis interrupted, his voice firm, almost harsh. “We are informing the headmaster. Then we will figure out what to do next.”

Theowen’s lips parted in protest, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Ominis, there’s no time! I know what Ranrok is after. If he gets to the Repository, there’ll be no stopping him. Everything—everyone—will be lost!” Her voice wavered with desperation, her eyes pleading for him to understand the gravity of the situation.

Ominis faltered, her words cutting through his resolve. The visions from before—of death and destruction, of Professor Fig’s lifeless body—flashed through his mind. He knew she was right. He felt it in his bones, the inevitability of the danger looming over them like a storm cloud, but...they needed a plan.

Before he could respond, a violent tremor shook the castle. The ground beneath them bucked, and the very walls seemed to groan under the strain. The large windows of the Hospital Wing exploded inwards, showering the room in a deadly rain of glass. The deafening sound of shattering echoed in the ward, as lamps crashed to the floor and the furniture was upended, spilling oil that flickered ominously in the dim light.

Reacting instinctively, Ominis grabbed Theowen, pulling her to the ground as shards of glass sliced through the air. He shielded her with his body, feeling the sting of glass grazing his skin. He winced but didn’t loosen his hold, his only focus on protecting her from the storm of debris.

When the tremors subsided, Theowen quickly disentangled herself from his arms, her hands trembling as she checked him for injuries. The sight of blood on his face sent a wave of guilt crashing over her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

But before Ominis could respond, Theowen stood, her movements sudden and frantic. She pushed him away—harder than he expected—and dashed down the corridor. Her figure disappeared into the shadowed hallway before he could even register what had happened.

Ominis stood, frozen for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind raced. *What was she thinking? Where was she going?*

The world seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing tighter with every passing second. His stomach twisted with the weight of the decision before him. Chase her? Or find the headmaster?

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. Theowen was heading into danger again. He couldn’t let her face it alone. Not this time.

With renewed determination, Ominis took off down the corridor after her, his steps quickening as he tried to close the distance. Every instinct screamed at him to hurry, but the castle’s stone halls seemed endless, the weight of his decision looming over him like a spectre.

Theowen hurtled down the stone staircase, her footfalls loud and echoing through the ancient halls. Each hurried step seemed to reverberate off the cold walls, the weight of her mission pushing her faster, her heart pounding in time with the urgency that gripped her. She could feel the walls closing in around her, the oppressive tension of time slipping away like sand through her fingers. She **burst** into the Map Chamber, the heavy doors slamming back against the stone with a force that sent a shudder through the room. The sound was a jarring intrusion, reverberating off the ancient, hallowed walls.

The Keepers whirled around at her entrance, their eyes wide, alarm flickering across their faces as they took in her disheveled appearance.

“What in Merlin’s name—” Professor Rackham’s voice cut through the air, sharp with disapproval, but before he could finish, Theowen stormed forward, the intensity in her gaze brooking no room for interruption.

“There’s no time!” she snapped, her voice taut with urgency. She strode toward them, her breath ragged, eyes burning with a desperate determination. The stares of the Keepers weighed heavily on her, their confusion palpable, but she ignored it. There wasn’t a second to waste.

Before any of them could demand an explanation, a deep, guttural rumble shook the chamber. The ground beneath their feet trembled as though the very castle itself was groaning in fear. Loose rocks and dust cascaded from the vaulted ceiling, scattering across the floor as the walls quivered, as if the ancient stone was anticipating the devastation that loomed.

Somewhere deep below, a low, menacing roar echoed—a sound that sent an icy chill slicing through the air. It was closer now. Too close.

High above, a portrait of a previous Headmistress twitched to life, her painted face pale with terror. “What was that!?” she demanded, her voice trembling as the chamber seemed to pulse with fear.

Theowen barely spared the painting a glance. Her breath was quick, controlled only by the sheer force of her will. “I know that Isadora’s Repository is hidden beneath this chamber,” she declared, her voice firm, cutting through the mounting tension. Her gaze never wavered as she stared down the Keepers, every second feeling like an eternity slipping from their grasp. "I need access to it. Now."

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Professor Rackham’s face darkened, his brows furrowing in disbelief. “I do not know how you obtained such knowledge,” he said slowly, his voice low and severe, “but the trials were set to prepare you for the responsibility of that power. You are not ready.”

His words struck like a blow, but Theowen stepped forward, her frustration bubbling beneath her skin, threatening to spill over. “I know what’s down there,” she said, her tone biting, “and I know that if we don’t act now, Ranrok will reach it first. If he does, everything you’ve fought to protect will be destroyed. Every sacrifice—every safeguard—will be for nothing.”

The chamber shook again, this time with more violence. Larger chunks of stone fell from above, crashing to the floor with a resounding thud, dust billowing in the air. The sound of distant roars and clashing magic was growing louder, creeping closer with every passing second. The castle was no longer simply quaking—it was beginning to crumble.

Professor Rookwood, his face paling, stepped forward, his voice edged with disbelief. “Are you certain about this? How could a mere goblin—”

“That goblin,” Theowen cut in sharply, her voice cold as steel, “is a descendant of Bragbor the Boastful.”

Her words crashed over the Keepers like a storm. The shock on their faces was unmistakable. They stood, frozen in place, staring at her as if the truth of it had stolen the very breath from their lungs. The room seemed to still for a moment, the weight of her revelation hanging heavy in the air. But the hesitation—their hesitation—was unbearable. How could they not see?

Theowen’s pulse thundered in her ears as she took another step toward Professor Rackham, her hands trembling at her sides as fury and desperation coursed through her veins. “You must let me in,” she demanded, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. How could they stand idle while everything teetered on the brink of collapse?

But still, the Keepers did not move. They remained rooted in their places, their indecision hanging in the air like a suffocating fog, their silence condemning. How could they remain so blind?

The anger inside her surged—hot and relentless—like a fire threatening to consume her from the inside out. The tremors from the castle, the growing sounds of battle above, and the maddening inaction of the Keepers built into an overwhelming crescendo of frustration. It felt as though the entire world was closing in around her, squeezing her from every angle, until something finally snapped.

Without thinking, she slammed her foot against the cold stone floor. The impact reverberated through the chamber like a thunderclap, the sound ringing in her ears. A ripple of crimson energy burst from the point of impact, racing across the floor, sending tendrils of dark magic slithering through the cracks like serpents. The very air seemed to hum with a menacing power, the temperature dropping as the room was filled with a chilling, unnatural fog.

Crimson sparks danced in the air, black tendrils of dark magic twisting up from the ground, wrapping themselves around the marble, cracking it open as though the ancient stone was nothing more than parchment.

The Keepers stumbled back, their faces etched with shock and disbelief as they witnessed the raw power that poured from Theowen. They had seen such magic before—had sworn to protect the world from its terrible influence. Yet now, it raged before them, uncontrolled, devastating.

“Stop this!” Professor Rookwood cried, his voice shaking, but he didn’t move. None of them moved.

The map pool in the centre of the chamber—a sacred, unshakable symbol of their vigil—shattered. Glass shards exploded into the air, raining down like deadly, glittering snow. Crimson tendrils spread across the floor, leaving jagged cracks in their wake, tearing through centuries of secrecy in a matter of seconds.

And there, emerging from the wreckage, was the staircase. Dark and foreboding, it spiralled down into the depths below. The passage to Isadora’s Repository had been laid bare, just as it had been in her vision.

Theowen stood at the edge of the spiral, her breath shallow, heart hammering in her chest. Her fingers trembled as she gazed down into the dark abyss. The path to Isadora’s final secret lay before her, beckoning. There was no turning back now.

Professor Fitzgerald’s voice was sharp with fury, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. “What have you done!?”

Before Theowen could respond, another voice cut through the tension, startling her.

“Theowen!”

Her heart lurched in her chest. She turned, her eyes wide, to see Ominis standing at the entrance to the chamber, his breath ragged, his face flushed with exertion. He was gripping his wand tightly, his knuckles white as though he were holding onto a lifeline. Sweat trickled down his brow, his expression a mix of exhaustion and frantic worry.

“Ominis,” she whispered, guilt twisting in her gut like a knife. She hadn’t meant for him to follow.

But there was no time for explanations, no time for regret. Professor Fitzgerald’s voice crackled with barely suppressed rage. “Answer me, student! How dare you defile this chamber?”

Theowen glanced down at the destruction she had caused, the map pool shattered, the polished marble torn apart beneath her feet. The dark magic still hummed in the air, lingering like the remnants of a storm. Her heart thudded against her ribs. Had she really done this?

But she had no time to process the enormity of her actions. The very foundations of the castle groaned as another tremor rocked the chamber, deep cracks splintering across the walls. A great rumbling roar echoed from below, the dark tendrils creeping ever closer to the heart of the school.

Footsteps. Shouting. The clamour of wands at the ready. Aurors and professors were racing toward the chamber, their presence a growing storm on the horizon. Theowen’s pulse quickened. If they caught her now, they’d stop her. They’d detain her, and everything—all of it—would be lost.

She looked over her shoulder at Ominis, his face drawn with concern and confusion, his wand still raised as he tried to make sense of the chaos that surrounded him. His voice trembled with exhaustion. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone edged with desperation.

Theowen’s heart clenched, the weight of her decision pressing down on her like a vice. She opened her mouth, but no words came. She couldn't explain—not here, not now. There wasn’t time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible over the rising din. Without hesitation, she turned and leapt down the spiral staircase, her feet finding the cold stone steps. The descent was fast, the wind rushing around her as she raced deeper into the bowels of the castle.

Behind her, Ominis’s voice echoed faintly in the distance, a plea tinged with worry and disbelief. “Theowen, wait!”

But she couldn’t wait. She wouldn’t. Every fibre of her being urged her onward, the pull of the Repository growing stronger with every step. The air around her grew colder, the very magic of the place vibrating in her bones. Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat louder than the last.

This was it. There was no turning back.