Fragments of Time

As Theowen stepped into her room, she was met with the familiar emerald hues of Slytherin and the same oak canopy bed she once called her own. Yet, something felt different—emptier. The once-cozy space now felt vast, an eerie silence stretching through the room as she realized she was its sole occupant. The emptiness made her uneasy, a stark contrast to the warmth of past years.

A scoff from behind shattered her thoughts.

“This room is too good for someone like you,” Elladora sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “If it were up to me, you’d be sleeping in the kitchens with the house elves—seems a far more fitting place for your kind.”

Theowen’s fingers twitched slightly—an involuntary reaction, perhaps from the gnawing hunger that had been clawing at her stomach since she left the Great Hall. Unfortunately, her slight defiance did not go unnoticed.

Elladora’s eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as she clicked her tongue. “It seems returning to Hogwarts has made this little rat forget her place.”

A chill ran down Theowen’s spine. She knew that tone all too well.

“Strip.”

The single word sent ice through her veins. She turned just in time to see Elladora’s wand shift, morphing into a long, coiled horsewhip.

Swallowing her pride, Theowen obeyed. Her hands moved stiffly as she undid the buttons of her uniform, her body responding out of sheer survival instinct. Kneeling, she braced herself, her muscles tensed for the first strike.

Crack!

Pain seared across her back.

“This is for defying me,” Elladora hissed.

Crack!

“And this is for embarrassing me in front of Professor Weasley!”

Blow after blow, the whip tore into her skin, each strike echoing in the cold, empty room. Theowen clenched her jaw so tightly it ached, biting down on her finger to keep from making a sound. She refused to give Elladora the satisfaction.

The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity before Elladora finally stopped, breathless from exertion. With a final glance of disdain, she stepped back.

“Clean yourself up,” she ordered, watching as Theowen shakily pulled on her uniform once more, the fabric sticking to the fresh welts forming across her back.

Elladora smoothed down her crimson dress and turned toward the door. “I’m having dinner with my brother. Be back in this room before I return—or you’ll regret it.”

With a sharp bang, the door slammed shut, leaving Theowen alone in the suffocating silence.

She sucked in a shaky breath, wincing as even the slightest movement sent bolts of pain through her body. Her shirt clung uncomfortably to her wounds, the damp warmth of blood seeping through the fabric. She couldn't afford to let anyone see. The last thing she needed was to attract attention—attention that would only fuel Elladora’s wrath.

Reaching for her cloak, she draped it over her shoulders, pulling the hood low over her face before slipping out of the room.

As she stepped into the common room, hushed whispers followed her. Some students stared with thinly veiled horror, others with silent pity. She ignored them all, clutching her worn pyjamas as she made her way toward the baths.

She needed to wash away the blood.

And for just a moment, she wanted to forget.

Theowen let out a quiet sigh of relief as her calves dipped into the warm water, the gentle heat soothing her aching muscles. She descended further, letting the warmth embrace her battered body. But the moment the water touched the raw wounds on her back, a sharp, stinging pain ripped through her. She hissed, fingers gripping the edge of the tub as the comfort she sought was swiftly replaced with agony.

For a brief moment, she considered pulling away. But this was a rare luxury—a moment of peace that she was seldom granted. She refused to waste it. Grinding her teeth, she forced herself to sink deeper into the soapy waters, allowing the heat to seep into her bones. Steam curled around her face, softening her features, making her feel almost human again.

With a slow inhale, she plunged beneath the surface, the world around her muffling into silence. Her golden tresses fanned out like strands of silk, floating lazily in the water, twisting and curling like a serpent in wait.

Then, a voice shattered the tranquillity.

Just how long will you let that vile witch treat you like this?!

A startled yelp escaped her lips as she jerked upright, water sloshing violently around her. She blinked rapidly, scanning the empty bathhouse, but no one was there. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps—until her gaze dropped.

Her own reflection stared back at her. But the eyes… they weren’t hers. Crimson irises burned like embers beneath the water’s surface.

Theowen sighed, shoulders sagging. “You already know the answer to that question. What’s the point in asking again?”

In the hopes that you’ll change your mind…

She rolled her eyes, her tone turning sing-song. “And again, you already know my answer.” This conversation had played on an endless loop ever since she had been taken by the Blacks.

We do not believe it… The entity’s voice darkened, brimming with barely restrained fury. After all these years, we have finally gained sentience, finally reunited as one—only to be shackled again. Sealed by those pathetic, self-righteous Keepers!

The temperature around her rose. The water grew hotter, uncomfortably so.

"Calm yourselves," Theowen chided, tilting her head back against the edge of the tub. "You're ruining my bath."

Patience? The voice sneered. You put your faith in that boy far too much. You endure this suffering, this humiliation—for what?

Theowen’s jaw tensed. "And what exactly do you expect me to do?" she snapped. "Our powers are sealed. My wand was taken. Even if we did break free, do you honestly think slaughtering everyone who stands in our way would solve anything?"

Yes.

A heavy silence hung between them. Theowen exhaled, long and tired.

"If we do that," she murmured, voice laced with quiet exhaustion, "when will it end? We'd only be painting more targets on our backs."

Her reflection flickered, the crimson glow simmering beneath the surface.

The entity didn’t answer. But Theowen could feel it lingering, watching, waiting.

"Time and time again, I’ve told you," Theowen chastised, her voice firm, "it’s not wise to act out now." Then, more softly, she added, "Besides, he got us back to Hogwarts, didn’t he? All those years of keeping our head down—it was worth it."

The entity scoffed, its fury simmering beneath the surface. Then he should know. He must know what that wretched witch has done to us!

"No," Theowen cut in, her tone sharp. "He mustn’t."

Why not?

"Because I don’t want to burden him with such trivial matters," she murmured, gripping the edge of the tub. "Not when he’s finally back in his father’s good graces—something that never happened before."

Trivial?! The reflection in the water rippled violently, its crimson eyes blazing. We were starved, forced to eat rotten scraps, left unwashed, beaten, humiliated beyond measure. And you call that trivial?

Theowen flinched but held her ground. "It’s not forever..."

And what if it is?

Silence.

Theowen stared at her distorted reflection, the weight of the entity’s words settling deep in her chest. She hadn’t spoken out, hadn’t fought back, because some part of her truly believed that Ominis would save her. That he could.

But what if he couldn’t?

What if he had already forgotten about her?

She shook the thought away before it could sink its claws in too deep. Instead, she forced a small smile at her reflection, at the entity still watching her with those burning eyes.

"Then," she whispered, "when the time comes, you’re free to do as you wish."

The entity’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

I’ll hold you to that.

Just then, the doors to the bath creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed across the tiled floor. Theowen turned toward the entrance, her body tensing instinctively. The footsteps halted, followed by a quiet, startled voice.

"Oh..."

Theowen blinked in surprise. Standing at the doorway was Anne.

For a moment, she just stared, taken aback by how much the girl had changed. The last time she saw Anne, she had been sickly and frail, barely able to stand without assistance. But now, she looked... whole. Thriving. Theowen’s lips parted, ready to greet her—

But before she could, more girls entered behind Anne, likely her companions. They all froze in their tracks, their wide eyes betraying their shock.

Theowen didn't need magic to read their thoughts. Their expressions said it all. She was an anomaly—someone who had disappeared from Hogwarts only to return under whispered rumours and suspicion.

Knowing she had little choice, she silently stood, the water streaming off her as she stepped out of the bath. She kept her head high, moving with purpose despite the prickle of unease along her spine. Her long golden hair clung to her damp skin, shielding most of the bruises across her back—though not enough to conceal them entirely. She could feel their gazes lingering, taking in the faint, discoloured lines that marred her once-pristine skin.

With no access to magic, she couldn't summon a robe to cover herself. So instead, she simply grabbed a towel, drying herself off as quickly as possible. She cast the group a small, warm smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes—before slipping into her nightclothes. Without another word, she walked past them and out the door.

The moment it shut behind her, she heard a collective sigh of relief, followed by hushed whispers.

Theowen exhaled through her nose, ignoring the sting in her chest.

She had longed to return to Hogwarts, dreamed of it even. But if tonight was any indication, the road to acceptance wouldn’t be so simple.

Theowen didn’t know what to expect as she settled into her final year of classes. The material itself wasn’t difficult—after all, she had already been through it before. But the presence of her handler made the experience far from comfortable.

Everyone in the classroom could feel the tension whenever she and Elladora occupied the same space. The first lesson of the day—Muggle Studies—was no exception. Elladora made no attempt to hide her disdain, muttering insults under her breath whenever Theowen so much as answered a question. It was expected. Pure-blood fanatics like Elladora scoffed at the subject, dismissing it as useless. Yet, the reality was that understanding Muggles was crucial for wizards who wanted to function in the modern world without exposing the wizarding community.

Still, the true discomfort settled in during her next lesson: Defence Against the Dark Arts.

She hesitated at the threshold, uncertainty creeping in. How was she supposed to participate without a wand? A quick scan of the room, however, gave her a small sense of relief. Professor Hecat was still teaching, and among the familiar faces, she spotted Sebastian, Ominis, and Natty. Unlike the others, who averted their gazes as if refusing to acknowledge her presence, her friends offered small, reassuring smiles.

Professor Hecat cleared her throat, commanding attention as she strode to the centre of the room.

"For today's lesson, we will be confronting one of the more peculiar creatures in the magical world—Boggarts," she announced, her sharp gaze sweeping across the students. "A Boggart is a shape-shifting creature that takes the form of whatever it believes will frighten you the most. They thrive on fear, using it as their greatest weapon."

Theowen stiffened slightly. She had encountered a Boggart before, but that was in another life—another version of herself.

"The key to overcoming a Boggart," Hecat continued, "is to render it powerless by using Riddikulus, a charm that forces the creature into a comical form, robbing it of its terror. Remember, laughter is the best defence against fear. If you can find humour in what haunts you, then it can no longer hold power over you."

A murmur rippled through the class—some excited, some nervous.

Hecat turned to the wardrobe at the far end of the room. It rattled ominously, as if something inside was desperately trying to escape.

"Now then," she said, a small smirk playing at her lips, "who would like to go first?"

Students lined up, some hesitant, others eager to display their skill and confront their fears. One by one, they stepped forward to face the Boggart.

Natty’s turn came first. Theowen already knew what to expect—her Boggart remained unchanged from the past: a menacing bandit, the same one who had taken her father’s life. But just as before, Natty was unwavering. With practiced confidence, she flicked her wand and cast Riddikulus. The bandit was instantly replaced by a harmless, playful cat, earning murmurs of admiration from the class.

Next was Ominis.

The wardrobe creaked as the Boggart shifted into its new form, and suddenly, the tall, imposing figure of his father stood in the centre of the room. A wave of unease spread through the students—many gasped, others exchanged uncertain glances. It was one thing to hear rumours of the Gaunt family's cruelty, but to see the source of Ominis' greatest fear first-hand was another matter entirely.

Yet, Ominis didn't hesitate.

With a steady hand and a calm expression, he cast Riddikulus, and in an instant, the figure twisted and contorted, shrinking into something unexpected—a harmless serpent, slithering awkwardly in place before vanishing into the cabinet.

The class remained silent. Some were still unnerved, uncertain if the spell had truly worked. But Theowen noticed the difference. He was faster this time… more precise. What had changed? What had Ominis endured in her absence?

Then came Sebastian.

The moment his Boggart took form, Theowen’s brows furrowed in intrigue.

A goblin.

Not just any goblin—Ranrok.

Sebastian’s stance was rigid, his grip on his wand tightening. The sight of the goblin leader, even in illusion, reignited something in him. Theowen could see it in his eyes—resentment, unfinished business. Though she knew the truth of his sister’s fate, it seemed Sebastian still clung to the belief that the goblins were responsible for Anne’s suffering.

Still, his spell work was impeccable. With a sharp flick of his wand, Riddikulus! was cast, and Ranrok twisted and shrank—until, inexplicably, he was reduced to a mere goblet. Some students chuckled in amusement, but Theowen only observed in silence.

One by one, the students took their turns. Some succeeded, others faltered, requiring Professor Hecat to intervene. The cycle repeated until, at last—

It was Theowen’s turn.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

She hesitated, her gaze flickering between Professor Hecat’s expectant expression and Elladora’s smug smirk.

Hecat narrowed her eyes. “Where is her wand, Ms. Black?”

Elladora let out a dramatic sigh. “Confiscated, of course,” she replied with faux innocence. “The Ministry placed a magical bar on her—she’s forbidden from casting spells.”

The professor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And how, exactly, is she supposed to participate in her classes without a wand?”

Elladora gave a theatrical shrug. “She will engage in theory, not practice. We can’t have a criminal plotting her escape now, can we?”

Hecat scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Ridiculous.” Without another word, she strode to her desk, rifled through a drawer, and retrieved a spare wand. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she tossed it toward Theowen.

Theowen caught it with ease.

Elladora’s expression darkened. “Professor Hecat! What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing!?”

“I shall take full responsibility with the Headmaster once class is over,” Hecat said coolly. “But no student of mine will sit on the side-lines, limited to theory. How idiotic.”

Elladora’s face twisted in fury. “Excuse me!?”

Hecat ignored her, turning back to Theowen with an encouraging smile. “Come now, dear. It’s a dummy wand—surely you’ve used one before.”

Theowen hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward, leaving a seething Elladora behind.

She inhaled deeply as the cabinet began to shake violently. Steadyyourself, she reminded herself. In her past life, her Boggart had always been Ranrok. This time would be no different. She raised her wand, bracing for the inevitable.

The cabinet shuddered to a halt.

Silence.

Then, the doors burst open—

Theowen’s heart dropped.

Her breath hitched.

The colour drained from her face.

Standing before her was not Ranrok.

It was a man—haggard, unkempt, with ragged brown hair and a weathered black leather coat. His sneer was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

The world around her blurred. Memories, ones she had locked away, came rushing back with vicious clarity. The same cruel sneer. The same presence that had changed everything.

Theowen’s breathing grew erratic.

The Boggart raised its wand—

“No…” she whimpered.

Her fingers twitched, gripping the wand so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She was on the verge of panic when—

Control yourself, girl.

The voice slithered into her mind.

It’s only a Boggart. Calm down.

Theowen blinked. Her pulse steadied. Slowly, her breathing evened out.

Her expression turned cold, detached. The fear dissipated.

That threat is over. I made sure of that.

With a quiet breath, she lifted her wand.

"Riddikulus."

The figure twisted and contorted, its form shrinking and softening—until, at last, it transformed into something absurdly harmless.

A Puffskein.

The tiny creature let out a delighted purring noise, rolling onto its back playfully.

Though the adorable Puffskein rolled back into the cabinet, dissolving harmlessly into the darkness, the tension in the room did not fully dissipate.

Theowen let out a quiet breath, forcing herself to appear unfazed, but she knew better. Her heart pounded in her chest—not from fear, but from the weight of realization.

Her Boggart had changed.

And they had noticed.

Sebastian’s stare was the first she sought out.

Her stomach twisted.

He was looking at her—not just with surprise, but with something worse. Doubt. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, the gears in his mind already turning. He suspects something.

She quickly shifted her gaze to Ominis. He wasn’t nearly as obvious as Sebastian, but his brows were drawn together, an expression of deep contemplation settling over his face. 

Theowen swallowed the unease creeping up her spine, trying to ignore the way her palms had begun to sweat.

But before she could think of an escape—

Professor Hecat approached.

"Ms. Thorne…" Her voice was even, but there was a sharp edge to it. "May I ask who that man was? The one who appeared as your greatest fear?"

Theowen stiffened.

Hecat’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “He seemed like a Dark practitioner.”

Theowen’s heart sank. She could feel eyes on her, waiting—judging. She needed to think. She needed an excuse—something plausible, something that wouldn’t raise even more suspicion—

But before she could even process a response, her lips moved on their own.

"I came across the man during my fifth year," she said evenly. "He was one of Ranrok’s goons…"

A perfectly constructed lie.

Or rather—

A perfectly placed answer.

Theowen froze for half a second, realization striking her like a whip.

That wasn’t me.

You’re welcome, the entity whispered in her mind.

She nearly flinched. She hadn’t realized just how much they had blended together—how effortlessly it could slip into her thoughts, into her words, without her even noticing.

Professor Hecat studied her for a moment longer before relenting. “I see.”

And just like that, the tension broke.

The professor turned back to the class, launching into the remainder of her lecture before finally dismissing them—along with an additional homework assignment.

A collective groan echoed through the students, but Theowen barely heard it.

She was too busy replaying everything in her mind.

Too busy wondering just how much of herself she had lost over the years.

With a quiet sigh, she stepped forward, returning the wand to Professor Hecat as expected. She barely acknowledged Elladora’s simmering rage as the professor reprimanded her once more.

Instead, she focused on one thing:

When can things return to normal?

She scoffed under her breath.

As if that were even possible.