Chapter 3
June 19, 1996
Darkness. It was all that Liv sensed around her. She felt weightless as if she had been drifting in and out of consciousness to a point where she could not account for time or anything tangible. But there were sounds. In moments of wakefulness, voices seeped through the darkness, coming across in muted tones with a fuzzy quality to them. They were soft, muffled, and unthreatening. Every part of her body ached, too. The mere thought of moving an arm or lifting her head or any limb seemed impossible, so she remained in the darkness, listening to barely-there whispers, uncaring of how long she had been in that state. Had it been hours? A Day? Weeks? She did not know. Truthfully, she would rather give in to the darkness because she had an innate feeling that something was wrong, and she was not sure she wanted to face whatever lay on the other side of the dark.
She could not fight the inevitable, though, no matter how much she wanted to float in the darkness. A rushing sound invaded her ears as her consciousness swam to the top of the murkiness. She blinked several times before her eyes opened. An immediate brightness blinded her. Her eyes burned after so much darkness, causing them to squint so that she could slowly adjust to her surroundings. Blurred shapes eventually took form as she focused on the ceiling above her. A milky-colored glass light, flush against the ceiling, came into view; cracks ran across the ceiling’s plaster.
The mattress under her was firm, not plush. The bedsheets, although expensive, scratched against her skin. Liv tried sitting up, but it felt useless. Her muscles strained and refused to cooperate with her brain. She let out a frustrated groan, fighting the urge to scream. It did not matter, though; her throat was unbearably dry, so she could not scream even if she tried. Gathering all her strength, she pushed herself up, her weight resting on her elbows. She shimmied further up the bed and let her back thud against a wooden headboard. A sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily for a few minutes, catching her breath from the small excursion. It took all her energy to situate herself into an upright position.
“If my body is this feeble, what in the hell happened?” she wondered aloud.
She winced as she turned to look towards a tall French window at the opposite end of the room. Her mid-section felt unusually sore. She glanced downward, surprised that she wore a well-loved band T-shirt. Her favorite muggle band—Led Zeppelin. She appreciated its softness as it lay against her skin. The fabric had a recognizable scent that she could not place, adding to her confusion. She lifted the bottom of the shirt and inhaled sharply—there were bandages over her abdomen, and she blanched at the sight. She tried recalling an event that would require bandages, but her mind met blankness. She carefully brushed the gauze with her fingertips. The bandages felt fresh as if someone had recently changed them. A sharp pain shot through her mid-section as she grazed a tender spot. She cursed, dropping the shirt, and let the back of her head hit the headboard.
The room was bathed in light that filtered through the window, and sun rays shone through the opening between two heavily embroidered curtain panels. Warmth spread across her face and the deep blue duvet that covered her legs. The room felt vaguely familiar, despite her never having been in it before. She didn't recognize the dark grey wallpaper or the scenic painting tucked into the corner, with its painted grass blades and tree branches swaying in the wind. Yet, the magical atmosphere of the room seemed to embrace her presence.
Her eyes did a quick sweep, trying to note everything around her. The room was small. A chest of drawers sat across from her position in the four-poster bed, a small writing desk with a quill and parchment situated in front of the window, a floor-length mirror, dried flowers in a vase on the chest of drawers, all in a dark wood. The room lacked personal touches or any belongings which meant that she was most likely in a guest accommodation, and the dried flowers indicated its absence of use.
Waves of anxiety rolled over her as realization struck—she was not at Hogwarts. Shouldn’t she be at school? Students did not leave the castle outside of Hogsmeade days unless explicitly requested by a parental figure. Her parents would never pull her or her brother out of school. She also had a vague feeling that she was supposed to be taking her O.W.Ls or at least finishing them. She would never leave the castle during the most important tests of her life. Nothing made sense. She took a few deep, calming breaths. You don’t know if you missed the remainder of your O.W.Ls, you crazy bint, she thought to herself.
Next to the bedside table sat a large glass of water. Liv abruptly reached for it and brought it to her lips. Before she took a sip, she sniffed the water—no scent, so it was most likely safe to drink. Her hand shook a little as the cool liquid touched her tongue, her thirst hitting her with full force. She gulped down half of the glass’ contents, droplets falling down her chin which she quickly wiped away with the back of her hand. A thought occurred to her as she set the glass back down: her wand was missing. In fact, she could not recall the last time she had seen it. She felt incomplete without the Ash wood in her hand or secure against her body. But even as her eyes tensely scanned the room, there was no sign of it. And what was even more odd was that none of her typical personal belongings were visible either, including her leather bag, which never left her side.
In a sudden panic, her eyes dropped to her wrist. She sighed when she saw the pearl bracelet snuggly clasped around its thin width. Her fingers brushed along the snake clasp which held the string of pearls together. She hated admitting it, but she often found herself unconsciously playing with the beads, letting the feel of their magic wrap around her. Perhaps it was becoming a coping mechanism. She was sure there were healers at the Janus Thickey ward who would love to study that.
Adrenaline swiftly coursed through her body—she needed a plan. First, exit the bed no matter how exhausted and hurt her body felt. Then, look around the room for any clues that could shed light on her location—she did not feel in danger, but one never knew. Third, find a makeshift weapon if she cannot locate her wand—first-year D.A.D.A taught her never to go into the unknown without some form of protection. And finally, with caution, leave the room to explore or escape—escape seemed a bit exaggerated, but she had just woken up, and anything was possible.
It took a few tries, but Liv managed to hoist herself up and out of bed. A red rash broke out along her chest, the band T drenched from the exertion. She steadied herself against the nightstand, finding footing and equilibrium. A laugh escaped her lips as she gazed down at her feet: no shoes. Something about not having shoes was funny, but she could not pinpoint why. Mentally shrugging, she tugged the loose pajama pants that she wore higher on her waist.
“Out of bed—check. Time to look around,” she whispered to herself.
Her sock-covered feet padded against hardwood as she made her way to the chest of drawers. A light amount of dust covered the furniture and the flowers, resting in a tall vase. What would have been vibrant-colored petals were now muted blues and creams. She ran a finger along the grained wood, collecting the dust as she went. Searching through the drawers, she came up empty. The drawers held different linens and blankets, but nothing hinted as to where she was. She moved to the desk; the same layer of dust covered its surface. She hoped to find a muggle letter opener or scissors but only found disappointment when the desk was empty. The parchment on the desk was aged around the edges, and the ink well was dry. She supposed she could use the quill as a weapon if necessary. Frustration set in as she continued her search, her body heavy as she moved. She walked towards the window and decided to peek outside at the building’s surroundings. She hoped to discern her location. Why she had not checked the window first was beyond her. It must have been the exhaustion.
She peered through the smudged glass, moving one of the curtain panels to the side. Rows of townhomes came into view—familiar facades with white stone and various shades of grey and brown bricks. Across from her direct view was a gated park. Its high stone fence surrounded the premises, but she could catch glimpses of the weeping willows, birch trees whose leaves stood tall, and the rows of her favorite flowers that made a winding path around the grounds. It was a park she had visited many times… with Regulus. She sucked in a quick breath—she was in London, at Grimmauld Place. Maybe that was why her magical core felt accepted in the small room. But that did not make sense. Why was she at Grimmauld? Her head began throbbing while she tried to piece everything together. She furrowed her brow in frustration. What had happened before now? It had to be serious, right? She wondered if Orion and Walburga Black were home. Surely, they had intentionally brought her to their home or, at the very minimum, were okay with her staying outside of school. Did Regulus know she was there? Perhaps if she called for Kreacher, the Black family house-elf, he could answer her questions and inform her future mother-in-law that she was awake. Kreacher was an ancient elf, often onery, but he had a soft spot for her as she was Regulus’ betrothed, and Regulus was his favorite Black family member, to the chagrin of Sirius.
Before Liv could decide on a course of action, heavy footsteps and hushed voices echoed on the other side of the door. On instinct, she lunged for the quill and gripped the feathered end. The sudden movement elicited a groan as pain tore through her mid-section. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and hoped she had not re-opened any wounds. Although zapped of energy from looking around the room, she pushed herself to stand behind the door, ready for when it swung open. All her senses heightened as she waited for the inevitable knock.
Her ears perked when the voices came closer.
“I should speak to her first—we’re in my home, after all.”
Liv let down her guard slightly as she heard the reference to ‘my home.’ Orion would have the answers she needed. Although, the voice did not sound like the current Head of House Black. The voice she heard was higher in pitch, and it had a raspy quality to it.
“And extra wards around her room? Like she’s a prisoner? For Merlin’s sake, it’s a bit much,” the voice fumed.
Definitely not Orion—his voice was void of any emotions. The voice that just spoke bled with them. Her grip on the quill tightened.
“The wards are for her protection as much as yours, my boy,” a calm, mischievous voice replied. “She’s a powerful young witch. She’ll be in shock when she wakes up. Who knows what she’ll remember and how her magic will react to those memories.”
She knew that voice—its familiarity a relief—and she sighed lowly. She sagged against the doorframe and set the quill down on the chest of drawers with a shaky hand. She had not realized her hands had been trembling. The voice had it wrong, however. She barely felt her magic, too exhausted to have any bouts of accidental magical reactions to memories she could not recall.
“Come on, let’s give him time to talk with Liv.” A third voice sounded distant from the bedroom door—another wizard. There was a pause and some shuffling before he spoke again. “Professor, we’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
Liv reached for the door to open it, but her fingers received a magical sting when she touched the handle. Right, the wards , she thought. She huffed and turned around. She made her way back to the full-size bed and sat on its edge. She counted to eleven until she watched the wards drop from the room in a shimmering ripple. There was a light rap on the door, and before she could answer, the Headmaster of Hogwarts stepped into the small space.
“Headmaster?” Liv whispered. She eyed him warily.
Even though the familiar face sent a wave of relief through her, she was still apprehensive. Her Slytherin instincts warned her to be skeptical. Winding up at Grimmauld without memory of the incident itself was unnerving, but also, it was a known fact that the Blacks barely tolerated Albus Dumbledore. They accepted him as Headmaster because he was one of the most powerful wizards in the Wizarding World, but his politics left them seething in disgust. Walburga Black would rather take the Cruciatus herself than allow the muggle and muggle-born sympathizer into her sacred home.
Also, something was different about Dumbledore. Warmth still radiated off and around him, and he had the ever-present twinkle behind his blue eyes. His robes were the same style with a deep hue that he often wore. But his face… his face looked tired, with more lines etched into it. And an abundance of silver filled out his auburn hair and beard as if it happened overnight. Liv decided that he looked older than when she had last seen him, as if his features had changed abruptly. Perhaps the natural lighting in the room played tricks on her eyes. She realized that she had been staring too long, and her gaze darted away from him down to her hands.
“Miss Potter.” Dumbledore transfigured a wicker chair out of thin air and placed it across from where she sat. “How are you feeling? It looks as though some color has returned to your face.” He sat in the chair and sent her a caring smile.
Those words made Liv realize she had not even glanced at her reflection in the room’s mirror, too occupied with figuring out what had happened. Her hands moved to her hair and noticed it was down, loosely hanging past her shoulders. Her fringe bangs matted to her forehead.
“I-I’m unsure, honestly,” she answered. It was the truth. Overwhelmed would not even begin to describe the emotions whirling inside of her and the physical exhaustion she felt in her core.
Dumbledore hummed and peered at her over his half-moon spectacles. He waited for her to continue.
“Professor, what am I— why am I at Grimmauld?”
“Ah, so you have deduced where you are.” He let out an amused chuckle.
“I peeked out the window.” She shrugged. “I’ve been to Grimmauld numerous times but never ventured into this guest room. How long have I been out?”
“A little more than a day,” he replied.
She sighed in relief. She had not missed that much time, then.
“What do you remember, Livinia?”
Liv shrugged off the annoyance at hearing her full name. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused on her heartbeat. She cleared her mind, letting memories surface. What was the last thing she remembered before she woke up at Grimmauld? Everything was fuzzy, but she forced herself to concentrate.
Images flooded her mind. A boy with turquoise hair and deep green eyes, six faces she did not recognize, the Gryffindor common room and dormitory, the confusion she felt at the unfamiliar surroundings, the calendar with the year 1996… She gasped. Her heart raced so fast that she thought she would pass out. She squeezed her eyes shut as her hands shook. Her fingers found her bracelet to steady the shaking, rotating the beads between them. She touched a pearl— this is a dream , she thought. She touched another pearl— I am not in the future. She touched a third pearl— I am in a dream …
She focused on emptying her mind, not allowing emotions to cloud her thoughts. It was not easy to do in her state, but if she wanted answers, placing her emotions behind carefully constructed walls was a necessity. She was not a master at occluding, but she knew enough to get by. Now was not the time to become a blubbering Hufflepuff or reckless Gryffindor. A calm mask finally settled onto her face. She opened her eyes, clear in expression, and looked back at Dumbledore.
“My dear, you look pale. Do you need a calming draught?”
She shook her head once, remaining perfectly still as thoughts formed in her mind. “No, thank you, Professor. I do have questions, if you don’t mind?” Her voice came out slow and steady.
“Of course. I will try and answer them as best as I can.” Dumbledore sent her a reassuring nod.
“Alright, thank you.” She paused and resituated herself on the bed’s edge. “This is going to sound mental,” she mumbled under her breath and cleared her throat. “I-I traveled through time, didn’t I? To the future? Well, your present, but my future.” Her stomach dropped as she spoke those words. “I saw a calendar with the year 1996. It is—is it truly 1996?” Her eyes pleaded with her professor, hoping he would contradict her.
Dumbledore sent her a sympathetic smile. “Indeed, Miss Potter, it is 1996.”
Air whooshed out of Liv’s lungs. It felt as if someone had swept the proverbial carpet from under her feet. She took a shuddering breath and gestured for him to continue.
“It appears with a bit of complex magic, you traveled twenty years forward. It is incredible, really.” His eyes twinkled.
Liv balked at that statement. It was absolutely not incredible. “Forgive me, Professor, but I hardly think my time travel is an astonishing feat. It was reckless and only happened because of a ridiculous prank that went horribly wrong.” She suddenly felt agitated. Of all the stupid things she had done in her 16 years, this took the butterbeer cake.
“Ah, yes, the prank.” Dumbledore ran his long fingers through his beard.
She raised an eyebrow. “You know about the prank?”
“Nothing that happens within the walls of Hogwarts escapes me, I’m afraid.” The corner of his lips turned up in a wry smile.
Liv bit the inside of her cheek and fidgeted with the pearls. He knew about the prank—for Salazar’s sake, she was stupid to think her antics would go unnoticed. Although she supposed it did not matter now.
A thought bubbled to the surface, which she could not ignore. Something felt off—she could feel it in her bones. Why was she at Grimmauld Place? And Dumbledore checking in on her personally? It did not make any sense. Shouldn’t she be in the Hogwarts’ infirmary with Madame Pomfrey? Or at St. Mungo’s, where Aurors awaited to question her and bring her into the Ministry for breaking the laws of time? A second thought emerged, too. If she was twenty years in the future, that meant her parents, brother, and friends were all twenty years older. She missed twenty years of their lives! She could never get those twenty years back. If she traveled from her past, that meant she had vanished from their lives in 1976. Had they worried and been beside themselves? Had they thought she left them intentionally? Did they think she was unalive?
Multiple questions weighed heavily on her mind. Where were they now? What happened to them? Were they here at Grimmauld waiting to see her? Did the voices she heard in the hall belong to her family? And was Regulus here, at home? Regulus… Oh gods , she thought. Regulus had been waiting for her in the Slytherin common room, but she never returned.
The emotional gravity of the situation became too much to process. Liv swayed on the bed, the room spinning in and out of focus. Dumbledore rose and carefully gripped her elbow. He helped ease her onto the bed in an upright position.
“Here, drink this. It will help calm your nerves.” He uncorked a small vial of a blue liquid and handed it to her. “You’ve had quite a shock to your system.”
She took the vial, brought it to her lips, and downed it in one gulp, grimacing at the taste. Immediately, her anxiety and nerves evaporated, and her breathing became steady. The calming draught worked its magic.
With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore’s chair vanished. He sent her a serene smile and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I won’t lie and tell you that things aren’t complicated. Time travel is a bit of a mystery, as you know. No one on record has traveled forward in time, only back, and only for a few hours. You’re the first.” He looked down at his robes and brushed away a piece of lint. “There will be an investigation by the Department of Mysteries, but until then, rest. The strenuous journey depleted your magical core, I’m afraid. Thus, the exhaustion you’re experiencing.”
Liv nodded. She could feel her body wanting to fall back into the darkness. Dumbledore looked hesitant for a moment but continued. The twinkle in his eyes disappeared.
“You’ve come at a precarious time, Miss Potter. Things are not as they seem in magical Britain. I would like to explain further, but it’s the end of the term, and I must return to Hogwarts. Without giving too much away, please trust that I have your safety and best interests at heart.”
As skeptical as she felt by his words, Liv kept that feeling close to her chest. She was not beyond believing that her headmaster had her best interests at heart, but she knew to be wary of him from past experiences. He lived by his own set of rules and held prejudices against her friends and her House. It left a sour taste in her mouth for the man.
“After you’ve rested, someone will check in and answer any more questions you have. For now, sleep. It will recharge your magical core.”
Dumbledore gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then turned to exit the room. As the door clicked behind him, Liv gave into the pull of darkness, letting sleep pull her under.