A/N: "A half-read book is a half-finished love affair."

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.

Chapter 37

A wizard gave a breathless gasp, his limbs flexing in shock as he awoke in complete darkness.

His eyes threw themselves wide open as his heart pounded, as if a torrent of adrenaline had just been emptied directly into his bloodstream. In the deafening silence his dilated pupils strained hard into the darkness, drinking in the feedback of all his senses while his pounding heart echoed in his ears.

It took a good thirty seconds before he could free himself from the mental chains that locked every fibre of his body in place. With great effort he then sluggishly lifted his head and looked around blearily to inspect his surroundings.

"Wha-…"

The wizard gave a weary sigh as his head fell back down onto the foundations that supported his supine position, his face morphing a characteristic expression of both exasperation and relief in such given scenarios.

"Merlin above, what a bloody nightmare that was," James lowly mumbled to himself as he massaged his eyes with one tremulous hand. With great difficulty he tried to recall what shook him so, desperately trying to grasp onto the last remnants of dreams that were already fading into a distant memory.

In the world his consciousness had created, he had dreamt that he was an inmate of a prison. Not just any old prison, but the prison – Azkaban. However, he was incarcerated not as one would normally expect.

The days of dark wizards and mad witches trapped within the walls were long over. Now, tortured souls both innocent and guilty alike lay host to its cells, where their wretched silhouettes were smothered by tenebrous veils, displaying grotesquely deformed bodies that writhed and contorted.

He vividly remembered the fetor of a decaying body from the cell to his right, and a barred window showing only an eternal caliginous sky to his left.

He also remembered being some sort of soldier – but strangely he felt no pride or patriotism in his dream. During his last moments before he woke up, he recalled, as the final flames of life were extinguished from his eyes, a single revelation.

He was neither a famed hero, nor a freedom fighter, nor a warrior of justice. All he was, was an impressionable and callow wizard bought and sold by the exigencies of war – just like every other person who served under a creature named Albus Dumbledore.

Goosebumps exploded all over his body as a never-before felt feeling of dark fury consumed his mind. Shuddering and exhaling, he quickly pushed such foreign emotions to the back of his mind, half glad that the nightmare was already fading away into obscurity as each second ticked by.

With one outstretched arm he unenergetically pulled back the corner of the cloth curtain that both encompassed his bedframe and hid him from the world. A brief wave of moonlight softly splashed onto his face through the window next to his bed as he blearily gazed into a cloudless night freckled with stars.

The twinkling dots and ribbons of light in the heavens elicited a great sigh of reassurance from him, as if to reaffirm that the nightmare that held an everlasting blanket of darkness in the sky was all it ever amounted to – just a nightmare.

Oh well, back to sleep it is.

Leaning back and rolling over, he melted into the comfort his soft eiderdown pillow, almost giving a contented groan from how unquestionably pleasurable it felt going back to bed after waking up in the middle of the night.

A most curious smell of what seemed like fresh pine and foxglove perfused his senses, a woodland scent that burned warm and long, almost as if tiny flames were dancing harmlessly across his chest. The strange scent lulled him into a further state of serenity as he burrowed deeper under the toasty depths of his duvet.

As he squeezed his pillow, he especially appreciated tonight how warm it felt, and how it was so deliciously soft, and how lumpy–

Wait… lumpy?

His eyes shot open yet again, but this time in bemusement.

He slowly brought his fingers to the woven edges of his bed cover and pulled it downwards, the act granting him with the sight of something quite strange. A tangled mass of something large and shadowy greeted his heavy-lidded eyes.

His pupils naturally adjusted to the light in the murky gloom and for a split second he wondered if was looking at the silhouette of a silken rug. Then it took him ten more seconds before he realized what he was looking at.

"Morgana blind me," James cursed out loud, grunting in exasperation as he spied the outline of an unknown girl sleeping and curled up under his blanket.

His head swivelled and glared accusingly in the direction of another bed in the stillness of his dormitory.

Padfoot. Mate.

If you've shagged someone, couldn't you have kindly asked her to bloody leave afterwards?

This is the second time you've let this happen.

As he thought of what next to do with extreme annoyance, part of his subconscious pertaining to sloth teased him, tempting him to slink back into the realm of dreams – to just continue sleeping and deal with this matter on the morrow. But, as always, the teachings of his father instilled within him to always do the right thing denied him the right of such comforts.

With his mind fully awake, he made an opening in his bedcurtains and snatched his holly wand – a new one, of which he bought over the summer, and erected an elementary silencing ward. The magic wasn't powerful enough to muffle all noises but was enough to ensure his roommates' slumbering would not be disturbed.

A pale band of silvery light now shone directly on the female offender, and his eyes were bestowed unto a most curious sight.

Her hair was comically long and resembled waves of soft obsidian, softly reflecting the light of the moon as she lay curled up into a tight ball beside him. Strangely, it seemed as if she was wearing nothing but an oversized muggle t-shirt, a loose and flowing garment that nearly swallowed her whole. The strangest thing of all was that with one hand, she was gripping tightly onto the hem of his nightshirt in a manner one could only describe as proprietorial.

James blinked twice.

He then groaned loudly, as he always did with when dealing with one particular person in his life, when he realized there could only be one entity housed within these castle walls that possessed such inimitable tendencies.

"Merlin. It's Ariana. Of course. Who else could it be?" he intoned as he slapped his forehead, his utterances interspersed with long exhalations.

Did she have a rough night? Or perhaps she was feeling a little down? Regardless, she really shouldn't keep coming to me for every single thing.

He bit his lip nervously as he reassessed what was at hand.

But since we are both of the same family now, I should be helping her with any and all problems she might have… right?

The experience as a single child was currently reaping him no rewards, and the growing lack of confidence and self-perceived inadequacy was making him consider seeking external guidance in these matters, in confidentiality of course, with someone who was well versed with siblinghood sometime in the near future.

"Ana, wake up," he whispered after much deliberation, gently rocking her shoulder as he tried to rouse her from her slumber.

It took a while, but the young witch's eyes eventually rolled open from the rhythmic motions, still glazed over with the remnants of her last dream. Awash with confusion in her awakening, her pupils darted all over the place until they finally rested upon his. And then the strangest thing happened.

Her bottom lip quivered, and her face scrunched up miserably. However that only lasted for half a second before all the muscles in her face relaxed in a show of total tranquillity, a stark juxtaposition to her previous display.

"Hello," was her first word in a whisper, but it was hauntingly quiet despite the current stillness of the night.

James raised an eyebrow.

"And a hello to you too," he murmured back in a similar volume, "Do I really have to ask why you're in the boy's dormitory again?"

A look of hurt flashed across her face.

James internally panicked from the reaction.

Okay, I think that was the wrong thing to say. He thought quickly, his mental processes going through leaps and bounds.

Let's try this again. She just came to me in the middle of the night, so that must mean…

"Were you having a nightmare?" he picked back up smoothly, the mention of unpleasant dreams dredging up recent images from his own.

"Something like that… there was… you were…" she mumbled incoherently before trailing off into an uncomfortable silence, seemingly unwilling to let her words finish and take flight.

James glimpsed a flash of that same indiscernible emotion taking hold of her face yet again.

Despite being such on grounds that would normally involve a delicate balancing of emotional intelligence, he was not deterred in the slightest. In fact, such vagaries actually emboldened his spirit and brought forth words to his lips to give a speech he had been preparing for quite some time.

"Ariana Violetta Potter, I want you to listen to my words very carefully," he murmured strongly, remembering the christening of her middle name by his mother before they had left this year for Hogwarts.

"I am James Charlus Potter, and we are now family. And although my blood does not flow in your veins, that does not mean I wouldn't give my blood for your veins. We do not seek to buy you with promissory titles and jewellery, nor to force you relinquish all traces of the past with blood-binding rituals in the depths of Gringotts."

"You chose us to be your family. You chose us," he repeated with emphasis, at this moment sharing wisdom well beyond his years, "Always remember that. For family isn't limited by the womb, but by an everlasting covenant, and for those would accept you for who you truly are."

He paused.

"Mum, and Dad and I… we have always known you for who you are, and are lucky that you have now chosen our home to be yours as well. This means from now until when we both grow old and wrinkly, if your world had somehow shattered, then it is my not my duty, but my choice, as your older brother to help you put the pieces back together."

Not a single word came from either of them for many a minute. His body was taunt from nervousness, wildly overthinking on whether he had been saying the wrong things. To be frank, it was challenging for him to express such complex emotions due to his tender age and being part of a loathsome culture that stigmatises emotional displays from boys and men. However, he had been preparing for this moment for quite some time should it ever arise that his newly adopted sibling was to ever feel doubtful of their family's intentions.

Shrouded by moonlight shadows, shining orbs the colour of deep forests pools burned brilliantly into his steady and firm gaze.

Finally, the silence was broken as a small, still whisper floated through the night.

"You promise?"

James gave his characteristic lopsided smile and gently drew his hand up and proffered to her a symbol of his covenant, causing her to respond in kind. Once their pinkies were locked, he said just one word.

"Always."

All Ariana did in response was to simply close her eyes and give a tiny smile.

But to him, this was something so momentous and so life-changing he wanted to joyously sound every bell in Hogwarts. In the past whenever Ariana would smile, he would always observe that it always be mixed with other emotions that she could not properly suppress, be it flecked with old sorrow, tinged with deep regret, or stained by powerless anger.

However, the young witch in front of him whom he had known for nearly two years now, for the first time was displaying nothing but pure, untroubled, and peaceful bliss. Happy. She was finally happy.

James then breathed such a contented sigh that it seemed permeate into his own soul.

How very comforting is the human condition, that tiny fractions of time could forever etch themselves into precious memories, lasting forever and ever in our minds until we draw our very last breath.

With the young wizard's familial display of verve abating as the moment gradually diminished in intensity, he recognized that her previous mood had been dispelled and there was no need to pry further about why she was in his bed.

If she didn't feel the need to share, then it probably wasn't that important.

Gone were the days of a teenage boy who derived pleasure from pranking his schoolmates en masse, breaking every possible law that Hogwarts possessed, getting into numerous scuffles with belligerent Slytherins, and other such roguish behaviours. The past year of dealing with this enigmatic young girl had in many ways served as a rapid point of growth in his maturity, not just mentally but emotionally too.

Thus the night waned and he eventually steered her off his bed and gently guided her back to the safety of the girl's dormitory, where he waited at the bottom of the winding staircase until he was sure she was fast asleep in her own bed.

For the remainder of the night he stayed below in the Gryffindor common room by the warm crepitating fire, an everlasting flame that lay poised on a cobblestone hearth. And there, he stayed awake for the rest of the long night, watching the glowing embers leaping and twirling, just thinking about the meaning of family.

Calm… just stay calm.

Though the grasp on reality for the current situation was no doubt clear, it was distorted to the point of indiscernibility by certain events that had just transpired.

Slowly breathe in… and out.

Ariana's eyes were steady to the far horizon, face serene as the first rays of golden sunshine hit her face. Her lips bore the semblance of a ghostly smile, just enough to show an observer that she was enjoying her thoughts, whatever they may be. But in reality, her mind was fixated only on a single thought.

The morning light was glorious.

To her, every single waking moment for the past four moments of consciousness were only experienced under the cover of nightfall.

The first night was that of a curse, an affliction of agony and hopelessness brought about by her own incompetence. The second night was of a cruel awakening, a divulgence of horrifying revelations whispered under the thundering sound of hooves. The third night was of desolate solitude, drifting alone through a bleak night as the last of her bloodline. And then, the fourth night was that of reunion, with equal parts of both joy and unfulfillable longing.

But now, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, it was morning.

Surrendering to the golden light, she basked in the warm glow. She appreciated also how the Great Lake shimmered like a mirror flecked mosaic, and how the morning dew sparkled on the bejewelled verdant expanse laying beneath her, eyeing it as a sheep would to green pastures.

"Mornin' Ana," someone yawned sleepily behind her.

Calm down, deep breaths.

"Good morning, Amelia," Ariana greeted brightly, whirling around and planting a beatific smile on her face.

It had been ten minutes since she had woken. Unfortunately, she wasn't the first, as her closest friend in her year, Pandora Lovegood née Selwyn, had long awoken and been pouring over some decrepit looking manuscript on flat of the girls dormitory's shared desk.

This meant Ariana couldn't slip out unseen. Taking her past self's wand or invisibility cloak could potentially lead to disastrous temporal consequences, so options such as casting a harmless sleeping spells or abruptly vanishing out of the room were null to her.

She had realized how lucky she was that her past self was currently not in the room, and she had managed to hijack her own bed and sleep peacefully throughout the entire night without meeting her counterpart. The current Ariana knew at times like these when she was missing, she would probably be either holed up in the Room of Requirement learning new spells like an anchorite or would be ensconced in the Hospital Wing. There was also the odd chance that she was sojourned in the Order's headquarters.

All she had done prior to this moment in time was to freshen up and then slip into her own Hogwarts day clothes – grateful that the password on her trunk was still the same – before waiting quietly by the open window to watch a brilliant midsummer's morning unfold and plan for her immediate future.

The first option was if she heard the door being opening not by her dormmates, she would immediately leap out the window and avoid meeting her past self – with a spell-activatable featherweight spell crystal ready and waiting to be activated in her hand to cushion the fall. She had already mapped out a course of action that would lead her somewhere safe, still deciding between an inn deep in Hogsmeade or somewhere quiet in London.

The second option was if her past self was in someplace other than Hogwarts, she would pretend everything was normal before quietly slipping away under a disillusionment charm with the help of a borrowed wand. Avoiding the castle's wards that were cast over main doorways would be tricky, but with her ability to sense intricate threads of spellwork, it would be relatively easy to navigate through and live as a shadowy resident of the castle.

Her third and final option was to somehow make it to Albus' office and stock up on just enough Polyjuice potion to permanently stay in her male counterpart, just like how Barty Crouch Junior did as Alastor Moody, to dedicate more time to the Order. However, this plan banked on the fact she could source the correct Polyjuice phials from Albus' secret potions room and abscond without being detected.

But naturally all of her well thought out plans were wasted – as they always were – for Amelia then noticed something.

"Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little peaky," the young blond-haired witch asked with concern laced within her voice, "Should we call Madam Pomfrey?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Ariana reassured steadily, "I don't feel anything wrong with me."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure, thank you," the adamant young witch firmly restated, "Now let's–"

"Hold on, you look kind of… different today. Was your hair always that long?" Amelia interrupted with a curious tilt of her head before she decided to push that thought aside, "Never mind that, come on Ana, I think we should really get you to the Hospital Wing for a check-up."

"Thanks again, but I'm good."

"No, Amelia's right," Pandora chimed in, looking up from her esoteric readings for the first time that morning, "I can't put my finger on it, but you somehow look a little off today. I think a Pepper-Up Potion would help you for your… nightmares."

Ariana gave a neutral hum, content to think that her newfound appearance was attributed to something her friends were familiar with. She had completely forgotten that her roommates were well aware of her nightly episodes. More than once she had forgotten to erect silencing wards and had completely freaked out and disturbed her friends by her perverse connection with Voldemort.

Hold on… my connection to Voldemort?

She absently rubbed her forehead, a place from which an accursed scar once lay. During her recent reawakening in the Forbidden Forest to the centaurs that dwelled in the undergrowth, she felt as if – for the first time – she had somehow been granted deliverance from of a perpetual state of liminality, like a butterfly freed from the bindings of a chrysalis.

Tom Riddle had been quiet of late. Not once in recent days had she been thrust into a state of second-hand wrath, avarice, carnality, or really any other state of foreign mental alteration. She suspected it might have to do with him hunkering down and strategizing, something she had come to fear since she knew how aggressive Voldemort was in his quest for hegemony over Britain, most likely under the disguise of dirigisme.

A subtle but telling sign noticed by Elphias Doge, a Ministry jurist from the Order, was the selling right homologation of certain dark and dangerous objects. This was seen from the minute shifts of power during parliamentary debates, with quorums gradually shifting away the favouring the older generation with a bias towards the younger wizard and witches, who Elphias positively knew were under the direct tutelage of the Dark Lord.

Truth be told, she directly benefited from such objects being classified as legal. She glanced at the magical item that sat snug in the palm of her hand, a milky white crystal– translucent, ovoid, and capable of granting a suspended state of weightlessness to whatever it touched. She suspected the Department of Magical Transportation would lose their minds if a new and illicit type of transportation were to appear alongside the standard broomsticks, Floo, Apparition and Portkeys.

In frankness, she hated all of it – the politics, the subterfuge, the schemes. All she was raised for was the vanquishing of a single man. And now–

"We're here, Ariana."

"Huh?"

The young girl was rudely jerked out of her mindscape, causing her head to whip around in confusion and shove the illegal crystal she had been clutching back into the folds of her robes. She quickly observed she wasn't standing where she had been previously, as if abruptly undergone forceful Apparition.

Before she could even begin to process the next thought, an authoritative voice sounded in the air.

"What's going on, young ladies?"

Glancing from side to side, it seemed that while Ariana was lost in thought, her friends took it upon themselves that morning to guide her through the near-empty corridors of the castle to the Hospital Wing. They were now in the process of pushing her inwards through oh-so familiar wooden doors that demarcated the school's medical quarters and were waving her a little goodbye as the doors closed behind her.

The revelation of what just transpired chilled her to the core. This was not maladaptive daydreaming in any shape or form, but rather as if her consciousness and her vessel were intrinsically bifurcated, with two separate entities powering each branch. Ever since she had inhabited this body, she had recognized the more she delved into her mind, the more she wandered away from her body – and this had always unnerved her. Thankfully, she was finally and fully broken out of her current reverie when her mind registered the sight of a tall figure purposely striding towards her.

Madam Pomfrey, no-nonsense as ways, pushed her behind a privacy curtain even though the room was empty and closed it rather firmly behind them, the magical properties interwoven within its linen threads ensuring that eavesdroppers held no authority in such a place.

"What's ailing you?" the matron started in a business-like tone once they both sat down and were facing each other, foregoing even a greeting.

Ariana blinked, finally given the first chance to speak. She mechanically readied herself to spin a half-truth as she would always do in this world of hers but stopped at the last second, as friction in the mind stayed her tongue.

How am I really feeling at this very moment?

Physically, I don't care. But otherwise? I am…

"…fine. I'm completely and absolutely fine," she proclaimed truthfully, a pleasant dimpling of her cheeks from a beaming smile aligning with what her heart was singing.

Poppy Pomfrey did not believe her in the slightest, naturally, and performed some spellwork right off the bat without her consent. The older witch was being understandably draconian with her non-invasive diagnostic testing given the past misadventures of the younger witch, casting a thousand and one polychromatic spells on her composed and still patient.

"Miss Potter, it seems as though you are right," Madam Pomfrey admitted after long five minutes, her face donning an increasingly deepening frown, "But it makes no sense to me, unless you can correct me otherwise. Your body has obviously undergone some form of accelerated aging, but this does not seem like transient spellwork such as body alteration magic at work. Your skin is free from all contusions and past cicatrices... and from my perspective you are completely healthy, but I can sense the presence of something unknown within you."

"Ariana is there anything you can tell me?" the mediwitch questioned. Although the older witch held a professional face and a calm demeanour, the other could tell she was deadly serious.

"Well, I woke up, and I just looked like this," Ariana casually answered with a shrug. Her countenance then shifted to a display of worried thought, "My magic feels different though. Something within me has changed, but I don't really know what," she continued slowly, "Since my magical core is still growing, maybe it manifested by slightly aging me? I read in a book once that moments of great emotional shock could lead to a release of suppressed magic – and remember, I did join the Potter family recently."

Her diction was clinical, her delivery was concise, her argument was highly plausible – a Slytherin, she truly was. But what comforted her the most was that her story was indeed the truth, if only it were riding on the barest of technicalities.

The resident matron sat silent for a few seconds. Abruptly, then waved her wand in a circular motion in the air and chanted one final spell. A pulse of strange, bright light that flickered gold erupted from her end of her wand and collided the chest of her patient with a strange metallic clang.

Both of them were silent and unmoving for a few seconds.

"Err… Madam Pomfrey, what sort of spell was that?" Ariana asked, looking down inquisitively at her body after nothing of significance happened, curious as always about works of sorcery not known to her.

"It was based on magic found nearly two thousand years ago in an abandoned mastaba, originally created by the Memphites," the Mediwitch informed in an educational manner, knowing exactly the type of information the young witch was seeking, "The Old Kingdom of Egypt had a problem with a parasitic affliction that was first observed in deltaic animals, making them become unusually aggressive and hostile to all mammalians specifically. Give or take a century, they saw magical disease migrate over to humans, and thus this spell was created as a measure to detect any traces of this disease."

Madam Pomfrey gave her searching look.

"In summary, I was just checking to see if we had a vampire loose in the castle," she finished evenly.

Ariana's eyebrows raised high in surprise before she released soft chuckles from an answer she was definitely not expecting. She then kept silent and let the matron carry on.

"Although, you're right in one sense. It does indeed look like the maturation of your magic is somehow naturally intertwined with your current appearance. However, I want to see you just one more time next Friday, you never know if this could be a precursor to something else," Madam Pomfrey strictly instructed, to which the young girl nodded vigorously in agreement.

"You have good friends. I hope you know that," the mediwitch continued, switching topics as she stood up to pull back the green curtainwall that gave them privacy.

"I came to realise that a long time ago – they are all quite special in their own way," Ariana remarked with a fond smile, "Take care of them, will you? Especially Pandora, for she is the most wayward of them all."

Poppy paused in her works and gave her a side glance, "Are you thinking of leaving Hogwarts?"

The young witch's eyes widened dramatically, "Leave Hogwarts? My home? Why would I ever want to do that willingly?" she exclaimed with a joyous laugh, "No, no… I was just referring to Pandora's misplaced desire to be a spell creationist after she graduates."

The mediwitch gave a dismissive wave of her hand, "Don't you worry about that. They all eventually grow out of it once they realize how hard it is to get into the Department of Mysteries. To become a spell creationist not only do you need to achieve an 'Outstanding' in all your N.E.W.T.s, but you will also need to–"

"She wants to become a merchant," Ariana interrupted quickly.

Poppy's mouth clicked shut before contemplative frown pulled at her face, "I see what you mean, Miss Potter. This issue will need addressing immediately. Centuries have passed and yet that profession is still one of the most hazardous jobs in the industry."

"Is it even more dangerous than being an Auror? Is it really that bad?"

"Well, merchant spell creationists are usually big game hunters, with a professional proclivity to gamble everything for a very slim chance of success. These risks often involve unhealable injuries, permanent disfigurement, and worse. Civil spell creationists housed within the walls of DOM are often safe and secure due to intensive Ministry funding, but merchants, however, are usually equipped with nothing but a simple dragon-hide mask."

"The dangerous thing about new magic is that it's nearly impossible to deconstruct until we figure out the runic architecture behind its creation. This is in some ways something similar to what happened to yo–… ah," Poppy cut herself off, wisely opting to not stray near topics that were perhaps best not brought up.

She cleared her throat noisily and continued, "Although I have to admit, some spell merchants like Rigel Bloomsburg, who invented many spells including the Bubble-Head Charm and sold them to the Ministry for academic distribution, did became extremely wealthy and famous."

"Money, fame or glory does not matter, Madam Pomfrey," Ariana objected strongly, unwilling to neither make Xenophilius widowed nor his future daughter motherless, "I need your help with this, can you just somehow talk to her and not mention me… please?" she almost begged.

Poppy was somewhat surprised at the passion behind the plea and held out her arms placatingly, "I promise to have a chat with her," she reassured quickly. Her role as matron meant not only looking after the children physically, but also mentally whenever possible. Truly, a staid, dependable, Mediwitch.

An overwhelming sense of gratitude brought the fullness of Ariana's soul to the fore. She often felt as if she didn't deserve such kindness sometimes.

"Every time I come here, something good always happens. The Hospital Wing is truly an amazing place," she marvelled in a low voice to herself.

She then heard the older witch take in a sharp breath as her statement was overhead.

"Miss Potter, please banish all those kinds of thoughts from your mind," Madam Pomfrey said in an unexpected burst of anger, "Promise me you will never say that to yourself, or to anyone else ever again. Miss Potter, I said can you promise me?"

Ariana's mouth fell open in astonishment, shell-shocked at the sudden paroxysm of fury to even comprehend what was going on. She had seen the Mediwitch get annoyed, exasperated, irritated, yes… but angry? Never. The fires of rage and frustration billowing in Madam Pomfrey's eyes then brought in a vital clue, for it seemed as if her ire was not directed towards her but rather towards her own self.

All of a sudden, it clicked.

The Hospital Wing was a place of unquestionable convalescence and salubrious practice. Yet, the room was austere with small, uncomfortable beds environed by rough greying granite. The temperature was always disagreeable due to a lack of a smouldering fireplace and the presence of large, draughty windows. The hospital wear was linen and not woollen, with a tendency to itch in the early morning. The Mediwitch was demanding and strict, with medical tests both tedious and time consuming.

Everything was designed to make you dread the place, with the intent to keep one conscious of their health by making one come back only when absolutely necessary.

Madam Pomfrey then continued quietly.

"Please do not find comfort in places you would come to in hurt."

A single furrow in the matron's brow evinced the complex state of her real feelings: disappointment at herself for becoming attached to a patient, anger at her lack of adherence to medical professionalism, and regret for whatever damage her actions might have caused the young girl.

In a twisted sense, the nurse was correct, for Ariana no longer cared about her physical state, she just wanted to spend time with the older witch.

How cruel. Ariana thought bitterly as the feeling of a knife twisted violently in her heart.

Poppy Pomfrey was the first, but not the last, to show her genuine kindness in this new world of hers with actions that were neither mired by pity nor commiseration.

How very cruel indeed, for the more she loved the older witch, the more she was denied in turn.

She could say a million things about how she truly felt, all the words ready at the tip of her tongue. Scathing, comforting, reassuring, pleading – all branded by confessional marks. But the Slytherin inside her screamed at herself, telling her that saying these things would only further fans the flames, for she remembered that her real self in this timeline was somewhere out there and she was a nothing but temporal transient.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Ariana replied in a subdued tone as she looked downwards, her hands clasped too tightly together to be natural, "I promise to stop thinking like that."

Madam Pomfrey nodded and a strained smile appeared on her face, the short conversation destroying all prior cheer and gaiety. She then reminded the young girl about the one final check scheduled for the following week regarding the magically induced aging before drawing back the hospital curtain in finality.

After all was said and done, Ariana then slipped out of the Hospital Wing after she bade a muted goodbye to the resident Mediwitch.

So distracted was she by the recent developments that she completely forgot the nature of her existence, tied precariously to the sword of time as she wandered aimlessly around the steadily busying corridors like a flag tied to a mast, dependant on the capricious breeze for its direction.

The drifting continued unabatingly until something odd shifted inside of her, causing her feet to move unbidden towards a destination unknown.

With each stride her mind became more clear, more resolute, as if the growing physical distance from her and the Hospital Wing had now become an endless chasm. With stride she felt more in charge, in command of her own mind and soul. But as much as determination drove her on, her physical body felt numb and hollow, as if a marionettist was toying with her vessel as they pleased. No matter how much willpower she tried to summon to deviate from the path, she had to be kept walking.

She soon noticed where her feet were leading her, and wild and untamed anger began to course throughout her body. Her wrath was twofold, for she also realized why she was coming to this particular place. It was someplace she had rejected in the past but was also a place she knew deep down was her only way forward.

A throng of dark figures appeared and cast looming shadows over her, rising up and blocking her path.

"Move," she said simply, and so they did.

There was something equally right and wrong about her being here, as if a guiding hand from beyond was pushing her ever forward, craving her presence as much as she abhorred it.

Finally, after her legs would move no more, she realized that she had reached her destination and had garnered quite an audience. Her next act then elicited hushed whispers and murmured sounds of wonder.

The young girl reached down into the depths of the powers that lay dormant and waiting inside of her, and summoned a sphere of coruscant, scintillating starlight in the palm of her hand – a symbol of everything good or bad that had ever happened to her in this new world of hers.

Arian then looked upward at the largest figure in the gathered crowd, Ophelia the Morning Star, and said just two words.

"Teach me."

And thus, Fate won as they always did, once again.

However, as the higher powers crowed in jubilation, they were but blind to another, an entity whose presence was yet unnoticed under their watchful gaze. For deep within the bowels of the Order's headquarters, Augustus Rookwood had just stirred to life.