Live When There Is Time

April 15^th, 1998:

The day's last class had finally ended for the hungry sixth-year Slytherins. On their way to dinner one of them noticed something interesting.

"Did you see Filch?" Decima Bulstrode stopped abruptly and tugged the sleeve of a passing classmate. "Isn't that Maia's satchel in his filthy paws? Look!"

Mary Warrington, a fair-weather friend of Decima and Maia, took a look and confirmed that there was no mistaking just that dreary shade of grey-brown leather. "Perhaps Filch has Maia locked up somewhere ... that's why she missed Transfiguration and Herbology, perhaps? Sprout was rather nettled about her absence."

Decima found the prospect unlikely but did not say it aloud. Mary did not take well to disagreement. After a brief conference and persuasion on Decima's part the two girls decided to discreetly follow Filch, however suicidal such an idiotic idea might prove to be. Decima was worried about Maia, who had the foolish, deeply ingrained notion that skiving lessons was impolite. Something must be wrong.

Filch trudged on, muttering to himself in the absence of Mrs Norris, who usually enjoyed her nap at this time of day when students were eating and less liable to be up to mischief. "Professor Snape'll take care of t'little bugger... Oh, yes 'e will... Litterin' t'hallways... I don't... (mutter)... care... - have t'money to buy new bags ev'ry week.... (mumble)... need to leave 'em lyin' abou'... (mumble)... t'shackles nice an' shiny, too..."

Although Filch's display of his unique brand of fermenting lunacy was not in itself unusual, it nonetheless disturbed Decima. "Granted, Maia can be absent-minded," she allowed, "but never about her bag. D'you think something's really happened to her? She'd never knowingly risk Filch having a rummage in her things."

Mary nodded in emphatic agreement. "You know those doodles she keeps drawing in all her books! The one about Flitwick is positively obscene. And if Filch sees the one about himself hanging above a..."

"Shush!" Decima hissed. "There's Professor Snape. Now let's find out what's going on." The girls took a deep breath and walked past Filch approaching their Head of House and taking on the mien of flustered, air-headed femininity.

Snape looked over at the two girls with unconcealed mistrust. "Miss Bulstrode. Miss Warrington. In what way can I help you?" The girls hesitated, as if deeply troubled and completely at a loss as to how to proceed. Timing needed to be perfect, now.

Professor Snape, never one to suffer fools and knowing these two not to be ones, was rapidly growing exasperated when Filch lurched there, and with the inexorability of a dripping tap addressed him.

"Professor Snape, sir. Found this bag hangin' from t'stairs in t'second floor. Says 'Maia Brorsson' inside, an' here's sewed a Slytherin crest. Jus' wanted to let ye know this's no way to behave, litterin' t'clean corridors. I say detention for 'er. Good day, sir."

With that Filch dropped the satchel on to the floor and crept away.

"I can see that Filch is still his delightful self," Snape picked the bag, took a closer look at it, and turned to the girls with an inscrutable expression. "Has your business perhaps something to do with this? You are friends of Miss Brorsson, are you not?" It sounded like an accusation.

Decima and Mary knew better than to attempt to outright lie to Professor Snape, which in any case would serve no purpose for the moment. They explained that Maia had disappeared after lunch, had missed classes and was nowhere to be found. They had searched the dormitories and her favourite galleries, and had even asked the paintings about her.

Professor Snape hefted the satchel in his hand, weighing it. "Empty," he mused aloud. He thought for a moment. "I shall wait until the night. If Miss Brorsson is still then missing, something will be done. Now: go to dinner."

Decima had to be satisfied with that. She glanced tiredly after Mary, who hurried off as soon as Snape had finished. This would be up to her alone, it seemed. Maia had never bothered with courtesy if she disliked someone, but she could not comprehend why she was not as popular as her brother Matt Brorsson had been.

In the evening after curfew, Snape came into the Slytherin common room to check on Maia. There he encountered a fretting Decima, who reported that there had been no sign of Maia after dinner. She had seemingly vanished.

A brief interrogation in the House confirmed Decima's words: Maia was nowhere to be found. On his way out Snape saw Decima sitting in a corner, looking pleadingly at him. He granted her a curt nod, and was gone.

First, Snape decided, he needed to investigate the place where Filch had found Miss Brorsson's bag. He was tired. The Dark Lord, and work in the Order gave him enough to worry about; loosing one of his students, someone under his responsibility, was something he did not want to add to his long list of regrets.

The stairs in the second floor were empty in the flickering torchlight. Looking down he could see nothing but the smooth stone floor below; there were no books, no writing utensils - in short, nothing which could have fallen from a student's satchel.

Unbeknownst to Snape, his silent searching had attracted attention. As he carefully examined all four floors, the moving stairs, and corridors in this vicinity, three pairs of eyes followed his movements from the second-floor stairs.

"Has the evil old vulture lost it finally? What is he doing?"

"Shush, Ron!" came an urgent whisper. "This is an Invisibility Cloak; it doesn't prevent him from hearing our voices!"

A third voice joined in, full of barely hidden hilarity. "You two still are at it. We must make that a running joke, like the one about not apparating on Hogwarts' grounds. Seriously, though, Snape's behaving really oddly. Let's follow him; this is far more interesting than a kitchen raid."

"No, Harry!" said the second voice. "I only consented to a visit to the Restricted Section of the library and then to the kitchens to greet Dobby and the House-Elves. I am not following Snape of all people after curfew. We're seventh-years. Act like it!"

"Oh, no! I'm not going to miss this! If the git's finally gone bonkers and poor us with a test scheduled next week... I say, Harry, let's vote! What, two against one?! Oh, my. It looks like you lose, Hermione."

Snape came to the depressing conclusion that there was nothing here save a curious magical residue, and decided to speak with the Headmaster forthwith.

He arrived to the gargoyle, gave the password (Ceylon; the Headmaster had grown bored of sweets and was now going through different blends of tea), and went in; when the gargoyle closed again, a glimmer in the moonlight glided to it, gave the password as well (there were some muffled protests in a girl's voice, though) and proceeded through the opening as well.

"I thought you said Professor Dumbledore could see through Invisibility Cloaks?! This is the most stupid..."

"Shut up, Hermione! We're not going inside his office, are we? I need to know if this concerns Voldem--"

"Don't say it!" Ron Weasley was industriously pulling pieces of string from his pockets. "Here is a pair of Extendable Ears, courtesy of Fred and George. I don't care whether this is about You-Know-Who or not, I just want to know what's going on. See Hermione, we're just here, behind the door. Dumbledore can't see us through it, can he?"

"I wouldn't count on it. Fine! But if we get caught..."

"We won't." Harry reassured her, and begun to whisper the conversation he could hear inside.

"In short, no one has seen Miss Brorsson after lunch, and Mr Filch has found her empty school satchel. Am I correct, Severus?" Despite the late hour Albus Dumbledore could feel the beginnings of a craving for strong sweet tea with fudge. It always helped him concentrate. "I must ask you, is this something to be worried about?"

"Concerning some of my Slytherins your question would not be unnecessary, Albus, but Miss Brorsson is of the less troublesome kind." Snape shifted in his chair, as if too full of nervous energy and now too exhausted to conceal it. "I could tell you all I know of her background, but suffice to say that her father and brother both are Death Eaters. If this were about the Dark Lord, I would frankly be less worried. The disappearance is too random and I can see no reason for it."

"And the protective wards around the school and grounds should have prevented any fatal or dangerous accident." Dumbledore concluded. "She is also too old to be lost in the castle. To be certain, I will have to go through the security information my wards have gathered since lunch. I fear it may take too long if she is in real danger."

Behind the door the trio was giving each other meaningful glances. "Do you have the Map, Harry?" asked Hermione, having now almost completely forgot the risk of getting caught.

"Yes! Just hold this, will you..." After a small amount of shuffling under the Cloak Harry now held the Map while Ron offered the light from his wand.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good. Now, show me sixth-year Slytherin Maia Brorsson!"

A tense silence followed, when the map failed to find anyone of that name. After a while of blinking off and on, it fell totally blank and on it appeared the comments of Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, who were of the opinion that while imaginary girlfriends could sometimes be a good thing, they lacked the possibility to be spied on during shower.

For once, they failed to amuse Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Hermione was the first one to speak. "Consequences or not, we must tell Professor Dumbledore. This is too important to keep to ourselves."

Ron looked grim in the dim light. "I fear you're right. I can't believe I'm going to be in detention for the next hundred years for a Slytherin."

Harry's whole demeanour had gone from excitement to defeat like someone had extinguished a lamp. "I only wanted a safe adventure like in the old times. But yes, we must go in. Ready?" While speaking he had shaken the cloak off the three of them and was folding it almost lovingly.

When someone knocked to the door, Snape went rigid, but managed to detect no sign of surprise on the Headmaster's face. Calmly he asked the late visitor to enter.

"My. Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, and Mr Potter. Good Evening. May I enquire what brings you to my office at this late hour? After curfew, I might add."

The three teenagers crept in further and carefully avoided making eye-contact with Snape, who had sprung up at their entrance and was fuming silently after Dumbledore had given him a warning glance.

Harry walked to the sofa where the Headmaster was sitting. "I'm willing to explain later why we are here. But now... Well... Um... We heard what you were discussing, at least some of it and well..." He pushed the map to Dumbledore's hands. "This shows everyone in Hogwarts, and Miss Brorsson doesn't appear anywhere on it. We thought you'd like to know."

Dumbledore took of his glasses, cleaned them in the sleeve of his robe, put them back on and scrutinised the piece of parchment. "Remarkable. How does it work? With some sort of password, I daresay?"

Harry noticed Snape listening intently, suppressed a sigh worthy of a martyr, and explained all. After a few minutes, it was obvious to Dumbledore and Snape that the missing student indeed was nowhere in Hogwarts or its immediate surroundings.

"Severus. Did you search from the Great Hall to the Transfiguration classroom for magic imprints?"

"Of course!" Snape's expression became businesslike. "I was about to tell you about an interesting observation I had made, when these three barged in. I was surprised myself, and took the readings twice to be sure. Between the third and first floors there has today been cast a spell which I'm unfamiliar with."

Before Dumbledore could ask, he stood up and continued while writing statistics in the air with his wand. "It appears to have been a Light spell; otherwise our detectors would have gone off. The power used is tenfold that of the Killing Curse, which is rather disturbing. It is impossible to deduce from whence it was cast."

Swift wand strokes drew a glowing red spiral in the air, and ghostlike staircases surrounded it. "This is the residue in visible form. As you see there is no 'line' to a point where a wand could have originated the spell; in fact, it resembles juvenile wandless magic, but I'd say the power used is far beyond even your ability, Albus."

Dumbledore was watching the figures in the air with a thoughtful mien. "I won't insult you, Severus, by asking if you are certain, but I must say that we truly live in interesting times. I remember seeing something very similar in an old, old treatise long ago, in my scholarly days..."

He turned to the trio, who, glad to be out of the attention for a while, had retreated to sit on a more secluded sofa. "Miss Granger, you are interested in the ethics of magic, are you not? Minerva was speaking very highly of a paper you had written on the subject."

Hermione flushed with pleasure and nodded.

"Good, good. Did you by any chance come across a tome by the name of The Nature of Magic, a translation of an older, Latin scripture? It is there, in the bookcase. Would you be so kind as to bring it to me?"

"Albus, do we really need these young delinquents here now?"

"If my suspicions prove correct, there is no harm in them remaining here. Ah, thank you, Miss Granger." Dumbledore flipped through the book, while he continued to speak. At the same time, more candles lighted around the room.

"It is too advanced to be taught in our curriculum, but do you, Severus, remember from your apprentice days the Sentient Magic? Good, good. In short, children, it essentially means that magic is sentient on a very crude level. During the millennia the world and all the happenings and beings in it have in a way rubbed on to magic; this is all very complicated and I will not confuse you any more than I have to. However, due to this sentience magic has been known to - very rarely, mind you - work of its own accord."

Snape looked dubious, Harry, Ron and Hermione flabbergasted.

The potions instructor spoke first. "What are you saying, Albus? That magic has somehow, out of a whim, kidnapped Miss Brorsson?"

"No, no. That is not how it works. For some reason magic in its own, semi-comprehending way, fulfils wishes if they are truly heartfelt and it is in its power to do so. Let us think of the data you gathered. Miss Brorsson had left late from lunch according to Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle; she was on her way to Transfiguration Classroom in the third floor. The most obvious route is through these staircases, all moving, which surround the spiral residue. Her satchel was found hanging from the stairs in the second floor. What can we deduce from this?"

Snape went white and said nothing. It was Hermione who voiced what everyone in the room was thinking. "She must have fallen."

"Yes. Yet we have not found evidence of this. I would hazard a guess that Miss Brorsson's thoughts, if she indeed fell, concentrated on hoping it would not have happened. However, that is not possible. Magic cannot undo what has been done. In this book I have a most interesting recording made in the first century BC by Roman wizards; it appears that a successful soothsayer left memoirs in which he claimed to be from the future. Similarly, more or less reliable statements have been recorded; in most of them the 'time-traveller' has in his own age usually disappeared from a most hazardous situation which would likely have resulted in their death. The magic had transferred them to a time when there, so to speak, was space and time for an additional life. I believe that Miss Brorsson may very well be dead, but, I hope, has lived a full life before that."

Despite the calm, almost unfeeling tone of his voice, Dumbledore looked tired and infinitely sad. "That doesn't make the loss of a student any easier to bear, especially when one doesn't know what has become of her."

The Trio were subdued and obediently went directly to Gryffindor Tower when ordered. They were not punished; oddly enough not even Snape demanded that. He merely sat in an armchair and stared into nothingness, trying to bend his mind around the situation; and the fact that the next day he would have to inform Maia's family.