kept up around her mind remained strongly shut as she scanned the board. She took a sip of the ginger tea, the scent of which helped clear her mind, and saw an opening as she put the cup down.

"Bishop to F5," she says, watching as the said piece moves to its new place and destroys the pawn previously standing there. She smirks, glancing up, "Check."

Dumbledore hums, bright blue eyes thoughtful, "Knight to F5."

The smirk dropped from Margaret's face as the white knight she had miscalculated the range of moved to the square her bishop stood in. The piece took no mercy in destroying the black marble bishop before sweeping it off the chequered board.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Hasty decisions, Margaret."

"Aye, aye," she mumbles, agreeing to her fault. "Rook to E2."

Margaret did not expect to be spending her first weekend after returning to Hogwarts playing Wizard's Chess with Dumbledore.

The Headmaster had requested her presence after classes were over and she was under the impression that he may want to speak about the mass breakout from Azkaban that happened on their first night back.

Although that was not the case.

Dumbledore had taken out the chess set and told her that no one was willing to play with him. She agreed, despite being slightly puzzled, and the Headmaster had a house-elf bring them tea.

So there she was, playing a prolonged game since the past twenty-five minutes while drinking her second cup of ginger tea.

As one would expect, Dumbledore was excellent at Wizard's Chess. He took his time to think his moves through and they were somehow always unpredictable. The extraordinary part was that both Dumbledore and Margaret were strong Occlumens as well as terrific at keeping a poker face, which meant neither could read the other's mind nor face during the entirety of the game.

"Chess is a game which can have very practical uses as well," says Dumbledore, stroking the end of his silver beard. "Your one move affects the fate of those around you more than you believe... Ah – Pawn to H4."

Margaret saw an opening as soon as Dumbledore made the move but she paused, recalling his words.

Her eyes flickered over all the pieces, carefully calculating their range. Soon enough, she realised that she was stuck. No matter what she moved, she would lose one of her pieces.

Dumbledore saw the realisation dawn on her features as she leaned back in her chair. He smiled slightly.

"Sometimes, as much as we do not wish to, we must make a choice," begins the clever Headmaster. "We must choose those most important to the game and forgo those that are least likely to bring victory..."

Margaret's eyes fixated on Dumbledore with an unblinking gaze, reading in between the lines as usual.

No matter how much she tries, it was impossible to save each piece.

"People aren't pawns, sir," she says boldly.

Pawns – the least useful pieces in the game of chess. Yet, as a matter of fact, still capable of Checkmate.

"Nor is the life a game of chess," says Dumbledore with a tone of understanding. "In a war, there are those who are lost; there is no victory without a cost."

A bitter taste filled her mouth as she lowered her eyes to the board again.

Her last pawn, which seemed to have been listening to the conversation, moved shakily to F5, in direct line of the opponent white-marble Bishop. It stood bravely as the Bishop advanced and swung its sword to break the pawn down the middle.

Losses... Sacrifices... In the end, the game must go on.

"King to G1," she says bracingly.

The game went on for ten more minutes, by which time both the players had finished their second cups of tea. Dumbledore declared Checkmate rather proudly but Margaret had expected as much.

"Sir, I was meaning to tell you that I finished reading that book on Patronus," Margaret says, as they move over to the balcony to watch the gorgeous January sunset.

"Did you learn anything new?"

"Well, there's a lot of information in French about Patronus and how it came to be," she says, recalling that her favourite story was that of Merlin's. "There are also a lot of tales from the time of Merlin... Was he not fond of birds?"

Dumbledore chuckles, "Merlin was an extraordinary wizard. He was quite known for his sense of humour and mockery as well. The quarrels between Merlin and King Arthur have been an important part of our legends. Of course, a lot of stories were told verbally for centuries before they were written, therefore there is no way for us to tell how much of it is true. We can always ask his portrait in the Slytherin common room, although he is least known for his straightforwardness."

Margaret chuckled, finding it slightly ironic as nor was Dumbledore known for being straightforward. As she looked out to the familiar Scotland peaks, her mind wandered to the conversation she had with Sirius on New Year's Eve.

"Sir, I was wondering if you could tell me more about my family," she says quietly, unsure if there was ever an appropriate time to talk about such topics. "You said when I first met you, that you were surprised to find out about the... travels? Of my ancestors?"

"I did say that, yes. Your ancestors were quite well known amongst the global wizarding world," Dumbledore tells her. "What is in my knowledge is that they always searched for the most pure – whether it be wizarding families, ancient magical artefacts, spells or places. They were most known for recording the names and family trees of pureblood families around the world. They came up with simple yet extraordinary magic that recorded each new member of the family on its decorated tree, some on tapestries whilst others in books or in family tombs."

"Toujours Pur..." she mumbles under her breath. "Were they pureblood?"

"I would believe so."

"And..." she hesitates, wondering if she truly wanted to know, "and did they... like Muggles?"

Dumbledore analysed the late afternoon sky in thought for a long moment. Then he smiled sort of grimly.

"Times during which your ancestors were known to have existed were not times Muggles and Wizards got along very well, Margaret... Fear of each other was constant among both kinds."

Margaret knew what the Headmaster was trying to say and she nodded in understanding, slightly disappointed. Even though she had a feeling that she would receive such an answer, she was not exactly proud to have bigoted ancestors. She had had enough of messed up families but knowing her luck...

"However," Dumbledore presses suddenly, eyes glinting, "there was one notable wizard in your family who stood for equality and Muggle and Muggleborn protection."

"Really?" she perks up hopefully. "Who was it, sir?"

At the very moment, a poufy barn owl fluttered over their heads and landed haphazardly on one of the spindle tables behind them.

The tiny silver instruments clattered to the ground, but Dumbledore did not seem to mind as he swept towards the owl and untied the letter from its foot.

Margaret watched, a bit annoyed at being interrupted. The Headmaster scanned the text, stroking the owl with a finger. A beat of silence passed. Then, Dumbledore's cerulean eyes glanced at her over the letter.

Time itself seemed to seize for a moment. His gaze seemed to hold meaning that Margaret could not dissect.

It ticked back on as he folded the letter again, sending the owl on its way. She released a breath she didn't realise she was holding.

"Professor?" Margaret says unsurely, momentarily forgetting about their previous conversation. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything is quite well." Then holding up the rolled parchment, he continues, "It seems that Mr Broderick Bode has been targeted once more."

She averted her eyes to other parts of the office. "Is he... Is he alive?"

"Yes. Yes, he is alive. The one who broke into his ward does not seem to have the intention to kill or else he would have chosen night-time, not mid-afternoon... Although that is not what intrigues me the most," Dumbledore admits, causing Margaret to look back at him.

"What is it, sir? If you don't mind me asking..."

"It seems, by some miracle, it was Alice Longbottom who alerted the Healers of the intruder this afternoon. She seemed to know he was a stranger and caused quite a ruckus until he ran. Shame, truly, that he got away," Dumbledore tells her calmly. "You have met Alice, I presume?"

"Yes," she says, her voice cracking. She tries to keep her face void of any emotions. "I was invited by Neville to meet his parents on Christmas Day... Is she all right?"

"Alice Longbottom is more than all right," Dumbledore says, chuckling.

Margaret had not yet told anyone about what had happened with Alice and Frank and her accidental magic, even if it was eating her alive. It would only unsettle them, and she did not want that.

She looked up at Dumbledore, who seemed to know she had more to say but busied himself by taking out his wand and rearranging the fallen instruments back on the table. He would not ask her, not if she did not wish to share.

However, she had invaded the Longbottoms' privacy. A certain heaviness weighed on her heart, making her feel as though she was betraying Neville the more she kept quiet about this.

"I have to confess something," she says quickly before she could change her mind.

Dumbledore only hummed in question and inclined his head to show that he was listening.

So she told him what had happened with the Longbottom's, about what she had seen and how she had felt especially with Alice. Frank had scared her but she was more shocked that he responded to Neville's name rather than his own.

"I might've accidentally shown them... Neville..."

Her hands gripped the railing behind her so tight that her knuckles were turning white.

"Did it cause either of you any pain?" asks Dumbledore calmly.

"No, um... Well, phantom pain, I'd say. Both of them seem to be stuck in some sort of a loop of emotions and memories of their last coherent thoughts... It's like they are prisoners in their own heads," Margaret explains nervously. "Also, I didn't enter their mind – I don't need to. I'm a telepath, or at least what I think it's called. Of course, I felt like they were my own feelings... But it was the thought of Neville that... that seemed to break them out of their prison momentarily. Like they were reaching out towards his name, his memory..."

The cleverHeadmaster did not say anything for a moment, scanning the young girl in front of him. The letter in his hand felt heavy. It had the words he had long given up hope on ever reading; but here they were, noted and true.

And Dumbledore was not entirely surprised to find out that it was Margaret who was the reason behind it.

"Send Mister Longbottom here, I would like to have a word with him," Dumbledore says smilingly.

"You're not... upset that I lost control?" she admits guilty, rubbing her arms.

"Mind and matter are often out of our control," says Dumbledore. "I do believe Alice and Frank Longbottom were, in their own way, aware of your magic. A magical link powerful enough to show memories despite any coherent thoughts being present has to be accepted mutually. You did not internally harm them nor did they hurt you. Hence, you should not feel guilty about it."

Margaret nodded as Dumbledore strolled back to his desk, indicating that the conversation was over. She walked up to the door, her mind reeling with the thoughts of Broderick Bode and the Longbottom's.

She paused, turning around swiftly.

"Sir... do you think it's still okay to feel... accountable... for something that hasn't happened yet?"

"I would think you a fool if you did not," Dumbledore says simply, now sitting on the high-backed chair behind his desk. "I do not claim to be an expert on the multitude branches of time-travel, although I do tend to believe that order and discipline lie in each aspect. The order is the chronological events and discipline is letting them be. However, time is not what you would picture as a surface of still water. Time is constant, it flows, like a river. If you throw a stone, there would be ripples, yet since the water is in motion, it will absorb those ripples and its due course will not change."

"But there will be consequences," Margaret states.

"Certainly," Dumbledore nods. "If all is done after scrupulous contemplation, however, and by not moving those pieces that do not need to be moved, I do not believe time to be unchangeable."

"Aren't there any rules with... death?" she questions a moment later with a hint of hesitation. "Won't it take the lives or the equivalent amount of lives if... if those lives are saved?"

Dumbledore did not reply immediately, the reflection of orange and yellow shadowing the ancient office in an eternal glow.

"Muggles have come up with a phrase for that, I believe – ah – cheating death," he says, humming in thought. "I do not believe in such things as cheating death even when there is time-travel involved. Timely, untimely, it is all part of the flow." Dumbledore gives her a good-natured smile as he continues, "You are here for and due to a reason, Margaret, a reason quite extraordinary. And as I see it, you are quite on your way to fulfil your destiny."

to stop your mind from over-thinking.

After Margaret had told Neville at dinner that Dumbledore wanted to see him, Margaret was lost in her own thoughts.

She had been replaying every single sentence Dumbledore had spoken over and over in her head, overanalysing each word. She now understood that Broderick Bode was the pawn Dumbledore was referring to. Whilst she thought that her duty lied with even those who were not a part of the Order, but she was not very sure if Dumbledore thought the same.

So I'm just supposed to let innocent people get strangled to death in their hospital beds? Her subconscious countered.

In all honesty, she had not even done anything. It was Neville who had recognised the Devil's Snare and it was Harry, Ron and Hermione who had killed it. Sure, she gave it a tiny nudge to provoke its destructive nature; but she had not initiated the mission to save Bode.

In fact, she did not even remember about his death.

Her actions affected those around her more than she believed.

If Margaret had not been visiting Alice and Frank, things would have gone quite normally with Neville rushing out of the ward and... Bode dying.

It felt sinister to even think about it and she did not even know the man.

Margaret was so distracted, sat idly on the couch in the common room later that night that she did not notice when Fred and George took seats on either side of her. They simply stared at the sides of her face until she snapped out of it.

"Oh, hi!" she exclaims, trying to pretend that she was not zoned out.

"Greetings!" says Fred, grinning. "Welcome to planet Earth. I'm Gred-"

"And I'm Forge-"

"And we're pleased to meet you!"

"Oh I'm sorry..." she mumbles, ducking her head so that they would not notice her reddened cheeks.

"Neville?" Hermione speaks up from the armchair she was sitting on with Crookshanks on her lap. "Are you feeling all right?"

Neville had just entered the common room and he seemed to have seen something traumatising. His eyes were wide, his mouth was opened in shock and his face was white as a sheet.

"D'you need to throw up again, mate?" Ron asks from one of the tables. Beside him, George transfigured a bucket.

When Neville had heard of Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who tortured his parents into insanity, breaking out of Azkaban, he had nearly fainted and then emptied the contents of his stomach while Seamus and Dean were assisting his to the Hospital Wing.

"Er, no, um, I'm fine- I'm fine," Neville stammers, stumbling up to the couches.

"What's wrong then, Neville?" Harry asks, concerned. Neville mutters something illegible in reply. "What?"

"I'm... I'm going to St M- Mungo's tomorrow," he mutters a bit louder.

"Why? Are your parents all right?" Margaret asks before she could stop herself.

Neville looked up at her, looking as though he was processing the question before a smile breaks on his face.

"Mum's said my name..."

A beat passed. Then everyone smiled, congratulating him.

"Neville, that's amazing!" Hermione smiles earnestly as Ron pats his friend on the back. Harry nodded, looking pleased yet slightly perplexed. He looked to Margaret, who seemed to have frozen in her place.

"Thanks, erm... I- I appreciate it... I better go get some sleep. Dumbledore says it'll be good if I leave early tomorrow and, um, come back before Umbridge's lecture."

"Congratulations, mate," Harry says as Neville got up and left.

"Well, that's some good news, innit?" Ron says cheerfully. "Margaret, can you pass me the- Margaret? Is she all right?"

Fred's eyes widened. He put a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder and shook her out of her stupor. Please don't let it be another vision.

"Hey, Margie, it's all right," he says softly, shaking her again. This time, she blinked rapidly, springing up to her feet.

"I'm going to bed," she states, teleporting to her room without a proper explanation, leaving behind her perplexed friends and a very worried Fred.

Margaret had a strong feeling that this was her doing. And she did not know whether she felt happy about it or wanted to burst into tears.

Neville would not lie about something like that. But then why did Dumbledore not tell her about it? This was never supposed to happen; she did not even know whether Alice and Frank ever recovered.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the strands. She had no idea what was the right thing to do...

She should get changed and go to bed. Sleeping would relax her, wouldn't it?

But at the speed her mind was racing, she was not sure whether sleep would come at all tonight.

If I could only see it for myself, a voice whispered in her mind. Just take a glimpse...

Margaret had come to care for Neville, there was no denying that. She did not want to hurt him or his family.

Just a glimpse...

If she over-thought this, she would never arrive at a conclusion.

Just a glimpse.

Glancing at the wall-clock above her desk, she saw that it was half-past eight. As the minute hand neared quarter to nine, Margaret dressed in all black: black oversized hoodie, black joggers and black shoes. Lastly, she tied her hair in a bun and put on a pair of black-rimmed glasses which she had enchanted to hide her glowing eyes.

Holy hell, was she really doing this?

Mrs Weasley had mentioned that the bedtime for patients of St Mungo's was 9 PM each night, half an hour after the visiting hours ended. Margaret hoped that since the Healers would be busy putting the patients to sleep, no one would notice her teleport.

This was mental. She was mental.

Thankfully, the corridor outside the Janus Thickey ward was entirely empty.

Now or never.