Hello, my fellow Potterheads! How have you been? Sorry that I haven't updated my story sooner - I have just recently come out of the hospital after being run over by a bicycle. Yes, that's right - a bicycle. None of my injuries was majorly seriously, though I do now have an acute fear of bicycles that ride on footpaths. Maybe it's a side-effect from being flattened by a moving bike but I'm not sure if I'll be able to look at one properly ever again ...

Anyway, I hope that you enjoy and don't forget to review because honestly, reviews are better than painkillers. - S.G.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Time and the Black Veil

I automatically went for my wand, only to find that it wasn't in my pocket.

"Looking for something?"

Shit.

I ran, the sound of Rakepick's jeering echo cutting through the obsolescent corridor like a knife as another explosion whistled passed my ear.

"Come out, come out little Cursebreaker. Come out to play …"

Blue orbs crashed from overhead, closing around me in spears of frosted glass.

No, no, no …

I swore, my knees suddenly stiffening as her body-binding curse hit me in the back with a heavy smack.

"There, isn't that better?" It was only when she leaned in did I realise that it was not Patricia Rakepick but somebody else that I recognised from a Daily Prophet Article that I read as a child. Long, thick coils of shiny black hair swept over heavily lidded eyes, contrasting against her alabaster like skin.

"What's wrong? Don't remember me?" Bellatrix Lestrange asked; her thin lips curling sadistically as she raised her wand. "Don't worry – you will soon enough. Crucio!"

I bolted upright, taking a moment to register the common surroundings of my bedroom before I let out a shaky sigh.

"Just a bad dream."

Again, went the unsaid.

Brina meowed.

"Tell me about it," I agreed as I ran a hand over her sleek black fur while attempting to calm my still racing pulse.

This was the sixth time this week that I had woken up in a cold sweat.

"It was odd though," I murmured as the cat padded onto her my lap.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a well-known Death Eater. I remembered Tonks' mentioning her estranged auntie once but I'd never actually seen, let alone fought her before. Then why was she in my dream?

Could it be some kind of vision?

"Don't be dumb – it's just stress," I told myself, shaking my head in an attempt to rid myself of that bone-chilling feeling as the first rays of sunshine shone through my window.

"Well, I suppose I better get up then."

"Merlin, what happened to you? You look bloody awful!" remarked Bill as soon as he saw me that morning.

"Jeez thanks," I drawled, biting back a yawn.

"He's not wrong, you know? I theenk zat I 'ave seen mountains smaller zen ze bags under your eyes," said Fleur earnestly.

"I'm aware," I nodded, running a tired hand through my hair as I sank into a nearby recliner.

"Did you even eat breakfast?"

"I'm not a bottomless vortex for food like you are," I quipped back without missing a beat whilst Fleur put the kettle on to boil.

"Oh come now, you make me sound like I'm some sort of troll!"

I shrugged. "Well, if the shoe fits …"

Bill scoffed, smiling as he chucked me an apple, which I caught.

"Is it because of the … you-know-what?" he asked, lowering his voice considerably.

"Nightmares actually," I replied as Fleur handed me a cup of steaming hot coffee. "Speaking of which, have you talked to Griphook?"

Bill shook his head. "Haven't seen him all week. I think he's avoiding me."

"I don't mind to be 'onest," Fleur said. "I 'ave never liked ze way 'e and those 'oblins look at me with their beady eyes …"

"Well, if you're tired, I can always go take the artefacts to the Ministry instead," offered the Weasley.

"No don't. You have enough work to do here and I have patrol tonight so I'll be there either way."

"All right, if you're sure …"

I opened the front door of my office to a loud bang. Inside, a baby Niffler swung from the brass cord of my new table lamp, causing the light to flicker on and off before eventually succeeding to snap it off. It snorted, looking very pleased with itself.

"I knew it was you," I murmured, folding my arms as it noticed me and scampered away, knocking all manner of things onto the floor including my favourite mug.

"Don't think that I can't see you too, Dodger," I added, spotting the second Niffler balancing on a set of weighing scales, pinned down by a bag of golden galleons that it was attempting to steal.

The first baby made its way to the door as I summoned it, causing a string of shiny objects to erupt from its fluffy pouch. Next, I tossed my apple onto the opposite weighing scale, sending both Nifflers flying into the air upon which I caught and promptly tucked back into their enclosures.

"Honestly, I don't know why you bother unpicking the lock when you have plenty of shiny things already," I griped, repairing the broken ceramics with a flick of my wand before locking the cage again. I checked the box on my desk, relieved that the Nifflers hadn't managed to break through the seal. Well at least this time they hadn't gotten out into the corridor again, I mused to myself, remembering the way all the goblins had acted the last time they got loose.

Though it had been rather funny …

It wasn't long until the Ministry's sleekly grated fireplace swirled into view, my robes billowing in plumes of green smoke as I stepped out with a hefty trolley of boxes in-tow.

"Why if it isn't Madam Cursebreaker! What glorious wonders do you have for us today?" Sage Bragnam spoke chirpily in his thick Scottish accent, his brown eyes crinkling happily as he waved me over.

Relatively short with a fairly large beard of bushy reddish-brown, Sage Bragnam was the Head Curator for the Department of Magical Artefacts, who, much like his close colleague Arthur Weasley, preferred his brightly coloured striped scarf as opposed to the dark long Ministry gowns.

"Oh, you know the usual dark artefacts and whatnot," I replied. "I thought I'd send them over to the Department of Mysteries for safe-keeping."

We had worked together on a multitude of cases because of his prowess in Ancient Runes which one could see as he examined one of the delicately engraved urns with barely contained excitement.

"Fascinating, fascinating," he cooed, "are they Ancient Mycenaean?"

I shrugged. "Well the curses on them are quite similar to those that we found in the Egyptian tombs so it's possible."

"Would you mind if I tag along then? I've been meaning to have a chat with Gareth about a few scrolls that I've been investigating and sending a memo is such a nuisance. Not to mention that it would probably help if you didn't go alone …"

"So you heard about that too, huh?"

Sage nodded, his expression immediately sullying. "Awful thing what happened to Arthur. Fancy being attacked on Ministry grounds of all places!"

He grimaced, trembling slightly at the thought.

"Well, St. Mungo's discharged him yesterday with a clean bill of health."

"Did they? I'm glad. I would've gone to visit him sooner but I'm afraid that I've never been a fan of hospitals … much rather go to a library or perhaps one of the Muggle 'history' museums."

We walked passed the golden fountain, joining one of the many lines that congregated outside the various lifts that scaled the atrium on either side.

"Bethany, I thought that was you I saw." A young witch with ginger hair and a brown leather jacket beamed, poking her head out from behind what seemed to be a cage of Pixies as she struggled to give me a one-armed hug.

"Mathilda, hey!" I smiled. "How have you been?"

"Oh, brilliant!" Mathilda grinned, "There's a new intern starting today so I'm super nervous."

"You'll be fine," replied Sage supportively. "As long as you don't ask them to taste-test any Draughts of Living Death …"

"That only happened once," she murmured, blushing slightly. "Speaking of which, did you hear what happened with Arthur Weasley? People are saying that it was a snake that attacked him. Imagine that! I mean snakes are a lot cooler than Pixies, aren't they? Bite marks! Venom! It's all rather exciting isn't it?"

The pixies rattled the bars of the cage in protest as I raised an eyebrow.

"And serious, of course," she added quickly, "This is my serious face."

Mathilda Grimblehawk was one of those sociable people that possessed great enthusiasm and fondness for magical creatures of all kinds, especially the more dangerous ones.

"Well, wish me luck!" Mathilda said, shouldering her way back out of the elevator with the large bird's cage in-tow before it began to shudder to life again.

Gareth Greengrass was an elderly wizard with a sharp silver beard and gelled back hair. Everything about him seemed proper and assertive as though contemplating something serious before he noticed us.

"Madam Cursebreaker, we've been expecting you," he said, bowing his head curtly as he greeted us outside the elevator. "And Sage I'm assuming you're here about those scrolls I lent you?"

"Would it be okay if we went inside?"

"Why of course," Mr Greengrass smiled, peering through his silver-framed spectacles at the trolley before escorting us down the winding corridor that led towards a single black door. He paused for a moment, taking out a master set of golden keys before placing one in the slot that turned in the lock with a metallic click and smiled. Keys were like badges of honour for a Senior Unspeakable such as Greengrass, each key leading to a different room along the elaborate never-ending labyrinth of corridors that was the Department of Mysteries.

Large tanks of water stood on either side illuminated by low-hanging lamps as we stepped inside, casting the entirety of its murky contents in dark sheens of green. From it, long silver-like tentacles connected to swimming brains seemed to dart in and out of the turquoise light, and, it was only when one lurched at us through the glass did I suddenly realise why they looked so familiar. Chester had brought a smaller tank of a creature just like this down here once.

"Ah, I see that you've noticed our encephala collection," Mr Greengrass noted when he caught the look on my face.

"Is it true that some of these have been popping up in muggle toilets?"

I nodded, distancing myself from the tank as Sage asked ever so tentatively.

"Yes, it was quite the scandal," Greengrass replied, "muggles going to the toilet only to be attacked by swimming brains …"

The Unspeakable grimaced, a severe frown crinkling his expression as he shook his head.

"They truly provide quite the titbit of thought-provoking information to study," he added lightly, "Highly aggressive mind you. One almost strangled the life out of a colleague of mine just last week so I wouldn't recommend touching them but still, a remarkable specimen none the less …"

Again Mr Greengrass strode directly through next door and pushed it open.

This room was larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the centre of it was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet below us. We were standing on the topmost tier of what seemed to be stone benches running around the room and descending in steep steps like an amphitheatre with at its heart, an ancient stone archway upon which a tattered black veil hung, fluttering slightly despite the stifling stillness of the cold surrounding air.

Completely unsupported by the surrounding arena, the stone henge seemed so old that it was a miracle for it to be standing at all.

"What … what is it?" I asked; my footsteps echoing loudly as I approached the archway.

"It goes by many names," said the Senior Unspeakable, shuddering ever so slightly as he regarded the archway from afar. "Some call it the gateway to limbo; others, the Death Chamber …"

He didn't elaborate, leaving it at that as I gazed back at the dais.

It looked much taller from where I stood now, its veil still swaying in translucent water-like ripples as though somebody had just passed through it.

Subconsciously gripping the hilt of my wand I slowly edged around it, half-expecting there to be someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway, but there was nobody there.

"You said the Time Room is just up ahead, right?" asked Sage from halfway up the stone steps. He sounded scared, much more scared than he had in the room where the brains swam, but to me, the archway had a kind of beauty about it, old as it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued me, urging me to come closer.

"Wait, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Those voices," I frowned, "It's almost as if there are people in there …"

"Voices?" Sage blinked, "what voices?"

"Oh my God, I'm right aren't I? There are people in there," I repeated, moving closer as the murmuring grew louder and I seemed to be the only person who could hear it.

"What do you mean, 'in there'?" frowned Gareth, jumping down from the bottom step and sounding much more anxious than the occasion warranted him to be.

Was it because of my abilities as a Legilimens? I had heard of doors having a consciousness but this was more than that. The whispering only seemed to increase in strings of incoherent slurs, forming words, no names …

Could it be … Jacob?

I reached out to touch the curtain only to be pulled back by the wizard.

"The Archive Room is up ahead," said Mr Greengrass, his face considerably pale as he tugged on the sleeve of my robes.

"Right," I nodded, still somewhat mesmerised by its continuous swaying before I took several paces back from the dais before I eventually wrenched my eyes from the veil.

"Let's go."

"Not that way, that door can't be opened," instructed the Unspeakable. "It's the only one in the entire department that must remain closed at all times – can't even be unlocked by Alohomora or any sort of magical artefact …"

"Why all the security measures?" I asked curiously.

"That, my dear, would be because behind those doors lies the most mysterious subject that we study here at the Department of Mysteries," said Mr Greengrass rather enigmatically. "The single most powerful force ever to exist in the universe, known as Love. Baffling, isn't it? Out of all the magical forces known to wizard-kind, love is probably the most remarkable and allusive of them all. Take its magical protection – self-sacrificing live creates the only magic strong enough to repel the Killing Curse of all things. We have a large fountain of Amortentia that we're currently in an attempt to better understand such powers but one can imagine the temptation of course, which is why we keep the room under lock and key …"

The wall slid back to a halt as he took us through a different room, which I recognised at once by the beautiful, dancing sparkling light. As my eyes became more accustomed to the brilliant glare I saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room where a man was currently studying.

Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draft, its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg.

"Is that you Croaker? Merlin's beard! Didn't I tell you that you should take some time off to see Broderick?"

"No point of visiting him is there? Given the state he's in," replied the man 'Croaker' with a solemn grunt.

"And how is Mr Bode fairing these days?" Sage asked tentatively.

"Well, the bloke still reckons he's a ruddy teapot so who knows?" Croaker scowled, his expression darkening as he spoke.

"Oh, dear …" Gareth frowned, shaking his head before introducing us after a moment of awkward silence. "I don't think you've met yet, have you … Bethany, meet Professor Saul Croaker."

I smiled, "It's so good to finally meet you in person, Professor Croaker. I loved reading your recent paper on time-relativity …"

"Please call me Saul," said the wizard shaking my outstretched hand. "So you enjoyed it did you? Wouldn't have expected many of the younger generation to appreciate something like that …"

"Of course! My favourite part is where you explained the technicalities of time travel," I nodded, reciting the paragraph: "Just as the human mind cannot comprehend time, so it cannot comprehend the damage that will ensue if we presume to tamper with its laws."

He blinked, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I like this one. Tell me, Miss Bethany, why haven't you become an Unspeakable?"

"I did consider it once," I admitted, "but curse-breaking just came so naturally to me …"

"Ah, so you're the one that they call the legendary 'Madam Cursebreaker' then," he hummed mildly. "Still, from what I hear you would make a rather fine Unspeakable."

"She would indeed, wouldn't she?" agreed Greengrass. "But alas our could-be protégée has declined my various offers …"

I blushed, turning my attention back to unpacking some of the various time-related cursed artefacts at hand before bidding farewell to Professor Croaker and his time ageing hummingbird.

Next, we moved to the Hall of Prophecies, a long, cold chamber with high ceilings and towering shelves lit with blue-flamed candles. The words of prophecies – as well as the ghost-like images of the Seers who foresaw them – were, when possible, stored by the Ministry within spun-glass spheres known as Prophecy Records. I had learnt enough about Divination to know that these prophecies were protected by a powerful curse and heard stories of people going crazy by simply coming into contact with one of its orbs. Although prophecies could hold great importance, such predictions were usually rendered useless by the cryptic language in which they took, leading to a wide array of misinterpretation as well as its rippling effect of consequential damage.

Gazing at the never-ending rows of glowing shelves brought me back to my days at Hogwarts when Trelawney had made a particularly ominous prophecy during our first Tessomancy lesson soon after I had discovered a new 'Statue Curse' that had been unleashed as a result of the final Cursed Vault. Even now I could still remember her exact words whilst she gazed into the murky water of my teacup, talking about endings – final endings and the ultimate price to pay. Many witches and wizards who believed themselves as the subject of such prophecies would go to great pains to either ensure or avoid it, and I was no different. I did everything in my power to decode the prophecy, even turning to the Centaurs of the Forbidden Forest for help but to no avail.

"Well, that's Divination for you," I muttered gloomily to myself as I averted my gaze back to the trolley at hand. For me, prophecies had brought nothing but heartache and pain. So what prophecy could Voldemort possibly want badly enough to go as far as to break into the Department of Mysteries for? Could it be used in the way Dumbledore had described – a weapon that he hadn't had before?

We continued walking, our reflections glinting in the orbs of swirling fog that surrounded us on either side.

So the orbs were from the Hall of Prophecies, I mused to myself, huddled underneath the protection of my invisibility cloak until the early hours of the morning. I yawned, my neck and shoulder muscles aching from the awkward position in which I was sitting. Things had been surprisingly quiet, no doubt because of the security that had been added ever since Mr Weasley's attack.

It couldn't be a sign, could it? I'd once had similar invading visions about my brother before, but never about anything else. True they weren't combusting in bursts of ice but seeing the same glowing orbs from my dream couldn't possibly be a coincidence … right?

I shook my head, an unexplainable sense of dread rising in my throat as I thought about it.

Meanwhile across town …

"Gilderoy, you naughty boy, just where do you think you're wandering off to at this time of night?"

A motherly looking Healer still wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling down the corridor of St Mungo's Hospital, pursing her lips disapprovingly at a man as she poked her head out of a nearby door. He had wavy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a broad yet vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.

"We're doing autographs!" grinned Gilderoy Lockhart with a glittering smile, pointing to one of the portraits. "Loads of them, won't take no for an answer!"

"Well, that's nice dear but it's time for you to go to bed …"

"But what about the fans?"

"For the last time I'm not one of your ruddy fans!" snapped the portrait.

"Oh, Gilderoy, you're such a sweetie," replied the Healer, taking Lockhart's arm and beaming fondly at him as though he were a precocious toddler. "I wonder how on earth you managed to slip out …"

The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey ward and muttered "Alohomora."

The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a firm grasp on Gilderoy's arm until she had settled him back into bed.

"Now you just rest there, I still need to give Broderick his supper …"

"Oh my!" the Healer gasped, the tray of soup and warm bread in which she had been levitating crashing to the ground as she hurried to free the man but it was too late.

Broderick Bode lay cold in his bed, strangled to death by a pot plant.

Well, that ended rather quickly. This chapter was a bit more all over the place in comparison to the others but I wanted to have a chance to explore the intricacies of the Department of Mysteries and I couldn't resist adding a bit of Gilderoy Lockhart in because why not? (I think I prefer this version of him anyway)

Once again, don't forget to favourite, follow and comment!

Yours truly,

Sword Gold