Chapter 1

A/N: This piece is very old (and very unfinished). I have rewritten it to make it much better (and I'll get some better spacing: This is horrible, and I apologize for anyone who decided to put up with reading this. Spoiler alert: It has potential, but the rewrite is far better, and far longer). It's called "Time Lost-Revamp" and I'll be posting many chapters of it very soon. If you're interested, just head over to my profile and look it up. And again, sorry this piece is so horrible. I was 14 then. Who knew 6 years of learning could be so good for my writing?

A great evil passed away over the summer, which I spent hiding in the office of Professor Snape, who is darker this year than in all of his previous years. At least he is no longer evil, like last year. It started after Halloween, really. He gave us a record amount of homework and gradually went into a depression. Strangely, Halloween was when the Dark Lord took my greatest enemy, my enemy s wife, and when the Dark Lord passed away himself. Put your journal away, Miss Sage, Professor McGonagall called to me. I did so obediently and took out the notes I had now written twenty times.
I am a very smart person, so I am not being held back, in sense. Somehow, during my second year at Hogwarts, I was placed into a time loop. Everything changes around me, but I never grow older. The only thing that changes is my name, which is Sage Margaret. My real name is Margaret Lindsay, and I have been twelve so long that I am becoming an uncaring person. I have extremely advanced powers, and I now have perfect averages in each of my classes, including potions, where I learned a Perfection Spell. He has not caught onto me yet, but my visions tell me otherwise.
I am a witch of the wizardry world, yet I have psychic ability, fire power, levitation, energy powers, and telekinetic abilities. No one knows about them because I stay out of any social groups. I live in Professor Snape s private loft instead of the Slytherin common room. I have not been found, but I think that I can be heard when I practice my powers just outside the upper windows of Snape s potion lair. No one likes him, but I feel that he is making it that way, not us just not trying.
This was very apparent after the Christmas holidays. The fifth years were dying, yet I had two more reports than they did. I did not know why, other than he was angry. He was also practicing his powers at night, often making potions with loud explosions, which scared me out of my work and to the railing of the loft, looking down to the master as he worked. He never noticed, so I would often take notes on the ingredients, order, brewing notes, and other parts that were often very complicated.
The most complicated part was when I would try to make them. I would often slip through the pages, trying to see if at least one worked. I smiled as, on my birthday, I saw almost an exact match. Snape did not notice as I began brewing one of his most explosive potions.
Surprisingly, I got it right. During the input of the final ingredient, an explosion, just as planned, shook the room. I then did a Perfect Potion spell on the brew, changing it to the assignment in the few seconds that it took Snape to get there.
What did you do? he questioned darkly, a gleam of knowledge in his eye. He tested the potion on my prehistoric rat, which changed into a smaller rat, just as planned. He gave me and nod and sneer. See me after class, Miss Sage. You have failed this assignment. I saw in anger as he restored my rat and sat it on his desk. He watched me carefully as I cleaned up my area. I kept my words to myself as the bell rang. I sat in an empty seat in front of his desk. He waited until we were the only ones before handing me my rat.
Your potion was finished far too early, confirming what I think was a Perfection Spell. You are advanced, despite your heritage. I want you to come tonight and make this potion again. No show means no assignment meaning a zero, which will kill your perfect average, he said in his low voice as he cleaned up the room.
Thank you, Sir, I whispered. He nodded and allowed me to leave to go to lunch, which I ate in his loft every day. I have another power, a lot like apparition, which allows me to go from place to place simultaneously with a deep thought of the place. Luckily, sleep and time travel does not count, or I would be in so much trouble. I breathe this school, and I know every chamber to the names of the people whose portraits hang there or ghost trails. The only exception is the dungeon. Only potion students and Slytherins, like myself, walk this small area, yet I call it Demonic Corridor, which is also the name to the down traffic leading from the Divination room. This corridor is my home, and the pictures, the only ones who notice, have many relations with me, particularly a 16th century woman named Margaret.
Margaret was the first female Quidditch player. She always calls to me after my visit to homeroom, which is always Professor Snape. She knows something that I do not, but she knows everything that happens within a hundred meters of her picture.
This year, she would always ask me if the Boy-Who-Lived was still alive. She knew that I did not care, but she thought that she would at least try. I understood her want, but I also hoped that someone who mattered would notice, like Professor Snape.
After our first remedial session together, we both decided that I should come on Tuesdays and Thursdays to practice getting the spells right, but I got more than I bargained for.
On our third night, a man began talking with him. By the end of the conversation, the man was speaking very loud.
Thank you, Severus, he smiled as I looked up to Snape in awe.
When was your second year here? I asked. He did not understand as I pulled out my purple amulet. You gave this to me during your second year. That is impossible, he whispered.
My real name is Margaret. That Christmas, I woke you up with my singing. You gave me this amulet and I gave you a journal. You were always trying to find pieces of parchment, so I gave it to you, but you lost it during your third year. I am a day younger than you and I have been stuck in my second year since then! I exclaimed. I was now breathing heavily.
That is impossible, he repeated, which enraged me. Rage was the trigger for my fire power, so two medium-sized fire balls appeared in my hands. Snape lurched backwards, almost falling. I used my telekinesis to put the fire where it belonged before looking up to Snape.
No average second-year can do that. Even Dumbledore or you cannot do that. Help me, or I refuse to take my classes another year.