Parallel

2. Herbologists and Gobstones

For an impossible moment, Eve felt like she was floating.

It was unlike anything she'd ever felt. Not like flying on a broom, no—there wasn't anything solid supporting her body weight, but it was a completely different feeling from when she'd fallen into the Pensieve. She wasn't falling down towards what felt to be a destination—she was simply just floating in place.

She couldn't feel her limbs; she felt noncorporeal. A wave of light cascaded over her, and she squinted as brightness encompassed her vision, surrounding her and enveloping her in a cocoon of light, as though she was somehow being rebirthed from limbo. It felt like she'd closed her eyes—she couldn't necessarily see anything, but she could see the refulgence, like she was viewing a brilliant light source from behind closed eyelids. She had the urge to squeeze her eyes shut tightly.

All of this happened within the span of a second—it was like time slowed down around her, transformed into tangible radiance.

Then—

An explosion of colors materialized before her eyes, and she met solidness again.

Her vision was swirling, as though she had dropped into the eye of a hurricane. Everything quickly faded out, the colors disappearing as quickly as they came, victim to the onslaught of dizziness that suddenly washed over her. Her vision went black for a few moments, and she stared at a fixed spot somewhere to her right, eyes blinking in quick succession to work off the attack.

Her head was spinning, yet she was suddenly devoid of any thoughts. Vision still blind, her sense of kinesthesis kicked in with full force. She categorized her position—she was still in the same one she'd been in just seconds before, kneeling on the floor. She felt solidness beneath her knees and hands—the stone beneath her palms was cool to touch. Her hands were still stretched forward, grabbing for—grabbing for the Time-Turner sand.

SnapeanticipationnervousnessknockingsurprisefumblingTimeTurnerslippingfallingcrashingshatteringglassandsandflashoflight—it all came back in a rush. Immediately, Eve launched forward on instinct and muscle memory, her blood pounding in her ears as her hands swept across the floor, fingernails scraping against the stone, grasping desperately for the . . . sand?

She stared down at the stone, vision having now cleared and mind now reeling.

There was no sand on the floor. It was a perfectly clean slate of beige and tan stone slabs, slightly gleaming from what must have been recent polishing work.

Eve slowly fell back, seeing but unseeing, her palms clutching at phantom granules. Her brain was running backwards, trying to make sense of the illogicality she was experiencing. Was she going crazy? Was this a side effect of staying inside of a memory for too long? Was this her vision playing tricks on her?

No—her eyes were fully adjusted now, and she could see perfectly that she was still in Dumbledore's office. The pattern of the stone was still the same; she looked to her right: the two latticed windows shined brightly, sunlight streaming through and hitting the red rug by the wall. The small clock on the windowsill ticked on.

Eve looked back down, staring at the floor in front of her, vision sweeping the vicinity as a mix of panicked confusion and trepidation rapidly rose within her chest. Nothing. Not one single granule of sand or shard of glass in sight. Everything was the same except for the Time-Turner—it was as if it had never been there in the first place, all evidence of its existence destroyed. Like every single event that had happened in the past minute had been a figment of her imagination.

She hadn't realized that her head had begun to pound hard; she brought a hand up to her temple, mind jumbled in an array of bewilderment and panic. She hadn't imagined the Time-Turner's shattering—she hadn't! She'd felt it, felt the hourglass slip through her fingers, saw its burst of demise. She'd even cut her finger on a piece of glass.