"We age not by years, but by stories"
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It was dark. Dark like the void, soulless sky at night when the moon decides to rest and the stars fail to shine. It was a darkness that could only lead to something far more terrifying; far more real.
The sea of dark began to part in the distance, slowly at first, but picking up pace as the blinding white light grew from afar. It grew until a long, grey hallway with millions of doors materialized from the nothingness. There were no windows here, only doors for miles.
Each door bared an almost identical resemblance to the next; the only differentiation being the numbers and letters that were hung near eye-level. Every door read a specific year, beginning with One b.c. and continuing on into infinity.
Color suddenly began to cascade slowly down the walls from the ceiling, almost like that of ink drops falling in water. Dull greens filled the walls, dark browns inhabited the doors, off-whites fell to the marble floors, and dark blacks, the shade of the darkest coal, permeated the everlasting distance. All at once Catherine began to feel her body emerge from ashes; she was dressed in a white cotton gown and was barefoot with her hair pinned up in an elegantly messy design.
The girl found herself suddenly in motion, her dress swinging against her legs as she glided. She had no control over her actions; she could only watch as her body pushed itself down the hall, nothing but the numbers changing. As soon as she reached the door marked 1676, a slight twinkle in the distance began to flicker.
As if a switch flipped on, she found herself finally gaining control of her being, so she stopped and squinted, but did not see anything other than the twinkle. Determined to discover what it was that made that signal, she began to pick up her pace, finding herself jogging then sprinting to the light.
She ran and ran, the light growing brighter with each step until she found herself standing in front of a door. From this view, nothing was sparkling any longer. In fact, the door resembled the next, just as all before it had. She read the date: 1997.
Something drew her here. She didn't know what, but she felt compelled by something to open this door. So with one final, shaky breathe, Catherine fingered the knob of the door and slowly pushed it open.
Scenes began playing in front of her, flashing so fast that if she'd have blinked, she would've missed it. But she could not blink, she could not look away. And with one final image playing across doorway, she screamed.
"Eight people reported missing since Monday: three of them Wizards, five of them Muggles," Remus read the Daily Prophet report aloud, looking up at his four friends. They sat in the Great Hall eating breakfast, Sirius, Catherine, and Peter on one side, James next to Remus on the other.
Sirius forked a small pile of eggs into his mouth as he looked up at Remus. He lifted an eyebrow and scoffed, "You still get the Prophet? It's all rubbish, that." he nodded to the large newspaper, pointing with his sausage filled fork. "Just last week they had a whole article about my dear father and his 'charitable contributions to the ministry,'" he rolled his eyes.
"Didn't your father just give a large sum to help the Auror training program?" Remus raised a brow questionably.
"That's what they're saying it was for, but really the money was to bail his arse out of Azkaban," Sirius scoffed, before swiping an extra slice of bacon off of Catherine's plate. "He got caught cursing some muggle neighbours for touching our rubbish-bin."