Copeland had recalled her mother telling stories about the secret room in Hogwarts that opened up a door to anyone in need; The Room Of Requirement. At first speculation, Copeland imagined the room as a glorified crawl space for those who might want to hide from Filch or Miss Norris, or Snape. But now that she was there, surrounded by treasures from different lifetimes, basking in the histories of thousands of students who had once set foot in the room...she apologized to it silently in her head, not wanting to offend it and all its majesty.
As she predicted, Draco's "Wizard Duel" was nothing but a tactic to lure Harry out of his room after curfew, and get him in an immense amount of trouble. But of course, it became an even sweeter deal for Malfoy as Ron and Copeland tagged along. Then as Hermione, being a busy body, as usual, got locked out of the Gryffindor Commons Room when The Fat Lady disappeared from the painting on the door. Then even more sweet, when they discovered Neville sleeping in the corridors, wrist completely intact, because he couldn't remember the password. Daft boy.
Ron had looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.
"If either of you gets us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you!" He whispered harshly, redder in the cheeks than usual.
Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn, Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were more fortunate than he thought they would be. They sped silently up the staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room. They thought everything was going too smoothly, even Malfoy had chickened out, before they heard the hacking, rasping voice of none other than Argus Filch.
In the midst of their spastic running, Copeland lost them in the dark and was forced to find somewhere else to hide.
"Has an ickle little firstie strayed away from her wee little pack? Oh, this is too fun," Peeves cackled. Copeland looked at him pleadingly, before remembering something from the banquet. The rest of the Hogwarts ghosts were arguing about what they should do with him.
"If you show me where to hide, I'll tell you what the rest of the ghosts were saying about you on the first day back to school!" Copeland squeaked, legs shaking as she heard Filch's footsteps down the hallway. Peeves suddenly looked interested, and with a swish of his hand, a door opened up in the wall.
Copeland rushed in and turned back to the Poltergeist, a grateful smile plastered on her face as she lingered in the doorway.
"They were all talking about punishing you somehow, only the Fat Friar was defending you, but it wasn't doing much good," Copeland admitted breathlessly. If it was even possible, she saw Peeves go white in the face, before the door to the secret room sealed on its own.
Copeland didn't know how long she had been in the room by now, time didn't seem to exist there. But it didn't matter much to her, she had found a plethora of things to keep her occupied. The Ravenclaw Diadem, as she had seen in the books Hermione insisted on showing her, shimmered magnificently underneath the low lights of The Room. Things from books to trophies, to enchanted boxes and cases, to small gadgets piled high on top of each other, creating a mountain of artifacts that Copeland was inevitably drawn to.
But there was one thing, in particular, that's she couldn't help but tinker with.
It was a tiny purple case with gold trimming, creating the figure of a Phoenix on the top. She had climbed the pile of treasure at least a couple feet to get her hands on it. Inside of it, was a time turner, one very similar looking to the one her mother had locked up in her closet. She wasn't exactly sure how it worked.
Copeland rolled the object in her hands, feeling the cool metal between her fingers. Stupidly, she moved one of the disks that sat in the middle, thinking the motion was harmless. She watched mesmerized as it spun until it finally ceased movement with a finalizing click'.
If she had known what immense trouble that Time Turner would cause her, she would have taken her chances with Filch and Miss Norris.
The feeling of being transported to a different time wasn't as comfortable as one might have assumed. The journey wasn't as quick either. There was a sickening pull, and Copeland could feel herself stretching over years times. She remembered her mother saying Time Turner's were a breeze to use.
There must have been one thing wrong with this one.
With a thud, she landed on her feet in the middle of rampant chaos. Smoke quickly filled her lungs, the smell choking her, causing her to hack. The sound of screaming, the crack of connecting spells made her ears ring. Disoriented, she stumbled forward, placing her hands on the crumbling brick wall near her, collecting herself. The starless Hogwarts sky was the blackened background for a show of fireworks; more green than any color. She looked down, heart beating out of her chest as she saw two wizards battling down below, and the bodies of the fallen scattered around the once beautiful courtyard.
It was with an unforgiving chill down her spine that Copeland realized; she must have gone back in time to the First Wizarding War. There was no other explanation.
She didn't have much time to panic before she had caught the attention of someone.
"Oi! You!" The voice shouted, and Copeland turned to look, seeing a large looking man advancing towards her, his face masked by the night's shadows.
Copeland had never run faster in her life. Down the corridor, to the left, down another, to the left, down another, and the cycle continued until her lungs burned and her legs felt like jelly. She leaned up against one of the walls, gasping for the fume ridden air she had only rebuked a few minutes ago. She peeked around the corner of the wall, brown eyes searching in the mist, heart sinking when she saw the man's large shadow breaking through the smog.
Copeland squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her slender fingers around her wand, trying to recall any spell that could stop her attacker from killing her; which was most likely his intent.
Then she remembered the spell her mother used on her back at home. A swoosh and jab. Copeland took another deep breath, trying to refrain from coughing; when she whipped around brandishing her wand and shouting at her opponent:
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The man's limbs were pulled together by invisible vines, and he fell over like a log. Frozen. Copeland slowly walked over to his body, eyeing the man with teary eyes, stinging from the smoke. Her heart stopped, mouth slightly parted with surprise.
"Crabbe?"
She stumbled backward, tripping and knocking into a wall. She tangled her fingers in her hair, tugging in an attempt to anchor herself to reality. Her very frightening new reality.
It was very much so Crabbe, same hideous fat face, who very much lived with her in 1991. There was no way that he could have been there with her. She had to be seeing things now.
A scream of distress rang from the back of the corridor.
"I'm not going to fight you!"
A shaking voice snapped back.
"You'd better, or you'll die without giving a fight, is that what you really want?"
There was a silence.
"I wish this had never happened to either of us, that's what I want!" A woman's voice spoke, voice cracking. A sob erupted from her throat, and she trying to stifle it, failing miserably.
"I know," The mystery man mumbled. "I'm sorry."
"You can do it. It's okay, after all this time, it seems as if I have no fight left in me, Draco."
Copeland's heart stopped. Malfoy? A choking silence filled the air, one that squeezed the sanity right out of Copeland's being.
"Sometimes I like to believe there could have been a better life out there for us," Draco whispered brokenly, he breathed in sharply. "Close your eyes."
A few moments later, in a blinding flash of green light, the soul stealing words were uttered from his lips.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Copeland covered her mouth to stifle her screams when she heard the woman's body hit the floor. The pair was closer than she previously assumed. From around the corner, the fallen woman's face was exposed. Her brown hair cascaded around her in soot-covered ringlets. Her fair skin held dark bruises and deep cuts, her warm brown eyes were frozen open, busted lips parted as if she still had something left to say. She was familiar, and Copeland suddenly realized she had seen this woman every day since she was born.
The woman was unmistakably her.
Copeland's body racked with silent sobs at this point. Her murderer approached her, Draco's pale blonde hair coming into view. He looked tired, eyes red and puffy. With further examination, Copeland realized he had been crying. He caressed the woman's- technically her's -face before placing two gently fingers over her eyelids, closing them, so she would at least look like she was at peace, even though they both knew her last moments ended in anguish.
Copeland involuntarily sniffled, which was a dire mistake of chaotic proportions.
Draco's head snapped up, eyes alert, he made eye contact with Copeland, and his face turned ashy. His gray eyes shone wide with many emotions in the castle that night; regret, horror, relief, and immense sadness. His hand's shook. Her eyes were fixated on the strange tattoo revealed by his rolled up sleeves. a snake wrapped around a ominous looking skull.
Copeland, already poised to bolt, was nearly frozen by his stare. Maintaining eye contact with him, she spun the disk of the Time Turner in the opposite direction than previously, waiting for the telling 'click', praying to all the God's she knew that it would take her back home, or anywhere else for that matter.
She thought for a moment that he would have sympathy on her, or that maybe he would be too shocked to do anything. But she was wrong.
"Sectumsempra!" He lashed out, looking almost surprised at himself for doing so.
The pain was blinding, tearing at her every limb with a fiery burning , so hot it was almost numbing her senses. She clutched at her torso, but nothing in the world could ease the immense pain she was feeling at that moment. There was nothing that could compare to it.
And before she could realize, Copeland was already back in 1991, gasping and writhing in a pool of her own blood, before she hit the ground.