Draught of Living Death (T.R.)

prologue

She rested herself on the chair in the headmaster's office, leaning leisurely against the back with her legs draped over one of the arms of the throne. She let her eyes wander across the portraits, her brow furrowing as she noticed the portrait of the headmaster Armando Dippet sitting on the wall.

Dippet is headmaster. Why is his portrait staring at me? While headmaster Dippet was over 300, he had persisted as an annoying fly over Hogwarts. Never wanting to resign or retire even in his old age.

The rest of the headmasters stared at her, murmuring in what looked like shock at her appearance in the headmaster's office. She could hear their vague whispers of disbelief,

"Is that-"

"fifty years-",

"...iddle and Sabar... quite the cou..."

Her eyes turned away from the moving portraits on the wall as she heard the doors open. She lifted her face to look at the pair walking in. She immediately recognized Dumbledore. He was older than she remembered, but even with his age, she recognized his twinkling eyes. Next to him, however, was an unfamiliar face. An older witch, who was tall, with a severe-looking expression, and her dark hair tied tightly into a bun. The pair didn't seem to notice her, as they were fervently engulfed in their discussion on a boy they called Harry Potter.

She took her time to observe them before cutting into their conversation as she felt her head begin to throb, "Hello, Professor" she lazily drawled.

Only then did the pair seem to notice her. The stern-looking witch letting out a shriek and pulling out her wand, while Professor Dumbledore only stared at her in wonder. Dumbledore took in her figure, lazily draped over his chair, with the portraits staring down at her, and he clasped his hands behind his back. His eyes portraying his shock for a split second before he regained his composure.

"Minerva," he began, "there will be no need for that."

The woman who was supposedly named Minerva lowered her wand hesitantly, "But Albus-"

"This is an old student of mine, back when I was in my post as transfigurations professor, Miss Guinevere Sabar."

Minerva looked at Professor Dumbledore incredulously, "Albus that's impossible, she barely looks a day over 16. You stopped teaching in that position over forty years ago. How could that be?"

"Yes," he nodded, "curious isn't it Minerva? I would also like to know how my star pupil disappeared without a trace, only to reappear 52 years later in my office, not having aged a day?" His gaze lingered on her eyes, staring into them like he was trying to read her mind. Even if he could, Guinevere was unsure of the answers herself.

Had it really been 52 years? As she tried to focus on any memories from the last day she could remember, her mind grew hazy. Black spots danced across her vision, and she felt her body slump against the chair, laying limp as she passed out.