I find a compartment away from Mandy, as far away as I can get. I end up squished with some of the Hufflepuffs, who are kind enough to leave me out of the conversation. Now that we are on the train, we are legally allowed to cast magic. All of the trip I spend my time hanging over a book I found on the most difficult branches of magic. Thought is forbidden for me now, apparently.

Although, Draco couldn't stop me. He never could, really, from doing anything I wanted to do. The new and improved, and nearly finished instrument that I've got to rename is in my trunk above me. I couldn't use it if I wanted.

Beside me, Justin Finch-Fletchley is nearly vibrating on the seat beside me. Every so often, Megan Jones taps his knee on the bench. He still is incessant.

"Are you..." he pauses.

I turn my head. The train is pulling into the station now. I glance at him.

"Are you going to spend more time in Professor Burbage's room with... the news?" he swallows.

Megan Jones is hanging forward. Her face is vacant in a way I'm not expecting. Perhaps she thinks he likes me, perhaps he does, and maybe he does and that's why he is nervous. Maybe it's not just that though.

"Did you listen to the muggle radio all that much this summer?" I ask.

He shakes his head and looks at Megan who joins him, "no. Cleve would write to Sally-Anne, but I didn't want to know."

"Sally-Anne felt like she had to watch it," Megan offers.

I think of those Hufflepuff girls. Of Robbie Browning and her blood splashed against a line of trees, and Sally-Anne, who knew something wasn't going to happen but not what and didn't do anything about it anyway.

Watching isn't doing something. There is nothing to do. It might be better if I looked away.

As the train arrives, I disembark. I unload my trunk and on the walk up, I think and think and think. This is the first year of N.E.W.T. level courses. If things were really and truly bad, Draco would have let me know. He's been sending me mail a few times a week, but they needed to sell one of their house elves and so Mopsy hasn't been as free as of late. Need is too strong a word. They had no use for one, or something or other. Draco's father's imprisonment has had no impact on their financial status.

Once my room is settled, I head off to the Great Feast, and I sit between Morag and Lisa, as far away from Anthony who is beside Mandy. Surely, Anthony will be pulling me into conversations even if Mandy will glare about it. She glares at me now.

I don't see what her problem is. I've stayed away. I haven't talked to her in proper months, and unless we are forced to speak in the N.E.W.T. classes I have no intention of chatting with her. She can calm down about the whole thing.

That night, the best of me is beaten. I test the Sagum, fix it as best as I can. I run several diagnostics and I don't know how it wouldn't work. Then, I spend my free time between classes testing it. I slip Draco a note and tell him to think of me during his study period. From there, I walk and walk and walk, and I do slip off the grounds but I'm sure it would be approved if I have permission.

The range is just over a kilometre.

Classes begin, and I am handed a note in Charms by Professor Flitwick. It summons me to Professor Dumbledore's office after class ends. I was hoping to see Draco for the first time since we had returned. He's in this class, sitting in the back row sandwiched between Blaise and Theo, with Pansy on Theo's right. Pansy catches my eye and blows a big bubble of pink gum in her mouth. It pops and she grins.

Professor Flitwick isn't all that particular. If we were in Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall might turn it into a bubble of soap right in her mouth and give Pansy detention.

When we are dismissed, I make my way over to the Headmaster's office. There is no clear way to knock, but when I arrive it opens. I march up the stairs. Professor Dumbledore is sitting at his desk, peering at me.

"Miss Turner," he smiles. "Please, have a seat."

I sit down opposite him and brush off my skirt. Then, I dig into my back and produce the modified Sagum.

"The Notum," I tell him. "Sagum, I'm assuming deriving from the Latin word for knowledge. Notus is Latin for known."

I was searching for a word which doesn't exist. The thought had occurred to me often. Where lies the heart. That's what it is about, the people who think of me. Not any place. I briefly floated the idea of calling it something referencing the homeland. It occurred to me that while I use Draco's magic to make it work, if someone who hates me is thinking of me, it could find them just as well.

Professor Dumbledore pushes his spectacles closer to his nose and peers at the new Notum and all of my inscriptions. He furrows his brow, scrapping along the sphere.

"This is your mark," he notes, peering up at me. "Your symbol, yes?"

I lean in to see where he points. Then, I nod my head.

"Professor Flitwick helped me register it with the Ministry," I tell him. "It's mine."

"Podric Batworthy once said that the more something is known, sometimes the less powerful it becomes," he notes, observing it still. "This is often interpreted to mean he was suggesting potent magic often requires some oblivious nature. Perhaps, Miss Turner, we should understand him to say that certain tricks must be kept secret."

I peer at Professor Dumbledore. His voice seems to crack like the static of a radio. Because of his long silver beard and magnificent violet robes, I think he looks grander than he is. One of his hands looks as if he's come into contact with a magical burn. He is quite old. Certainly, he knows more Podric Batworthy quotes than I do. All of the elegance of the room makes it hard to see him for who he is.

"Very few know my sigil," I say, hoping that is what he references.

Professor Dumbledore is still, firigd. He pushes himself properly upright before speaking. "Could you recreate this Notum?"

"I have extensive notes," I tell him. "I've spent the better part of the last year and a half perfecting it. With the help of the witch or wizard who was to receive it – yes."

Professor Dumbledore stands up.

"I do not know how much you follow the papers," he winces once, a movement only barely visible. "Martina, I am dreadfully sorry to tell you this, but there is a war coming."

As he turns away from me, I rise from my chair. My eyes linger on his back. A war. Things are dire. I've read about those kinds of the things in the papers. It doesn't happen here. That's a problem in other places, isn't it? At least, it should be. There was an IRA bombing in Manchester in June, so I suppose it does happen here. Besides, for wizards the last instance of mass violence in England was during the year I was born.

"In the interim, I'd like to extend an offer," he offers, looking back at me. "You are interested in time magic, yes?" When I nod, he continues. "I have an opportunity to offer you. Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

I breathe in and out slowly, and I'm thankful for all my practice of occlumency. The question catches me off guard. I think of my Patronus, a phoenix, soaring into the ceiling of the Room of Requirements. Not even Draco knows about it.

"It is an organization which was instrumental in ending the previous war," he offers. "I have connection with many members. We do not open spots to many recruits. In the next few weeks, we will be offering a position to a different young witch who can brew Felix Felicis. I have some projects I think you might be interested in."

Without meaning to, I glance at the Notum back on his desk. I'd be foolish to do it. Draco would hate it.

"Which branch of magic would it be in?" I ask.

He glances back at me, "this work would require you to research memory modification. The obliviation spell, as I'm sure you know, cannot be undone. Memory modification is difficult to reverse unless done so by the modifier. There is a memory in my Pensieve that I would like unmodified."

He gestures to the Pensieve across the room. Within a few steps I'm close enough that I hover over it. Memory modification isn't something I've researched extensively. Obliviation was a career Professor Flitwick had suggested, but taking away memories is not something that feels good inside of me. We are nothing without our thoughts and experiences.

"If you want to see the memory, you can," Professor Dumbledore offers. "I will require you to sign a paper similar to the one which Miss Granger had you sign which bound you to secrecy. I'm afraid you can speak no word of what I'm showing you to any wizard or witch."

Draco's concern rings in my ears. I swallow, looking back at Professor Dumbledore.

"Can I consider this?"

He nods, "I will need an answer before Halloween."

All I do is nod back.

Dumbledore looks at me very carefully, "Miss Turner, I do not say this lightly. I think you are brilliant. Perhaps there is an Order of Merlin for you in the future, but perhaps not. If you wish for your name to be known, this is not the way to achieve it. That does not mean you might not be instrumental in winning this war."

I linger at the Pensieve. An Order of Merlin. All of the glory in the world, or all of the solutions. I have never needed to be known by everyone. Just Draco. This would mean not letting him know me though. There are memories circling in the water. All of time spinning below me. Maybe I could master it.

~~~~~

Okay, okay, I am excited for this. I mean, sixth year I think is a whirlwind. Also, we are about two-thirds of the way through the book. What do you think will happen that you aren't expecting?