Genevieve groaned, the sound muffled as she buried her face in the pillow. The frustration boiled over, and she let out a muffled scream, hoping it would release some of the tension building up inside her. It didn't do much of anything, other than making her feel silly. When she finally tossed the pillow aside, she noticed the girl on the bed across the room staring at her, clearly puzzled by her outburst.

"Sorry," Genevieve grumbled, her voice tinged with frustration and exhaustion. "I was just hoping I would've woken up from this nightmare."

The other girl, still looking slightly bewildered, hesitated before speaking. "Bad dream? Or just a bad day?"

Genevieve sighed, sitting up and running a hand through her tangled hair. "More like a bad... everything. I don't even know where to start." 

She looked around as she sat up, realizing she was in the same bed as before. "Hey, speaking of - whose bed is this? I keep waking up here but no one has asked me to get out of it yet."

The girl shifted nervously, looking a bit uncomfortable. Her face became a bit paler in the already dark room. "That's Myrtle's bed. She, um... she died about two weeks ago - her parents already came to get what was left of her personal belongings. We just couldn't bring ourselves to get rid of all her things yet."

Genevieve's heart skipped a beat at the girl's words. She stared at the bed she'd been sleeping in, feeling a chill run down her spine. "Myrtle... she died?" 

How was that possible? How could she be sleeping in the bed of someone who had died just weeks ago? It felt wrong, like she was sleeping on a corpse. 

The girl nodded, her expression softening with sympathy. "Yeah, it was really tragic. No one knows exactly what happened, just that it was something terrible in the bathroom upstairs. You probably haven't heard much about it if you're new."

Genevieve's mind was racing. She knew the name, but this version of Myrtle wasn't a ghost haunting the girls' bathroom—she had been alive, with a bed, belongings, and a life cut short. None of this made sense. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I should probably find another place to sleep then."

The girl shrugged. "It's up to you. No one really comes up here much anymore, so you're probably fine. But if you're not comfortable..."

Genevieve shook her head, trying to collect her thoughts. "No, it's okay. I just didn't realize... I guess everything is just so different here."

The girl gave her a small, understanding smile. "It can be overwhelming, I'm sure. If you ever need to talk, I'm here. I'm Amelia, by the way."

"Genevieve," she replied, forcing a smile in return. "Thanks, Amelia. I might take you up on that."

It wasn't a lot, but maybe having a new friend might make it a bit easier to get around. 

As Amelia turned back to her own bed, Genevieve lay back down, staring at the ceiling. She felt strange, laying in this bed now. She wanted to move, but it seemed like there were no other options, at least not in this dorm room. She didn't want to cause trouble for anyone else by making them accommodate her, so she was probably just stuck here. 

Part of her wanted to freak out, but she couldn't. She couldn't afford to lose herself in fear. She had to figure out what had happened to Myrtle, and if it was connected to the strange magic that had pulled her into this time. More than anything, she needed to find a way back home before it was too late, before she became a ghost, too. 

****

Dear journal,

Day two of waking up in this strange time. I don't know what's happening. I thought maybe at first I was dreaming or sleepwalking, or maybe I had eaten something bad and it was a weird trip, but I don't remember eating anything out of the ordinary. Now... now I'm starting to get nervous. The faces here, the places—they're all familiar yet completely wrong. It's like I've stepped into a distorted version of my life, and nothing feels safe anymore.

I don't know what's going to happen to me here, and I don't know if anyone back home knows I'm missing. Is anyone even looking for me? I'm praying Lily can tell something is off, that she'll notice I'm gone and do something. I'm starting to feel really alone, but I can't afford to fall apart now. I have to stay strong.

I'm going to find out what kind of magic is behind this and find a way to get back home, no matter the cost. I won't let this place trap me. There has to be a way out... there has to be.

***

When she had finished writing, the room around her felt smaller. She didn't know what to do with herself as she sat there at the desk in the library. Her mind spun around for answers, but it was hard to think of anything. Genevieve decided the next logical step was to approach the Headmaster. If it followed the records in the books she had read in the library when she was at home, then it wasn't going to be Albus Dumbledore, but most likely Armando Dippet. Not much was known about any other Headmasters  before them. 

She hadn't bothered to do much research on them, mainly because it didn't feel relevant. She never thought she would meet anyone other than Dumbledore, but now she was about to prove herself wrong. 

Thankfully, the layout of the school was still the same, and she was pleasantly surprised to see the golden gargoyle that was the guardian of the stairs. The only problem was that she had no idea what the password would be. 

Genevieve stared at the golden gargoyle, feeling a wave of frustration wash over her. She had made it this far, but without the password, she was stuck. She racked her brain, trying to think of anything she knew about Headmaster Dippet that might give her a clue. He wasn't nearly as famous as Dumbledore, and the books in the library hadn't exactly been generous with information about him.

Taking a deep breath, she muttered a few random guesses under her breath. "Lemon drop? Phoenix? Sherbet lemon?" Each word was met with nothing but silence, the gargoyle standing stoically as ever, almost as if its silence was mocking her. 

"Of course not," she sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

"Godric," she muttered. She wasn't sure what had compelled her to say it, but that was her only best guess. Godric Gryffindor. It made sense, assuming this Headmaster was Gryffindor. She had no idea, but she hoped so. 

She felt a ripple of relief as she felt the ground shift a little as the gargoyle rumbled in response.  

Genevieve's eyes widened in surprise as the gargoyle moved aside, revealing the familiar spiral staircase leading up to the Headmaster's office. She scoffed with disbelief. She hadn't really expected the password to work. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the staircase, letting it carry her upward.

As she ascended, her heart raced. She wasn't entirely sure what she was going to say. "Hi, I'm a time traveler who doesn't belong here. Can you help me go back?" It all sounded absurd, but there was no turning back now.

This was the only thing she could think of. If he couldn't help her, then who could? 

When she reached the top, the large wooden door stood before her, imposing and intimidating. With a shaky hand, she knocked.

"Enter," came the Headmaster's voice from inside.

Genevieve pushed the door open, her eyes scanning the room. It was grand, lined with shelves of books and strange magical artifacts. Behind the desk sat Armando Dippet, his silver hair neatly combed, and his expression curious as he looked up from his work. He was basically what he had looked like in the portrait of the book she had read. 

Genevieve swallowed hard, feeling her nerves rise. She could tell he was judging her, and it threw her off. She had rehearsed this in her head, but now that she was standing here, words seemed to escape her.

"Headmaster," she began, her voice shakier than she would have liked, "I know this is strange, but I... I need your help. It's about something... unusual." 

"Unusual?" he mused, giving her a curious look. He seemed to study her a little more, his eyebrows creasing further, more perplexed. He didn't seem to recognize her at all. She knew this must have been just as confusing for him too. 

"Yeah, my name is Genevieve Evans," she said as she picked her words carefully. "To be completely honest with you, I'm not supposed to be here. I'm from a different time—and the next thing I knew, I was here." 

The Headmaster's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression growing more serious as he processed her words. "A different time, you say?" His tone held a mixture of skepticism and intrigue. He folded his arms, leaning back against his desk, as if giving her a moment to explain herself further.

Genevieve nodded, the weight of her situation sinking in as she spoke. "Yes, sir. I don't know how it happened. One moment I was in my own time, and the next... I woke up here. I'm not sure what went wrong, but I need help figuring out how to get back."

Dippet remained quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving hers. "Miss Evans, time travel is no trivial matter. It is a branch of magic that is forbidden for good reason—its dangers far outweigh its usefulness. Even the slightest disturbance could unravel history itself."

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Genevieve said quickly, her voice thick with desperation. "I just want to go back. I don't want to change anything. I swear. I didn't do it on purpose."

"You didn't cast a spell or do anything unusual?" the Headmaster asked, his eyes still wary. 

"No," she insisted. "I didn't do anything. The last thing I remember was being upset and then this." 

The Headmaster's brow furrowed, and he tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his desk. "You were upset? Emotions can sometimes trigger magic, especially under duress. Perhaps you have talents that haven't been fully explored." 

Genevieve's heart skipped a beat at his words. "Talents? You think I did this to myself?" She could barely believe it—there was no way she was powerful enough to alter time, let alone by accident.

Dippet leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp and assessing. "Magic is unpredictable at times, especially when tied to strong emotions. Even the most experienced witches and wizards can find themselves doing things they never thought possible. And given your unusual situation, it's a possibility we cannot dismiss."

She opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. Could he be right? She had always been a decent student, nothing extraordinary, but there had been times when her magic felt more intense, more volatile. Moments of anger, fear, or deep sadness where things happened—small things, but strange enough to make her wonder.

"I... I don't think I could've done this," she said quietly, almost to herself. "But if I did, how do I undo it?"

The Headmaster sighed, folding his hands together. "That is the question, Miss Evans. Time is a delicate thing. Undoing it is far more complex than bending it. If indeed this is your doing, it may take considerable effort and knowledge to reverse."

Genevieve felt the weight of his words settle over her, heavy and daunting. She was in way over her head. "What do I do in the meantime?"

"For now, as I said before, you must remain discreet," Dippet replied. "You're welcome to stay here. Keep to your studies and avoid any unnecessary attention. I'll look into your case, but you must understand, this is no small matter. It could take time to find answers."

Genevieve nodded, though dread curled in her stomach. "Thank you, Headmaster."

As she left the office, the reality of her situation sank in even deeper. If this was her fault, if her own emotions had brought her here... then she had to find a way to control whatever power was lurking beneath the surface.

But how?

****

"It's you again."

Genevieve tensed as she heard Tom Riddle's voice chime from down the hall. She sighed, bracing herself for a less than pleasant conversation. She had learned to be wary of everyone, especially the likes of him. She was sure the only reason he had any interest in her was to use her. 

"Riddle," she replied with a strained smile, though it felt more like a scowl. Still, she tried to be as polite as possible about it. She wasn't in the mood to make any enemies, but she wasn't in the mood to entertain someone's ego. "If you're just here to taunt me then feel free to move along. I've got more pressing matters to worry about."

Tom Riddle approached with his usual air of quiet confidence, his footsteps echoing softly in the dimly lit corridor. His sharp gaze locked onto Genevieve, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Taunt you?" he said, his tone almost amused. "Why would I waste my time on something so trivial?"

Genevieve crossed her arms, trying to maintain her composure. She could feel the tension in the air, a mix of curiosity and caution. "Then what do you want, Riddle? I'm not exactly in the mood for games." 

"I'm just curious," he said with a shrug. He seemed to feign indifference before adding, "it's not every day you encounter a time traveler, so after our last conversation I was thinking about how fascinating it would be to have such a quirky feature." 

Genevieve's heart skipped a beat at Tom's words, though she did her best to keep her expression neutral. "A quirky feature, huh? Well, it's not exactly as glamorous as it sounds," she replied, trying to sound casual, though her mind raced with questions.

Tom's smirk widened slightly as he observed her reaction. "Glamorous or not, it's intriguing. And it raises many questions. Like how you ended up here... and what you plan to do about it."

Genevieve's eyes narrowed. "Why do you care? What's in it for you?"

Tom tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. "Knowledge, for one. Power, perhaps. But most of all, I'm interested in possibilities. And you, Genevieve Evans, represent a unique one."

"I don't know what you have planned, but keep me out if it," she replied firmly. "I'm used to doing things a very simple and straightforward way, and this is the very opposite of everything I've ever done." 

Tom's smirk deepened as he watched Genevieve's guarded response. "You say that now, but I believe you'll find that the simple and straightforward approach rarely works in situations as complex as yours." He stepped closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. "I'm offering you an opportunity, Genevieve. You might not like the circumstances you find yourself in, but with the right guidance, you could turn this... unfortunate event into something far more advantageous."

Genevieve took a step back, her arms still crossed defensively. "Advantageous for whom? You? Like I said, I'm not interested in being anyone's pawn, especially not yours."

Tom's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes gleamed with an intensity that made Genevieve uneasy. "A pawn? No, I wouldn't underestimate you like that. But even a queen needs allies."

Genevieve clenched her jaw, weighing her options. She knew better than to trust Tom Riddle, especially not his flattery, but at the same time, he might be her only clue to understanding the magic that had brought her here. "I'll think about it," she finally said, her voice firm.

Tom inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her response. "Take your time. But remember, time is something you might not have as much of as you think." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Genevieve standing in the dim corridor, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty.