There was a reason ti magic was treated like a loaded wand pointed at reality itself.
Decades ago, a witch nad Eloise Mintumble, an Unspeakable in the Departnt of Mysteries, had attempted an extended jump into the past using a Ti-Turner. Sothing went catastrophically wrong. She beca trapped in the year 1402 for five full days. When she finally returned to the present, her body aged five centuries in an instant. St. Mungo’s could do nothing. She died of old age within days.
The damage didn’t stop with her.
At least twenty-five descendants vanished from existence entirely, erased as if they had never been born. Ti itself buckled. One Tuesday stretched on for two and a half days. A Thursday lasted barely four hours. Cause and effect frayed.
Even normal use carried a price. Hermione’s habit of turning back ti to attend extra classes ant her body still lived every hour twice over. Eight hours of lessons on the titable beca sixteen hours of exhaustion in the flesh. Over long periods, that kind of living aged a person faster than everyone else around them.
Efficiency, yes. But at the cost of borrowed years.
That was why the Hour-Reversal Charm had been sealed away, and why every completed Ti-Turner was locked inside the Ti Room at the Departnt of Mysteries, guarded by hundreds of laws and permissions that almost never led to approval.
Dangerous. Restricted. Forbidden.
And yet, Rowan wanted it.
Ti magic was not optional for him. In any world, it sat at the peak of magical systems. Even if it couldn’t change fixed outcos, the ability to loop, delay, and refine knowledge was invaluable.
Besides, he no longer feared the cost.
He had already stepped beyond mortality. Ti could take as much as it liked. His future was no longer a finite resource.
The real problem wasn’t borrowing a Ti-Turner.
It was learning the spell that created one.
As Rowan parted ways with Professor McGonagall and Hermione on the eighth floor, he followed Snape toward the Headmaster’s office, his thoughts settling into place.
Looks like it’s ti to show my hand.
Inside the office, Albus Dumbledore was seated comfortably behind his desk, reading a Muggle book on knitting techniques.
"Please, sit," Dumbledore said pleasantly, closing the book as Snape and Rowan entered.
Snape took his seat and spoke at once. "Headmaster, the Ministry acted without authorization. Dentors were deployed on the train against your wishes. Rowan’s actions were defensive and justified."
Rowan almost smiled.
Choosing Slytherin really had been the right decision. Snape might not be kind, fair, or gentle, but when it ca to his own, he was immovable. Loyal to the bone.
Dumbledore raised a hand mildly. "I have no intention of reprimanding him, Severus. On the contrary, defending fellow students from a Dentor was comndable. I simply wish to understand the magic he used."
That, Rowan had expected.
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp behind his spectacles. "I’m told you destroyed a Dentor. Not repelled it. Destroyed it."
That alone placed the incident outside everything the wizarding world understood.
Even Dumbledore himself could not directly kill a Dentor. No known spell could. Killing Curses were ineffective. Patronuses could drive them away, corral them, imprison them, even starve them over ti, but not annihilate them outright.
That limitation was part of the unspoken contract between the Ministry and the Dentors. Guard Azkaban in exchange for sanctioned feeding.
Snape turned his head, studying Rowan closely. "They’re saying you created the spell yourself."
Rowan remained silent for several seconds.
Then he spoke.
"Not exactly."
He t both n’s gazes evenly.
This was the mont.
He could have lied. Claid it was a derivative Patronus. Claid inspiration, improvisation, coincidence. He’d even rehearsed that story.
But during the train ride, he’d discarded it.
Too many holes. Too many questions. Dumbledore and Snape weren’t fools. They would pull the thread, and the lie would unravel.
So instead, Rowan chose a different path.
No more pretending.
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