The day that strange man came with the strange watch, Sienna Melrose set about in the evening to try and uncover what she could. She started slowly, choosing the large book on clockwork that used sand-timers, but nothing in those books was even remotely close. After a few more hours, she had upturned half the books in the store room, and still to no avail. At 11:57, the electricity went out. She should have called the electrician weeks ago, but had never got round to it.

Fumbling in the dark, she found a matchbox, and lit some of her Dad's old candles that used to decorate the shop, and stopped by the door to her Dad's room. She hadn't been in there since he left. He'd moved out of the flat - said he didn't want to take up space. Sienna said he should know he didn't have to do that, but he wouldn't listen. He was stubborn as anything, her dad.

Despite his absence, she felt like she was invading his space. Her father had been a kind man, always, but very much held privacy in high regard. Instinctively, she went for under the bed, where she'd imagined all sorts of secrets to lie as a child. Perhaps it came from the fact that he used to hide his birthday presents for her under there, so for a young Sienna it had always been a mysterious and forbidden land indeed. Getting down onto her knees, she began pulling out contents so thick with dust it made her cough and filled the room with a heavy air.

An old prayer mat, rolled up, tattered, both empty boxes and full ones filled with old ties, shoes, trinkets from his travels. She was starting to think that this was more trouble than it was worth; hours of leafing through her dad's old things to find nothing, only to have to spend hours putting them all back the next day. But never in her life had her father failed to tend to a watch; even the strangest, oldest concoctions. He would sit at his desk by candlelight (he preferred it that way), the magnifying lenses up to his eyes, and tinker away at dusk. He was a toy-maker and the best there was, only his toys played with time.

She dragged out a stack of old books, leaving a smear of grey dust on the wooden floor, and began to flick through them. They were books from his childhood, she guessed, with childish drawings and scribbles in poorly written Arabic. 'Yeti' she read phonetically, which annotated a rather comical drawing of what looked to be a particularly hairy relative, but apparently not. A few pagers over was a drawing of a rather sikly looking child which had 'Ghoul' (spelt Gool of course) next to it. She couldn't help but smile, and leaned through the next book. It was a diary, this time written in a mixture of Arabic and English.

Baba says that I cannot have a wand, which is unfair because Fatimah has one. I have made my own out of the tree in our garden, but I can't make any spells yet. When I do I know Baba will let me have a handsome one like Fatimah's.

Sienna chuckled, shaking her head. She had always known her dad was eccentric, but from what it looked like, this was not the only page of him complaining about wands. She had always guessed she had got her madness from her mother, but she was beginning to think the trait now lay on her father's side of the family. He almost never spoke about his family to her. In fact, never, of his own volition. Vague remarks, dead ends and roads leading to no-where. It seemed odd to think that they were so difficult to talk about when all her dad could write about as a child was not being allowed a silly toy. Sienna put the book down with a sigh, rubbing her eyes. She had lost the voracious energy she'd had at the start of the evening, but the more she searched it seemed the further answers became.

Just one last book. She thought, sliding one from the bottom of the pile this time. The title page was in Arabic, of which her grasp was tenuous at the best of times. Although her father spent his childhood in Morocco and later Saudi Arabia, he had married a white woman. About as white as he could find. He had chosen to leave that part of him behind. It was a small wonder it only took his old age to call him back, to return east. Sienna had learnt to read the script as a girl, but at the first chance she had discarded it for more 'interesting' things. If only she had the patience, she could have learnt it properly.

The title of this book read something about the magical or spiritual. Looking through the appendix, it was a kind of catalogue of obscure items. Bringing her candle closer, and rubbing her eyes awake, she started at page one (which had always muddled her Anglo-centric brain which refused to accept it as page one at all), eyes wide for any diagrams of that distinctive shape. And on page eighty four, she found what she was looking for at last. A diagram, in its full glory of that very object Mr Nott had brought in earlier that afternoon.

"Yes, Yes!" She yelled, quite forgetting the thinness of the walls, and how tired she was. Slipping a dangling shoelace into the book to mark the page, she leapt to her feet, stumbling over the obstacle course of miscellany strewn around the room and spilling in to the corridor, she grabbed her coat.

Most sane people would have waited until morning, but Sienna didn't care. She was well aware of her insanity, and figured the only way to live would be to embrace the madness. The slip of paper which her client had written his address was (not so neatly) folded into her pocket, and she squeezed it tight with joy as she tumbled out into London's streets at god knows what hour, heading for Kensington.

She threw herself on the bus heading West to Shepherd's Bush, her sleep deprived brain in a heightened state of electric and new-found energy. She knew she is catching stairs, her mop of unruly curls, jiggling her leg with anticipation as she opened the old book time and time again to try to decipher the Arabic, willing any residing memory of the words she could create in sound only.

She reached the door of the house, up the steps, and it occurred to her that Kensington is a very expensive part of London. The size of the steps and door alone would probably cover the surface area of the whole shop, let alone the towering floors above. Breathing in, checking the address one last time, she knocked on the door.

After a brief wait, she caught wind of some kind of commotion inside, something between shouting and giggling, perhaps both, before the door swung open.

"Oh. You're not Mr Nott." Sienna blurted our in surprise, quite taken aback. Stood before her was a young man, around her age, wearing the remains of a suit (he has removed the jacket and tie, and his shirt is wrongly buttoned). He has smooth, dark skin that looked like it hadn't seen a blemish in its life. He might just have been the most handsome man Sienna had ever set eyes on, but somehow she was quite repelled. Handsome men never really did it for her, especially when you got to know them. Handsome men were often the most repulsive breed of human, her mother and her always used to giggle.

"No, you're quite right." He said smoothly, a deep and honeyed tone of voice, his chest rising and falling as though he was out of breath. "And you are?" He prompted, after an awkward silence.

"Sienna Melrose. I need to speak to Mr Nott."

"Can it be left with me?" He asked hopefully, still hanging on the door. Sienna guessed he was drunk, or at least half way there.

"No, I don't think so." Sienna said apologetically, remembering the guarded nature in which Nott had approached her. He was obviously very particular about this unique watch.

"Well then, Sienna Melrose. I'm having a party upstairs, would you come in? Theo would hate to know I simply left you in the doorway." He added, a suave little smirk on his lips. Sienna hesitated. There was very little about this man that she trusted, but she felt like it could do little harm if Nott was waiting inside.

Sienna followed him upstairs, and her eyes widened when she realised he was having an actual party. He mentioned it of course, but her brain was on other things. She had never been one for parties, and this didn't seem to be an exception. The room just next to the staircase, the high-ceilinged and containing-a-grand-piano-sort-of -room, was packed with people. The next room along, Sienna had to stop. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. A champagne bottle was levitating, and pouring itself into glasses around the room. She tried to look for strings holding it up, but there were none in sight. That was quite a magic trick.

Just as she turned back to the man to ask her about Nott, she came face to face with a painting that was eyeing her closely in a suspicious manner. "Well, who are you?" It asked, it's lips moving. Sienna jumped, a confused yell escaping her lips as she leant back into the bannister for balance.

Maybe there was a trace of something psychosis-inducing on her father's things? She could hardly believe it. Maybe this was what next-level exhaustion did to your mind, but even she'd pulled enough all nighters at school to know even that wasn't right.

"You're talking. You're a talking painting. What the fuck?" Said Sienna, still recoiled against the bannister as the woman sneered unpleasantly down at her.

"I cannot believe." Continued the woman, her shrivelled little eyes peering down over a hooked nose at her, "that any member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Nott would let such revolting debauchery take place in this house. Out I say, out!"

"Come on, what's holding you up?" Interrupted a voice, this time from the real world. The smouldering face of the black man who'd beckoned her in to this place was peering his head around a doorway, a bottle of something now in his hands, a little smirk dancing across his lips.

"Holy mother of- did you hear that, or am I going absolutely mindbogglingly mad? The painting was talking! And next door room, things were floating, and-"

Just as she spoke a woman with no shirt on just crossed the stairway, whilst her hair tied itself up in a bun.

The man approached Sienna, and pausing, he looked down at her in a bemusedly puzzled way as she stood mouth open in shock. "You're a muggle, aren't you?"

"A what?"

"Come with me, let's get you a drink." Sienna, too baffled to refuse, followed him into a room where he poured her a glass of whisky, offering it to her. Just as he poured his own glass, the woman with the self-tying hair walked in, leaning on Blaise's shoulder kissed his neck and whispered something into his ear.

"Not now, Imelda. I'm with a friend of Theo's." He said, a mock look of disapproval on his face before whispering something back to her which made her blush a deep red before, smacking her behind as she left the room.

"I'm sorry," began Sienna, starting to lose her patience with whatever mad trick this was. This was not her type of party. Nor was any party, for that matter.

"Who are you? Where's Nott? Is this even his House? And what was outside, what the fuck is going on!"

"Relax," said the man, pushing her a glass which she took gladly to numb the headache. "You're going to need it."

"My name is Blaise Zabini. I'm a friend of Theo's - your Mr Nott. Theo's out, so I took the liberty to throw a party." He leant back in his chair, which made him look quite regal. He was well-dressed, or rather was well-dressed. It look like someone had tried to undress him but never managed to finish the job. His fingers, which had slowly started tapping the arm of the chair, were heavily decorated with expensive rings.

She knew they were expensive because the shine of diamonds was like nothing else. And they were hardly discreet. They were a mark of a man's status if ever there was one. It surprised Sienna, that a young black man could dress so much like the old white men who used to come proudly to the shop and commanded her father fix their watch. They stood there in their tweed, starched white shirt and designer ties and look down rather smugly at the little brown man who worked away, probably fantasising about the rounds of applause they'd receive for supporting the 'local Arab artisan' when they told their colleagues.

Yet this man, was, well. Black. And by god he fitted the part of a Lord, but she doubted that there ever was a black Lord in the history of, well, ever. This was Nott's house, and this man was it's Prince Regent.

"So," Sienna began, blinking back from her daydream. "You're his...partner?" Sienna guessed, pouring herself another glass of whiskey.

Blaise laughed, his eyes lazily turning towards her. "Nah, just a friend. But you're his date right?"

"Date! God no, I've only met him once. He's my client." Sienna burst out, perhaps a little too loud. She had a habit of splurging her words, but his suggestion had caught her totally off guard. She had never been any good at the 'think before you speak' mantra her teachers tried to drum into her at school.

Blaise looked amused, if a little surprised, and looked provocatively down into his drink and murmured,

"Wow, didn't really think him the type."

"Oh, no. No I'm not- not that type of client. Oh my god. You're disgusting. No." Said Sienna indignantly, not quite sure how the conversation had ended up there. Never in her life had she thought someone could mistake her for a prostitute. But tonight had been full of many 'never in my life's', and one more was less of a surprise than it should have been. The absurdity of it made her laugh, and prompted the same in Blaise.

"Ok, so you're not Theodore's escort. Who are you, Sienna Melrose?"

"I'm a watchmaker. Ish. It's my dad's shop." She began, incoherently , before gathering her thoughts to the real trial of the evening. "Look, you still haven't explained what the hell is this place? Some kind of magic circle den? I always knew magicians were weird, but this shit is beyond freaky."

Blaise chuckled. "Ok. Here's a first. Something I've never done before." He said, downing his glass and moving on to another. "I'm going to tell you something. No, fuck that, I'm going to show you something. You're not going to believe it, but I promise it's not a lie."

Then, he pulled out something from his pocket. Sienna realised it was none other than an actual wand. A wand. "I'm not here for your magic tricks, just tell me what-"

"Shh." Said Blaise, raising an eyebrow, and with his wand said "Wingardium Leviosa," and with that another bottle slipped off the drinks cabinet and began floating towards them. Sienna's mouth dropped open, and her first instinct was to reach out into the air to try and pluck at whatever invisible string was holding the bottle up. "Stop that," said Blaise, catching the bottle and ripping off the cork with his teeth. "Open your palm."

"Why would I do that?"

"You wanted to know, didn't you?"

Sienna hesitated, and then unfurled her palm, which to her surprise was still clutching the little scrap of paper with the address. Pointing his wand and with a flick, the paper piece swirled into a seed, then a little seedling, then a flower, growing from her palm before her very eyes. Then without warning, it burst into flames before vanishing. Sienna was speechless, and leant back into her chair in shock, double chins an all. The two sat in total silence for a moment, before Blaise let out a snort of laughter at her presumably comic expression.

"Holy fuck," Sienna murmured to herself. "Did you spike my drink?" She said, in an accusatory tone that was riddled with disbelief.

"No, what?" He said, clicking his teeth in an offended way. "That was real magic. Some people in this world are born with it. Me, 'Mr Nott', everyone else at this party. Why on earth Theo went to a muggle to solve his problems, I do not know, but-"

"My dad." Sienna murmured to herself, no longer really listening to Blaise. Her thoughts were no longer following a coherent train of thought. The alcohol, the exhaustion, the sheer madness of the night meant that all local responses, all pathways that lead to and from reason seemed to be long in the distant path. She had to follow her instinct to keep from drowning. "My dad, he..." Brow furrowed, she fumbled in her coat pocket for the the book, and opened the page. "This object," she said, pointing down at the diagram that matched Theodore's watch. "I can't read what it says, but this watch is, is..."

"That's a time turner." He said, as if it were totally obvious.

"Give it to me, here." He said, and looking up at her with that smirk, tapping the page with his wand, the words on the page blurred, shifted and reshaped, until they read on the page in English. She was about to blurt out a 'how did you do that' but then remembered. Magic. Actual bloody magic. Of course. Right, totally makes sense. Obviously.

"This book," Sienna began slowly, as she read the first subheading under 'time turner'. "This was my Dad's, from his childhood. How did he get this? Was he, a magician, or whatever you called it?"

"Wizard," Blaise corrected with a condescending snicker. "And how should I know?"

"Can you be a wizard, or maybe have a wizard family but never do magic yourself?"

"Well there's squibs - people born from magical families, but without the magical gene themselves. But that's very rare."

Sienna inhaled heavily, looking down at her glass. That would explain, partially, why her father never talked about his childhood, or his family, why he kept things hidden, but it also raised so many questions. Why wasn't she allowed to know this; why did he never tell her? Had this had anything to do with his sabbatical, if it could even be called that? Her father was a kind man, always, but when the foundation of your relationship is revealed to be the form of a lie, or of a secret, you start to doubt it all. Sienna's eyes flickered around the room, searching for something to grasp onto as if she were about to fall off the edge of some great cliff. They landed on Blaise, as if pining for some security, a distraction from the chaos inside her head.

"What I do know," he began, staring straight at her in the eyes with a look so steely confidence she was pretty sure had been unrivalled in any living being she'd met.

"Is that Theodore won't be back tonight. Either, you sit here all night worrying about your sad little watch, or you join the party." He said, savouring each word playfully as he poured her another glass.

Sienna hesitated for a moment, but if there was one night when it was acceptable to let loose, it was the night she learned her quaint little father had been living a lie. The night she figured out time-turners were apparently not just a joke used in 80s horror films. The night she learned magic was real.

"Alright," she said, conceding as she extended her arm. "Just one more glass."