Tempus, Chapter Twelve
Title:Tempus, Chapter Twelve
Author: Ravenna C. Tan ravenna_c_tan
House: Ravenclaw
Word Count: 5124 (just this chapter)
Challenge: The "Old Cliches, New Tricks" Fest at hp_cliche
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: A lot of plot and angst in this one.
Pairing:H/D
Beta Reader Thanks To: miraba
Cliche: Time-travel, but that isn't Snarry.
Disclaimer: Harry, Draco, Hogwarts, and the rest all belong to JK Rowling. I'm just having fun, doing it for the love, not any money.
Summary: Students at Hogwarts have always been warned about corridors that appear and disappear. Did you ever wonder where they go? Or when? Harry thinks he is late to his seventh year potions class, but he turns out to be more than seventy years early.
(The Archive of previous chapters is available Right Here)
In the morning, Harry's arms were stiff but not immobile. He rubbed his chest and shoulders as he lay in bed and wondered where Draco was. He pushed aside the bed curtains to see the other wizard was already sitting at the table. If Harry squinted, it looked like he was sipping a cup of tea and reading The Daily Prophet.
"Your tithe is here, oh great Seeker," Draco said.
Harry felt the nightstand for his glasses--they were not there. Then he remembered. They were on Draco's nightstand. They had switched to Harry's bed to sleep after the bath rather than fuss with cleaning charms on the sheets. "Accio glasses."
Harry slipped his spectacles over his ears and padded to the table. About a half dozen more packages awaited, along with a breakfast of tiny sausages and eggs with toast. "How late are we?"
Draco cast a time spell and shrugged. "We have fifteen minutes. Too bad we can't apparate directly to class and save the ten minutes of walking."
"Will you start looking through the cards while I eat?"
"Certainly, sahib." Draco picked through the packages one at a time. "Anonymous, anonymous. Some nice bonbons from Anisette--I just hope they aren't anise-flavored..." Draco looked up. "Please remember to breathe while eating. Oh and tomorrow we must be sure to be at breakfast in the Great Hall before the match. Wouldn't do to seem like you're hiding."
Harry nodded, his mouth too full to reply. Then he jumped up from the table, picked up his wand, and decided to try that full dressing charm he'd been practicing. Unfortunately, he was too hurried to concentrate well, and powerful wizard or no, his boxers ended up on backwards.
Also unfortunately, he did not notice this until they were halfway to class. Fortunately they were loose enough not to make a huge difference and Harry did not have to fidget at his desk. In fact, by the time class was over, his mind was already on a more urgent mission.
Draco was leading him toward the Great Hall--it wouldn't do to miss two meals in a row, he said--but Harry begged off. "I'll be there in a minute, save me a seat." He headed toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Draco had a quizzical look on his face.
"Er..." Harry wasn't sure what prompted him to lie just then. "When I got dressed this morning, I got my boxers on backwards. I'm going to fix them."
Draco tried to suppress a guffaw and failed. "All right then." He turned toward the great Hall with mirth in his step.
Harry trotted down the stairs and headed toward the potions classroom. His heart began to beat harder as he neared the spot. What was he likely to find? He practically ran the last few steps before turning the corner.
The wall between the corner and the doorway had various nooks, created by the bones of support for the storeys above. But there, the third one from the end of the hall, was deeper than the others, an actual alcove.
He took a step into the alcove, and there was the painting of the dark landscape. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. It was real, it was there, and so maybe he was onto something. He cast lumos to get a better look. Maybe there was no occupant to this painting? Or maybe whoever it was got stuck in a different painting when this one went back in time? Harry ran his fingers along the frame.
Or what if the occupant was invisible? "Hello?" Harry said. "Is anyone there?" There was no reply. Harry felt the stone around the painting, the walls. Just stone. If this alcove held the key to returning to his time, it was not obvious.
"May I help you, Mr. Potter?"
Harry startled at the voice and looked up to see Professor Gullwing, her hair bound back and her brewing robes on.
"Sorry to disturb you, Professor," Harry said. "I didn't think anyone would be down here."
"Yes, well, I had some preparations to make for the fifth years." She was still looking at him curiously, clearly waiting for an explanation for his presence.
"Professor, do you know if... was this alcove always here?" Harry gestured vaguely. "The day I... arrived here, it was..."
She held up her hand for silence. "I know exactly which day you are talking about, Mr. Potter." She examined the small space. "I can't say as I've really noticed it before. Without your wandlight it would be very easy to miss."
He waved it over the painting, examining it again. "This is, um, basically, the spot where..."
"Would you prefer to discuss this in my office?"
Harry looked up at her. "Um, sure, yes, thank you."
Instead of going through the classroom as Harry expected, she led him around the corner, and to the next door, which led directly into her office. The room looked remarkably similar, Harry thought, to the way it had when it was Snape's office. Books, jars, bottles, slimy things, though Professor Gullwing's desk was perhaps a tad neater. She seated herself behind it and indicated the other chair for Harry.
As he sat, she said, "Have you any theories?"
"Well, I was reading Hogwarts: A History when it occurred to me that perhaps the alcove is a form of disappearing corridor. The book is vague about where the corridors that disappear and reappear go when they are not present and I thought... what if they literally 'go' from one time to another?"
Galatea Gullwing steepled her fingers and thought. "It's certainly possible. The castle is rife with old magics that we have lost the keys to, as it were."
Harry thought about the Chamber of Secrets and said "That's true."
"It is reported as fact that there are disappearing corridors, yet how can it be that we know so little about them? Is there a periodicity to their movements? Some specific event that triggers them to appear or disappear?"
"Periodicity?"
"Regularity of interval," she said, without admonishing him. "In other words, if this alcove went back and forth between now and 1997 every six weeks, say, then we'd be able to predict the time of the next move, and you could be ensconced there, waiting. But it seems unlikely to be that often or we would have noticed, I would think."
"You did say that it is so dark it's hard to notice."
"True." She tapped her index fingers together. "We also don't know if the movements are random. Or would it continue to go back in time?" She fell silent, thinking about it.
Harry spoke up then. "What about the painting? I was trying to figure out if it was a portrait missing its subject. Could whoever it was have gotten stuck in another painting when the corridor disappeared? Or are they here somewhere in another painting? And if so, might they know?"
"Fascinating idea, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Slytherin, much as that pains me." She focused on him, then. "How have you been doing since your arrival? Are you getting on well with your new cohort?"
"Oh, um, yes, thanks." He was about to say "they're quite nice" but realized that wasn't strictly true. "I do get on well with them. Malfoy has really been a big help."
"You sound surprised by that."
"Oh, no, it's just... well, he is much nicer to me than I expected. I can't say any more, though, you understand."
"The geas, yes. I'm going to guess you know one of his relatives then."
Harry nodded.
"It's a peculiar situation you are in, Mr. Potter, and you are to be commended for handling it so well." She pushed her glasses up her nose and stood. "But if you are determined to unlock the mystery of this alcove, I would suggest two things. First, let us charm an object, place it in the alcove, and key it to you, so that if it moves or disappears you will be alerted. Second, I would suggest you ask some of the other portraits about this one and see if it comes to anything. Portraits are not always a reliable source of information, but that line of inquiry is certainly worth pursuing."
"Yes, professor." Harry stood, too.
"I must get back to my potion, but, hmm. Do you have a quill?" She opened a drawer in her desk, drew out a quill with a splintered tip. Harry dug one of his own out of his bag. Gullwing placed the two of them together on her desk, drew her wand and muttered a long incantation, or perhaps it was several short ones strung together, She then handed Harry's quill back to him. "Follow me."
She tucked the other behind the frame of the painting, said two more words as she tapped it with her wand, and then turned to him. "There. Now if anything changes with this one, that one," she pointed at Harry's bag with her wand, "will let you know."
"Thank you, professor." Harry gripped his bag tight, his sore arms beginning to ache again a bit as the effects of last night's potion were wearing off. "Thank you very much."
She waved him away. "Now go and eat your lunch. I have a potion to finish."
Harry rushed up to the Great Hall, and slid into the space on the bench next to Malfoy just in time to grab the last chicken leg off the platter in front of Crabbe.
"Where you been, Harry?" Crabbe asked. "You're lucky you got here when you did. I was about to take a bite out of that."
Harry couldn't answer because his mouth was full, but he gestured guiltily, twinges of pain coming back into his arms in earnest now.
"Oh no, no, you eat it. You need to keep up your strength for tomorrow." Crabbe slapped Harry on the back. "In fact, you want more? I'll go raid some from the fourth years. They've still got plenty down there, the runts."
"No, I'm fine," Harry said. "Thanks, though."
Draco had not said a word. He broke a roll into pieces, buttered them individually and ate them one at a time with great deliberation. When the bell rang, he hurried off, Harry hastening to follow.
Harry would not run after him, but he arrived at the transfiguration classroom only a few seconds later. They habitually shared a desk and no one else had sat in Harry's seat, so Harry took it as usual. Draco would not meet his eyes.
The day's classroom task was turning tankards filled with water into goblets filled with wine. As they set to work, Harry had finally tired of the cold shoulder. "Are you upset I was late to lunch or is it something else?" he asked, his voice pitched low.
"What are you talking about?" Draco sniffed.
"Draco, come on..."
"Shut it, Potter. Concentrate on this, now. What kind of wine do you like?"
"I don't know," Harry said. "I've never really had much wine."
"Then let me try it first." Draco held up his wand, spoke the incantation. Harry blinked at the slight flash of light and then had to admit he was impressed. The tankard had become a glass with a spiral stem, whorled etchings circling the rim, filled with something ruby red and glistening. "Taste it," Draco said, his voice firm.
Harry picked the glass up gingerly, then raised it to his lips, quite aware that Draco was glaring at him as he did so.
He winced and spat. "Bloody hell, Malfoy! That tastes like rat piss!"
"Pity." The blond wizard folded his arms. "Must have got something in the incantation wrong. or maybe my wand should have moved more like this." He swished it and Harry had to shy back to keep from getting the tip in his eye.
"What the hell is wrong with you!"
Draco's eyes blazed and he warned in a low voice, "Not here, Potter."
"But you...!" Harry mastered himself quickly. Even if Draco was being an arse, the last thing they needed was the appearance that they were having a lover's spat.
Is that what this is? Harry wondered. "Fine. Try it again."
Draco raised his wand to turn the glass back into a tankard. He took a deep breath, then flicked his hand.
The glass shattered with a crash, exploding into a thousand pieces. Harry managed to get his hand up in time to keep the shards from embedding in his face while others bounced off his glasses.
Draco was not so lucky. He slipped from his chair. He had his hands over his eyes, and he was making a strangled sound as if he were trying not to cry out. His wand rolled forgotten on the floor.
***
They wouldn't let Harry go with him to the hospital wing. Of course not, Harry realized. They never let his friends go along whenever he had been injured, though like them he could probably visit later. That is if Draco ended up staying there for any length of time. For all Harry knew, a couple of quick charms might fix him right up.
But he wasn't there at dinner, and Harry was sick with worry by that time that when Whittington asked him to describe what happened he sat down next to her. By necessity, he had to repeat the story for all the Slytherins within earshot.
"We were working on that double-transfiguration, you know? Tankard into glass and water into wine. Well, he was going to turn the glass goblet back into a tankard, he just waved his wand and blam. The glass exploded. If it weren't for these"--he tapped his spectacles--"I'd probably be in the infirmary, too."
There were appreciative oohs. Anisette Fogg put her hand over her mouth, and then the table fell to general murmuring about it.
Harry turned to Whittington. "He's going to be all right, isn't he? He had his hands over his eyes so I couldn't see, but he was acting like it was pretty bad..."
"Harry." She put her hand on his arm to stop his babble. "You know more than I do, then. I was on the other side of the room, remember?"
"Oh." Harry found he was biting his lip. "I think... it might be kind of my fault. I had said something that pissed him off right before he did it." Well, that wasn't strictly true, but it was close enough.
"It's not your fault if his spell went wrong," she said.
"But he'll be okay, won't he, Heather?"
She glared at a sixth year across the table who looked like he might be trying to eavesdrop. The boy turned to Frost and acted like he had something to say to him. "Harry, I don't know. The eyes are one of the parts of the body that are the hardest to heal with magic. You know that. Otherwise, why would you still be wearing glasses?"
Harry stared at her. It had never occurred to him to fix his eyesight with magic. "Uh..."
"The eyes are the window on the soul," she said, and it sounded like she was quoting. "For whatever reason, they are very resistant to magical change."
"You're totally freaking me out, now, you realize," he told her.
"Sorry, didn't mean to. But it's not your fault. Let's go ask LeStrange if we can visit him after dinner. Come on." She grasped him by the hand and pulled him bodily from the bench. Harry was aware of many eyes on him as Heather pulled him by the hand down the length of the table.
As it turned out, Professor LeStrange not only granted them permission, he escorted them there. A mediwizard Harry had not yet met merely nodded to the professor as he strode into the infirmary, and shortly the three of them stood at Draco's bedside. Draco appeared to be asleep, thought it was difficult to tell since a large bandage covered both eyes. More bandages wrapped around his head to keep the bulge of fabric in place and pushed Draco's hair this way and that. Harry swallowed when he saw the voluminous bandaging.
"Will he be all right, you think. Professor?" Harry asked, ignoring the fact that Whittington rolled her eyes a little at that.
"I'll go find out what his prognosis is. You two stay here in case he wakes up."
Harry nodded. He looked at Draco's prone form and had the nagging feeling that Draco was actually awake. Harry wondered if he would have feigned sleep had it been only Harry here, or only Heather...
The silence stretched on. "Oh, um, by the way," Harry said. "Thanks a lot for that muscle rub stuff. It, um, I ended up really needing it last night."
"Your detention with Black?" she answered in a half-whisper.
Harry nodded. "He was trying to ruin me for the match tomorrow. Made me hold my arms out for five bloody hours."
Her eyes widened. "And you did it?"
Harry nodded.
"How are your arms now?"
"Pretty sore, still, but at least I can move them. Last night I couldn't even open the door to our room." Or to the Common Room, he thought, though that was a different problem entirely.
"Did you use it up? The salve, I mean."
"About half of it."
"You better put some on tonight, too."
"Yeah, you're right."
Heather cleared her throat. "You know, I could help you with that."
Harry blinked. This was exactly what Draco had warned him about, and here he had walked right into it. "Um, that's all right. I think I can handle it." Change the subject, change the subject... he thought furiously. "So, the weirdest thing happened last night. When I came back from detention, the Common Room door wouldn't open."
"What do you mean?"
"I should probably tell LeStrange about it, too. The door wouldn't respond to the password for me or for Anisette."
"So, how did you get in?"
"Um, someone else came along and it worked fine for them. Weird, huh?" He looked up as the professor returned.
LeStrange waved his hand toward Draco's face. "Well, he's got a poultice on there to prevent scarring..."
"Scarring?" Harry said, alarmed.
"Of the cornea. He’ll have to stay here overnight, but if it works, he should be just fine by morning."
"If it works?" Harry's voice rose.
"Cut it out, Potter," Whittington said then. "You need to get a good night's sleep tonight."
"Er, professor, do you think he'll be recovered enough to, um, see the match?"
LeStrange gave Harry a kind and warm smile. "We’ll have to see about that tomorrow. Don't worry, Harry. Professor Gullwing made the poultice herself and she's quite the expert. She also made him some other potions he's already taken, so everything possible is being done."
Harry let out a breath. That did make him feel a bit better as it certainly seemed that Gullwing knew her business. "Oh, professor," he said, as they started to walk out of the hospital wing, "I've been meaning to tell you. First, thanks so much for the gloves. I'll definitely wear them tomorrow."
"My pleasure, Mr. Potter. I am looking forward to the match myself." He caught Whittington's eye then and said "Would you two like to come down to my office for a cup of tea?"
"I would love to, professor," she said, "But a few of us are getting together to make ribbons for tomorrow and it wouldn't be fair for me to shirk my share."
"I understand completely. In fact, be sure to give me one of them to wear tomorrow, would you?"
"Certainly, professor." She gave a little curtsey and then hurried on ahead of them.
"And how about you, Harry?" LeStrange paused. "I promise not to keep you too late."
Harry's urge was to beg off as well, but what if he could learn something useful from LeStrange? "Okay, just one cup, though," Harry said.
They walked in silence to LeStrange's office door. Once inside, the professor ushered Harry to one of a pair of leather-upholstered chairs by the hearth, sat down, lit the fire with one swish of his wand, then conjured a full pot of tea with two cups on the backswing. Harry suppressed a smirk, remembering that Draco had called LeStrange a "show off" for his transfiguration of Harry's tie. Harry fingered the knot at his throat.
"So, Harry, I haven't had a chance to catch up with you. How have you been getting on?" LeStrange poured the tea, and handed one cup by its saucer to Harry.
Harry took it with a nod. "Pretty well, professor. No news from the Ministry, so I am just ... carrying on."
"You seem to be fitting in well." LeStrange sat all the way back in his chair and rested his saucer on his belly. He wasn't very old, Harry realized, maybe forty, but getting a bit thick around the middle. His hair was a shaggy, sandy light brown that might have been partly grey.
"Er, yeah." Harry took a sip of his tea. "Oh, so the other thing I've been meaning to tell you. Last night, I had detention with the headmaster."
"He wasn't too hard on you, I trust?"
"Um, well..." Harry didn't know how to answer that so he soldiered on. "When I came back to the dungeons afterward, though, I couldn't get the password to work on the door into the Slytherin dormitory."
"How curious," LeStrange said, blowing on his tea. "Could it have been a prank by one of the other houses?"
"I don't know what caused it, but I figured I should bring it up with you. Anisette Fogg couldn't get it to work either, and she was trying for quite a while."
"So, how did you get in?"
Harry kept his expression neutral. "Draco Malfoy was able to do it. But why it worked for him and not for us, I don't know." Well, there, now LeStrange knew that Harry knew what kind of condition Draco had been in last night, and when he had come home. Although, Harry realized, LeStrange knew they were roommates, so surely Harry would have already known. But now it was said.
LeStrange betrayed no emotion as he spoke. "Hm. I wouldn't put it past the Gryffindors to try to disrupt your life. If someone has tampered with the door, that's a serious offense and should be severely punished. Flogging, I should think."
Harry sputtered in his tea.
"Are they no longer doing that in your era? No, no, don't answer. I'll assume by your shock that it has fallen out of favor and in your time they have some other method of correction." He sipped in silence for a few moments. "How things change. Some more slowly in the Wizarding world than in the Muggle world, since so many of us live so much longer, and our institutions stand commensurately longer as well. Hogwarts, well, another thousand years may it stand." He raised his teacup toward Harry, who tipped his in answer. "There are many things I hope will have changed in the world by your time," he said, his voice wistful. "I know you can't tell me anything so don't even try, but I hope it is a better world which awaits us all."
Harry got a bit of a lump in his throat at that. He didn't know what LeStrange was alluding to, nor why the man seemed as emotional as he did, but he couldn't help but think about his situation. In the future, he and Draco wouldn't have to hide, wouldn't have to act as though what they were doing were terribly wrong. But in the future there was also Voldemort, and a prophecy that Harry would have to fulfill or die trying. "There are good things and bad things about every era," Harry said then, because he felt he had to say something.
"Too true, Mr. Potter." LeStrange put his cup down then, and rubbed his hands briskly together. "Now, let's have a look at that doorway, shall we? I am very curious to see if the tampering is still in effect." Harry stood as the Arithmancy professor did. "And Harry," LeStrange added, as they went into the corridor, "Please don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything. Advice, help, anything at all."
"Thanks, professor." Harry hid a sigh as he walked half a step behind LeStrange toward the Slytherin dorm. He wanted to hate LeStrange, but he seemed like a pretty decent sort. Then again, he was a Slytherin. Harry was sure he was hiding something, he certainly couldn't be entirely innocent when it came to why Malfoy's memory had been altered. "Actually, sir, could you do me one favor?"
"Of course, my boy. Anything."
"Will you look in on Malfoy tomorrow morning if he's still in hospital? I might be a bit... occupied. Would you tell him..." Harry tried to think of something plausible. "That I'm worried about him?"
"You care a lot about him, don't you."
They were nearing the corner and the turn toward Slytherin. Harry wasn't sure why, but instinct told him to lead LeStrange on a little more. "Is it that obvious?" he said very, very quietly.
LeStrange did not break stride but Harry could see he was taken aback for a moment. He clearly hadn't meant his comment to precipitate a confession. "I'll tell him," LeStrange said.
"He.." Harry put a little tremor into his voice. "He means the world to me. I... I don't want anything bad to happen to him. Ever." Then he ran his hand over his face as if composing himself. In a firmer voice he said, "I'm sure you understand, professor."
"I do, quite," LeStrange said, and clapped Harry briefly on the shoulder. "You can trust me... to deliver your message."
They turned the corner and Harry abandoned any further attempts to learn anything from LeStrange.
There outside the door were two first years, one boy and one girl, looking rather petrified. "Professor!" they cried in unison, "The password's not working."
"Not to worry, not to worry," LeStrange said, drawing his wand out of his robes. "Stand back now," he said, moving the first years aside with a gentle hand and a smile. He held his wand like a conductor to his orchestra then, and closed his eyes in concentration. Then he began to mumble an incantation, too quietly for Harry to make out what the words were.
Both Harry and the first years gasped and jumped back as a fiery line appeared around the outline of the doorway, then flared out, leaving behind a slight scent of brimstone.
LeStrange lowered his wand, the friendly smile he'd shown to the first years gone. "Try it now," he said, his voice low. The two first years stepped forward, giving the professor a wide berth.
But the door opened. It closed behind them and the wall went back to looking like a wall.
"What was it, professor? Do you think the Gryffindors did it?"
"I do not think it was the Gryffindors, Harry. It would appear the door was spelled so that only pure-blooded wizards could pass through it."
Harry did a double take. He'd made the assumption that other than him, Slytherins were all pure bloods. But of course, that was foolish. Two of the Slytherins he knew best, Severus Snape and Tom Riddle, were of course both half blooded. "Do you know who?"
"I do." LeStrange sighed. "I don't suppose it can really be kept quiet, can it?"
"You don't have to tell me, professor," Harry said, though of course he was burning with curiosity.
"No, no, we'll need to make an example, I suppose. You know, of course, that Salazar Slytherin believed in pure-blooded superiority? Yes, I thought you would. It's a concept that rears its head from time to time, but one I had generally hoped to suppress in recent years." He took a deep breath. "The door, if you would, Harry."
Harry spoke the password, swung the door inward, and was greeted by the stares of everyone in the Common Room. The two first years were in the middle of a group--they had clearly been telling everyone about LeStrange's magical feat.
"Timothy Frost," Professor LeStrange said, his voice booming.
"Sir?" Frost said, standing up from his chair near the fireplace.
"Tampering with the security spells of your house is a punishable offense. Are you even aware of the magnitude of deed you have performed?"
Frost just pursed his lips sullenly.
"Twenty lashes, Mr. Frost. Come with me."
Frost's eyes widened. "You can't be serious. You know as well as I that filthy mudbloods and their kin don't belong here."
"Thirty lashes, Mr. Frost, for using an objectionable word for an even more objectionable concept." He pointed his wand at Frost, as if stupefying him were not out of the question.
"Thirty lashes! And you're taking Potter's word for it?"
"Mis-ter Frost," LeStrange said severely. "I'll have you know that your magical signature was all over that spell and with poor Myers and Bartleby here stranded in the corridor I could hardly overlook the fact that something was wrong."
Frost began reluctantly climbing to the door, his shoulders slumped and his back stiff with anger.
When he stood within arms reach of the professor, LeStrange spoke again to the entire room. "Mr. Potter and I have been to see Mr. Malfoy. Hopefully he will be up and about by the time the match starts tomorrow. If he's not, I hope you will all dedicate your victory to him."
This pronouncement was met by cheers, and LeStrange led Frost away.
[Next Chapter: Quidditch. A heart-to-heart chat. Suspicion. And more.]
Continue to Chapter Thirteen
Author: Ravenna C. Tan ravenna_c_tan
House: Ravenclaw
Word Count: 5124 (just this chapter)
Challenge: The "Old Cliches, New Tricks" Fest at hp_cliche
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: A lot of plot and angst in this one.
Pairing:H/D
Beta Reader Thanks To: miraba
Cliche: Time-travel, but that isn't Snarry.
Disclaimer: Harry, Draco, Hogwarts, and the rest all belong to JK Rowling. I'm just having fun, doing it for the love, not any money.
Summary: Students at Hogwarts have always been warned about corridors that appear and disappear. Did you ever wonder where they go? Or when? Harry thinks he is late to his seventh year potions class, but he turns out to be more than seventy years early.
(The Archive of previous chapters is available Right Here)
In the morning, Harry's arms were stiff but not immobile. He rubbed his chest and shoulders as he lay in bed and wondered where Draco was. He pushed aside the bed curtains to see the other wizard was already sitting at the table. If Harry squinted, it looked like he was sipping a cup of tea and reading The Daily Prophet.
"Your tithe is here, oh great Seeker," Draco said.
Harry felt the nightstand for his glasses--they were not there. Then he remembered. They were on Draco's nightstand. They had switched to Harry's bed to sleep after the bath rather than fuss with cleaning charms on the sheets. "Accio glasses."
Harry slipped his spectacles over his ears and padded to the table. About a half dozen more packages awaited, along with a breakfast of tiny sausages and eggs with toast. "How late are we?"
Draco cast a time spell and shrugged. "We have fifteen minutes. Too bad we can't apparate directly to class and save the ten minutes of walking."
"Will you start looking through the cards while I eat?"
"Certainly, sahib." Draco picked through the packages one at a time. "Anonymous, anonymous. Some nice bonbons from Anisette--I just hope they aren't anise-flavored..." Draco looked up. "Please remember to breathe while eating. Oh and tomorrow we must be sure to be at breakfast in the Great Hall before the match. Wouldn't do to seem like you're hiding."
Harry nodded, his mouth too full to reply. Then he jumped up from the table, picked up his wand, and decided to try that full dressing charm he'd been practicing. Unfortunately, he was too hurried to concentrate well, and powerful wizard or no, his boxers ended up on backwards.
Also unfortunately, he did not notice this until they were halfway to class. Fortunately they were loose enough not to make a huge difference and Harry did not have to fidget at his desk. In fact, by the time class was over, his mind was already on a more urgent mission.
Draco was leading him toward the Great Hall--it wouldn't do to miss two meals in a row, he said--but Harry begged off. "I'll be there in a minute, save me a seat." He headed toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Draco had a quizzical look on his face.
"Er..." Harry wasn't sure what prompted him to lie just then. "When I got dressed this morning, I got my boxers on backwards. I'm going to fix them."
Draco tried to suppress a guffaw and failed. "All right then." He turned toward the great Hall with mirth in his step.
Harry trotted down the stairs and headed toward the potions classroom. His heart began to beat harder as he neared the spot. What was he likely to find? He practically ran the last few steps before turning the corner.
The wall between the corner and the doorway had various nooks, created by the bones of support for the storeys above. But there, the third one from the end of the hall, was deeper than the others, an actual alcove.
He took a step into the alcove, and there was the painting of the dark landscape. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. It was real, it was there, and so maybe he was onto something. He cast lumos to get a better look. Maybe there was no occupant to this painting? Or maybe whoever it was got stuck in a different painting when this one went back in time? Harry ran his fingers along the frame.
Or what if the occupant was invisible? "Hello?" Harry said. "Is anyone there?" There was no reply. Harry felt the stone around the painting, the walls. Just stone. If this alcove held the key to returning to his time, it was not obvious.
"May I help you, Mr. Potter?"
Harry startled at the voice and looked up to see Professor Gullwing, her hair bound back and her brewing robes on.
"Sorry to disturb you, Professor," Harry said. "I didn't think anyone would be down here."
"Yes, well, I had some preparations to make for the fifth years." She was still looking at him curiously, clearly waiting for an explanation for his presence.
"Professor, do you know if... was this alcove always here?" Harry gestured vaguely. "The day I... arrived here, it was..."
She held up her hand for silence. "I know exactly which day you are talking about, Mr. Potter." She examined the small space. "I can't say as I've really noticed it before. Without your wandlight it would be very easy to miss."
He waved it over the painting, examining it again. "This is, um, basically, the spot where..."
"Would you prefer to discuss this in my office?"
Harry looked up at her. "Um, sure, yes, thank you."
Instead of going through the classroom as Harry expected, she led him around the corner, and to the next door, which led directly into her office. The room looked remarkably similar, Harry thought, to the way it had when it was Snape's office. Books, jars, bottles, slimy things, though Professor Gullwing's desk was perhaps a tad neater. She seated herself behind it and indicated the other chair for Harry.
As he sat, she said, "Have you any theories?"
"Well, I was reading Hogwarts: A History when it occurred to me that perhaps the alcove is a form of disappearing corridor. The book is vague about where the corridors that disappear and reappear go when they are not present and I thought... what if they literally 'go' from one time to another?"
Galatea Gullwing steepled her fingers and thought. "It's certainly possible. The castle is rife with old magics that we have lost the keys to, as it were."
Harry thought about the Chamber of Secrets and said "That's true."
"It is reported as fact that there are disappearing corridors, yet how can it be that we know so little about them? Is there a periodicity to their movements? Some specific event that triggers them to appear or disappear?"
"Periodicity?"
"Regularity of interval," she said, without admonishing him. "In other words, if this alcove went back and forth between now and 1997 every six weeks, say, then we'd be able to predict the time of the next move, and you could be ensconced there, waiting. But it seems unlikely to be that often or we would have noticed, I would think."
"You did say that it is so dark it's hard to notice."
"True." She tapped her index fingers together. "We also don't know if the movements are random. Or would it continue to go back in time?" She fell silent, thinking about it.
Harry spoke up then. "What about the painting? I was trying to figure out if it was a portrait missing its subject. Could whoever it was have gotten stuck in another painting when the corridor disappeared? Or are they here somewhere in another painting? And if so, might they know?"
"Fascinating idea, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Slytherin, much as that pains me." She focused on him, then. "How have you been doing since your arrival? Are you getting on well with your new cohort?"
"Oh, um, yes, thanks." He was about to say "they're quite nice" but realized that wasn't strictly true. "I do get on well with them. Malfoy has really been a big help."
"You sound surprised by that."
"Oh, no, it's just... well, he is much nicer to me than I expected. I can't say any more, though, you understand."
"The geas, yes. I'm going to guess you know one of his relatives then."
Harry nodded.
"It's a peculiar situation you are in, Mr. Potter, and you are to be commended for handling it so well." She pushed her glasses up her nose and stood. "But if you are determined to unlock the mystery of this alcove, I would suggest two things. First, let us charm an object, place it in the alcove, and key it to you, so that if it moves or disappears you will be alerted. Second, I would suggest you ask some of the other portraits about this one and see if it comes to anything. Portraits are not always a reliable source of information, but that line of inquiry is certainly worth pursuing."
"Yes, professor." Harry stood, too.
"I must get back to my potion, but, hmm. Do you have a quill?" She opened a drawer in her desk, drew out a quill with a splintered tip. Harry dug one of his own out of his bag. Gullwing placed the two of them together on her desk, drew her wand and muttered a long incantation, or perhaps it was several short ones strung together, She then handed Harry's quill back to him. "Follow me."
She tucked the other behind the frame of the painting, said two more words as she tapped it with her wand, and then turned to him. "There. Now if anything changes with this one, that one," she pointed at Harry's bag with her wand, "will let you know."
"Thank you, professor." Harry gripped his bag tight, his sore arms beginning to ache again a bit as the effects of last night's potion were wearing off. "Thank you very much."
She waved him away. "Now go and eat your lunch. I have a potion to finish."
Harry rushed up to the Great Hall, and slid into the space on the bench next to Malfoy just in time to grab the last chicken leg off the platter in front of Crabbe.
"Where you been, Harry?" Crabbe asked. "You're lucky you got here when you did. I was about to take a bite out of that."
Harry couldn't answer because his mouth was full, but he gestured guiltily, twinges of pain coming back into his arms in earnest now.
"Oh no, no, you eat it. You need to keep up your strength for tomorrow." Crabbe slapped Harry on the back. "In fact, you want more? I'll go raid some from the fourth years. They've still got plenty down there, the runts."
"No, I'm fine," Harry said. "Thanks, though."
Draco had not said a word. He broke a roll into pieces, buttered them individually and ate them one at a time with great deliberation. When the bell rang, he hurried off, Harry hastening to follow.
Harry would not run after him, but he arrived at the transfiguration classroom only a few seconds later. They habitually shared a desk and no one else had sat in Harry's seat, so Harry took it as usual. Draco would not meet his eyes.
The day's classroom task was turning tankards filled with water into goblets filled with wine. As they set to work, Harry had finally tired of the cold shoulder. "Are you upset I was late to lunch or is it something else?" he asked, his voice pitched low.
"What are you talking about?" Draco sniffed.
"Draco, come on..."
"Shut it, Potter. Concentrate on this, now. What kind of wine do you like?"
"I don't know," Harry said. "I've never really had much wine."
"Then let me try it first." Draco held up his wand, spoke the incantation. Harry blinked at the slight flash of light and then had to admit he was impressed. The tankard had become a glass with a spiral stem, whorled etchings circling the rim, filled with something ruby red and glistening. "Taste it," Draco said, his voice firm.
Harry picked the glass up gingerly, then raised it to his lips, quite aware that Draco was glaring at him as he did so.
He winced and spat. "Bloody hell, Malfoy! That tastes like rat piss!"
"Pity." The blond wizard folded his arms. "Must have got something in the incantation wrong. or maybe my wand should have moved more like this." He swished it and Harry had to shy back to keep from getting the tip in his eye.
"What the hell is wrong with you!"
Draco's eyes blazed and he warned in a low voice, "Not here, Potter."
"But you...!" Harry mastered himself quickly. Even if Draco was being an arse, the last thing they needed was the appearance that they were having a lover's spat.
Is that what this is? Harry wondered. "Fine. Try it again."
Draco raised his wand to turn the glass back into a tankard. He took a deep breath, then flicked his hand.
The glass shattered with a crash, exploding into a thousand pieces. Harry managed to get his hand up in time to keep the shards from embedding in his face while others bounced off his glasses.
Draco was not so lucky. He slipped from his chair. He had his hands over his eyes, and he was making a strangled sound as if he were trying not to cry out. His wand rolled forgotten on the floor.
***
They wouldn't let Harry go with him to the hospital wing. Of course not, Harry realized. They never let his friends go along whenever he had been injured, though like them he could probably visit later. That is if Draco ended up staying there for any length of time. For all Harry knew, a couple of quick charms might fix him right up.
But he wasn't there at dinner, and Harry was sick with worry by that time that when Whittington asked him to describe what happened he sat down next to her. By necessity, he had to repeat the story for all the Slytherins within earshot.
"We were working on that double-transfiguration, you know? Tankard into glass and water into wine. Well, he was going to turn the glass goblet back into a tankard, he just waved his wand and blam. The glass exploded. If it weren't for these"--he tapped his spectacles--"I'd probably be in the infirmary, too."
There were appreciative oohs. Anisette Fogg put her hand over her mouth, and then the table fell to general murmuring about it.
Harry turned to Whittington. "He's going to be all right, isn't he? He had his hands over his eyes so I couldn't see, but he was acting like it was pretty bad..."
"Harry." She put her hand on his arm to stop his babble. "You know more than I do, then. I was on the other side of the room, remember?"
"Oh." Harry found he was biting his lip. "I think... it might be kind of my fault. I had said something that pissed him off right before he did it." Well, that wasn't strictly true, but it was close enough.
"It's not your fault if his spell went wrong," she said.
"But he'll be okay, won't he, Heather?"
She glared at a sixth year across the table who looked like he might be trying to eavesdrop. The boy turned to Frost and acted like he had something to say to him. "Harry, I don't know. The eyes are one of the parts of the body that are the hardest to heal with magic. You know that. Otherwise, why would you still be wearing glasses?"
Harry stared at her. It had never occurred to him to fix his eyesight with magic. "Uh..."
"The eyes are the window on the soul," she said, and it sounded like she was quoting. "For whatever reason, they are very resistant to magical change."
"You're totally freaking me out, now, you realize," he told her.
"Sorry, didn't mean to. But it's not your fault. Let's go ask LeStrange if we can visit him after dinner. Come on." She grasped him by the hand and pulled him bodily from the bench. Harry was aware of many eyes on him as Heather pulled him by the hand down the length of the table.
As it turned out, Professor LeStrange not only granted them permission, he escorted them there. A mediwizard Harry had not yet met merely nodded to the professor as he strode into the infirmary, and shortly the three of them stood at Draco's bedside. Draco appeared to be asleep, thought it was difficult to tell since a large bandage covered both eyes. More bandages wrapped around his head to keep the bulge of fabric in place and pushed Draco's hair this way and that. Harry swallowed when he saw the voluminous bandaging.
"Will he be all right, you think. Professor?" Harry asked, ignoring the fact that Whittington rolled her eyes a little at that.
"I'll go find out what his prognosis is. You two stay here in case he wakes up."
Harry nodded. He looked at Draco's prone form and had the nagging feeling that Draco was actually awake. Harry wondered if he would have feigned sleep had it been only Harry here, or only Heather...
The silence stretched on. "Oh, um, by the way," Harry said. "Thanks a lot for that muscle rub stuff. It, um, I ended up really needing it last night."
"Your detention with Black?" she answered in a half-whisper.
Harry nodded. "He was trying to ruin me for the match tomorrow. Made me hold my arms out for five bloody hours."
Her eyes widened. "And you did it?"
Harry nodded.
"How are your arms now?"
"Pretty sore, still, but at least I can move them. Last night I couldn't even open the door to our room." Or to the Common Room, he thought, though that was a different problem entirely.
"Did you use it up? The salve, I mean."
"About half of it."
"You better put some on tonight, too."
"Yeah, you're right."
Heather cleared her throat. "You know, I could help you with that."
Harry blinked. This was exactly what Draco had warned him about, and here he had walked right into it. "Um, that's all right. I think I can handle it." Change the subject, change the subject... he thought furiously. "So, the weirdest thing happened last night. When I came back from detention, the Common Room door wouldn't open."
"What do you mean?"
"I should probably tell LeStrange about it, too. The door wouldn't respond to the password for me or for Anisette."
"So, how did you get in?"
"Um, someone else came along and it worked fine for them. Weird, huh?" He looked up as the professor returned.
LeStrange waved his hand toward Draco's face. "Well, he's got a poultice on there to prevent scarring..."
"Scarring?" Harry said, alarmed.
"Of the cornea. He’ll have to stay here overnight, but if it works, he should be just fine by morning."
"If it works?" Harry's voice rose.
"Cut it out, Potter," Whittington said then. "You need to get a good night's sleep tonight."
"Er, professor, do you think he'll be recovered enough to, um, see the match?"
LeStrange gave Harry a kind and warm smile. "We’ll have to see about that tomorrow. Don't worry, Harry. Professor Gullwing made the poultice herself and she's quite the expert. She also made him some other potions he's already taken, so everything possible is being done."
Harry let out a breath. That did make him feel a bit better as it certainly seemed that Gullwing knew her business. "Oh, professor," he said, as they started to walk out of the hospital wing, "I've been meaning to tell you. First, thanks so much for the gloves. I'll definitely wear them tomorrow."
"My pleasure, Mr. Potter. I am looking forward to the match myself." He caught Whittington's eye then and said "Would you two like to come down to my office for a cup of tea?"
"I would love to, professor," she said, "But a few of us are getting together to make ribbons for tomorrow and it wouldn't be fair for me to shirk my share."
"I understand completely. In fact, be sure to give me one of them to wear tomorrow, would you?"
"Certainly, professor." She gave a little curtsey and then hurried on ahead of them.
"And how about you, Harry?" LeStrange paused. "I promise not to keep you too late."
Harry's urge was to beg off as well, but what if he could learn something useful from LeStrange? "Okay, just one cup, though," Harry said.
They walked in silence to LeStrange's office door. Once inside, the professor ushered Harry to one of a pair of leather-upholstered chairs by the hearth, sat down, lit the fire with one swish of his wand, then conjured a full pot of tea with two cups on the backswing. Harry suppressed a smirk, remembering that Draco had called LeStrange a "show off" for his transfiguration of Harry's tie. Harry fingered the knot at his throat.
"So, Harry, I haven't had a chance to catch up with you. How have you been getting on?" LeStrange poured the tea, and handed one cup by its saucer to Harry.
Harry took it with a nod. "Pretty well, professor. No news from the Ministry, so I am just ... carrying on."
"You seem to be fitting in well." LeStrange sat all the way back in his chair and rested his saucer on his belly. He wasn't very old, Harry realized, maybe forty, but getting a bit thick around the middle. His hair was a shaggy, sandy light brown that might have been partly grey.
"Er, yeah." Harry took a sip of his tea. "Oh, so the other thing I've been meaning to tell you. Last night, I had detention with the headmaster."
"He wasn't too hard on you, I trust?"
"Um, well..." Harry didn't know how to answer that so he soldiered on. "When I came back to the dungeons afterward, though, I couldn't get the password to work on the door into the Slytherin dormitory."
"How curious," LeStrange said, blowing on his tea. "Could it have been a prank by one of the other houses?"
"I don't know what caused it, but I figured I should bring it up with you. Anisette Fogg couldn't get it to work either, and she was trying for quite a while."
"So, how did you get in?"
Harry kept his expression neutral. "Draco Malfoy was able to do it. But why it worked for him and not for us, I don't know." Well, there, now LeStrange knew that Harry knew what kind of condition Draco had been in last night, and when he had come home. Although, Harry realized, LeStrange knew they were roommates, so surely Harry would have already known. But now it was said.
LeStrange betrayed no emotion as he spoke. "Hm. I wouldn't put it past the Gryffindors to try to disrupt your life. If someone has tampered with the door, that's a serious offense and should be severely punished. Flogging, I should think."
Harry sputtered in his tea.
"Are they no longer doing that in your era? No, no, don't answer. I'll assume by your shock that it has fallen out of favor and in your time they have some other method of correction." He sipped in silence for a few moments. "How things change. Some more slowly in the Wizarding world than in the Muggle world, since so many of us live so much longer, and our institutions stand commensurately longer as well. Hogwarts, well, another thousand years may it stand." He raised his teacup toward Harry, who tipped his in answer. "There are many things I hope will have changed in the world by your time," he said, his voice wistful. "I know you can't tell me anything so don't even try, but I hope it is a better world which awaits us all."
Harry got a bit of a lump in his throat at that. He didn't know what LeStrange was alluding to, nor why the man seemed as emotional as he did, but he couldn't help but think about his situation. In the future, he and Draco wouldn't have to hide, wouldn't have to act as though what they were doing were terribly wrong. But in the future there was also Voldemort, and a prophecy that Harry would have to fulfill or die trying. "There are good things and bad things about every era," Harry said then, because he felt he had to say something.
"Too true, Mr. Potter." LeStrange put his cup down then, and rubbed his hands briskly together. "Now, let's have a look at that doorway, shall we? I am very curious to see if the tampering is still in effect." Harry stood as the Arithmancy professor did. "And Harry," LeStrange added, as they went into the corridor, "Please don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything. Advice, help, anything at all."
"Thanks, professor." Harry hid a sigh as he walked half a step behind LeStrange toward the Slytherin dorm. He wanted to hate LeStrange, but he seemed like a pretty decent sort. Then again, he was a Slytherin. Harry was sure he was hiding something, he certainly couldn't be entirely innocent when it came to why Malfoy's memory had been altered. "Actually, sir, could you do me one favor?"
"Of course, my boy. Anything."
"Will you look in on Malfoy tomorrow morning if he's still in hospital? I might be a bit... occupied. Would you tell him..." Harry tried to think of something plausible. "That I'm worried about him?"
"You care a lot about him, don't you."
They were nearing the corner and the turn toward Slytherin. Harry wasn't sure why, but instinct told him to lead LeStrange on a little more. "Is it that obvious?" he said very, very quietly.
LeStrange did not break stride but Harry could see he was taken aback for a moment. He clearly hadn't meant his comment to precipitate a confession. "I'll tell him," LeStrange said.
"He.." Harry put a little tremor into his voice. "He means the world to me. I... I don't want anything bad to happen to him. Ever." Then he ran his hand over his face as if composing himself. In a firmer voice he said, "I'm sure you understand, professor."
"I do, quite," LeStrange said, and clapped Harry briefly on the shoulder. "You can trust me... to deliver your message."
They turned the corner and Harry abandoned any further attempts to learn anything from LeStrange.
There outside the door were two first years, one boy and one girl, looking rather petrified. "Professor!" they cried in unison, "The password's not working."
"Not to worry, not to worry," LeStrange said, drawing his wand out of his robes. "Stand back now," he said, moving the first years aside with a gentle hand and a smile. He held his wand like a conductor to his orchestra then, and closed his eyes in concentration. Then he began to mumble an incantation, too quietly for Harry to make out what the words were.
Both Harry and the first years gasped and jumped back as a fiery line appeared around the outline of the doorway, then flared out, leaving behind a slight scent of brimstone.
LeStrange lowered his wand, the friendly smile he'd shown to the first years gone. "Try it now," he said, his voice low. The two first years stepped forward, giving the professor a wide berth.
But the door opened. It closed behind them and the wall went back to looking like a wall.
"What was it, professor? Do you think the Gryffindors did it?"
"I do not think it was the Gryffindors, Harry. It would appear the door was spelled so that only pure-blooded wizards could pass through it."
Harry did a double take. He'd made the assumption that other than him, Slytherins were all pure bloods. But of course, that was foolish. Two of the Slytherins he knew best, Severus Snape and Tom Riddle, were of course both half blooded. "Do you know who?"
"I do." LeStrange sighed. "I don't suppose it can really be kept quiet, can it?"
"You don't have to tell me, professor," Harry said, though of course he was burning with curiosity.
"No, no, we'll need to make an example, I suppose. You know, of course, that Salazar Slytherin believed in pure-blooded superiority? Yes, I thought you would. It's a concept that rears its head from time to time, but one I had generally hoped to suppress in recent years." He took a deep breath. "The door, if you would, Harry."
Harry spoke the password, swung the door inward, and was greeted by the stares of everyone in the Common Room. The two first years were in the middle of a group--they had clearly been telling everyone about LeStrange's magical feat.
"Timothy Frost," Professor LeStrange said, his voice booming.
"Sir?" Frost said, standing up from his chair near the fireplace.
"Tampering with the security spells of your house is a punishable offense. Are you even aware of the magnitude of deed you have performed?"
Frost just pursed his lips sullenly.
"Twenty lashes, Mr. Frost. Come with me."
Frost's eyes widened. "You can't be serious. You know as well as I that filthy mudbloods and their kin don't belong here."
"Thirty lashes, Mr. Frost, for using an objectionable word for an even more objectionable concept." He pointed his wand at Frost, as if stupefying him were not out of the question.
"Thirty lashes! And you're taking Potter's word for it?"
"Mis-ter Frost," LeStrange said severely. "I'll have you know that your magical signature was all over that spell and with poor Myers and Bartleby here stranded in the corridor I could hardly overlook the fact that something was wrong."
Frost began reluctantly climbing to the door, his shoulders slumped and his back stiff with anger.
When he stood within arms reach of the professor, LeStrange spoke again to the entire room. "Mr. Potter and I have been to see Mr. Malfoy. Hopefully he will be up and about by the time the match starts tomorrow. If he's not, I hope you will all dedicate your victory to him."
This pronouncement was met by cheers, and LeStrange led Frost away.
[Next Chapter: Quidditch. A heart-to-heart chat. Suspicion. And more.]
Continue to Chapter Thirteen