Ch. 1: Screwing with Time
"Don't you love Muggle cinema?" said Hermione. "The big screen, the good-looking actors. What more could you ask for?"
Hermione wrapped her coat closer around herself. It was the end of December - nearing the end of their Christmas holidays. They would be returning to Hogwarts by way of Floo powder in the morning. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had spent the past week in Muggle London, having the most fun they had ever had. They were returning to the Leaky Cauldron after seeing the new movie, "Titanic." There was a fresh blanket of snow on the ground, and the three of them were walking closely together, Muggle coats wrapped closely around themselves. Hermione linked her arm through Ron's on her left side, and through Harry's on her right.
"Perhaps a more believable plot line," said Ron. Hermione stopped dead.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "The Titanic wreck is one of the greatest tragedies in history, and you're telling me this plot line wasn't believable?"
"I mean," said Ron, "About the first class girl falling in love with the third class boy. Things like that just don't happen." He turned and started walking away. Hermione tilted her head a little and narrowed her eyes.
"I know what this is about," she said. "I know what this is about!"
"Please, enlighten us," said Harry.
"This is about that Ravenclaw girl, isn't it?" she asked, making her question more rhetorical than anything. She maneuvered so that she was walking backwards in front of Ron, shaking her finger in his face. "This is about that Ravenclaw girl!"
Ron shook his head and stepped around her. "No, it isn't," he said.
"What Ravenclaw girl?" asked Harry.
"There is no Ravenclaw girl," said Ron, still walking. The other two trotted to keep up with his long strides.
"Yes there is," said Hermione, "You said she's really pretty, and may just be the smartest girl in the school. She's a Ravenclaw."
Ron didn't say anything. Hermione had jumped to her own conclusions yet again. There was no Ravenclaw girl. The smart, pretty one he had been referencing to was Hermione. But he wasn't going to say that.
The truth was that he really did feel inadequate around her. He felt like he didn't deserve her. After all, she had come from a family with money, she was beautiful, and she was smart. She couldn't be any further above him if she were on a broomstick.
"No, there is no Ravenclaw girl," repeated Ron. "Can we just get back to the Leaky Cauldron?"
Once the three friends had returned to their rooms, Ron tried to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about the film they had just seen. It was ridiculous, he thought, turning over and burying his head in his pillow. It was a movie. Pretend. Things like that don't happen in real life.
Eventually, Ron tossed himself into a fitful sleep, dreaming strange dreams.
Hermione couldn't sleep. She was so sure she had been right. Actually, she knew she was right. There was a girl. And she had to be a Ravenclaw. It was all there. The looks, the intelligence . . . if she wasn't a Ravenclaw, then she should be.
Hermione leaned on her bureau, gazing into the mirror above it. She sighed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
"You're really quite pretty," her mirror said. "You should try sometimes, you know?" Hermione stuck her tongue out (immature, she knew) at the mirror and went back to bed.
"I was just trying to be helpful," said the mirror. Hermione threw herself down on the bed. She would be lucky to sleep that night.
Harry folded the piece of parchment up, poured melted wax from his scarlet candle onto the edge of the parchment to seal it, pressed the flattest object he had near him into it (it just happened to be a small knut), and flipped it back over. He scrawled "S.B." across the front and tied it to Hedwig's leg.
"Please find him for me, girl," he said, stroking her head affectionately. She nipped his finger gently, then took off into the night.
Harry watched her go, a bit melancholy. Hedwig was the only girl in his life that loved him. Hermione was his friend, sure, but he didn't really have anyone. He needed that kind of affection more than anyone knew.
Perhaps it was because he had never had the love of a mother. Maybe he was just the sappy romantic type. Whatever it was, the desire was there. It just seemed that he hadn't really met anyone yet. He sighed. Maybe I'll dream about her, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.
"Ah, they're finally asleep, Wormtail," said Voldemort, his fingers twirling over a small crystal ball.
"M-m-my lord," stammered Wormtail, "D-d-do y-you want th-the-"
"Bring me the hourglass, imbecile," hissed Voldemort, a little too calmly for Wormtail's liking. He retrieved the large hourglass, however, and took it to his master.
"Excellent," breathed Voldemort, stroking the object in his hands. Wormtail waited expectantly. Voldemort dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I'll torture you later, Wormtail. I'm too busy to concern myself with fun." Wormtail bowed and went hastily from the room. He wasn't going to miss his chance on being set free from a punishment.
"Not that this won't be fun," said Voldemort to himself. He stroked the hourglass again, and the sand inside began to swirl. Numbers appeared within it, turning backwards.
1990 . . . 1980 . . . 1970 . . . Voldemort's eyes began to expand with pleasure as they numbers turned back faster and faster, finally stopping on his predestined date. The sand settled down at the bottom of the hourglass.
"Perfect," he said, carefully placing the hourglass on a shelf, drawing his long fingers back slowly. "Now to perform the spell."
Harry shot straight up in bed, the pain in his scar jolting him from a deep sleep. He took one look around him and drew in a sharp breath.
"Where the hell am I?" he asked.
"Don't you love Muggle cinema?" said Hermione. "The big screen, the good-looking actors. What more could you ask for?"
Hermione wrapped her coat closer around herself. It was the end of December - nearing the end of their Christmas holidays. They would be returning to Hogwarts by way of Floo powder in the morning. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had spent the past week in Muggle London, having the most fun they had ever had. They were returning to the Leaky Cauldron after seeing the new movie, "Titanic." There was a fresh blanket of snow on the ground, and the three of them were walking closely together, Muggle coats wrapped closely around themselves. Hermione linked her arm through Ron's on her left side, and through Harry's on her right.
"Perhaps a more believable plot line," said Ron. Hermione stopped dead.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "The Titanic wreck is one of the greatest tragedies in history, and you're telling me this plot line wasn't believable?"
"I mean," said Ron, "About the first class girl falling in love with the third class boy. Things like that just don't happen." He turned and started walking away. Hermione tilted her head a little and narrowed her eyes.
"I know what this is about," she said. "I know what this is about!"
"Please, enlighten us," said Harry.
"This is about that Ravenclaw girl, isn't it?" she asked, making her question more rhetorical than anything. She maneuvered so that she was walking backwards in front of Ron, shaking her finger in his face. "This is about that Ravenclaw girl!"
Ron shook his head and stepped around her. "No, it isn't," he said.
"What Ravenclaw girl?" asked Harry.
"There is no Ravenclaw girl," said Ron, still walking. The other two trotted to keep up with his long strides.
"Yes there is," said Hermione, "You said she's really pretty, and may just be the smartest girl in the school. She's a Ravenclaw."
Ron didn't say anything. Hermione had jumped to her own conclusions yet again. There was no Ravenclaw girl. The smart, pretty one he had been referencing to was Hermione. But he wasn't going to say that.
The truth was that he really did feel inadequate around her. He felt like he didn't deserve her. After all, she had come from a family with money, she was beautiful, and she was smart. She couldn't be any further above him if she were on a broomstick.
"No, there is no Ravenclaw girl," repeated Ron. "Can we just get back to the Leaky Cauldron?"
Once the three friends had returned to their rooms, Ron tried to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about the film they had just seen. It was ridiculous, he thought, turning over and burying his head in his pillow. It was a movie. Pretend. Things like that don't happen in real life.
Eventually, Ron tossed himself into a fitful sleep, dreaming strange dreams.
Hermione couldn't sleep. She was so sure she had been right. Actually, she knew she was right. There was a girl. And she had to be a Ravenclaw. It was all there. The looks, the intelligence . . . if she wasn't a Ravenclaw, then she should be.
Hermione leaned on her bureau, gazing into the mirror above it. She sighed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
"You're really quite pretty," her mirror said. "You should try sometimes, you know?" Hermione stuck her tongue out (immature, she knew) at the mirror and went back to bed.
"I was just trying to be helpful," said the mirror. Hermione threw herself down on the bed. She would be lucky to sleep that night.
Harry folded the piece of parchment up, poured melted wax from his scarlet candle onto the edge of the parchment to seal it, pressed the flattest object he had near him into it (it just happened to be a small knut), and flipped it back over. He scrawled "S.B." across the front and tied it to Hedwig's leg.
"Please find him for me, girl," he said, stroking her head affectionately. She nipped his finger gently, then took off into the night.
Harry watched her go, a bit melancholy. Hedwig was the only girl in his life that loved him. Hermione was his friend, sure, but he didn't really have anyone. He needed that kind of affection more than anyone knew.
Perhaps it was because he had never had the love of a mother. Maybe he was just the sappy romantic type. Whatever it was, the desire was there. It just seemed that he hadn't really met anyone yet. He sighed. Maybe I'll dream about her, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.
"Ah, they're finally asleep, Wormtail," said Voldemort, his fingers twirling over a small crystal ball.
"M-m-my lord," stammered Wormtail, "D-d-do y-you want th-the-"
"Bring me the hourglass, imbecile," hissed Voldemort, a little too calmly for Wormtail's liking. He retrieved the large hourglass, however, and took it to his master.
"Excellent," breathed Voldemort, stroking the object in his hands. Wormtail waited expectantly. Voldemort dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I'll torture you later, Wormtail. I'm too busy to concern myself with fun." Wormtail bowed and went hastily from the room. He wasn't going to miss his chance on being set free from a punishment.
"Not that this won't be fun," said Voldemort to himself. He stroked the hourglass again, and the sand inside began to swirl. Numbers appeared within it, turning backwards.
1990 . . . 1980 . . . 1970 . . . Voldemort's eyes began to expand with pleasure as they numbers turned back faster and faster, finally stopping on his predestined date. The sand settled down at the bottom of the hourglass.
"Perfect," he said, carefully placing the hourglass on a shelf, drawing his long fingers back slowly. "Now to perform the spell."
Harry shot straight up in bed, the pain in his scar jolting him from a deep sleep. He took one look around him and drew in a sharp breath.
"Where the hell am I?" he asked.