Ch. 3: The Wrong One
"Albus," called Minerva McGonagall after the white-haired man walking down the hallway.
Dumbledore stopped and turned. "Why, Minerva, you look distressed," he said, retracing his steps to her side. "Is there anything the matter?"
"Have Potter and his friends arrived back yet?"
"Well, no, I wasn't expecting them until later this afternoon. Why?"
"I was just wondering, that's all."
Dumbledore stopped walking and turned to face her. "Don't worry, Minerva. They're seventeen. They can take care of themselves."
"I know," said McGonagall, "It's just . . . I don't know, Albus! They seem so helpless on their own sometimes. And with You-Know-Who . . . I just can't bear the thought of losing any of them. Especially Harry. After all we've done to save him . . ." She suddenly sniffed and passed a hand over her eyes. Dumbledore looked surprised at her reaction.
"We have no cause to worry," he said. "Unless . . . Minerva, have you heard something that I have not?"
McGonagall sighed. "I'm not sure. Sirius spoke of . . . a device that You-Know-Who has created. A device that he can use to bend time to his own will. That he can . . . how did he say it? . . . that he can use time like a place - a location. And that people can travel along it, as if from place to place . . ." She sighed again. "Sirius wasn't even sure of what he heard. Just that You-Know-Who was plotting. Again. What has Severus . . .?"
"You know very well that I have not heard from Severus for a very long time," said Dumbledore. "And you are also aware that I still have full faith in him, and that whatever has kept him from returning is not of any sinister nature on his part."
McGonagall nodded. But inside, she wasn't sure she completely believed what Dumbledore was saying . . .
"It has worked, Wormtail. My device is successful."
Wormtail bowed to his master. "Of course, my lord. You are very powerful. Anything you create will surely- . . ."
"That is enough, Wormtail. Now go, before I get bored and begin to exercise my energy on you."
Wormtail bowed his way out of the room. As he did so, a nearly inaudible knock came from a door opposite.
"Enter, Severus," hissed Voldemort. The Potions master bowed as he came into the room, and kneeled at Voldemort's feet.
"My lord, you called for me?"
"Yes," said Voldemort, dragging out the single syllable for a moment, his long fingers musing over a crystal ball in his hand. "You are missed," he said simply.
"Am I?"
"Yes. It seems that a certain Sirius Black has heard of my device."
"How could that be, lord?"
"I don't know." Snape was quiet. There was something in Voldemort's tone that he didn't trust. Not that he trusted him further than he could throw him, anyway. But this was a dangerous tone. Nothing good could come of this.
"Perhaps he has been spying, lord," he offered.
"I have no doubts that there is a spy," said Voldemort, his fingers still working over the crystal. "But I do not think that someone as daft and clumsy as Sirius Black would be capable of such a thing."
Snape nearly fainted. But no, he didn't necessarily know. Best to keep him guessing.
"Perhaps I should return to Hogwarts, my lord, and watch to see who is the spy."
"No, I don't think that is possible," said Voldemort. "Ask me why."
Snape swallowed. He tried very hard to keep his voice even and asked, "Why, my lord?"
Voldemort didn't remove either his hand or his gaze from the crystal and said, "Because I have recently come to the conclusion . . . that you are the spy."
"Why my lord," said Snape, "I-I don't know- . . ."
"Quiet, traitor," said Voldemort, still calmly. "You see, I have a plan for you. Yes, I shall have my fun at first, but then I have a use for a filthy thing like you."
"My lord . . ."
"You have no reason to speak, Severus," said Voldemort. "Lucius!" he called. Lucius Malfoy emerged from the shadows with a sinister grin on his face.
"My lord." He bowed deeply.
"Take this double agent scum to the dungeons. I would like him treated civilly, if that is a word within your limited vocabulary."
"Of course, my lord."
Lucius grabbed the neck of Snape's robes. Snape couldn't believe what was happening. If he could, he would Disapparate, risk everything, tell Albus . . . but Lucius threw him into a cell in the dungeons of Durmstrang castle and slammed the door. He was caught. A rat in a trap. And Potter . . . Potter was going to die.
"So what do we do, Ron?" asked Hermione. Ron shrugged.
"Well, since we're together, we can assume that Harry's probably here, too." He sighed. "And I just thought of a bigger problem."
"I know," said Hermione. "If we don't find a way off of here before the Fourteenth . . ."
"We're dead," they finished. Ron kicked the wall. "Why us? Why did we get thrown back in time? Was there something that we did wrong? Or was this some stupid prank?"
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!" said Hermione. "Stop asking me!"
Ron looked a bit shocked. "I didn't mean . . ."
"I'm sick of everyone acting like I have all the answers! I don't know everything!"
"Then stop acting like it!" cried Ron. Hermione stared at him. Ron floundered for words.
"I-I-I'm sorry, Hermione, I . . . I didn't mean it . . ."
Hermione stood. "I'm just as stressed out as you are, Ron. And I don't appreciate being told I'm a know-it-all. Not anymore. I thought you'd grown up." With that she turned on her heel and left.
Ron followed her to the door, letting her leave. He slammed his forehead into the wall. "I have grown up, Hermione," he whispered. "You just can't see it yet."
Harry turned and left the poop deck, his scar burning continually. So he had fallen asleep in 1997, and woken up in 1912. Doesn't happen every day. And the way his scar was burning . . . He had to assume that his friends were there. He had to hope. Without a wand . . . stranded in the past on a ship that was going to sink. He stopped dead in the middle of the deck. A thought had just occurred to him.
"I'm going to die," he said aloud.
"Ah, now, why d'ye say that?" asked a voice from behind him.
Harry whirled around, startled. A pretty, freckled, auburn haired girl stood behind him. She didn't look much older than he, with sparkling, lime green eyes and a broad, toothy smile. Harry smiled.
"No reason," he answered. That could have been disastrous, he thought.
The girl looked at him oddly. "Ye look a wee bit familiar," she said. "Have I seen ye anywhere before?"
"I don't think you have," said Harry. He decided he'd ask her about Ron and Hermione.
"Have you seen a tall, redheaded bloke around?" he asked. She tilted her head a little.
"I'm a-going to need more than that," she laughed. "What do his name be?"
"Ron," said Harry. "Ron Weasley."
The girl blanched. "Ye art friends with Ronald Weasley?" she asked.
"Well, yes, actually. Why?"
"He's one-a the richest men aboard, he is!" she said. "Ye won't find him down here with us others. He's not the type to go 'a-slumming' as they say."
Harry didn't know what to think. Ron, in first class? He had to be, if he was as rich as this girl said he was. Well, he was untouchable for the moment, but Hermione . . .
"What about a bushy-haired brunette named Hermione?" he asked. The girl thought for a moment.
"No, I'm sorry," she said, "I don't know o'her."
Harry's heart fell. He turned back to the girl and said, "Well, thank you anyway." He then began to climb a staircase up to the next deck. Suddenly, a short girl in a yellow dress caught his eye on the deck above him. The first class promenade. Her bushy brown hair was blowing in the breeze, and Harry recognized her at once.
"Hermione!" he called, running toward her, "Hermione!"
Hermione thought she heard someone calling her name. She glanced around on her deck, then movement below caught her eye. A short, skinny, third-class boy was running toward her. He pushed up his glasses on his nose, then turned his face up to her.
"Hermione!" he called, black bangs visible beneath his cap.
"Harry?" she breathed. "Harry!"
She turned and ran to find a staircase down to his level. She found one quickly, and ran to him. She threw her arms around him.
"I'm so glad I found you," said Harry.
"I was worried," said Hermione.
"I was afraid you weren't here." They pulled apart, and Harry stared at her a moment.
"You look very pretty in that dress, Hermione," he said. She smoothed her hair self consciously.
"Thank you," she said shyly. "You look rather dashing in that cap. You should wear hats more often."
Now it was Harry's turn to blush. "Is Ron here?" he asked. Hermione laughed.
"Yes, and you won't believe it. He's in- . . ."
"First class," they said together. They laughed. Suddenly Harry looked concerned.
"Hermione," he said, "Do you realize we're on the Titanic?"
"Yes," she said, "And I would like to know why we're here, too."
"Yeah." They began to walk around the deck together, ignoring the odd looks they were getting from others around them. They were quiet for a moment, then Harry asked, "Have you seen Ron?"
"Yes," answered Hermione briskly.
"Are you two fighting again?"
"Not necessarily," said Hermione. Harry gave her a skeptical look. Hermione sighed and walked to the side of the deck, leaning on the railing.
"He is such a git!" she said. Harry came to stand behind her. "He thinks he knows everything. I try to put up with it, I really do, it's just . . . He annoys me so much! You'd think at seventeen- . . ."
"Eighteen," interjected Harry.
"Eighteen, whatever. The point is, you'd think he would have grown up by now. But no, he still is hung up on whatever crap he's been hung up on his entire life. I don't know, maybe he resents me. Maybe . . ."
"Hermione . . ."
"He just hates his family . . ."
"Hermione . . ."
"Maybe he's- . . ."
"Hermione!" cried Harry.
"What?" demanded Hermione, whirling around to face him. He took a step toward her, brushed a piece of hair away from her face and said, "You were getting carried away again."
Hermione was a bit taken aback by this display of affection and the tenderness in Harry's eyes. She simply stood and gazed into his big, beautiful emerald eyes. Suddenly, those eyes started getting closer, as Harry leaned slowly in. Their lips nearly touched when . . .
"I'm sorry," she said, running quickly away.
She brushed tears from her eyes as she hurried around the corner again, only this time being careful not to run into anyone. This was not what she wanted. This wasn't it at all. She didn't want this kind of attention from Harry, even though she loved him very much as a friend. No, Hermione wanted this kind of attention from a certain redheaded git sitting in first class . . .
"Albus," called Minerva McGonagall after the white-haired man walking down the hallway.
Dumbledore stopped and turned. "Why, Minerva, you look distressed," he said, retracing his steps to her side. "Is there anything the matter?"
"Have Potter and his friends arrived back yet?"
"Well, no, I wasn't expecting them until later this afternoon. Why?"
"I was just wondering, that's all."
Dumbledore stopped walking and turned to face her. "Don't worry, Minerva. They're seventeen. They can take care of themselves."
"I know," said McGonagall, "It's just . . . I don't know, Albus! They seem so helpless on their own sometimes. And with You-Know-Who . . . I just can't bear the thought of losing any of them. Especially Harry. After all we've done to save him . . ." She suddenly sniffed and passed a hand over her eyes. Dumbledore looked surprised at her reaction.
"We have no cause to worry," he said. "Unless . . . Minerva, have you heard something that I have not?"
McGonagall sighed. "I'm not sure. Sirius spoke of . . . a device that You-Know-Who has created. A device that he can use to bend time to his own will. That he can . . . how did he say it? . . . that he can use time like a place - a location. And that people can travel along it, as if from place to place . . ." She sighed again. "Sirius wasn't even sure of what he heard. Just that You-Know-Who was plotting. Again. What has Severus . . .?"
"You know very well that I have not heard from Severus for a very long time," said Dumbledore. "And you are also aware that I still have full faith in him, and that whatever has kept him from returning is not of any sinister nature on his part."
McGonagall nodded. But inside, she wasn't sure she completely believed what Dumbledore was saying . . .
"It has worked, Wormtail. My device is successful."
Wormtail bowed to his master. "Of course, my lord. You are very powerful. Anything you create will surely- . . ."
"That is enough, Wormtail. Now go, before I get bored and begin to exercise my energy on you."
Wormtail bowed his way out of the room. As he did so, a nearly inaudible knock came from a door opposite.
"Enter, Severus," hissed Voldemort. The Potions master bowed as he came into the room, and kneeled at Voldemort's feet.
"My lord, you called for me?"
"Yes," said Voldemort, dragging out the single syllable for a moment, his long fingers musing over a crystal ball in his hand. "You are missed," he said simply.
"Am I?"
"Yes. It seems that a certain Sirius Black has heard of my device."
"How could that be, lord?"
"I don't know." Snape was quiet. There was something in Voldemort's tone that he didn't trust. Not that he trusted him further than he could throw him, anyway. But this was a dangerous tone. Nothing good could come of this.
"Perhaps he has been spying, lord," he offered.
"I have no doubts that there is a spy," said Voldemort, his fingers still working over the crystal. "But I do not think that someone as daft and clumsy as Sirius Black would be capable of such a thing."
Snape nearly fainted. But no, he didn't necessarily know. Best to keep him guessing.
"Perhaps I should return to Hogwarts, my lord, and watch to see who is the spy."
"No, I don't think that is possible," said Voldemort. "Ask me why."
Snape swallowed. He tried very hard to keep his voice even and asked, "Why, my lord?"
Voldemort didn't remove either his hand or his gaze from the crystal and said, "Because I have recently come to the conclusion . . . that you are the spy."
"Why my lord," said Snape, "I-I don't know- . . ."
"Quiet, traitor," said Voldemort, still calmly. "You see, I have a plan for you. Yes, I shall have my fun at first, but then I have a use for a filthy thing like you."
"My lord . . ."
"You have no reason to speak, Severus," said Voldemort. "Lucius!" he called. Lucius Malfoy emerged from the shadows with a sinister grin on his face.
"My lord." He bowed deeply.
"Take this double agent scum to the dungeons. I would like him treated civilly, if that is a word within your limited vocabulary."
"Of course, my lord."
Lucius grabbed the neck of Snape's robes. Snape couldn't believe what was happening. If he could, he would Disapparate, risk everything, tell Albus . . . but Lucius threw him into a cell in the dungeons of Durmstrang castle and slammed the door. He was caught. A rat in a trap. And Potter . . . Potter was going to die.
"So what do we do, Ron?" asked Hermione. Ron shrugged.
"Well, since we're together, we can assume that Harry's probably here, too." He sighed. "And I just thought of a bigger problem."
"I know," said Hermione. "If we don't find a way off of here before the Fourteenth . . ."
"We're dead," they finished. Ron kicked the wall. "Why us? Why did we get thrown back in time? Was there something that we did wrong? Or was this some stupid prank?"
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!" said Hermione. "Stop asking me!"
Ron looked a bit shocked. "I didn't mean . . ."
"I'm sick of everyone acting like I have all the answers! I don't know everything!"
"Then stop acting like it!" cried Ron. Hermione stared at him. Ron floundered for words.
"I-I-I'm sorry, Hermione, I . . . I didn't mean it . . ."
Hermione stood. "I'm just as stressed out as you are, Ron. And I don't appreciate being told I'm a know-it-all. Not anymore. I thought you'd grown up." With that she turned on her heel and left.
Ron followed her to the door, letting her leave. He slammed his forehead into the wall. "I have grown up, Hermione," he whispered. "You just can't see it yet."
Harry turned and left the poop deck, his scar burning continually. So he had fallen asleep in 1997, and woken up in 1912. Doesn't happen every day. And the way his scar was burning . . . He had to assume that his friends were there. He had to hope. Without a wand . . . stranded in the past on a ship that was going to sink. He stopped dead in the middle of the deck. A thought had just occurred to him.
"I'm going to die," he said aloud.
"Ah, now, why d'ye say that?" asked a voice from behind him.
Harry whirled around, startled. A pretty, freckled, auburn haired girl stood behind him. She didn't look much older than he, with sparkling, lime green eyes and a broad, toothy smile. Harry smiled.
"No reason," he answered. That could have been disastrous, he thought.
The girl looked at him oddly. "Ye look a wee bit familiar," she said. "Have I seen ye anywhere before?"
"I don't think you have," said Harry. He decided he'd ask her about Ron and Hermione.
"Have you seen a tall, redheaded bloke around?" he asked. She tilted her head a little.
"I'm a-going to need more than that," she laughed. "What do his name be?"
"Ron," said Harry. "Ron Weasley."
The girl blanched. "Ye art friends with Ronald Weasley?" she asked.
"Well, yes, actually. Why?"
"He's one-a the richest men aboard, he is!" she said. "Ye won't find him down here with us others. He's not the type to go 'a-slumming' as they say."
Harry didn't know what to think. Ron, in first class? He had to be, if he was as rich as this girl said he was. Well, he was untouchable for the moment, but Hermione . . .
"What about a bushy-haired brunette named Hermione?" he asked. The girl thought for a moment.
"No, I'm sorry," she said, "I don't know o'her."
Harry's heart fell. He turned back to the girl and said, "Well, thank you anyway." He then began to climb a staircase up to the next deck. Suddenly, a short girl in a yellow dress caught his eye on the deck above him. The first class promenade. Her bushy brown hair was blowing in the breeze, and Harry recognized her at once.
"Hermione!" he called, running toward her, "Hermione!"
Hermione thought she heard someone calling her name. She glanced around on her deck, then movement below caught her eye. A short, skinny, third-class boy was running toward her. He pushed up his glasses on his nose, then turned his face up to her.
"Hermione!" he called, black bangs visible beneath his cap.
"Harry?" she breathed. "Harry!"
She turned and ran to find a staircase down to his level. She found one quickly, and ran to him. She threw her arms around him.
"I'm so glad I found you," said Harry.
"I was worried," said Hermione.
"I was afraid you weren't here." They pulled apart, and Harry stared at her a moment.
"You look very pretty in that dress, Hermione," he said. She smoothed her hair self consciously.
"Thank you," she said shyly. "You look rather dashing in that cap. You should wear hats more often."
Now it was Harry's turn to blush. "Is Ron here?" he asked. Hermione laughed.
"Yes, and you won't believe it. He's in- . . ."
"First class," they said together. They laughed. Suddenly Harry looked concerned.
"Hermione," he said, "Do you realize we're on the Titanic?"
"Yes," she said, "And I would like to know why we're here, too."
"Yeah." They began to walk around the deck together, ignoring the odd looks they were getting from others around them. They were quiet for a moment, then Harry asked, "Have you seen Ron?"
"Yes," answered Hermione briskly.
"Are you two fighting again?"
"Not necessarily," said Hermione. Harry gave her a skeptical look. Hermione sighed and walked to the side of the deck, leaning on the railing.
"He is such a git!" she said. Harry came to stand behind her. "He thinks he knows everything. I try to put up with it, I really do, it's just . . . He annoys me so much! You'd think at seventeen- . . ."
"Eighteen," interjected Harry.
"Eighteen, whatever. The point is, you'd think he would have grown up by now. But no, he still is hung up on whatever crap he's been hung up on his entire life. I don't know, maybe he resents me. Maybe . . ."
"Hermione . . ."
"He just hates his family . . ."
"Hermione . . ."
"Maybe he's- . . ."
"Hermione!" cried Harry.
"What?" demanded Hermione, whirling around to face him. He took a step toward her, brushed a piece of hair away from her face and said, "You were getting carried away again."
Hermione was a bit taken aback by this display of affection and the tenderness in Harry's eyes. She simply stood and gazed into his big, beautiful emerald eyes. Suddenly, those eyes started getting closer, as Harry leaned slowly in. Their lips nearly touched when . . .
"I'm sorry," she said, running quickly away.
She brushed tears from her eyes as she hurried around the corner again, only this time being careful not to run into anyone. This was not what she wanted. This wasn't it at all. She didn't want this kind of attention from Harry, even though she loved him very much as a friend. No, Hermione wanted this kind of attention from a certain redheaded git sitting in first class . . .