Through the Puddles of Time
Chapter Four
*Author's Note: Hey, guys! Welcome to chapter four! Thank you all for continuing to read this! I really appreciate your support. I especially want to thank everyone who's left such nice reviews! It really brightens my day to hear from you guys! Enjoy!*
Materialization hurts. Harry's feet slam down onto hard ground, shuddering slightly from the impact. Pain shoots through his limbs, curling in his already twisted stomach. But once again he has managed to make it, and based on the firm grips on his wrists, so have his friends. Harry takes a deep breath, steadying himself and pushing the bile down in his throat, then he opens his eyes. Off on his left, he can hear someone retching. Percy, doubled over, a green stream spewing from his open lips onto the grass. Harry looks around, a victorious smile spreading over his face when he immediately recognizes their surroundings as the clearing the rebel camp had been in before. But the smile stutters to a halt before it's fully born, sinking down into a perplexed frown. The clearing is empty. Completely and utterly empty. Nothing but grass, distant trees, and their small group huddled in the middle. The rebel camp is gone.
"This the right place?" asks Ron, seeing Harry's expression.
"Yeah," says Harry, letting go of George's and Ron's hands and spinning around to make sure he hasn't missed something, that there really isn't any sign of them. "This is where their camp was, alright. But they're not here. They should be. This is where we were supposed to meet."
"Maybe they were discovered and had to run," suggests Hermione gravely. "Did you set up a secondary meeting spot?"
"No," admits Harry. "I didn't think of it." A cold ball of worry is forming in his gut, panic beginning to pulse in his veins. How could he have been so stupid as to not establish a secondary meeting point when this group was so obviously on the run? When they had already just had to abandon one encampment in a hurry due to discovery? This war is supposed to be Harry's second chance, his opportunity to do things right, and already he's making stupid mistakes. He has no idea where the rebels could be if they're not here, no idea how to get in touch with them or send them a message. He's brought his friends all the way across the worlds just to leave them stranded in some empty field in enemy territory.
And then hands blossom from thin air, pale arms reaching from the shadows, cut off, floating, at the elbows. The hands grab them. The hands pull. And suddenly, everything is different. No longer are Harry, Ron, Hermione, Percy, Ginny, Neville and Luna in an empty patch of grass. Instead, they're in the middle of a maze of white tents. And all around them are people.
"The wards," explains the other world's Neville, smirking down at Harry's stunned face in amusement. "You could wander this whole field and not see us unless we let you in."
"Fuck," grumbles Harry, catching his balance. "Might have told me that before I left."
"Where's the fun in that?" their Neville replies, his grin spreading. Then he looks up past Harry and his expression freezes, pale green eyes going wide.
"Bloody hell…" he murmurs, his words barely more than an exhale. The two Nevilles stare at each other, each searching the other for any sign of difference. But aside from their clothing and a slight difference in the length of their hair, they're identical. Mirror images of one another. Broad, rounded jaws, deep set eyes, thick brows several shades darker than their sandy blond hair. All the same.
"You really do look just like me," says Harry's Neville.
"I don't know," says the other Neville. "I definitely think I'm the better looking one."
"Not a chance," retorts Harry's Neville, but he's smiling. The two Lunas seem completely unphased by seeing one another. They merely glide towards each other, identical secretive smiles on their faces as they clasp hands.
"I like your earrings," says Harry's Luna pleasantly. The other Luna smiles, tilting her head slightly to the side. Her radish earrings jingle lightly with the movement.
"Yours are nice, too," she replies. Harry blinks, looking back and forth between the two pairs of earrings. They're exactly the same. But the two Lunas seem perfectly pleased with the compliments, smiling gently at one another, their fingers affectionately interlaced.
"Unfortunately, that's all the time we've got for introductions," says the other world's Neville, gesturing back towards the camp's main tent. "Our spies have gathered some information about Ariana and Aberforth's whereabouts while you were busy gallivanting about some other world. We need to go meet with the others, get you fellows up to speed. I assume you've already filled them in on everything you know?"
"Yeah," says Harry, following the other world's Neville across the grass towards the tent. "I've told them what I can. Although I'm sure we all have more questions."
"Well, they're going to have to wait," replies Neville. "We only have a brief window of time in which to actually act on the information we've received. We've got a chance to rescue them, but we've got to move quickly. But I'll let Remus fill you in on the rest. This is really more his territory."
Harry leads the group into the camp's largest tent, holding back the white flap of fabric covering the tent's entrance for Harry's friends to pass in front of him. Inside is the same room with a large table and chairs that Harry remembers. Seated at the table are Remus, Sirius, and a pale girl Harry doesn't recognize. When Harry's group enters, Remus stands up, waving the unknown girl out of the room. She slips past them, shooting them a curious look as she goes. Her eyes settle particularly on the two Nevilles and Lunas, a look of surprise flickering across her face. Then, she's gone.
"You're back, Harry," says Remus, sounding relieved. "Excellent. We need to get moving right away. There's only so much time before our opportunity has passed."
"To rescue Ariana and Aberforth, you mean?" asks Harry.
"Yes," replies Remus. "While you were away we got word from one of our spies in the Youngest Sons. Apparently Ariana and Aberforth are being held in a warehouse just outside Liverpool for tonight only while their longer term cell is being prepared. Albus is no fool. He knows that if Ariana has another episode her magic would just tear apart any normal enclosure. Our reports say that he's constructing another cell specifically for her near their headquarters."
"Once they're moved there it will become infinitely harder to get them out again," adds Sirius. "Now is our chance. Now, while the security around them is reasonably minimal."
"What are we waiting for then?" asks George with a grin. "Let's get while the getting's good." Remus squints slightly, studying George's face carefully.
"That red hair," he murmurs, almost to himself. "You are Weasleys, aren't you?"
"Right you are," says George. "At least, so our mum assures us." Remus looks past George then, giving his world's Neville a knowing look. Neville seems to understand the silent message, nodding quickly and hurrying from the tent.
"Oh, right!" exclaims Harry, suddenly feeling like an idiot. He lifts his arm, pointing at each member of his group in time. "Suppose I'd better introduce everyone, right? I think you guys recognize our Neville and Luna. And then this here is Hermione Granger, and then Ron, Ginny, Percy and George Weasley." Remus nods politely, flashing the group a brief smile.
"Nice to have a few Weasleys back in the place," says Sirius, grinning warmly. "Bloody good family, the Weasleys were."
"Were?" asks Percy, nervously pushing his horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose.
"Yes, unfortunately," replies Sirius. "A while back there was a period of time we used the Burrow as our headquarters. Merlin, must have been at least ten years ago now. But they figured it out. Wasn't too hard to do, really. After all, the Weasleys were always pretty openly supportive of us. Not a dark instinct in the lot of 'em. Unfortunately, our alarms were detected and cut off right before they attacked us. We had no warning. Some of us managed to make it out alright, but most of the Weasleys, well, you lot, I suppose, didn't make it. There just wasn't any time. They were on us in mere moments. But your family went down fighting, I'll say that. So many kids, though. They didn't really have a chance, not at that age against fully fledged wizards. It was horrible. Such a tragedy."
"It's nice to know that at least in another world you made it," says Remus, gazing at the Weasleys intently, his brows furrowed. "Somewhere, you got to grow up. Even if that place couldn't be here."
"Did no one from our family make it?" asks Percy, his voice catching slightly on the words. He quickly clears his throat, trying to cover for the glimpse of emotion.
"Well, actually—" begins Sirius, but he's cut off by the reentry of their world's Neville.
"Got him," says their Neville brightly, and behind him, ducking beneath the white fabric of the tent's doorway is a familiar patch of short orange hair. For a moment, Harry can't tell which twin it is: Fred or George. The George gasps, tears welling in his and his siblings' eyes, and he knows. Fred stares at the group of his family members as if seeing ghosts, and really, to him, this must be what it feels like. This Fred's family has been dead for years, gone when he just a child. His brown eyes bounce around the group, studying their faces closely before they settle on the features of his twin. The two brothers stare at each other, lines of silent communication running between their irises. George's jaw tightens, a muscle spasming in his cheek as his lower lip quivers slightly. Then he stumbles forwards, falling into Fred's waiting arms. He clutches the other boy to him, burying his face in his twin's chest. They stand there holding each other tightly, mirror images of one another, their expressions identical ones of pain and love. Then the other Weasleys step forwards too, as if some silent permission had been granted by George's hug. They surround Fred, Ginny throwing her arms around whatever part of Fred's torso she can reach around George, Ron and Percy patting Fred enthusiastically on the shoulders and back. Harry can see the tears rolling down Percy's face, welling up behind his glasses' thick frames as he gazes down into the face of a sibling he once watched die in his arms. And in that moment, any doubts Harry had about dragging his friends into this mess vanish. How can coming here not be the right thing when it brings this moment? How can they not fight for these people so much like their lost loved ones?
"I hate to interrupt this moment," says Remus, his voice slightly raspy as he gazes at the pile of hugging Weasleys, "but we don't have much time. We have to act now, tonight, before Ariana and Aberforth are moved." Reluctantly, the group spreads out once more, stepping back from Fred to give Remus their full attention once more. Everyone except George, that is, who stays at his brother's side, their hands clasped tightly together. So tightly their fingers leave white marks on the other's flesh.
"Right," says Ron.
"Of course," agrees Percy.
"Let's go," the twins say together.
-X-X-X-
Harry, Ron, Hermione and the other world's Neville creep through the dark, thighs aching from crouching low for so long. They're inching down a narrow corridor. The building around them is distinctly industrial. Cement floors slither ahead. Tall ceilings stretch up into black. Behind them, the building's exterior wall has been cut away, a neat rectangular patch of corrugated metal burnt into nothingness. The hole's edges still glow faintly. A rim of orange light, dripping sparks. Through the opening, Liverpool glitters in the distance, a landscape defined entirely by pin pricks of blue light. It's an eclectic mix, modern skyscrapers peppered between low, old fashioned buildings. Occasionally, the ornate spire of a cathedral pokes up into the sky, searching in vain for heaven amidst the fog. The warehouse Harry and his friends are currently sneaking around is quite low and flat in comparison. But it feels huge. Endlessly, overwhelmingly huge. Ariana and Aberforth could be anywhere.
Harry takes the lead, his wand casting a faint sphere of light before them. Just behind him, Hermione's wand is raised, too. Its tip glows a pale, icy blue. The light flickers, pulsing occasionally. The further into the building they move, the faster it flashes. A honing device, leading them towards where Ariana and Aberforth are being kept.
Then, in front of Harry, where once there was just thin air, a head appears. Ron's wan features loom up from the dark, floating, seemingly unsupported. Puffy blue eyes surrounded by almost invisible lashes. Straight orange brows pointing down in a frown towards a broad, rounded nose. Heart shaped lips pursed and crumpled.
"You've got to see this," Ron says grimly. Then the head spins around in midair and bobs away into the dark. Harry hurries to follow. Slowly, segment by segment, the corridor is revealed to them. Then, suddenly, a body appears in the sphere of light. A member of the Youngest Sons based on his sapphire blue robes and the tattoo across his forehead: a triangle bifurcated by a long, thin line, enclosed in a neat circle. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows. The man is limp, sprawled across the ground in a jumble of limbs. His upper body is propped against the wall, as if he slid down it to land here. His eyes are closed. His face relaxed. A stream of blood trickles down his tan face, a deep trail of crimson. The blood is fresh, still bright red and uncongealed. Hermione kneels down beside him, pressing two fingers into the man's neck. Then she shakes her head.
"He's dead," she proclaims, getting to her feet once more.
"But we only just got here," says Neville, frowning down at the body. "Who else would do this?"
"No one good," murmurs Harry. "We need to be careful. Ron, you go on ahead again. Make sure we don't get caught unawares like this guy."
Ron's floating chin dips down in a nod, a strange sight without any visible body beneath it. Then his face vanishes, melting away into the hall as he pulls the invisibility cloak up over himself once more. Harry focuses on his wand tip, dimming its light until the glow stops mere inches before his toes. They can't afford to be seen. Especially not now. Not when they don't know who could be waiting for them.
Harry waits a moment to give Ron a bit of head start, then moves off again. They pass a closed door, but the pulse of Hermione's wand stays the same so they move on. Then, an invisible hand slams into Harry's chest, stopping him mid-step.
"Nox," whispers Harry quickly, extinguishing his wand. Then Hermione's wand goes out, too, and everything is black.
"Men up ahead," whispers Ron in Harry's ear. "Follow me. Move slow." Fingers grope down Harry's arm, feeling their way to his hand. Getting the idea, Harry reaches behind himself, feeling around in the darkness until his fingertips meet soft fabric. The sleeve of Hermione's robe. Harry grab's Hermione's hand, pulling it up so that her fingers curl around his shoulder. They each need at least one free hand for their wands if a fight breaks out. He hopes Hermione will get the picture and do the same with Neville.
"Alright," whispers Harry. "Let's go." The group shuffles forwards, their movements awkward and constrained. Around them, the warehouse is truly, utterly dark. Harry follows the pull on his hand, stumbling forwards into nothingness. He just has to hope Ron has some idea where they're headed. Then, up ahead, light blossoms. Around it, a patch of the room is revealed. Harry can just make out the dim outline of tall, metal shelves stretching up towards the ceiling. Boxes line the shelves, wares waiting to be shipped out. The light bleeds out from behind these, partially hidden. The figures casting this light are completely obscured. But as they inch closer, Harry can make out voices.
"The imbeciles," drawls a haughty male voice. "Did they honestly think five guards was enough? For such important prisoners? Why we think of this group as competition I'll never know."
"Even idiots can be a threat under the right leadership. You ought to know that better than anyone, Malfoy," replies someone in raspy tones.
"Oh, do shut up, Greyback," snaps Malfoy, his tone suddenly much less smug. "Were those even words coming out of your mouth? Or just a dog yapping?"
"You wouldn't say that to me if I really was a wolf right now, blondie," growls Greyback, anger rumbling in his voice.
"Now, now, boys. This isn't the time to be fighting. Not when we've got little duckies to pluck," interrupts a piercing female voice. A voice Harry remembers all too well. Cold, high-pitched and cruel, with a hint of madness seeping in around the edges. The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. And this time Mrs. Weasley isn't around to kick her arse. Harry squeezes Ron's hand, giving his arm a gentle tug to signal that they should stop.
"Neville, double back," Harry whispers. "Send word to the others that we've found them. Warn them we've got company."
"You got it," murmurs Neville. Then muffled footsteps fade away into the black.
"They won't be fast enough," Hermione whispers urgently. "At least a few minutes to get Neville's message and come find us. We need to at least distract them, keep them from taking Ariana and Aberforth before our back up finds us."
"We should spread out," says Harry. "Attack them from multiple directions at once before they know what's happening. They won't expect us here, not so quickly. Ron, you take Greyback. Hermione, Bellatrix. I'll aim for Malfoy."
"Right," says Ron. "Here, Hermione, take the cloak." There's a rustling of fabric, then an arm brushes past Harry's shoulder as Ron hands the invisibility cloak to Hermione.
"No, Ron, you'll need it," protests Hermione, trying to give it back.
"No," insists Ron. "I'll feel better knowing you can hide if worse comes to worst. Please, Hermione."
Hermione pauses for a moment, then: "Alright. I'll go left. Ron, you'd better head right. Harry can take the center." There's a whisper of fabric grazing skin as Hermione swirls the cloak around her. If the darkness wasn't already hiding her from view, Harry is sure that now, at least, she would be invisible.
"Good luck," she whispers. Then quiet footsteps move away from Harry, fading away into silence. He is alone. Inhale. Exhale. And he moves. He ducks low, knees bent as he creeps along the isle created by the rows of shelves. Up ahead, he can hear a clanking and creaking of metal. As he draws nearer, it becomes clear that these noises are coming from a huge metal cage. Lucius Malfoy has his wand pointed at the cage's oversized lock, multicolored streams of light pouring into the metal. Clearly, he's trying to break the cage's wards. Harry pauses, flattening himself as best he can against the shelving unit at his side. The metal feels cold on his skin, rivets digging uncomfortably into his flesh. But he needs some sort of cover in case their sneak attack goes wrong. Carefully, he takes aim at Lucius' cloaked back. Off to his left, a tiny blue spark glints in the dark. The signal.
Stupify, thinks Harry, and a jet of red light bursts from his wand, shooting through the air to sink, unimpeded, into Lucius' spine. Matching spells erupt from either side, barreling through the air towards Bellatrix and Greyback. But Harry's spell left his wand a second earlier than his companions', and that second is all the warning Bellatrix and Greyback need to dive out of the way. Bellatrix howls, rolling away in a surprisingly elegant spiral, Hermione's curse just missing her gaunt cheek. Greyback opts for the less dignified option, diving forwards onto his stomach to duck under Ron's spell. Instantly, everything is chaos. Bellatrix spins on the spot, snapping her wrist sharply as a spell curves from her jagged wand tip towards Hermione's invisible form. Harry can only assume Hermione got out of the way in time. He runs forwards, sprinting into the fray as he fires spells at Bellatrix's whirling form. Her round eyes focus in on him, her one visible assailant.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A jet of green light narrowly misses Harry's left ear, skittering away to blast a hole in one of the room's numerous boxes.
"Petrificus Totalus!" shouts Harry in return, but his spell is parried by a rapid flick of Bellatrix's wrist. She's smiling now, a manic grin spreading across her ashen face like a fungus. She sends another curse Harry's way, a thick beam of orange light that causes the boxes on his right to explode with a bang. Fire and heat assault Harry. The blast strikes Harry's upper body full force, sending him skidding to the ground. His side is burning, white hot pain shooting through his arm and shoulder. For a moment, the world tips sideways as his head spins. His ears are ringing, a dull, high-pitched whine, and everything is blurry and unstable. He knows he should be moving, dodging Bellatrix's inevitable next curse, but his muscles aren't listening to the messages from his brain. But no second spell is coming. Harry tries to focus on Bellatrix's wavering form, squinting through the cracked glass of his crushed spectacles. Bellatrix isn't pointing her wand at him. She isn't pointing it at Hermione or Ron either. Instead, she has rolled up her sleeve and is stabbing the tip of her wand into her own flesh.
"Stupify!" shouts Hermione's familiar voice, and a beam of red light streaks out, striking Bellatrix right in her corded neck. For a moment, Bellatrix's face is illuminated by the red light: a map of dark shadows and protruding pieces of crimson flesh. She's smiling, discolored teeth stabbing out in a toothy grin. Her smile doesn't waver as she falls, too powerful even for unconsciousness to fade entirely. Harry looks around, finally managing to get enough control over his body to raise his wand, but Greyback is already down, immobilized by Ron's well placed body binding curse.
"Harry, you alright, mate?" asks Ron, hurrying over to help Harry to his feet. Harry grimaces, rubbing his aching shoulder.
"I'll make it," he says.
"That all of 'em, you think?" asks Ron, glancing around nervously.
"For now," replies Harry grimly. "But it won't be for long. Bellatrix got to her dark mark before we could stop her. She's summoned him. We don't have much time."
Gleaming silver fabric swirls through the air as Hermione shoves the invisibility cloak from her shoulders, appearing before the cage doors. Inside, lying unconscious on the concrete floor, are Ariana and Aberforth's limp forms. Hermione frowns down at the lock on the door, casting a few diagnostic spells over the metal.
"Can you get it, Hermione?" asks Harry, limping over to her side.
"Yes, I think so," replies Hermione absently, already beginning to cast multicolored charms into the silver lock. Ron comes up behind her, grabbing the cloak from its pile on the floor.
"Maybe we should have let Malfoy finish before we knocked him out," he says, watching Hermione work.
"I can definitely get it," mutters Hermione. "The question is whether I can do it fast enough."
"Right," says Harry, dragging himself up to his full height and thrusting his shoulders back determinedly. He spins on the spot, turning his back on Hermione and the cage to face out into the dark. "I'll stand guard then. As soon as you get that thing open, you guys run in there and apparate them out of here. Don't wait for me to go. I'll follow."
"Alright, mate," agrees Ron. His wand is tight in his grasp, sweat beading on his forehead as he, too, glances nervously around the too silent warehouse. They know now who is coming. And Hermione's spells are moving all too slow. Lights continue to flash behind Harry, illuminating this small segment of the room in a different color with each spell. First the room is blue, then green, then lavender. Dim outlines of busted boxes, long shadows, and scaffolding reaching high flash in and out of view. Then, finally, the flashes cease and Hermione lets out a cry of relief. Metal clinks as the lock is dragged out of place. The door swings open, creaking on its hinges. So close now. Harry's hand clenches on his wand, slick with sweat.
There's a crack. The noise echoes off the tall ceiling, filling the huge room. And there, in the center of the room, turned towards Harry, is a face Harry recognizes all too well. A face from his childhood. Tom Marvolo Riddle raises his wand with an elegant hand, pointing it straight at Harry's face. But Hermione and Ron haven't grabbed Ariana and Aberforth yet, and even if they had, there isn't enough time for Harry to just apparate away. Instincts kick in, instincts hammered home by years of war, years of fighting this very same man. Harry's wand is up in front of his face, extended at arm's length towards the Dark Lord, and Harry is screaming.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Red light and green speed towards one another, sparking and rippling through the air. The two spells collide in a shower of sparks, each trying to consume the other. And then Harry can feel it, power coursing through his wand, vibrating in his hand. The twin cores recognize one other, acknowledging their kinship in a blaze of energy. And suddenly, where the two spells meet, a new kind of power is forming, a streak of golden light that consumes both spells, sweeping up from the point of their connection back towards the castors' wands. Harry remembers this light, remembers what to do. He focuses, narrowing all his will on this connection. Light spews and spits from the main core of the spell, a physical sign of Harry's struggle. But he can feel the pressure fading around him, moving away towards Voldemort. And then, suddenly, a golden dome of twinkling light erupts around them, encasing him and Voldemort in a glittering shell. Harry can hear two cracks behind him. Hermione and Ron disapparating to safety. On the other side of the dome, Tom Riddle's handsome face is contorted into an expression of wide-eyed shock, staring horrified at his own wand shaking in his hand. Then, his wand gives one huge shudder and figures are spewing out into the darkness. They glow, their translucent bodies made up entirely of a pale blue light. So many of them. Most of them are people Harry doesn't recognize, Tom's numerous muggleborn and muggle victims. But then Molly Weasley is smiling down at him, Ginny at her side. Then Minerva McGonagall's sharp features, soft and glimmering.
"Go," she murmurs to Harry. Her voice sounds so far away, words form another world. "We'll distract him."
"Thank you, professor," says Harry gently. The blue figures rush forwards, a mass of bodies flooding across the concrete towards a stunned Tom. Now is Harry's chance.
"Finite," he whispers, ending the spell. The golden light binding him to Tom's wand vanishes, hissing like an extinguished flame. But the blue figures remain, swirling around Tom like water going down a drain. But even through their gleaming bodies Harry can feel Tom's eyes on him, boring into his face. Harry disapparates. Black eyes continue to examine the empty patch of air he'd inhabited, transfixed, while the remnants of the dead beat Tom with inconsequential fists. The dead hold no interest for Tom, though. They are nothing, just memories of what once was. He's much more concerned with the living. Specifically, the annoyingly still living boy who has just vanished. As Tom swats at the smoke-like bodies around him, he makes a silent vow: he's going to find out who the fuck this strange boy is and he's going to make him explain what the hell just happened here.
*Author's Note: And chapter four done! The drama is increasing! I couldn't resist putting in that little line about Mrs. Weasley fighting Bellatrix. That moment is just too fabulous in the books/movies. Don't you guys think? Thanks so much for reading. Please review with any comments or feedback. I love to hear from you! Have a great day, everyone!*
