Chapter Three- Sedition

- incitement of public disorder or rebellion -

Metric- Empty

There was no way out, the only way out was to give in

There was no way out, the only way out was to give in

How I love to give in

Here no one sleeps, one lays up while the other lies down

Where no one sleeps, one lays up while the other lies down

Ask the line on your face what the line on your hand meant

We couldn't see what was coming

The Headmaster of the Paracelsus Academy of Magic, was an elderly fellow. No where near as old as Dumbledore, but old enough that his hair was starting to grey. In the few short moments that time travelers had known him, he seemed to be perpetually tired. It seemed that he was quite used to students turning up in the middle of the school year and asking to be admitted.

"So what are your names again?" he asked them for the third time since their arrival.

Harry shared a look with his friends. "I'm Harry Porter, this is Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Ginny Weasley." He indicated each of them in turn.

"Ah, right then," said the Headmaster looking down at some paper on his desk, before writing something down. "And why are you here?"

"We are here because we have no where else to go, an old friend told us of this place, and sent us here," explained Ginny, frowning.

"Good, good, good..." he said absently, He continued to scribble away on a piece of parchment. He looked up at them. "Welcome to Paracelsus Academy of Magic, Mr. Porter, Miss Granger, and Miss Weasley and Mr. Weasley.

For Harry, it felt strange being called Porter, instead of Potter. It felt as if whoever was saying his last name had merely pronounced it wrong: He had to constantly fight the urge to correct the headmaster.

While the aged headmaster started to go through the rules at the academy, Harry allowed his mind to wander, confident that while she would complain about it, Hermione would fill him in later.

The office they resided in was classy: The walls were lined with wood panelling, a rich brown that offset the luxurious red carpet, thick beneath his shoes. They sat on one side of a large desk, made of the same wood as the walls, that featured as a centerpiece. Various trinkets littered the desk: a globe of the world, intricately carved of wood and garnished with gold leaf to form the countries, an ashtray and an expensive packet of cigars, and a photo frame holding what Harry assumed was somebody important to the headmaster, although it was facing away from him so he couldn't tell who. Five portraits were attached to the back wall, although they didn't move. Harry assumed that the academy couldn't fund such frivolities, even for the past headmasters, who were the most deserving of such an honour. A muggle shotgun hung from a plaque over the door, holding two swords in place. They looked realistic, but Harry doubted that they worked. The left and right walls were used as bookcases, and were completely filled with leather bound volumes, some cracked with age. In between two armchairs sat a table, with a muggle radio upon it. Harry assumed that technology worked in the Academy, as the wards weren't strong enough to interfere. The weakness of the wards also worried him slightly, although he shrugged it off. It was unlikely that Aberforth would send them to an unsafe location, especially when he somehow knew their secret. Harry decided to send the old man a letter, inquiring how he had known to send them off to the strange school. He had appeared at exactly the right time to overhear them: Harry suspected that he had been there all along, under a disillusionment charm.

The Headmaster's rasping cough- most likely a result of the cigars- brought Harry's attention away from surveying the room, and instead to the man sitting opposite them.

"The Paracelsus Academy of Magic is not as prestigious as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but we offer far more subjects. We want to help students specialise in a particular field, rather than become substantially less skilled in a broader range of subjects. We don't want any of our charges to become a Jack of all trades, instead we wish them to be the best they can at a certain branch of magic."

He shifted his eyes nervously, before reaching around and shuffling some papers upon his desk.

"We also allow students who are infected with lycanthropy to attend, as Hogwarts is undergoing a trial period with one werewolf. I hope it goes well and Hogwarts can start opening its doors for the afflicted: they are quite a handful, let me tell you."

Harry paused. He didn't know anything about the Paracelsus Academy in his time, or about Werewolves attending a magical school at all. He supposed that the ministry had shut the place down, especially with the anti-werewolf laws that were imposed upon Cornelius Fudge's entrance into office. He felt a little sorry for the innocent werewolves in his time: the Paracelsus Academy had a good agenda, and they were helping to integrate the wolves within society. If it had been shut down, the afflicted who would have functioned well in wizarding society were driven straight into the arms of Fenrir Greyback and his insane ideology.

"We're fine with it, sir." Harry replied with a smile, "One of my Dad's best friends was a werewolf."

He received a sharp kick to the shin and a warning glare from Hermione for his mistake.

The headmaster looked intrigued.

"One of your Father's best friends 'was' a werewolf? What happened to him?"

Ignoring Hermione's sharp hiss, Harry improvised.

"Well sir, I believe that I told you I'm an Australian? My parents were English, but they moved to Australia in the months before I was born. I grew up pretty isolated, so I kept the English accent. My parents, when they heard of You Know Who's growing power, decided to come over and fight. They were very patriotic. They brought me with them, as well as their best friend. My parents and my dad's best friend went off to fight: they never came back. It's been weeks, and I have to assume that they perished."

Harry allowed the tight dam containing his emotions about his parents to crumble slightly, allowing the grief and anger to seep into his voice.

"I was alone, and I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I came here. I met up with these three on the train ride over. It feels like I've known them for longer though, years even."

Another kick, this one harder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny trying to hide a giggle, turning it into an awkward cough halfway through. Hermione was glaring daggers at her three peers.

The Headmaster looked saddened, but Harry realised that he didn't completely buy their story yet. Mustering up his pride, and throwing away any delusions of dignity, he allowed the torrent of emotions to consume him.

Instead of fighting off the tears, he allowed them to fall freely, Surprisingly, it was easy to cry: the stress of the war had brought out complex emotions that he had previously refused to deal with.

The headmaster sighed sadly, and moved over to the window. He was a kindly man, although he often tried to hide it behind a pseudo cool facade. In recent times, the facade was becoming easier to use. The pain of the war became less when he remained distant, but he could not do it any longer. The young, grief ridden man had confided in him, and he felt obligated to do the same.

"This damnable war has claimed the lives of far too many, my boy. My Granddaughter, the picture of her on the desk there, she was killed in a Death Eater initiation ceremony. Sometimes, in my weaker moments, I wish that it had been somebody else. She didn't deserve to be killed, she was innocent. I can't do anything about it though. She's gone. Forever."

He rested his head against the closed window, his shoulders set in sadness, although he hummed with a spark of anger.

"I spoke to the ministry, of course. I asked them to do something, track down the murderers that killed my Granddaughter. When the aurors said that they needed permission, I tracked down the higher ups. I cornered them in a tiny little room, showed them a picture of my granddaughter and told them what horrible things had been done to her."

The head turned to face them, and his eyes burned with rage.

"All the smooth talkers and the politicians trapped in a room with a dead girl: all of a sudden, none of them can think of a single word to say."

Silence fell, a contemplative silence where all the inhabitants thought of those they had lost to the same war, even if they were separated by just over a decade. They were both fought for the same reasons, a madman's bigoted campaign of hate, and innocents died for nothing in both wars.

"I'm sorry, Sir, about your Granddaughter."

Harry knew that Ginny wanted to add more, but it would have felt so empty. They knew that the war would stretch on for another five years, and to console the broken headmaster that "It will all get better." would only make them feel worse. More innocents like the Headmaster's Granddaughter would die, and they would be powerless to stop them. It was one more point in favour of changing the future: their action so early in the war would save thousands of lives, not just his parents'.

"It's all right," The man said, although everyone in the room could tell that he wasn't quite as well as he would have liked them to believe. "I'm sure that you would all like to get some rest: you've had long journeys, and an equally arduous conversation with me. Boys, your dormitory is to the left: it is very easy to find. Girls, I have taken the liberty of calling up a member of the kitchen staff, Nia, to assist you with locating your lodgings. The girls dormitory is on the other side of the manor, and may take some time to get to."

With that, he turned away from them: a clear dismissal. As the four friends left the room, a quick glance backwards revealed the back of the headmaster sitting in his chair, a curl of smoke floating lazily towards the ceiling.

Nia was nice enough, Hermione thought, as they made their way towards the girls dormitory. She was slightly airy, in a way that spoke of possessing little intelligence, as opposed to someone like Luna Lovegood, who was airy and dreamy as a way to hide from the taunts of her classmates and the ills of the world. She wore a traditional victorian servants attire: a black dress underneath a white apron. Her white gloves were slightly stained, and her shoes were dotted with hints of dirt.

"Here's your room, misses. I'll be just down the hall in the servants quarters if you need me." She told them, in a soft, slightly lilting welsh accent.

"Thank you, Nia," said Ginny, kindly. "What do you do here?"

"I work here, miss," said Nia looking at Ginny confusedly as though she wasn't used to someone asking her questions about herself. "I clean up after the students. I help with the cooking. There is much for me to do here, miss."

Ginny frowned, her brow creasing, "But why? Surely you would be here to learn with the rest of the students."

Nia looked down at the ground feeling very ashamed of herself.

Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth realizing what she had said. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insinuate...or..." She had no idea what to say.

"It's alright miss," said Nia still looking at the floor, "I'm used to it miss."

Hermione decided to change the topic of conversation. "Where is the library?"

Nia turned to Hermione, seeming relieved at the change, "We don't have a library miss. All books are kept in the classrooms miss."

Hermione froze. No library! Suddenly this school did not sound like such a good idea after all. It was an atrocity, how could a school not have a library, it went against...well, everything. No school was supposed to be without a library. Slowly unfreezing she glared at Nia as though it was her fault. She opened and closed her mouth several times, before eventually huffing and storming into the room.

Ginny looked apologetically at Nia, who had a hurt expression on her face. "Don't worry about it, she is always like that when it comes to books. She has been so long without something new to read, I think that she might be going stir crazy over it." With that Ginny slipped into the room to try and calm Hermione down.

The headmaster had not been lying when he told them that the boys dormitory was not difficult to find. A sharp left and a flight of stairs later, and they had found the room. In the darkness of midnight the room seemed to press upon them, the shadows dancing upon the walls like bad caricatures of their hosts. The room was on the top story, there was a large distance between the ground and their lodgings. Two large windows lay against the far wall, offering a view of the garden and the nearby mountains. Harry was sure that when the sun crept above the horizon, it would be a magnificent sight. In the dark of night however, the garden held a strangely sinister quality. The mountains, darker than the night sky itself, seemed to loom forwards like vultures, looming over their prey and waiting to feed. The stars in the sky remained bright, and as they twinkled and shone, Harry sighed. They would remain there, forever, unchanging. Some could draw comfort from the celestial, but not Harry. He thought it unfair, that such beauty dominated the sky, yet the earth was ravaged by death, disease and horrors. The stars sparkled, and Harry could only turn away, not wishing to be mocked by their incorrigible nature.

A boy lay slumped in one of the three beds that lay scattered around the room. One arm was flung out across his chest and the other hung limp at his side. Harry and Ron edged by him, carefully, and sat down on their beds which were so close that their legs touched in the gap between the two. A key turned in the lock and a voice drifted, softly, through the door.

"Will, we're locking up for the night. All wands on the shelf."

A second voice followed, a little ways further down the hall. "He's probably sleeping. Come on." The footsteps wandered away, quietly.

"Locked doors. Wands on... a shelf?" Ron lay back on his bed. "What are we getting into?"

Harry glanced up at a shelf that stuck out beside the door. A wand already lay there, presumably the boy, Will's. He collected Ron's wand as well as his own and reluctantly put their wands up on the shelf for the night.

"Hell!" came a harsh and dry voice from the bed.

Ron and Harry jumped and looked back at the bed. The boy was apparently awake, he had sat up and was watching them with a weary eye.

"What?"

"This school, it's hell," said Will. "Who are you?"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. "I'm Harry Po-Porter," he stuttered, stumbling over his new name. He attempted to cover it up quickly, hoping that the other boy wouldn't notice. "And this is Ron Weasley."

"Will," replied the other boy simply, still eyeing them wearily. After a few awkward moments, he turned away from them and laid back down on the bed.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, before getting into their own beds.

"Ginny? Oh Ginny? I'm coming to find you!"

The sing song voice, sounding so wrong and foreign in his mouth made her cringe.

She was on her hands and knees in the burrow garden, the grass dancing daintily around her ankles. She was young again, a first year. She had experienced this dream before.

"Ginny? Are you even playing? Where are you, Ginny?"

She lay in the field, the grass tickling her nose and brushing against her cheeks. He would never find her there, the grass was far too thick.

"Ready or not, here I come! I'm coming to find you!"

Her quill snapped, leaking a strange red ink down her arm. She licked across her pale skin, smearing the red across her mouth. It was strange, it almost tasted like-

"Ginny? It isn't funny anymore. Come out, I want to play!"

She didn't want to play anything else though: she was happiest hiding from him. He made her shiver, in twisted pleasure and abhorrent disgust.

"Ginny? Here I come!"

The ivory white pages were beautiful in the summer sun, the smell of strawberries assaulted her senses. She had stopped eating them, the colour always reminded her of-

Ten.

The grass seemed to swirl in a momentary wind, but it was soon forgotten. He would never find her!

Nine.

Was it just her, or was the sun darkening slightly? No, it was just her eyes playing tricks on her, she was sure.

Eight.

It was strange, how quickly the warmth had turned to cold. It almost seemed like magic.

Seven.

There went Mr Teddopolus, her prized companion, shattering into stuffing and broken stitching. How would she manage without him? It almost seemed like a twisted symbolism for-

Six.

Her hands clutched the pure white pages, untarnished by age. It was her favourite and he wouldn't take it from her.

Five.

"Not long now, Ginny! I'm coming to find you!"

Four.

The grass was definitely shifting under an intense wind, she wondered what was causing it?

Three.

What was that off in the distance? It almost seemed like-

Two.

It was uncomfortably hot, the strange orange light that had descended upon the world carrying stories of faraway lands.

One.

She stood, the book clutched within her grasp. He would not take it from her.

"Ginny, Ginny, Ginny. Are you ready for me? Here I come!"

She ran through the thick grass, the sheer length of it slowing her to half her speed. He was taller than her, and he had long legs, spider like, that navigated the terrain with ease. He would catch up with her, there was no doubt in her mind.

"I think you've got something of mine! Give it back!"

"No!" She cried, but it sounded weak in her ears.

A small root was her downfall, an obstacle easily cleared, but she had caught herself upon it, and lay there, helpless, strung up by her ankle to the lone tree, surrounded by wheat, and wild grass.

The book fell to the floor, and with a sob, her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the front cover.

The Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"I think somebody has been very naughty. Tut, tut, tut. What would your mother say? Hm? You haven't got an answer for me? Very well, another question. Do you think the twins would be impressed? They were very mischievous, very naughty, just like you, Ginny. Speaking of the twins, how are Fred and George? Are they well? Healthy? Living life to the fullest?"

He leaned down to her tearstained face, twisted in agony.

"Oops. Too soon?"

He caressed her face.

"Oh, don't cry, my dear! What hurts you, hurts me. Because you complete me! I am you, and you are me. Without you, I cannot live. Without me, you truly wouldn't be you."

His handsome face was split into a sickening grin.

"Everybody has a darker side, Ginevra Molly Weasley. Everyone has that evil little secret they can't even tell their loved ones. I am both, am I not? No one will ever know that part of me, resides in you, even after the diary was destroyed. I'm not a moron, I had a backup plan."

"Why, am I only seeing you now? Why can you talk to me?"

"The temporal shift gave me energy, of course. It was my magic after all. Do you want to know how I did it?"

Ginny shook her head sharply, indicating that she did not want to hear it. She wanted to wake up. Frowning, Tom Riddle, for that was who he was, gripped her head roughly in his hands, and forced her to nod in acceptance.

"You do? Oh, that's good. Ok, here we go."

He straightened up and picked up his diary, as if he was reading from the blank pages.

"I was a very clever boy when I was at school, I was the best student there. All the teachers loved me, except for the muggle loving coot, Dumbledore. Fortunately, on the Christmas break of 1945, he was having a bit of a lovers spat with Grindlewald. While he was gone, because he watched me ever so carefully at school, I had free reign of the castle: I was head boy, I could do anything! Do you want to know what I did? Yes, you do."

He once again made her nod, her protest becoming weaker and weaker.

"I realised that the most magical part of a time turner was the hourglass in my fifth year; I used Abraxas Malfoys' connections to get a rare book on time turner creation: the moron thought that I was using it to do more activities in a day without ministry approval. No, I was preparing a plan. When I was free to tamper with the hourglass, it was a simple matter of casting the spell once every hour, for a week."

He frowned, releasing her.

"The plan was to go back in time and start my reign of terror again once I was powerful enough: of course, Potter put a stop to that, twice! The second time, he killed me! Oh, the injustice! Fortunately, my death powered the oversized time turner, latched on to the nearest bit of Voldemort it could find, which was me as it turns out, and dragged you along. It's a pity that I hadn't accounted for Potter and his traitor friends to be standing so close."

"So it's your fault we're in the past?"

"Yes. I can't get you back either. It's a one way trip. Besides, I like it here, in this time. You wouldn't want to time travel again anyway: I'll get even more powerful. Who knows, I could even control your body for short periods of time. I bet you've missed that."

A dull rumble echoed around the field.

"Knock knock, I think trouble's brewing. It's time to wake up, buttercup!"

Ginny swore under her breath and lay her head on the table. Ron shoved eggs into his mouth and went on about a Quidditch save at the same time while Harry nodded and cringed at his open mouth. Hermione put down her paper, frustrated. "I can't believe they don't have a library here in this school! Now I'm reliant on the Prophet for something to read and we all know that everyone who writes for it is a lying, good-for-nothing-"

Ron frowned at that. "I think I might have an aunt who wrote for the Prophet. Maybe she's a good friend of Rita Skeeter. I should ask her... Isn't Aunt Brenda a reporter, Gin?"

Ginny shrugged, made a small noise and closed her eyes.

Harry watched her, curiously. "Something wrong?"

"No..."

Hermione ignored them all. "I mean, really. How are we supposed to learn anything here if we can't even read any books of our own choosing. And what about essays? I mean, how do they expect us to write any decent essays?"

"Hermione, will you shut up!"

A few students around them cringed and hurriedly looked away at Ron's words, trying to pretend they weren't listening in.

"I was just saying, Ronald..."

"Will you two be quiet!" Ginny's eyes snapped open and she shot up. "Hermione, I swear, if I have to hear another word of your little-goody-two-shoes ranting about how 'oh, no, professor, my essay won't be nearly good enough because there's NOT A DAMN LIBRARY' and your little hissy fits about things that don't bloody matter. You ever wonder why you didn't have any friends before Harry and my idiot of a brother? And Ronnie... the little loyal prefect. You're no better than any of your other brothers because you never did anything of use! Never. They've fought in wars too, you know! They've died in wars! No one cares about you because who are you compared to them? Who the bloody hell are you? Just loyal. Maybe you should have been a bloody Hufflepuff and prance around being friendly and perfect and not worth a goddamn thing!"

They were speechless and Harry slid his chair back to avoid being next.

"Oh... I'm not done yet." Ginny growled, pushing herself up to full height and glowering down at them. "Because everyone knows that you two love each other. Even if you fight and scream and you're not fooling anyone. Not a single bloody person. So cut it with your stupid little act of not being able to stand each other. You're gonna get married and have kids and be like everyone other person in this family. Be happily married with your 'soulmate' and have perfect little family reunions and be lost in the crowd. Have fun with that! After all, you're perfect for it. The goody-little-two-shoes and the boy-who'll-never-be-remembered. Have fun in your perfect little life. Oh, if we ever get there." She slammed her palm against the table and they jumped. She pulled out her wand and muttered a spell under her breath before stomping off.

Harry watched in a stunned disbelief as bat bogies exploded from Ron's and Hermione's noses. He sighed and looked down at his plate, suddenly the food wasn't so appetizing anymore.

Nia stopped Ginny at the door. "Please, Miss...Ginny, calm down."

"Why should you tell me what to do? You're no better than a bloody house elf!"

She shoved past the girl and stomped out, familiar, ghostly cackling ringing in her ears.

"You don't even need my help to be evil."

"Oh, shut the bloody hell up."

That night Ginny sat on her bed staring at her empty hands, her thoughts blank, a long tear sliding down her left cheek. She had been there since classes had ended earlier that day. She hadn't even attended dinner.

She didn't look up when she heard the doors open, and someone come into the room. She knew it was Hermione...or at least that's who she thought it was.

The person coughed quietly, and Ginny's head shot up to face the newcomer. "Oh, it's you, Nia."

Nia looked really nervous about being there, she kept fidgeting and switching the plate of food she was carrying between hands. "I'm so sorry, Miss."

Ginny frowned, trying to think what Nia would be apologising for. Before anything came to mind, Hermione came into room, she cast a glare at Nia- who was already fidgeting twice as much from the sight of Ginny's frown- and went over to her bed.

Sighing, Ginny decided to change the subject, "What is the food for?"

Nia jumped, and looked at the plate in her hand as if just remembering that she was holding it. "Oh, sorry, miss. I forgot. This is-"

There was a flash of green light and Nia fell to the ground dead. Her sentence would remain forever unfinished.

Harry and Ron were discussing mentality of girls, unaware of the chaos spreading throughout the rest of the school. They were interrupted by their roommate who was already asleep, waking up and screaming in agony.

They turned to face, just in time to see him twisting and writhing in agony. His body was distorting itself. His back arched up and seemed to mold itself into another shape. His face started to stretch out and turn more angular. His hands and feet turned swiftly into claws. Fur started to sprout out all over his skin, completely covering him. The bristly, grey hair was bathed in moonlight, making it seem to shine with an ethereal glow. Finally a tail grew out of his backside. A low growl rumbled out of the beast's throat. Harry and Ron stood side by side, facing a ferocious and ravenous werewolf.

Ron glanced between his empty hands and the shelf that held all three of their wands. "Bloody hell... it's just our luck to be locked inside a dorm with a werewolf on the full moon, with it between us and our wands."