/N: I actually develop a plot in this part

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter. Damn. Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien or whoever his publisher is. There's a very small reference to Narri's 'Quidditch' discussion from 'The Parents Who Died.'

A/N: I apologise for taking so long to write this. My teachers are conducting an experiment on us to see How Many Assignments Are Required To Make A Student's Head Explode. They're getting there. And then, just to continue the mental torture, they decided to Give The Students Really Cripplingly Hard Exams. I think my brain has melted and turned to cheese. In fact, the only reason I decided to continue this wretched thing is my friends, Zeft and WinterStorms's constant nagging. If anyone still cares, you have them to thank. Anyway, the long break is the reason the chapters have such a different style to them. I promise (or at least hope) the next chapter won't take anywhere near as long to get out. On a (somewhat) brighter note, since I actually develop a plot in this chapter, there's going to be angst as well as some vague semblance of comedy. Or possibly no comedy. Just angst. So bear with me. And since I lack any imagination whatsoever, our black-robed, evil friends are called the Black Robes (how creative) and they all have the Dark Mark. Good for them. Aurors wear blue robes. Guess what their nickname is? And now, presenting:

Chapter Two

Imagine Time as an enormous skyscraper covered with countless vines, its peak constantly growing, its foundations lost in the mists below. Pretend the building itself is Earth, and the vines that wind around it and each other are a myriad of human lives. So what would happen if, at a point in the past, one vine were snapped?

The building- the basic foundation of Time- would remain the same, but every single vine that the cut one had ever touched would have its path changed. Lives would change, perhaps only a little- maybe one would live in a different house, or have a different job or name. But perhaps a life could change a lot. Perhaps, the chance meeting of a person could change your life dramatically. Perhaps, if you had never met one person, it could change whether you live or die.

Now imagine what would happen if ten vines were cut. Or twenty. And now, think how much chaos, how many vines unravelled, how many lives would change when the Hogwarts Teaching Staff, each of whom had done great, important things in their past, all had their threads cut.

And yet, when the magic of an Anti-Ageing Potion reached back in time, the spell used made a bubble, a hiccup in time where past and present are merged… temporarily. As soon as a certain Professor Binns disturbed the bubble, it burst. And Time caught up.

The ripples began at Hogwarts, spreading around the globe in a gigantic magical shockwave. The world changed. History changed. See now, what the future could have been…

* * *

The black-robed man advanced towards the chair apprehensively, his heavy footsteps absorbed by a thick carpet. The chair was turned towards the leaping flames of the fire, and the occupant made no acknowledgement that he had heard the black-robed man's approach. The man waited silently for a few moments, ignored. Finally, he spoke. 'Master.'

The chair swivelled around slowly and Grindlewald stood up. He glanced at the intruder. 'Henderson. Have you news?'

'Yes, Master. The saboteur has sent word. Hogwarts will soon be open.'

'Excellent.'

'Do we proceed as planned, Master?'

Grindlewald moved towards the fireplace, warming gnarled and crooked hands. The firelight cruelly illuminated his shrunken skin, stretched and tightened into a crazed patterning of lines over the stark bone of his skull. 'We do,' the Dark Lord said, licking dried lips in anticipation. 'Time to move in for the kill.'

* * *

The headmaster strode down the hallway, his boots striking the stone with a resounding echo. Gongs chimed through the castle, offering a signal that in these troubled times was all too familiar for the students at Hogwarts. Classroom doors opened and students swarmed out through every entrance, each headed for their Tower. The headmaster watched; his eyes saddened by the sight. It was not right, that children so young should be forced to live under such a heavy cloud of fear. But then, when had the Dark Lord ever been interested in what was right?

The headmaster's pace quickened. His dark blue cloak swirled around him as he headed towards the Great Hall. But the crowded corridors delayed him, and they had arrived before he. The headmaster paused at the entrance, observing the scene. One by one, a series of blue-robed figures apparated into the hall. Their features were undefinable, for they wore heavy cloaks with deep hoods, almost covering their faces. Each cloak was clasped at the throat with a silver badge. It was a secret known only to a few that those badges were spelled as a means of identification. They could not be copied. Infiltration into their ranks was an impossible mission. The headmaster knew. Many had tried, and all had failed.

'At last!' a voice called out. 'You see, Headmaster, we have come prepared!'

'So it would seem,' he answered dryly. 'I admit, I have brought no reinforcements.'

'Are the teachers off shepherding the students again?'

'As always,' the headmaster replied.

'Well, then. It appears to be just you and I.'

'And three hundred other Aurors, James. Three hundred battle wizards do tend to add a little strength to a side.'

'True enough, sir,' James Potter said.

He stepped away from the blue-robed mass, pushing a faded piece of parchment into his robe pocket as he did so. Unlike the other Aurors, James wore his hood thrown back. He was famous for his daring acts against the Dark Lord, and secrecy of identity had become an irrelevant issue. The name of 'Potter' would frighten even the Inner Circle into retreat. But not this time. Not now.

'So, James. It is true, then. He is here.'

James nodded. 'We knew he would come eventually, Headmaster. It has never been more than a matter of time. I think he plans to attack by land. He apparated into Hogsmeade approximately fifteen minutes ago with an unknown number of Blackrobes. There were sixteen civilian casualties, and one captured Blackrobe, a Master Crabbe, is in custody. He didn't know much; just that the Dark Lord was coming to Hogwarts, and that there was a Plan. Frankly, sir, I find myself questioning this Blackrobe's basic intelligence level. He was captured when his own binding curse ricocheted back at him. But his one piece of information- the Dark Lord is approaching Hogwarts- seems sound enough. Soon, Grindlewald will come.'

The headmaster sighed, anxiously running his fingers through his black hair. 'Grindlewald. His name…he has made his name a beacon of terror. It does not seem possible, James, that a mortal man can be feared and hated across the globe.'

An expression of pain- mingled with deep bitterness- crossed James' face. 'Mortal? Not for much longer, it would seem. Grindlewald is here. And we both know the reason why.'

'James,' the headmaster said, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulders. 'I know how hard this must be for you. But you have my word that no harm will come to Harry whilst I still draw breath.'

James looked up at the taller man. 'Thank you, sir. It…it terrifies me to be away from Harry when I know that Grindlewald is after him. You're one of the few people I trust enough to protect him. But he's just a child, Headmaster, and my only son. The protection of school children is not my field of expertise. Perhaps there are others that could manage this far better than I. Yet if I did not come…I could never forgive myself. And although I trust you completely, there is only so much one man can do.'

The headmaster nodded sadly. 'I understand, James.'

The Auror gave a brittle grin. 'Then we'd best get cracking, hadn't we? I've already ordered my 'troops' to follow general procedure. Man the castle walls, line the hallways, blast every shadow. The usual. I trust the perimeter defences are functioning? The sphinxes are alert?'

'I believe so. And Newt Scamander from the Ministry has ringed the grounds with a Hippogriff enclosure. Entrance to Hogwarts by land and air are impossible.'

'Nothing is ever impossible, Headmaster. You told me that. The Apparition defences?'

'Only those authorised to do so may enter the castle. Peter and I laid the charms ourselves.' The headmaster paused. 'However…there was a problem. Although only the listed Aurors and the staff may apparate into Hogwarts, anyone can apparate out. We were unable to manipulate the original blanketing spell to do otherwise.'

James pondered this for a moment. At last he sighed, and nodded. 'Acceptable,' he said. 'Are there any other problems?'

The headmaster shook his head. 'None. But I confess I felt that Hogwarts was more protected with the original spell to block all apparating.'

James shook his head. 'It was extremely inconvenient for the Aurors, sir. And if the perimeter defences do not function correctly, you will need a military presence at Hogwarts. It is safer this way.'

'Perhaps.'

*

*

Meanwhile, back in the dungeons…

'I'm frightened,' Lavender whispered, huddling with the large group of frightened teenagers. 'What's going on?'

Dumbledore frowned. 'The alarms have been activated. Something is threatening the castle.'

'But the alarms system was disabled in 1946, after the fall of Grindlewald,' Hermione said. 'Why would they be activated now?'

Harry stood up. 'Voldemort,' he hissed angrily. The students winced at the name. The Professors, however, turned puzzled eyes on Harry.

'Who's that?' they all asked in unison.

'Wonderful,' Harry breathed, sarcasm sharpening his words to a razor's edge. 'Absolutely bloody wonderful! What a brilliant idea this was, Hermione! "Let's brainwash the professors!" That way, when Voldemort attacks, there will be no one to fight him off!'

Hermione was undeterred. 'There's us, Harry. We've fought him before. If we have to, we can do it again.'

Harry sighed, his anger disappearing as quickly as it had come. 'You're right, like always, Hermione.' He paused, before saying, 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been angry with you. It's just…there could be Death Eaters out there! The entire school could be under attack right now, and the only people who can help them are trapped in here!'

* * *

'The school is armed and defended, Captain!' a grizzled Auror said. 'Procedure 203-f (ii) has been carried out as instructed.'

'Did I order that, Moody?' James inquired.

Alistair Moody, James' second-in-command, grinned. 'You said, "Tell those bloody buggers to do whatever it is they normally do," Captain. So that's what they're doing.'

'Oh. Right, then.'

'Captain,' Moody said, 'we both know that the schoolyard isn't your field of expertise. Exactly what are you planning to do here, James?'

James met Moody's eyes. 'I'm planning to find my son,' he said. 'If Grindlewald comes after Harry- well, to coin a Muggle phrase, he'll have to come through me first. Take command, Moody.'

'Yes, Captain,' Moody said. He waited until James reached the doors, before yelling, 'And Potter…'

'Yes?'

'Constant vigilance!'

James laughed and bowed with a theatrical swirl of his cloak. Then without another word he strode out of the Hall, heading towards the dungeons.

A few minutes later, the headmaster appeared before him, having stepped through a supposedly solid section of the corridor wall.

James almost dropped his wand in shock. 'Shouldn't you be overseeing the castle defences?' he said, once he regained his composure. 'Or are you just trying to give me a heart attack by jumping out of the walls?' James tapped the section of stone that the headmaster had stepped out of. It felt solid.

'Why is Harry in the dungeons?' the headmaster asked, ignoring the Auror's question. 'He should be in Gryffindor Tower.'

'I don't know why Harry's- how do you know he's in the dungeons?' James asked accusingly. 'I had to check my Marauder's Map to find out!'

'I am the Headmaster, James. There is little going on in Hogwarts that I do not know about.'

James muttered a string of words under his breath. Most of it was about the Headmaster, and none of it was complimentary.

The headmaster merely smiled at the rather inventive insults. 'I apologise for delaying so long before finding you. Mr Moody asked me- quite forcefully- to pass a message to you. He said to say, "Tell Potter that if he gets himself killed, I will personally rip out his intestines and strangle him with them." I neglected to point out the obvious in this statement, but I believe you understand the idea.'

'Yes, I believe I do,' James said. He laughed, but there was a sourness to it. 'My second-in-command still treats me like a helpless schoolboy and is nurturing dreams of disembowelment. Lucky me.'

'Yes, lucky you!' the headmaster exclaimed. 'Merlin's beard, James, don't you see?'

James shrugged. 'See what?'

'That all of them- all of the Aurors, everyone you've ever met- they all love you! Oh no, not that type of love, James,' the headmaster quickly added, 'but there is something about you, something that makes people follow you. Every Auror out there would die for you, and so would Moody. If Avada Kedavra were heading your way, Moody would let it strike him down before he allowed any harm come to you. And you know it's true, James. You've seen the same thing in Harry. Charisma. Men would follow and die for you.'

'But I don't want them to die!' James burst out. 'I want them to live!'

The headmaster was silent.

'I hate this!' James yelled suddenly, in a burst of uncharacteristic rage. He struck his fist hard against the wall. 'I hate this endless waiting, waiting, endless fucking waiting for Grindlewald to make his move! Always on the defensive, always guarding, protecting, never attacking! If I had my way, I would lead my Aurors against the Dark side and kill and kill and kill until all of that filth is wiped from the earth, or we ourselves are dead!'

He whipped around, glaring up at the taller man. 'And you, Professor! You with your soft words and diplomat's ways! You who caution me against such a move! I loathe your talk of peace! I abhor the very thought of forgiveness! Those murdering, rampaging bastards deserve no sympathy, no compassion! They deserve only death!' James stopped, murmuring again under his breath, 'They deserve only death.'

'And who are you to decide what a man deserves?' the headmaster said quietly. 'What right do you or I –or anyone- have to judge another's life?'

'I have the right. You may say that you do not, but I have it! Who am I to decide? I am the man who found the corpse of his wife laid out on his bed as a message to him! I am the man whose son is being targeted even now! I am the man who had his best friends stolen from him when he was sixteen years old. I am the man who grew out of a childhood marked by death, and suffering, and loss that I sometimes fear I cannot endure! Every thread of hope I have has been torn, or sullied! I have no more hopes for the future. No foundations to build a life on. When this is over –if ever this is over- my life will still be in scattered, miserable shards. There is nothing left for me.'

'You are still a father.'

'Much good that will do me, when Grindlewald seeks to tear that away from me as well! Why me, Professor? Why must my parents be slaughtered, my friends disappear, my wife killed? Why does the Dark Lord hate the name of 'Potter' so much? Why me? Why me?'

'You know why.'

A derisive, horrible laugh burst free of James' lips. 'Oh, yes, I do, don't I?' He pulled up the sleeve of his black robes and stared at the blood pulsing through the veins of his wrist. 'My veins, my blood and that wretched prophecy!' The awful laugh came again. 'Oh yes, I'm his terrible adversary, my blood somehow fated to destroy him! But it hasn't, has it? No, this wonderful blood that runs so magnificently through my veins is destroying me instead! Oh Hell, that I did not have this blood in my body! I would that Harry did not have it either!'

'It's not your blood lineage, James. You know that. Even were it not for your ancestry, Grindlewald would still hound you- and Harry too. It's not because of what you are, but who you are.'

'I don't care, I don't care! Who I am! What I am! It makes no difference anyway! Lily is still dead! Nothing changes that! Sirius and Remus are just… gone- and my life feels so empty! Hollow. It wasn't meant to be like this, my friend. It should never have been like this. They shouldn't have died.'

'No one should ever die.'

'Oh, the ones that did it should. They deserve death.'

A girl quietly approached him. Perhaps fifteen or so, she had a soft, almost sweet voice, as she quoted, ' "Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement." '

' "For even the very wise cannot see all ends," ' James finished. 'Part one of Lord of the Rings.'

'My favourite book,' the girl said.

James smiled sadly. 'It was your mother's favourite, too,' he said. He enfolded the girl in a crushing hug. 'Elanor.'

'Father.'

'My pretty little sun-star,' he said, kissing her forehead. 'What are you doing here?'

'Dad, really! Take a guess!'

'And how did you know I would be here?'

'I always know.'

'Yes, darling, but how?'

She sighed. 'Come on, Dad. You're an Auror. You sent me an owl a week ago warning me Harry's in danger. Today the alarms go off. Defence Aurors are summoned. I don't have to be a genius to figure out that you'd come too.'

'True enough. But how did you know where I was?'

'I always know,' she repeated, a very Potter-like grin appearing on her face.

'Oh, you are exasperating,' James said.

'I know. That's why you love me.'

He sighed. 'I do. Though Circes knows why, since my daughter is an infuriating little know-it-all.'

She laughed. 'Save the praises, Dad, we're off to rescue Harry, remember?'

James stiffened. 'You're not coming, Elanor. It's going to be dangerous.'

'More dangerous than returning to the Common room alone?'

He glared.

'With bogeymen and gremlins ready to jump out from every shadow? Lurking around the corners, just waiting for a poor, innocent little schoolgirl to tiptoe around the corner, alone and vulnerable, all because her big, strong Auror Daddy sent her off all alone?'

'Wheedler.'

'Abandoner! Leaving me to the monsters and shadows, at the mercy of the cutthroats and Blackrobes, who would just love to get their hands on a Potter, any Potter, and all because my wonderful, powerful father wouldn't-'

'Enough! Enough!' James cried. 'I give in! But one thing,' he said. 'Promise me, Elanor, that if anything happens you will get away as fast as you can, never mind what happens to me or your brother. Do you understand?'

'I understand, Father,' the girl replied, and her voice was not teasing now, but quietly serious.

'Promise.'

'But- but what if I can help? What if-'

'Promise me!'

Elanor's hazel eyes met those of her father's. 'I promise,' she whispered.

'Thank you.'

At an unbidden signal, father and daughter began to walk down the castle corridor, the Headmaster following at a discreet distance. There was silence, until:

'Dad?'

'Yes?'

'I love you.'

'I know.'

Silence continued again, until:

'Dad?'

'Yes?'

'Do you love me?'

A chuckle. 'How could I not?'

'Good.'

They walked on quietly, reaching the staircase that descended to the old dungeons, in the very depths of Hogwarts. And then:

'Dad?'

'Yes?'

'I'm not afraid. Even if the Dark Lord is down there, I'm not afraid.'

'Fear would be considered wise, Elanor.'

'But I'm not afraid, Dad. I trust you. No matter what happens, I know that you will protect me.'

There was a pause. 'Thank you.'

'But I'm not too bad at curses myself, Dad. I got the highest mark in duelling. Perhaps I could-'

'No.'

'But maybe I-'

'No.'

'-could help.'

'No.'

A pause. And then:

'Dad?'

'Yes?'

'I meant what I said. About trusting you.'

'I know.'

'Dad?'

'Yes, Elanor?'

'Are you unhappy?'

James was quiet for several long moments. 'Sometimes,' he finally said.

'Do I make you unhappy?'

'You? Exasperated, yes, infuriated, certainly, but unhappy? Never.'

She smiled. 'So do I make you happy?'

'Always. You and Harry are what I treasure most on this earth.'

'Dad?'

'Yes?'

'How did you feel when Mum died?'

James' expression grew guarded. 'Why all these questions?'

'I overheard you. You said that your life was in pieces. You said that your life felt hollow, empty. I wanted to know.'

'Oh, darling, don't listen to me when I am in those moods. It isn't really me. You see, when Lily died, I felt like my heart had been torn out of my chest and ground into dust. I thought everything was over. I thought that there was nothing left. But I remembered you, and Harry, and I found something worth living for, something that made me pull myself out of the quagmire. And… sometimes the shadow still visits me, and the gloom pulls me back down into misery. But when I see you again, it's gone. Because you make me happy again.'

'I'm glad. What you said frightened me.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I'm sorry I eavesdropped.'

'Forgiven. If you tell me one thing. How did you know where I was, and why weren't you in the Tower like everyone else?'

'I wasn't actually looking for you, Dad. I heard your voice and came to say hello.'

'Then who were you looking for?' he asked.

'Uh… a friend.'

'Darling, for a Potter, you are a terrible liar. And an unnecessary one, too. Harry's already told me all about it.'

'He has?' Elanor said.

'Yes, and I also received a letter from Professor McGonagall, complaining about your unacceptable behaviour- sneaking out at night to meet a certain Ravenclaw, engaging in… activities… that would have most fathers running for their wands and a book on How To Most Effectively Curse Your Daughter's Boyfriend. But rather luckily for him, I approve.'

'You do?'

He nodded. 'He's a good boy. A little sarcastic, perhaps, but I can't foster the lad then decide to bury him because he decided he liked kissing my daughter more than playing Quidditch…' A sudden horrifying thought struck James. 'He hasn't asked you to play Quidditch with him, has he?'

Elanor was puzzled. 'No, he knows I'm a terrible flier.'

James breathed out in relief. The Quidditch metaphor had been very popular when he and Lily were at school.

'Well, don't play it,' he said.

'What?'

'Quidditch. If he asks you to play, just don't.'

'Why not?'

'Never mind! Just… don't.'

'If you insist,' she answered, puzzlement plain on her face.

James, Elanor, and the currently silent Headmaster gathered around the door to the dungeon.

'Here goes,' James whispered. 'I hope to Merlin that we are here in time.' He glanced to his daughter. 'If I say run, you run. Understand?'

'Yes, Dad.'

'Good.'

'And, Headmaster?'

'Yes, James?'

'We'll open it together. If anything happens to me, get Harry and Elanor out.'

'Very well.'

'But-'

'You promised, Elanor!'

'Yes, father,' the girl acquiesced.

'Then we are ready…'

*

*

*

'Harry, no!'

'I have to, Hermione!' he shouted back.

'Don't be an idiot! We don't know what's out there! You can't just go out there by yourself!'

'I can handle it, Hermione! I've faced Voldemort before, and I've won!'

'Through luck, you pompous pigheaded …git! You're sixteen years old! You cannot fight the Dark Lord. None of us can!'

'I can! And I will!'

'I won't let you!' Hermione shrieked. She drew out her wand and pointed it at him. Her hand shook. 'I won't let you,' she repeated more calmly.

'You can't stop me.'

'Maybe not,' Ron said. 'But together, I think both of us could.' The gangly red-haired boy moved to stand next to Hermione, blocking the entrance to the dungeon. Harry glared at both of them.

'Don't you trust me?' Harry asked brokenly. 'You know I can do this! You must! Please…'

'Harry, if you cannot get past Ron and I, what hope do you have against Death Eaters?' Hermione asked gently. 'Stop being the hero, Harry. Sometimes we have to trust the real wizards and witches.'

''Much as I hate to admit it, she's right, Harry,' Ron said. 'None of us have a hope out there, and I think you know it.'

Harry drew in a shuddering breath. His skin was stark white against his black hair; his thin scar was livid red on his forehead. The scar was hurting him. The pain in his scar when Voldemort was present was familiar to him, yet this was different. But kindred, in a way. The same, and not the same. He could not understand it, but the pain was increasing slowly, as if Voldemort was coming closer and closer.

Harry wanted to get out. He knew he had to. Why didn't they understand that?

'Hermione, you said before that we could face whatever evil came. Why can't we do that now?'

'Harry,' she said, in the same, patient tones as before, 'I meant that we could face the evil that attacked us here. I didn't say we should go looking for it.'

He stared at her in panic. The feeling of entrapment was growing. Shadowy bars were locking around his body. Without thinking or moving, he suddenly seemed to be kneeling on the stony ground, hands pressed against his scar. Hermione's face peered down at him. His vision blurred, darkened, and focused again on the corridor outside the dungeon. He saw a flash of dark red hair, a hand half-covered by a blue sleeve stroked it gently, black boots on the stones. A wand tapped against the heavy oak door.

In one motion, Harry lurched to his feet and lunged towards the door, knocking Hermione and Ron to the ground. His hand touched the doorknob and turned it, just as the door exploded into splinters.

Harry stumbled, and was caught by an arm in blue robes. And Harry Potter looked up into the face of his father.

*

*

*

Pigeons are birds that are really quite twisted

Their many oddities are bird-lover-listed

A lesser-known fact's that they're quite the connoisseurs

Yes, pigeons are sculptured art appreciators.

And when they enjoy, they let the world know

Through a gift left behind, on the head, heel or toe,

But you (I hope) are of the human race

And if you enjoyed, well, then, please grace

The box below with a sentence or two

Come, Gentle Reader, please leave a review!

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