*
Hogwarts, Estd. 920 AD
Chapter Three: Just The Beginning of A Very Strange Day *
Draco slowly reached for his right arm and pinched himself.
No. He was not asleep.
He brought his hand up to just in front of his face and quickly checked his breath.
No. He was not drunk out of his mind.
He, very slowly, looked at his surroundings.
Yes. He was in the 10th Century BC. And yes, these were Solvarr's [Salazar Slytherin!] clothes against his skin. He was still the only being in the Multiverse being actively hunted by The Handyman. So far so good. No signs of the inherited Malfoy madness creeping up on him. Taking a breath to steady himself, he grudgingly turned back to the creature outside his door. Draco Malfoy sighed with relief.
On closer inspection, the girl standing at his doorstep did not have the presence of Mrs Ponde. She was very young, barely fifteen or sixteen, with an overly skinny frame, pale skin, wide blue eyes that looked straight out of a Japanese animé series and a small pink mouth. She resembled Mrs Ponde somewhat superficially, but it was her manner that completely shattered this perception- the word 'doormat' was plastered in weak writing all over her face. If anyone ever had the temerity [and the suicidal death wish] to call Mrs Ponde a doormat, she'd be more likely the one on the steps of Malfoy Manor which had a wonderfully fortunate tendency to swallow up Ministry representatives and digest them very slowly.
"You're not Mrs Ponde!" He crowed, the childish joy evident in his tone followed by a sudden flush of embarrassment. He was acting like a Muggleborn doing Wingardium Leviosa for the first time. This realisation prompted a quick clenching of the jaw and a crossing of the arms. If pressured, he would deny everything.
Not-Mrs-Ponde, on the other hand, looked thoroughly confused. In fact, she looked petrified [in the Muggle sense, not the Magical, Draco was not at his wizardly best in the mornings- Petrifying someone was a post-11 am spell if he ever saw one]. "Lord.?"
"Nothing, do you hear? Absolutely nothing. Nothing to see. Nothing I did. Nothing," he stopped himself, vaguely aware that he was overdoing it a bit. "What's your name, maid?" For the tone of voice, Draco might as well have said 'abject slave'. Despite that, there was just something mildly intriguing about the girl. Something far too- familiar- for his liking.
"My name, sir?" She looked utterly flabbergasted, something which, Draco mused idly, she probably was often.
"You do have a name, don't you?"
She replied with a breathless sort of terror. "Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. It's A-,"
"Draco, dear Lord Draco, you're all better," Rowena Ravenclaw appeared at that most opportune moment, causing the servant girl who wasn't Mrs Ponde to disappear. Draco was just surprised she didn't leave a puff of smoke, or a few dew drops of condensation to indicate she was a mist-being.
He turned to survey the unquestionably lovely face [and other bits] of the Founder, finding himself mildly puzzled. She was looking, if possible, even.bustier.than usual [apparently the law of the centre of gravity hadn't been discovered in the 10th Century, otherwise, Rowena's upright position would be seriously fracturing the legs of physics with the efficiency of a mob loanshark to a deadbeat], and her eyes even wider and bluer and emptier. There was a pale rosy flush on her cheeks and a hidden smile on her lips, and as she came closer she giggled. Draco took a sudden suspicious sniff of the air. Underneath her cheerful floral scent there was the very distinct odour of-
Vodka.
Rowena Ravenclaw was sozzled.
"You look so cute in Solvarr's clothes," she cooed, in a tone of voice quite far removed from the sensibility of the night before. In fact, with the alcohol and dove-like noises, Rowena was fast coming to resemble Narcissa Malfoy, a thought which caused him to extricate his arm from her grip and jump away inelegantly.
"Ah!" He tried to cover up his yell of fear by making it triumphant. "Aaah! I've, er, found it. Eureka!" He resisted the urge to just stab himself in the chest right then and there.
"What have you found? Something interesting, I do hope? Nobody ever does interesting things around here."
Had Draco been possessed of any precognitive abilities whatsoever, he would have immediately grasped the import of her statement. Unfortunately, when it came to peering through the mists of the future, he was about as adept as, well, to put it bluntly, Hermione Granger.
In hindsight, he would mark this moment as the beginning of the longest and strangest day in his life. And that was including the day he jumped back in time and met the Founders.
*
It is said that the Gods play games with the lives of men.
Unfortunately, none of the Gods seem to know exactly which game they're involved in. After the entire Big Bang debacle, Prudence had confiscated the Exploding Snap decks and so done away with the only game that amused all the Gods. A few were sticking to the traditional chess idea, but many more, terrified by the concept of Deep Blue, opted for more innovative methods. Monopoly was always a favourite, and it was quite obvious that a few were playing Snakes and Ladders. Some of the more irony-friendly Gods even played Life. Then there was always the huddled bunch in the back trying their hand at Strip Poker.
However, right at this moment, the Handyman was quite sure that the Gods were all playing Silly Buggers.
Literally.
"So, where is the precious gem of a demigod?"
Cronos squeezed his eyes shut, fingers brushing his temples as his features twisted into a look of deep and absolute concentration. A few minutes passed this way. Finally the Handyman tired of tapping his foot and making impatient coughing noises, since they had no effect [Gods were notoriously tardy]. Instead, he reached out and shoved him.
Perhaps not the best course of action with a being capable of tearing you atom from atom, but the Handyman was past caring.
"Oi!"
The Handyman crossed his arms and glared at him. "Well?" He waved his arms impatiently. "Where's your precious little daughter?"
"I'm not her mother, dear boy, how am I supposed to know?" Cronos inquired mildly, wincing at the sudden remembrance of May's mother, the venerable Lady Chaos. The divorce settlement had been heartbreaking.
"Weren't you just trying to find- oh, forget it!" The troll-sized creature threw up his hands in exasperation, seriously considering throwing the 'Master of Time' in the Temporal Drainage System. "Look, listen to me, you scurvy cur," [indeed, it was quite the fashion to read Shakespeare in the Hub- quite a lot of First Dimension culture seeped into the others, privately the Handyman thought it was because of the inertia of stupidity- once a stupid thing is started, it goes on forever] "We need to find your daughter and her happy bunch of do-gooders before they cause a catastrophe. Do you understand? Cat. As. Tro. Phee! Catastrophe!"
Cronos, by that time, was wearing a very silly grin, which faded as he caught the Handyman's expression. "Er, sorry there, old chap, you just- um- well, you sounded a bit like Cassandra for a moment there. Prophecies of doom and all that. But, er, as for where May is, I don't know.recently she's been hanging around the First Dimension. Perhaps we could look there?"
"The first idea you've ever had. Cronos, my dear God, please congratulate yourself," having failed to perceive the sarcasm in the Handyman's tone, the God proceeded to do just that. Smacking himself between the eyes, he seized Cronos' arm, interrupting a stream of 'oh jolly wonderful', 'capital show, old chap' and 'good egg' to disappear into the First Dimension with a pop.
Barbaric place. Didn't even have pneumatic platform access.
*
Meanwhile, in the 20th Century, Cornelius Fudge tapped his cane against the fertile Scottish ground, wincing slightly when the polished gold tip sunk in. He extracted it carefully, looking up for long enough to motion to his companion and hand over the dripping object to him. "Do clean this up, will you, Weatherby?"
Percival Weasley, Assistant Minister of Magic, considered arguing with the Minister. Experience of eight years in the British Ministry made him decide not to. He carefully placed the Wizard Radio that Fudge made him carry at all times [his reasons had something to do with 'being informed if the blackguard You-Know-Who ever takes over while we're out on a trip, Weatherby. Dead? Hah! I thought he was dead the last time, they're not going to catch me out now!'] on the ground. He retrieved a pristine and pressed [thanks to dear Penny] handkerchief in his top pocket and began applying himself to what would most assuredly be the most challenging and vital task of his day.
"So, Dumbledore, have you figured out the reason why Hogwarts is twisting like a Basilisk in a roomful of roosters yet?"
The Headmaster of the school looked up from his careful inspection, taking his eyes off the flagstones long enough for a stray turret to whip down and smack him on the head. After stepping nimbly away and rubbing the bump slowly appearing on his otherwise perfectly round head, he nodded towards the Minister of Magic. "Temporal shift. The castle's a bit annoyed."
"Temporal shift?" Cornelius Fudge gasped.
"The castle's annoyed?" Percy Weasley exclaimed.
On the radio, the Weird Sisters screeched.
Albus Dumbledore handed them [Cornelius and Percy. While Dumbledore was a gifted wizard, transferring candies through radios were beyond even his quite able abilities] a lemon sherbet and laughed. "To put it shortly, gentlemen, someone's mucking about with time and Hogwarts castle isn't exactly pleased. Neither would I be, if someone went around rearranging my insides without so much as a by-your-leave, but then, people can be so inconsiderate," his blue eyes twinkled as he beheld the confusion of the Ministry men. "Let's just say that Hogwarts castle.picked up a few quirks over the centuries. It's in a bit of a state, you see, temporal shift is probably causing all sorts of changes in the structure.and she's a bit shy about letting people see her when she's not ready."
"I used to have a wife like that," Cornelius, much more at ease with the concept of the ridiculous that was so integral to the wizarding world, commented. "But isn't the castle always moving around and things?" He called up fond [fond was a bit too strong of a word, it was more like 'distant', or 'horribly unpleasant'. Cornelius Fudge had been a podgy, stuttering Slytherin from a line of pure Hufflepuffs, and first year Slytherins were not exactly known for their convivial spirit] memories of Hogwarts.
"Absolutely!" Dumbledore exclaimed happily, watching the writhing stone castle with something very akin to paternal pride. "It's in a constant state of mild temporal flux, nobody really knows why. Wizards have been trying to find the answer for generations. The intensity just seems to have increased. It's fascinating."
Percy Weasley's face had blanched of all colour. "You mean we're sending our wizard children into- into- some sort of unsafe shifting whirlpool of time where they could be sucked up and lost to us forever in the blink of an eye?"
"No, no, they're not being sent to Hell, Weatherby. What an idea!"
The Under Minister looked at his superior for a moment, sighing. "Time, Minister. Time. Not lime."
"Oh, right, of course,' he blustered very faintly. "Knew it all the time."
Dumbledore interrupted with the answer to Percy's question. "Actually, yes, Mr Weasley. But I wouldn't worry too much. Time doesn't really like wizards all that much. Why else would you use a Time-Turner instead of just asking nicely?"
He decided not to even try to frame an appropriate response.
"Bloody wiggins, Dumbledore, but your castle's an odd duck," the Minister guffawed, leaning back slightly on the cane that Percy had just handed back to him and once more sinking it into the mud. "Designed from a nightmare, I should think."
"A nightmare," the ageing wizard smiled the smile of a man who knows far more than any other person within a five mile radius. Dumbledore had cause to smile in that manner often. "Yes. Or a very bad memory, perhaps. Perhaps," he watched as the Infirmary wing detached itself from the castle and began a very loud and violent duel with the whomping willow. "For the moment, I do believe a bit of distance is in order."
"Ah, but, what are we going to do about- well, this?" Percy inquired faintly, falling back on his books and laws. At least those didn't suddenly come to life and try and do battle with trees [except of course, for the Monster Book of Monsters. Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had spent three months trying to pick out bits of book-teeth from the Dark Forest] "Codicil three point seven of the unified code for Ministry involvement in issues of temporal gravity states that when confronted with such a situation a full report must immediately be made, after which investigations leading to arrests must follow."
"What are you going to do, Under Minister, arrest Time?" Dumbledore inquired, raising one white eyebrow.
"Well, what shall we do instead?"
Dumbledore leaned back on one of the non-Whomping trees in the Hogwarts gardens and smiled patiently. "I do believe that waiting is our best option."
And, in the interests of maintaining the always-right nature of his character, the universe bent over backwards [a feat quite astoundingly gymnastic, especially because direction has no meaning to the universe] and proved him so. Exactly five minutes later there was a loud pop, followed by the appearance of a very short man in overalls hanging on to a somewhat taller person still clutching a very cold cup of tea.
*
The Revelation had been quick, painless and quite disappointing.
Draco Malfoy had walked to the centre of the room, raised the glass of wine that they had so generously provided him with and announced. "I am from The Future," with as much dramatic undertone as he could manage and all he received were a few general nods and 'oh, right's and 'the future, that explains it'. He was starting to think that the Handyman was right. Humans really were self-absorbed.
"I'm from the Future, do you hear?"
"Perfectly, Draco," Godric was actually the only one showing any signs of interest. "Why are you here? To warn us of some impending disaster? To stop an evil Dark Lord from taking over the world? Come, tell us for what reason you've braved the hardships of time? What manly quest are you undertaking?"
The ex-Death Eater coughed and glanced in Helga's direction. She was filing her nails on what appeared to be a carving knife. Charming. Rowena, on the other hand, looked so utterly spaced out that Draco wouldn't have been surprised if she had remained indifferent to an announcement that her mother was a rabid platypus at London Zoo. "No quest really," he explained apologetically- suddenly stopping and catching himself. Why was he apologising for not having some unselfish greater aim? He shuddered. Godric's selflessness was rubbing off on him. "I just- sort of- got tossed back in time by something and now the crazed technician of the Temporal Universe is trying to hunt me down and kill me."
That produced a response. "Hunting?" Helga's brown eyes suddenly sparked alive. "Did you hear that, Godric, hunting!"
Draco backed away somewhat. "We're talking about hunting me. I don't take very kindly to being hunted."
"Quite right, Helga," Godric admonished her kindly, sparing a smile for Draco. "He's been through enough already. How harrowing it must have been. Though there is one thing I'm somewhat worried about-,"
"The fact that a supernatural being is probably going to rip right through those doors and come chasing after Lord Draco?" Solvarr inserted dryly.
The Gryffindor shook his head, far too preoccupied with the Big Picture to be worried about trivialities like a horrible, screaming death. "No, no. I'm worried about the effect his arrival will have on the timeline. I mean, jumping around temporally is really quite a risky thing. A very bad thing to do."
Rowena, Solvarr and Helga all suddenly had coughing fits.
After waiting a few moments for the strange outbreak of throat irritation to subside, Draco advanced a point very cautiously. "Well, what were you planning to do today?"
"Oh, redecorate the castle," Rowena spoke up from the corner where she was curled up like a kitten [or rather, like a kitten getting hourly shots of crack cocaine]. "We were going to change our rooms. Godric wanted a pretty red tower and Salazar's taking the dungeons and making them all jealous with green.and I'm painting my room a lovely blue. It's so pretty. Like the sky. Do you think I should paint little birdies in it?"
"Is she.normally.like this?" Draco whispered to Solvarr.
The Founder shrugged slightly. "In the mornings. By evening her grey matter seems to return somewhat."
"Drugs?"
"No," he shrugged. "None of us have a clue. I think she's just not a morning person."
Draco coughed and got back to his point. "Oh, wait, you're talking about the common rooms," he suddenly stood stock still and looked around, his eyes travelling upward to the ceiling enchanted to look like the sky. How had he not noticed that before [granted, he had been a little distracted by Rowena's chest and getting as far away from it as possible, an activity he hadn't had much practice at and therefore needed all his concentration to succeed]? "Oh God. We're in Scotland, aren't we?"
"Yes! How did you know? It's the air, isn't it? Scotland has such a bracing- ,"
Solvarr cut Godric's nationalistic fervour off quickly. "Why is it important?"
"Well, I have news for you, ladies and gentlemen," Draco smiled and related with relish. Not impressed by the future, were they? This would certainly impress them. "You are the Founders of the most illustrious Wizarding School in Britain, and, dare I say, around the world- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.and this," he gestured grandiosely to the surroundings. "Is Hogwarts castle. You have exactly-," he paused for a moment and leaned closer and whispered. "What date is it, Solvarr?"
The wizard grinned, quite amused by his revelations. "December 23rd 920 AD."
Draco Malfoy suppressed a groan. Hogwarts, in the normal timeline, had been founded in the year 920. There was no time to lose. "You have exactly eight days to Found it."
Helga actually began to laugh. "Are you telling me that if you hadn't arrived, we would have founded a bloody school in eight days?"
"Yes," the wizard from the future had a very determined look on his face. "Now, the only way the Handyman is going to let me out of this situation alive is if everything remains the same. Which means," his grey eyes glittered [whether it was fear or opportunity Solvarr couldn't tell]. "I'm going to make sure that you do."
*
"And now we have selections for the more refined Wizard."
The radio crackled to life with the golden oldies as the humans, Gods and Handyman looked at each other.
"Hello," Dumbledore said sensibly. "Are you all right?"
"Perfectly, dear old chap, and yourself?" Cronos was equally polite, but a nudge in the ribs fixed that. "Er- where are we, may we ask?"
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1999," he supplied helpfully, raising one eyebrow as the wing that had been attacking the whomping willow now headed towards the glass houses. "What are you looking for?"
"The under Goddess of Mayhem," the Handyman recognised sanity when he saw it, ignoring the close-to-babbling-madly expressions on Percy and Cornelius' faces. "Is she around here, do you think? This-," he indicated the agitated castle. "Seems quite her style. Oh, I'm the Handyman and this is the-," he rolled his eyes. "Master of Time."
The wizard shook his head. "I'm not quite sure," he winced slightly as the panes of the glasshouse shattered and the pile of stone began crushing the plants within, breaking the pots of the as-yet-unmatured Mandrakes. "Er, Mr Weasley, Mr Fudge, do cover your ea-," the shrieks of the mandrakes rang out before he could complete his warning and the double thud of two bodies hitting the ground indicated the uselessness of completing his sentence. "Oh dear," Albus Dumbledore sighed. "Neville's going to be so upset."
"Neville?" Cronos looked up very suddenly. "As in Neville Longbottom?"
"Why yes," the Headmaster was mildly surprised that the Master of Time would be interested in a nineteen year old boy. "How did you know? He's our Herbology teaching aide. Holidaying in London. He loved those mandrakes."
The Handyman began to giggle. "He's a teaching aide!"
"How do you know him?"
"Let's just say that 'Neville', well, there was a time when he wasn't quite all human," the Handyman turned towards Cronos, who was now very occupied in examining Minister Fudge's pinstriped cloak. "Cronos, hear that? I'll bet your dear darling would find oodles to talk to Neville Longbottom about. Don't you think?"
"As you say, old boy. Say," he glanced at Dumbledore. "Do you think the chap would mind if I nicked his cloak? It's jolly nice. Wonderful fabric."
"No, not at all," Dumbledore replied absently. "I'm not sure where Neville is, though."
At that precise moment, the powers of impossible coincidentality decided it was about time that they got themselves involved.
"And now, the absolutely divine tunes of Celestina Warbeck.brought to you on Wizard Radio."
A powerful female voice sang out.
The Handyman paused in shock. He grabbed Cronos, shaking him as he did so just for good measure. "Recognise that?"
The God tilted his head to one side before a smile of recognition appeared. "She always had such a beautiful singing voice."
"I should have bloody expected May to pull something like this," the temporal regulator huffed, turning towards Dumbledore. "All right, where can we find Celestina Warbeck?"
*
Author's Note:
Yes, it has been a horrendous amount of time since I updated. I've been going through a spell of HESTD-related writer's block but hopefully it has been banished. Still, I'm aiming for a conclusion in one more chapter, plus a possible epilogue, so watch out for those in the near future. I am very sorry about the delay, and hope you forgive me *puppy eyes* : )
A lot of inspiration in this chapter, but nothing really to credit [then again, I could just be too lazy to type everything out here *g*] Just one thing- the reference to the mist-formations is for Gina, because I loff her.
To all my reveiwers so far, you've made my day- each and every one of you. Indarae, Jive, LovelyLulu, Admantius, Ennia, Hoshizora, J-Kid [Small Gods is my favourite as well!], Ayla Pascal [Helga's not evil, just misunderstood :)], Baldutha228877, Weaver [*grins* nah, I won't even tell you how sweet you are!], Kelly M [*hugs*], Niqui, I really appreciate it.
Special mention to Weaver [http://www.livejournal.com/~singingweaver] because she's such a wonderfully great girl whose lovely reviews make me blush every time around, and all my LJ [*cough* very unupdated LJ] friends.
This story will be updated very soon, so don't lose hope. Till then, please do give me feedback via the form or contact me at room_101@gmx.net or contact me on AIM, my screenname is marettegraves. I'd love to chat.
Hogwarts, Estd. 920 AD
Chapter Three: Just The Beginning of A Very Strange Day *
Draco slowly reached for his right arm and pinched himself.
No. He was not asleep.
He brought his hand up to just in front of his face and quickly checked his breath.
No. He was not drunk out of his mind.
He, very slowly, looked at his surroundings.
Yes. He was in the 10th Century BC. And yes, these were Solvarr's [Salazar Slytherin!] clothes against his skin. He was still the only being in the Multiverse being actively hunted by The Handyman. So far so good. No signs of the inherited Malfoy madness creeping up on him. Taking a breath to steady himself, he grudgingly turned back to the creature outside his door. Draco Malfoy sighed with relief.
On closer inspection, the girl standing at his doorstep did not have the presence of Mrs Ponde. She was very young, barely fifteen or sixteen, with an overly skinny frame, pale skin, wide blue eyes that looked straight out of a Japanese animé series and a small pink mouth. She resembled Mrs Ponde somewhat superficially, but it was her manner that completely shattered this perception- the word 'doormat' was plastered in weak writing all over her face. If anyone ever had the temerity [and the suicidal death wish] to call Mrs Ponde a doormat, she'd be more likely the one on the steps of Malfoy Manor which had a wonderfully fortunate tendency to swallow up Ministry representatives and digest them very slowly.
"You're not Mrs Ponde!" He crowed, the childish joy evident in his tone followed by a sudden flush of embarrassment. He was acting like a Muggleborn doing Wingardium Leviosa for the first time. This realisation prompted a quick clenching of the jaw and a crossing of the arms. If pressured, he would deny everything.
Not-Mrs-Ponde, on the other hand, looked thoroughly confused. In fact, she looked petrified [in the Muggle sense, not the Magical, Draco was not at his wizardly best in the mornings- Petrifying someone was a post-11 am spell if he ever saw one]. "Lord.?"
"Nothing, do you hear? Absolutely nothing. Nothing to see. Nothing I did. Nothing," he stopped himself, vaguely aware that he was overdoing it a bit. "What's your name, maid?" For the tone of voice, Draco might as well have said 'abject slave'. Despite that, there was just something mildly intriguing about the girl. Something far too- familiar- for his liking.
"My name, sir?" She looked utterly flabbergasted, something which, Draco mused idly, she probably was often.
"You do have a name, don't you?"
She replied with a breathless sort of terror. "Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. It's A-,"
"Draco, dear Lord Draco, you're all better," Rowena Ravenclaw appeared at that most opportune moment, causing the servant girl who wasn't Mrs Ponde to disappear. Draco was just surprised she didn't leave a puff of smoke, or a few dew drops of condensation to indicate she was a mist-being.
He turned to survey the unquestionably lovely face [and other bits] of the Founder, finding himself mildly puzzled. She was looking, if possible, even.bustier.than usual [apparently the law of the centre of gravity hadn't been discovered in the 10th Century, otherwise, Rowena's upright position would be seriously fracturing the legs of physics with the efficiency of a mob loanshark to a deadbeat], and her eyes even wider and bluer and emptier. There was a pale rosy flush on her cheeks and a hidden smile on her lips, and as she came closer she giggled. Draco took a sudden suspicious sniff of the air. Underneath her cheerful floral scent there was the very distinct odour of-
Vodka.
Rowena Ravenclaw was sozzled.
"You look so cute in Solvarr's clothes," she cooed, in a tone of voice quite far removed from the sensibility of the night before. In fact, with the alcohol and dove-like noises, Rowena was fast coming to resemble Narcissa Malfoy, a thought which caused him to extricate his arm from her grip and jump away inelegantly.
"Ah!" He tried to cover up his yell of fear by making it triumphant. "Aaah! I've, er, found it. Eureka!" He resisted the urge to just stab himself in the chest right then and there.
"What have you found? Something interesting, I do hope? Nobody ever does interesting things around here."
Had Draco been possessed of any precognitive abilities whatsoever, he would have immediately grasped the import of her statement. Unfortunately, when it came to peering through the mists of the future, he was about as adept as, well, to put it bluntly, Hermione Granger.
In hindsight, he would mark this moment as the beginning of the longest and strangest day in his life. And that was including the day he jumped back in time and met the Founders.
*
It is said that the Gods play games with the lives of men.
Unfortunately, none of the Gods seem to know exactly which game they're involved in. After the entire Big Bang debacle, Prudence had confiscated the Exploding Snap decks and so done away with the only game that amused all the Gods. A few were sticking to the traditional chess idea, but many more, terrified by the concept of Deep Blue, opted for more innovative methods. Monopoly was always a favourite, and it was quite obvious that a few were playing Snakes and Ladders. Some of the more irony-friendly Gods even played Life. Then there was always the huddled bunch in the back trying their hand at Strip Poker.
However, right at this moment, the Handyman was quite sure that the Gods were all playing Silly Buggers.
Literally.
"So, where is the precious gem of a demigod?"
Cronos squeezed his eyes shut, fingers brushing his temples as his features twisted into a look of deep and absolute concentration. A few minutes passed this way. Finally the Handyman tired of tapping his foot and making impatient coughing noises, since they had no effect [Gods were notoriously tardy]. Instead, he reached out and shoved him.
Perhaps not the best course of action with a being capable of tearing you atom from atom, but the Handyman was past caring.
"Oi!"
The Handyman crossed his arms and glared at him. "Well?" He waved his arms impatiently. "Where's your precious little daughter?"
"I'm not her mother, dear boy, how am I supposed to know?" Cronos inquired mildly, wincing at the sudden remembrance of May's mother, the venerable Lady Chaos. The divorce settlement had been heartbreaking.
"Weren't you just trying to find- oh, forget it!" The troll-sized creature threw up his hands in exasperation, seriously considering throwing the 'Master of Time' in the Temporal Drainage System. "Look, listen to me, you scurvy cur," [indeed, it was quite the fashion to read Shakespeare in the Hub- quite a lot of First Dimension culture seeped into the others, privately the Handyman thought it was because of the inertia of stupidity- once a stupid thing is started, it goes on forever] "We need to find your daughter and her happy bunch of do-gooders before they cause a catastrophe. Do you understand? Cat. As. Tro. Phee! Catastrophe!"
Cronos, by that time, was wearing a very silly grin, which faded as he caught the Handyman's expression. "Er, sorry there, old chap, you just- um- well, you sounded a bit like Cassandra for a moment there. Prophecies of doom and all that. But, er, as for where May is, I don't know.recently she's been hanging around the First Dimension. Perhaps we could look there?"
"The first idea you've ever had. Cronos, my dear God, please congratulate yourself," having failed to perceive the sarcasm in the Handyman's tone, the God proceeded to do just that. Smacking himself between the eyes, he seized Cronos' arm, interrupting a stream of 'oh jolly wonderful', 'capital show, old chap' and 'good egg' to disappear into the First Dimension with a pop.
Barbaric place. Didn't even have pneumatic platform access.
*
Meanwhile, in the 20th Century, Cornelius Fudge tapped his cane against the fertile Scottish ground, wincing slightly when the polished gold tip sunk in. He extracted it carefully, looking up for long enough to motion to his companion and hand over the dripping object to him. "Do clean this up, will you, Weatherby?"
Percival Weasley, Assistant Minister of Magic, considered arguing with the Minister. Experience of eight years in the British Ministry made him decide not to. He carefully placed the Wizard Radio that Fudge made him carry at all times [his reasons had something to do with 'being informed if the blackguard You-Know-Who ever takes over while we're out on a trip, Weatherby. Dead? Hah! I thought he was dead the last time, they're not going to catch me out now!'] on the ground. He retrieved a pristine and pressed [thanks to dear Penny] handkerchief in his top pocket and began applying himself to what would most assuredly be the most challenging and vital task of his day.
"So, Dumbledore, have you figured out the reason why Hogwarts is twisting like a Basilisk in a roomful of roosters yet?"
The Headmaster of the school looked up from his careful inspection, taking his eyes off the flagstones long enough for a stray turret to whip down and smack him on the head. After stepping nimbly away and rubbing the bump slowly appearing on his otherwise perfectly round head, he nodded towards the Minister of Magic. "Temporal shift. The castle's a bit annoyed."
"Temporal shift?" Cornelius Fudge gasped.
"The castle's annoyed?" Percy Weasley exclaimed.
On the radio, the Weird Sisters screeched.
Albus Dumbledore handed them [Cornelius and Percy. While Dumbledore was a gifted wizard, transferring candies through radios were beyond even his quite able abilities] a lemon sherbet and laughed. "To put it shortly, gentlemen, someone's mucking about with time and Hogwarts castle isn't exactly pleased. Neither would I be, if someone went around rearranging my insides without so much as a by-your-leave, but then, people can be so inconsiderate," his blue eyes twinkled as he beheld the confusion of the Ministry men. "Let's just say that Hogwarts castle.picked up a few quirks over the centuries. It's in a bit of a state, you see, temporal shift is probably causing all sorts of changes in the structure.and she's a bit shy about letting people see her when she's not ready."
"I used to have a wife like that," Cornelius, much more at ease with the concept of the ridiculous that was so integral to the wizarding world, commented. "But isn't the castle always moving around and things?" He called up fond [fond was a bit too strong of a word, it was more like 'distant', or 'horribly unpleasant'. Cornelius Fudge had been a podgy, stuttering Slytherin from a line of pure Hufflepuffs, and first year Slytherins were not exactly known for their convivial spirit] memories of Hogwarts.
"Absolutely!" Dumbledore exclaimed happily, watching the writhing stone castle with something very akin to paternal pride. "It's in a constant state of mild temporal flux, nobody really knows why. Wizards have been trying to find the answer for generations. The intensity just seems to have increased. It's fascinating."
Percy Weasley's face had blanched of all colour. "You mean we're sending our wizard children into- into- some sort of unsafe shifting whirlpool of time where they could be sucked up and lost to us forever in the blink of an eye?"
"No, no, they're not being sent to Hell, Weatherby. What an idea!"
The Under Minister looked at his superior for a moment, sighing. "Time, Minister. Time. Not lime."
"Oh, right, of course,' he blustered very faintly. "Knew it all the time."
Dumbledore interrupted with the answer to Percy's question. "Actually, yes, Mr Weasley. But I wouldn't worry too much. Time doesn't really like wizards all that much. Why else would you use a Time-Turner instead of just asking nicely?"
He decided not to even try to frame an appropriate response.
"Bloody wiggins, Dumbledore, but your castle's an odd duck," the Minister guffawed, leaning back slightly on the cane that Percy had just handed back to him and once more sinking it into the mud. "Designed from a nightmare, I should think."
"A nightmare," the ageing wizard smiled the smile of a man who knows far more than any other person within a five mile radius. Dumbledore had cause to smile in that manner often. "Yes. Or a very bad memory, perhaps. Perhaps," he watched as the Infirmary wing detached itself from the castle and began a very loud and violent duel with the whomping willow. "For the moment, I do believe a bit of distance is in order."
"Ah, but, what are we going to do about- well, this?" Percy inquired faintly, falling back on his books and laws. At least those didn't suddenly come to life and try and do battle with trees [except of course, for the Monster Book of Monsters. Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had spent three months trying to pick out bits of book-teeth from the Dark Forest] "Codicil three point seven of the unified code for Ministry involvement in issues of temporal gravity states that when confronted with such a situation a full report must immediately be made, after which investigations leading to arrests must follow."
"What are you going to do, Under Minister, arrest Time?" Dumbledore inquired, raising one white eyebrow.
"Well, what shall we do instead?"
Dumbledore leaned back on one of the non-Whomping trees in the Hogwarts gardens and smiled patiently. "I do believe that waiting is our best option."
And, in the interests of maintaining the always-right nature of his character, the universe bent over backwards [a feat quite astoundingly gymnastic, especially because direction has no meaning to the universe] and proved him so. Exactly five minutes later there was a loud pop, followed by the appearance of a very short man in overalls hanging on to a somewhat taller person still clutching a very cold cup of tea.
*
The Revelation had been quick, painless and quite disappointing.
Draco Malfoy had walked to the centre of the room, raised the glass of wine that they had so generously provided him with and announced. "I am from The Future," with as much dramatic undertone as he could manage and all he received were a few general nods and 'oh, right's and 'the future, that explains it'. He was starting to think that the Handyman was right. Humans really were self-absorbed.
"I'm from the Future, do you hear?"
"Perfectly, Draco," Godric was actually the only one showing any signs of interest. "Why are you here? To warn us of some impending disaster? To stop an evil Dark Lord from taking over the world? Come, tell us for what reason you've braved the hardships of time? What manly quest are you undertaking?"
The ex-Death Eater coughed and glanced in Helga's direction. She was filing her nails on what appeared to be a carving knife. Charming. Rowena, on the other hand, looked so utterly spaced out that Draco wouldn't have been surprised if she had remained indifferent to an announcement that her mother was a rabid platypus at London Zoo. "No quest really," he explained apologetically- suddenly stopping and catching himself. Why was he apologising for not having some unselfish greater aim? He shuddered. Godric's selflessness was rubbing off on him. "I just- sort of- got tossed back in time by something and now the crazed technician of the Temporal Universe is trying to hunt me down and kill me."
That produced a response. "Hunting?" Helga's brown eyes suddenly sparked alive. "Did you hear that, Godric, hunting!"
Draco backed away somewhat. "We're talking about hunting me. I don't take very kindly to being hunted."
"Quite right, Helga," Godric admonished her kindly, sparing a smile for Draco. "He's been through enough already. How harrowing it must have been. Though there is one thing I'm somewhat worried about-,"
"The fact that a supernatural being is probably going to rip right through those doors and come chasing after Lord Draco?" Solvarr inserted dryly.
The Gryffindor shook his head, far too preoccupied with the Big Picture to be worried about trivialities like a horrible, screaming death. "No, no. I'm worried about the effect his arrival will have on the timeline. I mean, jumping around temporally is really quite a risky thing. A very bad thing to do."
Rowena, Solvarr and Helga all suddenly had coughing fits.
After waiting a few moments for the strange outbreak of throat irritation to subside, Draco advanced a point very cautiously. "Well, what were you planning to do today?"
"Oh, redecorate the castle," Rowena spoke up from the corner where she was curled up like a kitten [or rather, like a kitten getting hourly shots of crack cocaine]. "We were going to change our rooms. Godric wanted a pretty red tower and Salazar's taking the dungeons and making them all jealous with green.and I'm painting my room a lovely blue. It's so pretty. Like the sky. Do you think I should paint little birdies in it?"
"Is she.normally.like this?" Draco whispered to Solvarr.
The Founder shrugged slightly. "In the mornings. By evening her grey matter seems to return somewhat."
"Drugs?"
"No," he shrugged. "None of us have a clue. I think she's just not a morning person."
Draco coughed and got back to his point. "Oh, wait, you're talking about the common rooms," he suddenly stood stock still and looked around, his eyes travelling upward to the ceiling enchanted to look like the sky. How had he not noticed that before [granted, he had been a little distracted by Rowena's chest and getting as far away from it as possible, an activity he hadn't had much practice at and therefore needed all his concentration to succeed]? "Oh God. We're in Scotland, aren't we?"
"Yes! How did you know? It's the air, isn't it? Scotland has such a bracing- ,"
Solvarr cut Godric's nationalistic fervour off quickly. "Why is it important?"
"Well, I have news for you, ladies and gentlemen," Draco smiled and related with relish. Not impressed by the future, were they? This would certainly impress them. "You are the Founders of the most illustrious Wizarding School in Britain, and, dare I say, around the world- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.and this," he gestured grandiosely to the surroundings. "Is Hogwarts castle. You have exactly-," he paused for a moment and leaned closer and whispered. "What date is it, Solvarr?"
The wizard grinned, quite amused by his revelations. "December 23rd 920 AD."
Draco Malfoy suppressed a groan. Hogwarts, in the normal timeline, had been founded in the year 920. There was no time to lose. "You have exactly eight days to Found it."
Helga actually began to laugh. "Are you telling me that if you hadn't arrived, we would have founded a bloody school in eight days?"
"Yes," the wizard from the future had a very determined look on his face. "Now, the only way the Handyman is going to let me out of this situation alive is if everything remains the same. Which means," his grey eyes glittered [whether it was fear or opportunity Solvarr couldn't tell]. "I'm going to make sure that you do."
*
"And now we have selections for the more refined Wizard."
The radio crackled to life with the golden oldies as the humans, Gods and Handyman looked at each other.
"Hello," Dumbledore said sensibly. "Are you all right?"
"Perfectly, dear old chap, and yourself?" Cronos was equally polite, but a nudge in the ribs fixed that. "Er- where are we, may we ask?"
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1999," he supplied helpfully, raising one eyebrow as the wing that had been attacking the whomping willow now headed towards the glass houses. "What are you looking for?"
"The under Goddess of Mayhem," the Handyman recognised sanity when he saw it, ignoring the close-to-babbling-madly expressions on Percy and Cornelius' faces. "Is she around here, do you think? This-," he indicated the agitated castle. "Seems quite her style. Oh, I'm the Handyman and this is the-," he rolled his eyes. "Master of Time."
The wizard shook his head. "I'm not quite sure," he winced slightly as the panes of the glasshouse shattered and the pile of stone began crushing the plants within, breaking the pots of the as-yet-unmatured Mandrakes. "Er, Mr Weasley, Mr Fudge, do cover your ea-," the shrieks of the mandrakes rang out before he could complete his warning and the double thud of two bodies hitting the ground indicated the uselessness of completing his sentence. "Oh dear," Albus Dumbledore sighed. "Neville's going to be so upset."
"Neville?" Cronos looked up very suddenly. "As in Neville Longbottom?"
"Why yes," the Headmaster was mildly surprised that the Master of Time would be interested in a nineteen year old boy. "How did you know? He's our Herbology teaching aide. Holidaying in London. He loved those mandrakes."
The Handyman began to giggle. "He's a teaching aide!"
"How do you know him?"
"Let's just say that 'Neville', well, there was a time when he wasn't quite all human," the Handyman turned towards Cronos, who was now very occupied in examining Minister Fudge's pinstriped cloak. "Cronos, hear that? I'll bet your dear darling would find oodles to talk to Neville Longbottom about. Don't you think?"
"As you say, old boy. Say," he glanced at Dumbledore. "Do you think the chap would mind if I nicked his cloak? It's jolly nice. Wonderful fabric."
"No, not at all," Dumbledore replied absently. "I'm not sure where Neville is, though."
At that precise moment, the powers of impossible coincidentality decided it was about time that they got themselves involved.
"And now, the absolutely divine tunes of Celestina Warbeck.brought to you on Wizard Radio."
A powerful female voice sang out.
The Handyman paused in shock. He grabbed Cronos, shaking him as he did so just for good measure. "Recognise that?"
The God tilted his head to one side before a smile of recognition appeared. "She always had such a beautiful singing voice."
"I should have bloody expected May to pull something like this," the temporal regulator huffed, turning towards Dumbledore. "All right, where can we find Celestina Warbeck?"
*
Author's Note:
Yes, it has been a horrendous amount of time since I updated. I've been going through a spell of HESTD-related writer's block but hopefully it has been banished. Still, I'm aiming for a conclusion in one more chapter, plus a possible epilogue, so watch out for those in the near future. I am very sorry about the delay, and hope you forgive me *puppy eyes* : )
A lot of inspiration in this chapter, but nothing really to credit [then again, I could just be too lazy to type everything out here *g*] Just one thing- the reference to the mist-formations is for Gina, because I loff her.
To all my reveiwers so far, you've made my day- each and every one of you. Indarae, Jive, LovelyLulu, Admantius, Ennia, Hoshizora, J-Kid [Small Gods is my favourite as well!], Ayla Pascal [Helga's not evil, just misunderstood :)], Baldutha228877, Weaver [*grins* nah, I won't even tell you how sweet you are!], Kelly M [*hugs*], Niqui, I really appreciate it.
Special mention to Weaver [http://www.livejournal.com/~singingweaver] because she's such a wonderfully great girl whose lovely reviews make me blush every time around, and all my LJ [*cough* very unupdated LJ] friends.
This story will be updated very soon, so don't lose hope. Till then, please do give me feedback via the form or contact me at room_101@gmx.net or contact me on AIM, my screenname is marettegraves. I'd love to chat.