THIS STORY IS PRE-HBP. THE SIXTH BOOK WILL NOT INFLUENCE ITS PLOT IN ANY WAY. PLEASE TRY TO READ THIS STORY AS YOU WOULD HAVE BEFORE YOU READ THE SIXTH BOOK.
ANY PLOT POINTS IN THIS STORY THAT IN ANYWAY RESEMBLE ANYTHING FROM HBP ARE COMPLETE COINCIDENCES. I HAVE HAD THIS STORY PLANNED SINCE WELL BEFORE THE BOOK WAS RELEASED. (HOWEVER, I MAY USE SPELLS FROM BOOK SIX IF NECESSARY.)
Yesterday's Tomorrow
Potter47
Part Two
The Shadow of the Present
"There is always an easy solution to every human problem—neat, plausible and wrong."
— H. L. Mencken
"It is completely unimportant. That is why it is so interesting."
— Agatha Christie
Chapter Fourteen
Alpha and Omega
Harry woke up next morning feeling a little better. He had owled Ginny... she would owl back, surely, and then he would read what she wrote and it would almost be as though they hadn't not spoken in the past months...
Harry shook his head, thinking back—why hadn't he spoken to Ginny in all the time he had spent at the Burrow? It had been... been as though he couldn't leave the room, as though he were as bedridden as Ginny... but why?
Harry didn't know, but he felt it would be better to get out of bed, than to continue laying down... and besides, he had to get to breakfast, had to see if Ginny had written back... though surely it would take more than a few hours...
He dressed and left the dormitory, and just as he was emerging from the common room, Harry found a very angry-looking Percy Weasley standing just outside the portrait hole, a crumpled letter in his hand.
"What is this, Potter?" he spat out, his eyes flaring, and held out the letter to Harry, who took it. His eyes widened as he read the words:
Dear Ginny,
I'm so sorry I haven't been writing to you...
Harry swallowed. What was Percy doing with that...?
"How'd you get that?" Harry said, a sudden quickness in his breath.
"No owls are permitted to leave these grounds without a thorough examination," said Percy. "I thought you would have been familiar with this process, as I adopted it from the former High Inquisitor—"
Harry blinked. 'The former High Inquisitor'? he thought incredulously. It seemed that Percy's opinions changed rather quickly, directly related to his position of power. When he had been below Umbridge, he had practically worshipped her along with Fudge, but now that she was off in her Centaur-free Happy Place, she was only the 'former High Inquisitor...'
"I—I didn't know that they were still doing that—"
"No excuse, Harry, no excuse!" said Percy, waving the envelope back and forth angrily. "Why were you writing to my sister? What did you mean, an 'anti-Dementor'? There's no such thing as an anti-Dementor, is Hagrid really that horrible a teacher nowadays? Or is it the new Defence teacher, Morgen, is he feeding the students lies? And what do you mean, you're sorry for not writing, that you miss Ginny, that you love her...?"
Harry swallowed again. Percy was asking too many questions, and Harry couldn't answer them all, not that he would want to. But the one he could answer...
"I said I love her because I do," said Harry defensively. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"I most certainly do!" said Percy, and he threw the letter down to the flagstone in anger. "I will not have you corrupting my sister as you've corrupted the rest of my family, how you've corrupted Ron! And if you do love her, then you'd better well be treating her rightly, and that's not what you've gotten across in this letter of yours—"
"I'm not corrupting anyone, Percy," said Harry, and he was angry now too, very angry. "And it's no choice of yours what Ginny does, especially after how you've treated your family—"
"I've treated my family just fine, thank you!" said Percy, and they were both speaking very, very loudly now. "My perfect little family of Dumbledore-cronies, Potter-worshippers and Muggle-lovers!"
"Oh, so you don't like Muggles now? Since when?"
Percy ignored him. "I will not sit back and watch my family fall even farther from grace! You will not be seeing Ginny again—"
"Oh, and we were so looking forward to that Hogsmeade weekend, too," said Harry sarcastically. "Ginny's not here Percy, you know that, she's at the Burrow, sick in bed. You know that, right? Don't you even care about that? Or did you think she was just so very corrupted that I'd tricked her into not even coming to Hogwarts somehow?"
"Of course I care about Ginny's well-being," said Percy, acting defensively himself now. "I sent her a card not two weeks ago—"
"She's been sick for months!" said Harry. "Oh, never mind Ginny, how do you think I've been going about corrupting the twins, and Charlie, and Bill? How about the ghoul in the attic? The gnomes? How've I been messing with them, Percy?"
Percy turned up his nose and looked down at Harry through the very bottoms of his spectacles. "Don't you yell at me, Potter. Detention, for the remainder of the week, for you. Who's your least favourite teacher?"
He's not very good at this detention thing, is he?
"Snape," said Harry. Percy sneered at him.
"Next least."
"McGonagall," Harry lied.
"Right then," said Percy, "detention for tonight, tomorrow, and Friday, with Professor Morgen." He smirked. "You didn't think you could fool me, did you, Potter?"
Harry rolled his eyes slightly, and said, "Of course not. Damn it, Professor Morgen. I hate him almost as much as Snape." He paused. "Can I go now? I have to get to breakfast, or I'll be late."
"Fine—six o'clock," said Percy, and he stormed down the corridor. Harry watched him go, and then scooped the envelope of the floor, and walked towards the Great Hall.
Draco Malfoy's murder, Ron wrote carefully atop the top of his parchment, was no accident.
He bit his lip, wondering if that was the right way to put it.
Looking up from the parchment, he narrowed his eyes at Hermione across the breakfast table. Surely she would have her essay all finished, and had already figured out the whole mystery surrounding Malfoy's death. The disadvantage of not being on speaking terms with Hermione was quite clear: no free homework. He had to write his essay without any assistance—and that was why he was starting now, when it was not due until Monday.
He looked back down at his parchment, contemplated changing the first sentence, but with no clear alternative, he left it as it was.
He dipped his quill again.
It was a murder. And that means someone killed him.
Ron shook his head; he was coming off as stupid, he knew it, but he really had no idea of what to write. Glaring once again at Hermione, he resolved to make up with her before Monday, and stashed the parchment in his back, along with his ink and quill, and left the Great Hall—
"Hello, Ronald," said Luna, and Ron's first thought was that she was in front of him, so he stopped short, but it turned out she was behind him, so she walked into his back. She didn't make a comment on this, however, and simply extricated herself quickly and started walking along beside him.
"How've you been?" she said, and it struck Ron that she seemed in a much better mood than she had when they'd last parted. He idly wondered why she'd gotten all cold all of a sudden, but dropped the train of thought, thankful that unlike Hermione, Luna got over these things rather quickly.
"Fine," he said. She took his hand in hers, then, and began swinging them a bit wildly. He looked round instinctively to see if anyone was looking.
"So..." began Luna, "what do you want to do today?"
Ron blinked. "We have—classes—"
"Of course we do," said Luna, nodding. "So what do you want to do today?"
"I want to go to class—"
"No you don't," said Luna. "What have you learned in your classes this year anyway?"
Ron's first thought was: How to recognise Muggle clown shoes, but then he thought of the whole Malfoy thing, which he figured was more important.
It struck him, though, that apart from Defence, he hadn't learned much at all. And he hadn't really learned much Defence, either, just... other things, that happened to be in that class.
"Oh, I know," said Luna, then, and she pulled Ron off into a broom cupboard on the side of the hall, and slammed the door behind him.
"Er..." said Ron, wondering if perhaps Luna thought it was the time in their relationship for another snogging session—he remembered that night on the porch of Luna's house, and wondered how he could have forgotten it.
"Where are you?" he said, then, as it was very dark in the broom cupboard.
"Lumos!" said Luna, and her wand lit up, and she said: "Hex me."
Ron blinked.
"What?"
"Hex me."
Was 'hex' some sort of slang for 'kiss,' Ron wondered? He'd never heard it before...
"You know, Luna, someone'll find us if we stay in here—"
"Then hurry up and hex me, get it over with."
"OK, you've lost me, Luna. Why do you want me to hex you?"
"So that we can spend the day in the Hospital Wing, of course," said Luna. "I've always thought it was very romantic—"
Ron blinked once again.
"You want me to hex you... so we can spend the day in the Hospital Wing."
"Yes, that's what I just said."
"No!" said Ron, then, once he was sure she meant it. "I'm not going to... to..."
"To hex me?"
"Yes!"
Luna looked disappointed. "But if I hex myself, then Madam Pomfrey might know the difference..."
Ron put his hands in his face, wondering if perhaps he was still asleep and this was a dream, because it wasn't making any sense and he thought he saw penguins. Then he noticed they were Luna's new earrings.
Luna noticed his gaze. "My grandfather gave them to me, do you like them?"
"Er... yeah, Luna," said Ron, nodding. And then: "Well, I guess we'd better get to class—"
"Wait a moment," said Luna, and she grabbed his sleeve as he turned to leave—he looked back at her, and saw that she had a very serious expression on her face. She spoke in an almost frightened voice: "I don't want to go to class."
Ron looked at her differently, now, wondering why she was so... different, all of a sudden. "Why?" said Ron, and Luna didn't answer.
"Hex me," she said again. "Or would you mind very much if I hexed you?"
Ron stood silent for a moment, and then: "Well, if you really don't want to go to class..." He wondered why, once again, and thought that secrets probably weren't a good thing in their relationship, but right now he didn't care because he didn't like that look on Luna's face; it was just wrong. "But which hex are you planning on using—?"
"Oh, nothing too painful," said Luna, and she seemed a bit more cheerful—Ron would have thought she had been putting him on, if not for the slight tremble at the end of 'painful.'
Luna pointed her wand at him, and said:
"Avada Ked—"
"WHAT?" said Ron, and she stopped before completing the hex.
"What, what?" said Luna, confused.
"You were going to kill me!" said Ron, and he began fumbling for the doorknob—
"Of course I wasn't!" said Luna. "I don't hate you, I could never kill you! I was trying to give you a nosebleed!"
Ron couldn't breathe for a moment, and he attempted to understand Luna's logic—not one of his better ideas—but then gave up and found his voice and said: "Just... use something else."
"All right, if you're uncomfortable," said Luna more pleasantly. She thought a moment and said:
"Fodiovelius!" she said, and Ron instantly felt a thousand tiny pins stick into his skin, as though he were stung by an entire horde of bees at once. He couldn't speak, and his robes were itching terribly. His eyes began to water... He couldn't move, it hurt so much...
"Oh, maybe we should have done this a little nearer to the Hospital Wing," suggested Luna, and then: "Oh, well. Mobilicorpus!"
Ron lifted a bit off the ground, which was oddly pleasant, and Luna carefully manoeuvred them so that she could look out first and make sure no one was nearby.
"Coast is clear," she whispered, and luckily managed not to bump Ron's head on the top of the doorway.
Ron wanted both to be let down and to walk himself and also to scratch behind his knee, but both were impossible in his current state. He wondered just why he'd allowed her to do this to him; just to skive off a couple of classes? Was this really worth it?
Ron reckoned it probably wasn't, but didn't really mind, for some reason.
Harry sat down next to Hermione in Charms class, and didn't really look at anything—he was still fuming from his encounter with Percy, and was trying to think of some alternative way of contacting Ginny—
"Where's Ron?" said Hermione curiously from beside him, and Harry noticed that Ron was indeed not there.
"I dunno," said Harry. And then: "I thought you weren't speaking to him."
"I'm not, but why isn't he here?"
"I said I dunno," said Harry, and he turned back to nothing, thinking about Ginny, and the anti-Dementor, and Percy.
Hermione frowned at him, and then, a few minutes of silence later, when tiny Professor Flitwick was closing the classroom door, Hermione said: "Neville's missing too."
"Isn't he still in the Hospital Wing?" said Harry.
"Oh," said Hermione, looking at Harry strangely. "Right."
Later on in the class, after Flitwick had assigned them all the Aguamenti Charm to start practicing, Hermione said to Harry:
"I think I might have figured something out."
Harry looked up with interest, then, and wondered what it was; there were an awful lot of things that needed figuring out, and only so many of them had anything to do with Hermione.
"What?" he said.
"You know how you've been a bit... out of it, lately? You've noticed, right?"
"A bit," said Harry. "I've been preoccupied—"
"No, I mean like wandering around and getting lost and stuff like that." Hermione spoke very quickly and quietly, so that no one else would hear.
"Yeah," said Harry, somewhat begrudgingly.
"And also... you know how Neville doesn't remember killing Malfoy, but we all saw him with the knife, and then the body disappeared and everything?"
"Yeah, I'm not about to forget—"
"Harry, I think you're being possessed."
Silence—a long, long while and Harry just sort of stared there and didn't do anything. Hermione said, "Aguamenti!" when Flitwick wandered by, and a stream of clear water spouted forth from her wand into the target goblet.
"Well done, Miss Granger!" said the professor, and he moved on round the rest of the class.
"Did you hear me, Harry?" said Hermione, although it was quite clear that he had.
"You mean like last year, when we thought I was..."
"Yes," said Hermione, still hurriedly, "and no. Last year you weren't, were you, you didn't have those blackouts Ginny talked about, you didn't just find yourself in a place and not know how you'd got there." She stopped to let the words sink in. "But this year..."
Harry swallowed. He remembered suddenly the conversation he'd had inside his head with Voldemort, back on Privet Drive. Has dear Ginny not informed you of what it is like to be possessed? Voldemort had said... Irrelevant, I suppose. But this isn't possession, per se. You would not be conscious if this was possession. It's more of a... mental conversation...
"And I think the same thing's happening to Neville, though I don't know how, really... I mean, he doesn't have the scar, obviously... but I think he's being possessed as well, and that's why he got lost too, and that's why he doesn't remember killing Malfoy—but why would Voldemort want Malfoy dead, I wonder...?"
"No, no, you're not pronouncing it correctly, Mr Finnegan, it's 'AH-gwa-MEN-tee,' not —"
"I cann't help it, that's my accent—"
Harry stared at Hermione for a few minutes while the pieces fit together in his head... it made too much sense... far too much sense...
"What do I do?" he said, then, and his eyes were wide.
"You have to tell Dumbledore," said Hermione promptly.
"Dumbledore," said Harry, nodding. "Right." But then: "Where is Dumbledore?"
Hermione frowned again. "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten..."
"Well who do I tell then?"
Hermione thought for a long while, and said, "Professor McGonagall would be the next choice, wouldn't she?"
"Right," said Harry. "Sure. Of course. I'll tell her right after—"
"You should tell her now, Harry, I'm sure Flitwick would excuse you."
"But what happened to him, Miss Lovegood, one does not simply become stung by a thousand bees, they have to get that way—"
"He was hexed, I told you Madam Pomfrey, we didn't see who it was, and they were gone soon after—"
"Yes, well," said Madam Pomfrey rather stuffily, "he'll be staying here the rest of the day, in bed, no standing except for the loo—"
"We know," said Luna. "I'll wait with him."
Madam Pomfrey looked at Luna suspiciously, perhaps because she was used to much more protesting. Then she turned away and went into her office, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.
Luna smiled.
"So," she said. "We've got an entire day to spend together, and no one can say anything because we have been ordered to stay put." She breathed in deeply. "I love the Hospital Wing..."
"You're mad, Luna," said Ron, but it was almost an endearment and not at all an insult.
"How are you?" she said. "She fixed you all up, right?"
"Yeah," said Ron, nodding and enjoying the feel of sting-less skin rubbing against the pillow. "Yeah, but if we ever do this again—"
"I'll be the hex-ee, sure thing," said Luna, nodding and watching him fondly. Ron squirmed slightly under her gaze and said:
"So... erm... what do we do now?"
"What do you want to do now?"
"I dunno," said Ron. Then, after a moment: "Why were you so eager to get out of class?"
For a moment, Luna's face hardened and it looked as though she was going to brush it off again, or change the subject, but then she seemed to decide against it.
"I don't like Defence against the Dark Arts this year," she said quietly.
"Why?" said Ron. "I mean, Morgen's a nutter, sure, but he's much better than Umbridge—"
Luna bit her lip, and said: "I don't like him very much anymore."
"Why, what did he do?"
Luna hesitated once again. "He... well, I told you yesterday, he doesn't ever look at me in class. And he never seems to teach us anything. And... and I ran into him last night—"
"What did he say?" said Ron.
"Nothing!" said Luna, quite louder than she had been speaking before, and she seemed really quite upset. "Nothing at all, he just stood back up and kept walking—"
"Stood back up?"
"Yes, he fell when I ran into him—"
Ron closed his eyes and laughed—he couldn't help it—he leaned his head back and let loose a great roar of laughter, and couldn't bring himself to stop.
At first Luna almost glared at him, which was a very un-Luna-ish thing to do, but then her mouth quirked into a small smile.
"I guess it would have been kind of funny," she said. Then she added: "...if I was watching it and wasn't me and it didn't hurt so much."
Ron kept laughing, although he did calm down a bit, and Luna could tell that he wasn't laughing at her, but sort of... alongside her, even though she wasn't laughing.
Finally, he was silenced as a voice spoke:
"Will you lot be quiet, I'm trying to sleep—?"
Ron and Luna looked, quickly—the former propping himself up on his arms—to the bed beside Ron's, and saw that it was occupied by none other than—
"Neville!" said Ron. "I didn't realise you were there, I didn't hear you snoring or anything—but then you haven't been snoring much lately, have you?—what are you in for?"
"I'm sick," said Neville, and he sounded it. "I've been here since yesterday—"
"Oh, right," said Ron, feeling rather guilty that he'd forgotten about Neville's empty bed the night before. "You feeling any better?"
"No."
Luna spoke now: "But usually Madam Pomfrey fixes people in a jiffy so they get to spend a few days in here and don't have to feel yucky—"
"Well, she couldn't fix me," said Neville, almost defensively, almost sadly. Ron was quite sure he heard Luna mutter "Just like Humpty," but he didn't have a clue what that meant.
"Does she have any idea what's wrong?" said Ron.
Neville shook his head, and then he hesitated, and said:
"Well, she thought maybe it might be all in my head," he said. "But I don't think so—"
"I've been sick in my head before," said Luna sympathetically. "It was terrible, and Harp—" She stopped abruptly and didn't seem to want to start again, as she was pressing her lips together quite firmly.
"Too bad, mate," said Ron finally. "Well, we'll let you get back to your sleeping, then."
Neville didn't say 'thank you'—instead, he rolled over and began snoring elaborately. Ron furrowed his brow at this, as Neville had been silent a moment before.
Harry found, when he reached McGonagall's office—she was still using the one near the Transfiguration classroom for some reason—that the door was already open.
"Hello?" he said as he poked his head inside. He was met with the rather unexpected sight of a tabby cat leaping from the very top of a bookshelf down upon an unsuspecting mouse on the floor, which squeaked like a chew toy as the feline landed.
"Professor!" said Harry, taken aback. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment as the cat stared up at him with wide eyes, and then he said: "I guess I'll come back later—"
He pulled his head back out of the office—
"Wait, Potter," said Professor McGonagall's voice, "come inside." Harry did, and saw the headmistress stuff something white into her robes just as she was turning round to sit at her desk.
"Close the door," said McGonagall, and Harry did, somewhat reluctantly.
"Have a seat," she said, and Harry did, somewhat reluctantly.
"What is it, Potter?"
"I think I'm being possessed."
McGonagall blinked.
"Please tell me I heard wrong—"
Harry explained the predicament, and just as he was about to get to the part about Neville, there was a knock on the door, and McGonagall looked like she wanted to yell for the person to go away.
"Yes?" she said in a forced-polite voice.
The door opened and in stepped a Ravenclaw that Harry had seen before but never spoken to.
"Headmistress," he said urgently, "Orla Quirke—! She—she turned me into a knut! No one believed me—"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him, and said, "Mr Ackerly, you are most definitely not a knut—"
"Well, it got better," said Ackerly hurriedly, but McGonagall, not in the mood for such things, slammed the door in his face with her wand without such a trivial thing as preamble—luckily, he managed to get his head out of the way.
"I am a bit... overwhelmed at the moment, as you can see, Potter," said McGonagall, smiling a very tight, forced. "And as for your apparent possession... well, I suggest working on your Occlumency the best you can, but I don't really have any other suggestions—I'll let the Headmaster know. Now please, excuse me, and... please don't tell anyone what you saw a moment ago—"
She ushered him out the door quickly, and Harry once again wondered where Dumbledore was, and why he wasn't helping McGonagall at all with the running of the school.
Time passed surprisingly quickly for Ron and Luna, and afterwards Ron couldn't be sure just what they'd talked about the whole time. He had a feeling that a great deal of the conversation revolved around Snorkacks and marshmallows and other things that made him wonder How in the world did we start talking about this?
Before long, the regular day of classes had ended, and Harry and Hermione entered the Hospital Wing.
"We heard you'd been attacked," said Harry, and there was a slightly different air about him than he'd had recently, a bit more like himself. Hermione was biting her lip and seemed to be avoiding looking at Ron, who in turn avoided looking at her.
"Yeah, it'd probably be one of the Slytherins," said Ron, trying not to trip himself up. Luna gave him a We've got a secret look that made him feel very strange inside.
"Ronald's going to pay them back, though," said Luna, smiling slightly. "He was talking about how he was going to look up a spell to turn Goyle into a baboon—"
Ron almost laughed but managed to hold it in. Hermione said, then:
"It's lucky you found him, Luna, stuffed in that broom cupboard and all." She seemed almost suspicious.
Ron wondered how the story had spread when nobody had been watching.
"Yes, it was lucky, wasn't it?"
The four of them spoke, on and off, about somethings and nothings, and everyone seemed to feel that everyone else was hiding something. Ron couldn't understand this feeling, as Harry and Hermione had never hid anything from him before. Unless... they didn't want to say it in front of Luna...
"How's Neville doing?" said Harry, then, motioning towards Neville's bed—the snoring had stopped once again, Ron noticed.
"He woke up for a few minutes a while ago... said he was doing dreadful..."
And then Harry's head seemed to quirk slightly and he turned round, looking up at the clock on the wall—
"Oh, damn, I'm going to be late—"
"Late?" said Ron.
"You mean you're going to die?" said Luna curiously.
"Yeah—I mean, no, Luna—yeah, Ron, I've got a detention with Morgen—"
"What'd you do to him?"
"Nothing," said Harry, and before he could elaborate, he dashed off out of the wing.
——
Harry arrived at Morgen's office door, slightly out of breath, and knocked on door just as a grandfather clock inside struck six o'clock.
"Who is it... Harry Potter?"
Harry blinked. "Er... yeah...!" he said. "Can I come in...?"
"Certainly you... can. But may you, that's the... question, isn't it?"
"May I come in, sir?"
"Certainly."
Harry opened the door, and found himself in Morgen's office for what he realised was the first time. The whole thing looked... quite plain, actually. The walls were blank, and the only distinguishing point was the grandfather clock Harry had heard a moment before, which sat on proud display opposite Morgen's desk, its pendulum swinging back and forth powerfully with each passing moment.
"Isn't our High Inquisitor such a... nice, considerate person?" said Morgen, a wry smile on his face as he leaned against his desk, a book under one arm—Harry saw that it was Morgen's own, The Perfect Murder. "He even asked me if... I had any plans before he dumped you on me tonight."
Harry didn't know what it was, really, but something in the way Morgen said this was very different from the way Snape, for instance, would have said it. Perhaps it was just the odd pacing of his speech, but Harry was quite sure Morgen wasn't the least disappointed that Harry had been 'dumped' on him tonight.
"So," said Morgen, and he stood abruptly and walked round the desk, beginning to rummage through a drawer, "you, Harry Potter, are going... to be doing something very important for me, this week. You will..." he lifted a cardboard box from the drawer and placed it on the desk, beside a Muggle-looking leather briefcase, "be washing the desks."
Harry walked up to him and looked in the box—there was a bunch of different sponges of different sizes, shapes, and colours in there.
"They're all... un-run-out-of-suds-able," said Morgen. "Go ahead, pick one."
Harry took a plain yellow rectangular one that looked like it would wash pretty well, and it felt wet beneath his fingers.
Morgen led him to the doorway into the classroom, and said, "You have... a half-an-hour."
"What happens after a half-hour?" Harry said.
Morgen frowned at him. "You leave, of course, and pick up tomorrow."
This didn't sound all that bad, Harry reckoned, especially with all of his experience in washing things of the Dursleys over the years, so without further comment he started to scrub, starting with the desks in the back of the room and working his way forwards.
Time seemed to go by quite quickly, and Harry reckoned—as the time neared half-six—that it was the easiest detention he'd ever served. He'd finished nearly half of the desks already, scrubbed from top to bottom, and figured that he'd have time for one more—
"Five minutes," said Morgen, who was reading The Perfect Murder at his desk. Harry wondered why he found it interesting to read his own book.
Harry squeezed the sponge upon the desktop, and roughly scraped it back and forth across the wooden surface. He began to hear the ticking of the grandfather clock from the next room, and figured he'd be off in maybe two, three minutes... he tried not to smile wryly as he thought that he'd be sure to get more detentions with Morgen.
And then he saw something peculiar.
At the very corner of this desk was carved a slightly imperfect heart, and within it was four letters:
CC
It wouldn't have been all that strange if Harry'd had any idea who it meant, or if he'd ever seen it before—it stood out quite clearly, as though it had been cut quite recently, and Harry didn't know anyone at Hogwarts with the initials "RL" or "CC."
Harry scrubbed at the heart for a moment, thinking perhaps it would come off—How'd I figure that? he wondered when it didn't. Why would a carving come off with scrubbing? Dolt.
Harry decided to forget about it, and continued washing the rest of the desk, scrubbing very hard as the last seconds ticked away...
"Time's up," said Morgen, then, and he looked at Harry's position appraisingly. "Almost... half-way already, are we? You'll have it easy on Friday, then, won't you?"
Harry returned the sponge and stood rather awkwardly until Morgen said:
"You're free to go," and Harry went.
That night, Harry was having difficulty sleeping—Like that's new, he thought bitterly.
He lay staring up at the ceiling, and missed Ginny more than ever. He remembered that night in the Burrow's living room... his birthday... that had been wonderful, with her beside him on the couch, and the occasional whisper or movement... that constant feel of Ginny just beside him... he missed her so very much—
"You asked for her to be kept safe."
Harry blinked. Who had—? He had heard a voice, he was sure he had. It wasn't Dean or Seamus, he knew, and Ron and Neville were both still in the Hospital Wing...
Harry sat up in bed, and he felt something inside him tell him to go to the common room, so he did, and he nearly fell off the bottom steps in surprise—
—it was a person bathed in blinding white light—
"O—Onyssius?" said Harry, finally taking the last step onto the common room floor. He tried out Hermione's name for the anti-Dementor. "Is that your—?"
The figure... Harry still thought it looked more like an angel than anything else... he swore it shook its head.
"Onyssius, Harry Potter," said the anti-Dementor, "is an illusion created in the mind of a student here, not twenty years ago. No, I am not Onyssius."
"Then who are you?"
The anti-Dementor did not speak for a long time, and when it did, it said once again:
"You asked for her to be kept safe."
"Who? Ginny?" said Harry, and the anti-Dementor nodded. "When did I ask you to keep Ginny safe?"
It did not reply.
"How have you kept her safe, then?"
"We have helped to guard her from the dangers of her mind."
"We?" said Harry. "There's more than one of you?"
"Of course, Harry Potter."
"What are you?"
"You know what we are."
Harry shook his head, disbelieving that any creature could be this vague.
"Well let's say I don't," said Harry. "What are you?"
"You know what we are."
Harry let out a breath.
"You never said how you were keeping Ginny safe—"
"We have helped to guard her from the dangers of her mind," repeated the angel stubbornly.
"How, though?" said Harry. "The last I heard from her, Ginny was having nightmares all the time—doesn't seem very helpful—"
"We have helped to guard her from dangers greater than night-terrors, dangers night-terrors can protect her from as well."
Harry hesitated a moment before saying:
"WHAT on EARTH are you talking about? You're not making any sense—"
And then, to Harry's immense good-fortune, the angel decided to explain:
"The Dark Lord wishes for you and Ginevra Weasley to remain separate—"
"Oh, you've helped with that loads," said Harry.
"—and he placed a spell upon her to accomplish this, a spell that would keep her out of this school, away from you, where she could warn you of—"
"Of what?"
"—dangers. This spell was begun years ago, when the Dark Lord took Ginevra into the Chamber of Secrets, without the knowledge of either he nor she. The Dark Lord recently discovered its beginnings and built upon them, shortly after you and Ginevra returned to your own time, to torment Ginevra and to trap her within her mind when possible."
Harry did not have any words left, serious or sarcastic, and was now just listening—he remembered that day in the Riddle House as though it were yesterday, and he remembered when Voldemort had had Ginny by the throat... he must have done this then...
"Shortly thereafter a third stage of the spell was set forth, trapping Ginevra away from this school, away from you, Harry Potter, and keeping the two of you apart even when you were only footsteps away from each other."
Harry remembered his inability to leave his room at the Burrow... His heart was beating fast now, and there was this sense of utter revelation...
"We, Harry Potter," said the angel then, "have guarded Ginevra from these dangers of her mind, we have replayed a night-terror of hers each time the Dark Lord has attempted to steal her away inside herself, and she is still alive, Harry Potter—"
"She would have died?"
The angel was silent.
"You asked for her to be kept safe," it said once again after a while. "We have kept her safe."
And then it faded, just as it had on the train, slowly and slowly disappearing into nothingness. He watched it until it was nothing at all, and then thought quite confidently that he would be able to fall asleep now.
Next morning Harry woke up with a strange feeling inside him... it was similar to that of the day before, only very much different. He... he was bursting to tell the news that the angel had brought, and yet he knew that he couldn't, not yet. The only person he could tell was Ginny, she had to know first, and if he couldn't reach Ginny, then he would have to keep it inside him for as long as it took. Somehow he knew that there was no rush; everything would be all right if he waited, if he took his time.
He was feeling very much more himself today than he had felt since school had begun... he was completely aware of everything he was doing, he... he didn't forget anything at all, and when he met them at breakfast, he talked to both Ron and Hermione normally—Ron, it seemed, had been released from the Hospital Wing early this morning.
"You look different this morning, Harry," said Hermione across the breakfast table. "We never saw you after your detention—"
"Yeah, how was Morgen?" said Ron.
"Really easy, actually," said Harry, "he just made me wash the desks, and I'm pretty sure the sponge was charmed or something... oh, do either of you know anyone with the initials 'CC' by the way?"
"Don't think so," said Ron.
"I don't believe so..." said Hermione, and right then, Luna sat down next to Ron, and it struck Harry that the two of them had been around each other a lot lately, what with the whole Hospital Wing incident and all...
"Hello, Ronald," she said, "hello, Harry, Hermione."
She helped herself to a bit of sausage from Ron's plate and Harry blinked in confusion when he didn't react.
"You all seem... friendlier, today," Harry said.
"They made up," said Luna, indicating Ron and Hermione, and there was this strange smirk on her face, "it was really quite amusing—"
"Let's not go into details," said Ron then, and he changed the subject: "So Harry, Hermione told us about Neville and you... reckon it was a good idea not to mention it with him right there. Did you... er... have you felt anything today?"
"I'm feeling fine, actually," said Harry.
Hermione's eyes widened and she said: "Maybe now that you know about it Voldemort's not going to dare it—"
Harry felt somehow that everything today was... sunshiney. That was the word for it. Everything was bright and cheerful and so much more relaxed... the only thing that was missing was for Ginny to come down through the double doors and sit next to Harry and complain about the homework she'd been set...
Harry's whole day passed very quickly, surprisingly so—and as opposed to some of the previous days that had gone by quickly, Harry actually remembered the whole day, which was certainly heartening. In Charms, he successfully managed the Aguamenti charm on his second try, while yesterday he'd been too busy thinking to even attempt it.
In short, Harry felt good for the first time in ages.
Before he knew it, it was time for Morgen's second detention, and Harry reckoned that he'd have no trouble finishing off the desks today.
He arrived at five minutes to six, and Morgen had the box of sponges ready on the desk in the classroom today—his briefcase had been moved as well, actually, and was now in the classroom too.
"I'm going to be... in the office," said Morgen. "Just next door—I've got to do... a bit of cleaning myself."
"That's fine," said Harry, and got to work.
It was really just as easy as he thought it would be—in fact, he was on the second-to-last desk, the one Neville usually sat at, when Morgen poked his head in the room, about twenty past six.
"I've got to... run out for a minute. I'm supposed to be in a meeting with the Headmistress... you'll be able to finish up on your own, won't you?"
"Sure," said Harry. Everything was so easy today, he mused, and he was so light-hearted... it was almost as though someone had cast a Cheering Charm on him.
And then, just as Harry heard the office door shut, a strange feeling came over him.
I'm alone in Morgen's classroom... he's not going to be back... I wonder what secrets he's keeping?
Harry tried to push the thought out of his head, and continue on the desk, but he then found his gaze drawn to the briefcase on the desk, and a raging fire leapt up within Harry to learn of its contents.
Why, though? he asked himself. Why bother sneaking round when there's no reason?
Because, he felt a voice answer—because the Defence teacher always has something to hide.
Harry let that thought sink in a moment before shaking his head. That's a stupid reason.
He moved onto the final desk.
But what about all the strange things Morgen had done in class? The... the lectures on killing? Surely there was something more to him than... a homicide-obsessed, older, male version of Luna Lovegood?
Harry smirked at the thought, chewed his tongue a moment, and continued scrubbing.
It can't hurt to find out, can it? said that voice, and Harry tried not to listen, to block it out, but...
When Harry had finished the final desk, he went over to Morgen's own desk to put the sponge back in the box, and he tried—tried with all his might—to walk away, to simply leave, but he couldn't manage it, and he found his fingers clasping the briefcase in his hands.
Harry looked back to the door. How long until Morgen would be back, he wondered? The suitcase on the desk seemed to scream at him, Open me! Open me! I bear the answers to all you long to know... open me!
Damn it all, said Harry, and with a final backward glance, he swung the case round on the desk so that the Muggle clips holding it shut were facing him, and popped them—it opened, easily, without so much as an intruder hex to make his ears turn purple. Harry looked in—
Nothing, nothing at all. Of course there was nothing—Harry had been overreacting, what had he been expecting? He made to close the case, but then a thought flickered through his mind that made all too much sense for his liking:
Why does Morgen keep an empty briefcase on his desk?
And then Harry looked again and it was plain to see—how could he have missed it?—that there was a false bottom to this briefcase, and when Harry pulled it up, he saw quite plainly what he had expected to see, and yet not expected at all.
There was a single red file folder there, contrasting completely with the otherwise black case. It seemed to be a normal folder, just a bit of thick paper bent in two, but as Harry reached for it, his hand trembled, as though there would be another revelation—like the one last night, the angel's—upon unfolding that red bit of...
He did it, he opened it, and he saw:
There were pictures, loads of them, Muggle photographs that looked so very Muggle it was strange—they seemed like they should be moving, but they WEREN'T, and there was this sort of... captured moment in each of them unlike in any photographs Harry had ever seen before.
Upon each of them was written a name, hastily, in a sort of scribbly print. The one that caught his eyes first:
Harry snatched it into his hands and held it in the light, so that he could see it better—this was indeed himself, taken in the common room—he didn't know when. It was strange, to see himself somewhere he had most definitely not expected to see himself. Wizarding magazine? Oh, that was normal. Front page of the Prophet? As plain as trees. In Professor Morgen's briefcase? Not quite.
He looked back down at the folder, and saw now that there were others, other pictures—he had seen before, but he hadn't really seen, he hadn't noticed who they were.
H. J. GRANGER
L. M. LOVEGOOD
The last of which was almost folded in the fold of the folder—Harry blinked—underneath a picture of a blonde woman with no label, and for a split second Harry wondered what Luna's middle name was. And why did Hermione's and Luna's pictures include their middle initials, while Ron's and Harry's own did not?
And then all thoughts of names and initials were completely lost as Harry's eyes fell on the most intriguing picture in the whole twisted sort of album. It was at the very back of the file, under loads of other people that Harry didn't recognise, and it took a minute for what he was seeing to enter Harry's mind, to fully equate itself into a thought.
The picture's occupant had shoulder-length black hair, a sour sort of expression on his face, and was seated at a desk. Behind him were shelves upon shelves of strange ingredients and potions and other sorts of disgusting things... and although Harry had not seen this man since the end of last term, he certainly knew who he was.
Or rather, he thought he did. A single word was writ upon that photograph, sharply underlined, and Harry had to blink to understand it, even though its meaning was perfectly clear:
End of Part Two.
This is the end of the second contest, the one where you were supposed to guess how the fic ends. I won't say who won of course—that will be posted at the end of the story.
In regards to the other contests, keep submitting, but I'm not going to be keeping a tally... I'll just count everything up at the end of the fic, as I'm a bit too busy to put details in the author's notes.
I received an interesting review last chapter... let me see: "Yeesh, boyo, what made you think of that? It seems a bit familiar, if i do say so myself." This was by Slightly Qeasy, and it was written two days after book six was released. I'd like to remind everyone that the chapter Mr Qeasy is referring to was posted two days before book six was released, so anything that seems familiar I most certainly did not copy.
That's it, for now... I do hope the next chapter doesn't take nearly this long, (I'm hoping that the HBP-inspired writer's block is gone for good), and... well... please review. There's an awful lot to comment on in this chapter, isn't there?
Coming Soon
Intrigued by Yesterday? Check out the Yesterday Sequence Yahoo! Group at: groups . yahoo . com / group / HPYesterday
Please review.