Disclaimer: Not mine.
MAGGIE (and others who hate me because of my last story) – As I said before, 'The Empty Vessel' had irreconcilable plot difficulties. Yes, this is my fault, but what did you want me to do? Write some crap in order to abruptly and unsatisfyingly finish the story? I do sincerely apologize, but I also refuse to invest a lot of energy to prolong the death of a seriously flawed beginning. Especially if you're not going to pay me. I only write for fun and I only whore myself for money. If you liked the story so much, you have my permission to finish it and post it wherever. I am sorry that I am only an amateur writer.
Now that I'm finished with that, on with the show. . .
Ch. 2: Day One, Part One: A Doppelganger World
Beepbeep. Beepbeep. Beepbeep. BEEEP!
"YAAAWAAAGHHH!"
"Mmph," Harry moaned as he turned over. Seamus' rooster yawn every morning was almost as reliable as the alarm spell he set for a full fifteen minutes before they truly had to be up in order to make breakfast. As, unfortunately, was Ron's reaction.
"Finnegan! I'm going to curse you into oblivion!"
"Ha! But yuh'll have tae get up first!"
Harry heard scurrying that could only be Seamus dashing to the showers. Other, much more languid sounds of life began to manifest too as his other roommates struggled awake. Normally, he'd try to get up too, but this morning he felt dreadfully groggy, as though hung over. And there was something else too, something lurking in the back of his mind. Maybe one of his mates had jinxed him in his sleep. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time that one of them would be guilty of such a low practical joke.
After several more moments, Harry felt a hand shaking him and heard Ron's voice calling his name. He managed to roll out of bed, stumble to the bathrooms, not fall asleep during his shower, then accomplish the rest of his morning activities with zombie-like resolve. He didn't even notice the various greetings he received.
Things improved with breakfast. The atmosphere and food cleared his mind, though it only made him more attentive of a certain uneasiness that itched and tickled at his nerves. He dimly became aware of the fact that Neville had been talking almost nonstop since they had left the common room. Next to Harry, Hermoine was looking mildly annoyed, and across from her Ron was watching her sappily, no doubt finding her annoyance cute.
"Ewww, that is so gross," Lavender squealed. Harry tuned into the conversation long enough to realize that Neville was detailing some dream he had the previous night where he had apparently been a giant amoeba, mated to the giant squid, and the proud father of a giant toad named Trevor. Though he'd never say anything, Harry vaguely agreed with Lavender and shot Hermione a sympathetic look. On the other hand, Hermione was usually the one going on and on.
As the first class of the day approached, Harry turned his attention from his polished plate (a diehard habit acquired at the Dursleys) and let it wander over the throngs of students in the Great Hall. It was strangely comforting to see all as it usually was, Ravenclaws studying and talking seriously, Hufflepuffs chatting energetically, Slytherins being their usual slimy plotting selves –
Harry's eyes narrowed. The Slytherin table looked. . . sparse. A quick inventory exposed an obvious pattern in the absenteeism: almost every seventh year was missing. A further few seconds of surveillance also revealed another observation: Malfoy's court was looking less pleased with themselves than usual. Indeed, they were occasionally shooting their prince inconspicuous but wary glances; not to mention that Malfoy looked to be in a particularly foul mood. He didn't usually sport that dementedly hateful and enraged expression until after an encounter with the Gryffindor trio.
Harry frowned, getting the distinct impression that he was missing something, and that Draco Malfoy had everything to do with it. He absently reached out to tug on Hermione's sleeve. Hermione turned away from whatever she was saying to Ginny. "Yeah?"
Harry asked his question without ever taking his eyes off the Slytherin table. "Look at the snakes today."
Hermione took a moment to look, and Ron even turned around to follow the direction of their staring.
"Notice anything," Harry asked, finally turning his head to face the local genius.
Hermione frowned slightly before meeting Harry's gaze. "No. Looks like it does everyday, as far as I can tell. Why? What's going on?"
Harry couldn't believe that Hermione hadn't picked up on the absence of the seventh years. It was, well, awfully obvious to be something she would miss.
"Where are all the seventh years," he asked as if she was dumb, the way she always asked obvious questions. By this point Ron was frowning too.
"With Voldemort," Hermione replied easily, trying to see what her friend was getting at.
"No, they're – what," Harry stuttered, reeling suddenly with confusion. "With – how do you know? Since yesterday?"
Now Hermione and Ron were both looking at him with definite concern. "They weren't here yesterday or the day before, mate," Ron said gently, almost as he feared that he was talking to an invalid.
An expression of mild fear had taken up residence on Hermione's face. "Harry, we've talked about this at the Welcoming Feast, don't you remember?"
Harry's confusion bled into ferocious vertigo, and he began to feel nauseous. He shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to stop the room from spinning, and clamped a hand over his mouth. Don't puke, don't puke, don't. . . The mantra blurred as his mind came completely hazed over, before abruptly shifting back into focus. Harry's head jerked slightly with the violence of sudden recollection, and his eyes snapped open, immediately glaring furiously at the loathsome blond. That bloody ferret wanker had actually succeeded in fucking up time!
"What about Lucius Malfoy," Harry ground out between clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice low despite his wrath. "Is he in jail?"
"Yes," Hermione instantly answered worriedly, though both she and Ron had seemed to have caught on to the fact that whatever was wrong with Harry had something to do with the younger Malfoy. To Hermione, it was actually a bit of a relief considered the even graver nature of the other possibilities. A slight memory charm couldn't be too bad, right? Ron, on the other hand, was definitely flushing with his own rage.
"What has that monster done now, Harry," the gangly teen hissed in an almost unrecognizable fashion. Where was the rage? Instead, Ron's expression was one of disgust and moderate horror, with a dash of fear.
Harry was about to respond, but was interrupted by the fact that Malfoy had gotten up from the table and was stalking out of the Great Hall as various Slytherins tried to scurry after him. In fact, the other tables were quickly emptying too.
"I'll explain after class," Harry replied tersely as he stood up.
. . . break . .
For Hermione and Harry, Tuesday meant double Advanced Potions, and it was definitely worse than Harry remembered, and not just since fifth year, but since the day before. The Slytherins did not openly tease anyone or sabotage anyone's potion, but Harry found their altered demeanor even more unnerving – he would have preferred insults and sabotage than whatever was festering behind looks of vindictive loathing and maliciousness that were no way near as trivial as they should have been. These were people – children – that would slit your throat in your sleep, then murder and rape your children just because they hated you that much. . . But Hermione was noticeably more concerned with his behavior than that of the Slytherins, so he could only assume that this was the way snakes usually conducted themselves in this altered timeline.
Snape too seemed slightly changed, though it was difficult to determine what was actually different and what was merely a new manifestation of the slimeball's odious personality. However, one variance with expected behavior was obvious to anyone watching, which Harry most certainly was – Snape was avoiding Malfoy, to the point that he neither said a word to the blond menace, nor did he at any time inspect his potion. In fact, Malfoy was the only unpartnered student in the class, and Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he was actually concocting a different potion altogether.
By the end of double potions, Harry wasn't any calmer about the whole situation. Indeed, an hour and a half of glaring silently at one's nemesis was plenty of time to work up all the flawed reason and indignation necessary to do something truly imprudent. So when class ended Harry packed up quickly, determined to confront Malfoy before Advanced CoMC.
Luckily, Hermione knew him well enough to know when something ill-advised was about to happen.
"Harry, wait," she called out before he had even managed to escape the classroom. Harry paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Hermione to catch up with him. "What are you doing? Please tell me before you do anything stupid."
Harry might have been insulted if Hermione hadn't sounded so whiny. And then, there it was, that elusive voice of reason: Harry, mate, think this through. Do you really know what is going on? No. Even if Malfoy has successfully fucked around with time, that doesn't mean that he remembers it. What is a scene in the hallways really going to accomplish?
"Okay, okay," he replied irritably. "I won't do anything stupid. But I really need to talk to you about something."
Hermione was sufficiently placated, and even gave him a weak smile. "That's fine, we'll sit in the back at CoMC. Hagrid will never notice."
Harry surprisingly relieved by this. He knew that Hermione hated not paying attention in class, and he was grateful that he wouldn't have to spend another lesson obsessing passively over something that, at the moment, he could do nothing about.
. . . break . . .
Ron was thrilled to see his two best friends sitting as far away from Hagrid and whatever those tiny, vicious-looking creatures were. His grin faded to solemnity upon seeing them deep in conversation.
"What's going on," he asked nervously, sitting next to Harry. They both looked at him, Hermione distinctly pale and Harry noticeably upset. They hadn't been talking long, but it was enough for Harry to convey the main points; which he promptly repeated for his other friend.
"Look like you're paying attention," Harry instructed, as Hagrid started talking at the front of the class. Ron faced forward and Harry continued. "I think Malfoy's changed time. Last night I got this warning from Dumbledore, saying that someone had stolen Ent Tree's blood, which the, uh…"
"Primary component," Hermione inserted.
"Yes. That. Of, uh, all time-altering potions," Harry whispered on. "So we all ran down to the dungeons to find Malfoy. I got there first, but he was obviously already halfway through or something, and I knocked the potion out of his hand, but we, uh, kinda ended up knocking the cauldron over too, and the potion got all over us. Then that's all I can remember about last night. But then I wake up this morning like nothing's happened. It wasn't until I noticed that all the seventh year Slytherins are missing, then you guys said they never showed up this year. But they did, I remember they did. . . and I really don't think that I'm crazy or imagining any of this."
Hermione was rubbing her temples, eyes closed, while Ron stared at him, mouth slightly open and expression oscillating between horror and disbelief. He opened and shut his mouth several times, looking really stupid, before finally managing to vocalize something. "But why would Malfoy go through all that trouble just so that a few student would join V-V-Vol. . . You-Know-Who? I mean, everybody knows that time potions are, like, ridiculously hard to make."
Hermione nodded. "They take months of preparation, even in the cases when the ingredients aren't mixed until right before. Plus, you usually have to add several liters of your own blood. Harry, I don't know about this. . ."
Harry knew that he probably shouldn't have been surprised, but their disbelief hurt; it also stoked the fire of panic of that was burning acidicly in his stomach. Stay calm, stay calm, they'll come around. . .
"It's more than just the Slytherin seventh years. Malfoy's acting weird too. 'Mion – did you see in potions? He, like, wasn't even making the same potion as us! And, Snape completely forgot to kiss his arse like he usually does. And, Malfoy didn't make any nasty comments, or try to sabotage anyone's potions." Harry looked at his friends stubbornly and arrogantly, as if challenging them to deny this further evidence.
Which, of course, they did. Ron responded with an expression of pure skepticism; Hermione lifted her head and tried a more reasonable. "Uh, Harry, if Malfoy actually managed to change time, then it is perfectly possible that he himself wouldn't remember it. Which brings up the crucial question – why do you remember the other past if, in fact, that past has been altered?"
Throughout her speech Harry felt the encroachment of an icy wave of despair: his friends didn't believe him. Alas, to further underscore this point, Ron decided it was his turn to speak next. "Besides, Harry, I hate to break it to you, but that's the way Malfoy usually is. Nobody messes with him, or even talks to him. Who would want to? He's one hell of a scary creep. The Slytherins are afraid of him, and so is Snape, even though the git would never admit it. He's gonna become V-uh! He's gonna become You-Know-Who's left hand man, and only that because his father already has the right hand. We leave him alone, and he leaves us alone; it's like a truce until the actual war. . . Harry? Don't cry."
Though his face was buried in his hands, Harry wasn't crying, but by the time Ron was finished, he wasn't too far from it. Fuck! Could shit get any worse? Of course, only Malfoy would alter time to make himself a bigger fucking arsehole, even more dead set on and capable of screwing over the entire world.
Hermione inspected his despondent form for a moment before reluctantly speaking. "Harry. . . Do you, uh, remember third year? You picked a fight with Malfoy over Buckbeak, and he, well, he almost killed you. . ."
Now it was Harry's turn to gape open-mouth like a fool, and to flush with anger. Luckily, Ron had the foresight to clamp his hand over Harry's mouth before he exploded. For a beat it just seemed to enrage Harry more, but that beat was all it took for him to force his anger under control.
"I can see that this is news to you," Ron said, though his words conflicted violently with the obvious disbelief in on his face.
Harry shot his friend a nasty look before grounding out, "Okay, hit me. What happened third year, and why wasn't Malfoy expelled if he actually tried to kill me?"
Ron and Hermione exchange a significant look that Harry pretended not to notice.
"Well, it was kinda your fault," Hermione started, though she was interrupted by Ron's fake cough, "Deserved it!"
"Ahr yuh okay?" Hagrid called out worriedly from the front of the class, and all three of them went flushed as the class' attention temporarily turned to them.
"Yessir, it was nothing," Ron replied, then Hagrid thankfully returned to his frightfully boring and inane lecture, in which he pointed to the little things in the cage every once in a while.
The trio shared a look of oh-merlin-that-was-close (with particular direction at Ron), before Hermione launched into a whispered answer to Harry's question. "Okay, Harry, but you must not get mad." She waited a second for him to nod before continuing, "Buckbeak attacked him, and he and his father were suing to have Buckbeak put to death. Then, I remember, it was right after the last class of the day, DADA, and you confronted Malfoy and then both of you were yelling. Then you punched him. Then, uh. . . "
Hermione was looking visibly upset, swallowing and hesitating, so Ron took over with a look of sympathy to 'Mion. "Malfoy went ballistic. He was kicking and hitting and head-butting and biting. You fought back, of course, and me and a bunch of students tried to separate you, but he was strangling you with this monster grip and you were unconscious before we pried him off you.. . ."
By this time Ron had both colored in anger and paled in distress (it was a bizarre mix). Hermione looked almost as bad, but she quietly cleared her throat to continue the tale anyway. "Professor McGonagall tried to get him expelled, and Dumbledore actually agreed, even though Malfoy has always been his twisted pet project. But then the legal battle got really out of control, what with Buckbeak and everything, and there was a pretty good case that it was self-defense, so the Ministry sided with the Malfoys. . . Some time after that Malfoy approached us and made the deal."
For the second time that day, Harry feared that he would upchuck the contents of his stomach. Malfoy had tried to kill him, and that fact frightened him. The Malfoy from his timeline had never done anything that extreme. There had been a couple physical fights, but they had been comparatively tame – there certainly hadn't been biting, let alone strangling the other into unconsciousness.
Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. "What deal?"
"Harry," Hermione whined. "The deal. Surely the same deal was made in the other timeline, or whatever. You must remember, it's only the code of conduct that has kept this school in one piece."
Hermione looked pleadingly at Harry, but the latter just shook his head, with a lost expression on his face. Hermione sighed before continuing. "Malfoy, his usual posse, and several of the older Slytherins came to the Tower. Malfoy offered a temporary armistace for the duration of everyone's time at Hogwarts. Of course, we didn't trust him. Whatever his reasons to enforce civility, I'm sure it serves some nefarious purpose. But Malfoy has never targeted anyone, and it's not because he doesn't want to. He has a bigger plan than just making our lives difficult."
Harry looked at the grave faces of his friend and sighed. It was too much information to digest at once, and he has a strong suspicion that it would only be getting worse in the future. He needed to think.
. . . break . . .
By lunch Harry had clammed up – his friends' skepticism and adherence to this abomination of a deal was enough to convince him that he should approach Malfoy by himself.
Yes, he still thought that a. . . conversation (it was a pretty appalling notion) with Malfoy was the best option available to him. It was, of course, perfectly possible that Malfoy didn't remember anything; but then again, if Harry remembered what had happened Malfoy might too. After all, Malfoy had been the one to concoct the potion; plus, Malfoy had been drenched in that very potion, just as Harry had, and Harry suspected that the drenching was responsible for his own lack of amnesia.
. . . end . . .
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