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Ch. 4: Day 2, Part 1: Double Trouble
Yawn, sigh.
Beepbeep. Beepbeep. Beepbeep. BEEEP!
Harry rolled over, feeling refreshed and content. . . for about three seconds before his eyes flew open and he remembered. He sat up and grabbed his glasses to look around as his roommates showed the first signs of life.
"YAAAWAAAGHHH!"
Everything seemed so. . . normal. Whatever had changed Malfoy's life certainly hadn't had much of an impact on Gryffindor daily life. Unless. . . what if yesterday was only an unsettling dream?
Harry gave up inspecting his roommates and figured that he'd just judge how to play it as he went along. He didn't think he would be surprised by either possibility – dream or not; sometimes his reality was almost like a dream, while some of his dreams were realities. Some mornings he even woke expecting to be back in Surrey with the Dursleys, while other nights he woke from nightmare visions of real events far away. Though the latter were rarer now, thanks to his basic training in occlumency.
He got up, showered, dressed and walked down to the common room with Neville and Ron, who gave no indication of being affected by the last night's exchange at all. When Hermione acted perfectly normal too, Harry was actually beginning to feel relieved.
"Did you guys do the Transfigurations reading," Hermione asked sternly as they passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Uh, kinda," Ron answered sleepy, giving his scalp a scratch for good measure.
The brunette turned her eyes to Harry, eyebrows arched questioningly, but with a look that definitely indicated that she knew the answer. Hermione had grown quite cute over the years – she had learned to manage her unruly hair, while her facial and bodily proportions grew more appealing; and she had this way of smiling sometimes that really made watchers know they were in the presence of someone very special.
Harry shook his head, but had the decency to feel and look embarrassed: he didn't even remember having Ad Trans reading. It was a game that they sometimes played, Hermione would pretend to be disapproving, but was actually pleased to have the opportunity to lecture Ron and Harry about the missed reading. It got excessive sometimes, but it wasn't a bad deal for the boys – listening to (or just tuning out) Hermione was certainly easier than either reading or understanding the actual assignment.
Harry smiled fondly at his friends as they made their way through the corridors, into the Great Hall. He listened to the lecture with half an ear, as instincts urged him to check the Slytherin table, just to make sure that all was as it should be.
His heart sunk, and his body was suddenly tense with anxiety. Not only were all but two of the seventh year Slytherins absent, but Malfoy, Zabini, and Parkinson were also conspicuously missing. Dread began to infuse the periphery of his feelings as he walked to his table, glancing around awkwardly to scan for any other unusual happenings. He sat down quickly and immediately addressed his friends.
"Guys," he undertoned, continuing when he had their undivided attention. "I'm sorry about last, I was confused and I needed to think. Of course I'm going to tell you what I learned from Malfoy."
Something was definitely wrong, Harry could tell from their reactions – puzzlement at first to sudden bewilderment at the mention of Malfoy's name.
"Uh, Harry, mate," Ron started apprehensively. "I wasn't aware that anything had happened with Malfoy."
"What we talked about yesterday," Harry hissed, rather annoyed, and – admittedly – a little afraid. Ron was looking at him as if he was loony, while Hermione was definitely regarding him with concern. They didn't know what he was talking about!
"What do you remember talking about yesterday," Hermione asked, sounding every bit the little therapist.
Harry sighed: was he going to have to go through all this again? He forced down the panic that threatened to break loose. This time-alteration was obviously quite more problematic than originally supposed – and that was saying a lot. All Harry's alarmed wits could figure to do was to go to Dumbledore, and it was all he could do not to get up immediately.
"We had a conversation about time-changing," Harry gritted out.
"No we didn't," Ron responded redundantly. Hermione, however, immediately got the possible implications of his declaration, and her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Who would do something like that," she questioned reasonably. "And what do you propose has been changed?"
Harry sincerely hoped that he would do a better job of convincing his friends this time around.
"Malfoy. Yesterday the change had something to do with all the seventh year Slytherins being absent, but something's changed again today if you don't remember talking about it yesterday," Harry said with passion even while trying to keep his voice down.
Ron was looking at him with mouth slightly agape, while Hermione seemed to be genuinely struggling against her skepticism.
"Haha, Harry. You almost had me there for a second, but Malfoy? Ha," Ron snorted in amusement. Hermione had the decency to roll her eyes at Ron's blatant show of distain, but she clearly shared his sentiments.
"Really, Harry. If this is about revenge for what his father – "
Hermione stopped short as Ginny and Dean sat themselves down right next to the trio. Ron and Hermione immediately changed conversation topic, while Harry launched into his breakfast irritably. He left shortly, exchanging odd looks with his friends, and went to Dumbledore's office, where he spent five futile minutes guessing candy names. Unsuccessful, he ran to Double Advanced Charms, and was only two minutes late. Flitwick was a pushover and Harry got away with a stern (silly?) glare.
He was flustered, but he settled at a desk next to Ron and pulled out a quill and some parchment. Only then he did look up and take better notice of his surroundings. Professor Flitwick was lecturing, focused intently on his wand and the motions he was making with it. Hermione was watching, nodding slightly, taking notes from time to time. Ron was playing with his wand, vaguely imitating the professor.
Harry turned his eye to the Slytherins, out of habit, and frowned slightly at noting that Zabini and Parkinson were present now, sitting next to each other, apparently cultivating ennui. But still no Malfoy.
Harry itched to ask questions, especially about Malfoy, but Hermione was sitting between him and Ron, and studiously ignoring both boys' attempts to get her attention. Out of sheer boredom, Harry actually resorted to paying attention to the short professor. The next class was Advanced Potions, and Harry finally managed to partially satisfy his curiosity during the brisk walk to the dungeons.
"Hermione, tell me what's going on. No one seems to be surprised that Malfoy is not here. Why," Harry discretely interrogated.
Hermione stopped in her tracks to gaze at her messy-haired friend with thoughtful concern. Was she evaluating his sanity and the possible truth of his claims?
Whatever she was concluded, she deemed it acceptable to answer his question and, face straight ahead, she started up her quick pace again. "Malfoy never makes it to morning classes. I imagine that he is usually sleeping off the last night's activities, or maybe just medicating for the day to come."
Harry couldn't help but gape at her for a moment. What did she mean by that? What 'activities'? 'Medicating'! The outrage was obvious in his voice. "What is that supposed to mean!"
She dared a glance at him as they descend a staircase. "You know what it means. Too much sex and a magic addiction," she hushed.
This time Harry tried harder not to look like an idiot in his reaction. He could still barely believe his ears, but he managed a nod, accompanied by a swallow. Merlin, what the hell is a magic addiction?
He never managed to ask his question, for he suddenly found himself walking into the Potions classroom and the immediate scrutiny of yet another hated nemesis – Snape.
He sighed as he took his seat next to Hermione, perversely relieved that it was the desk closest to the door. Snape glared at him, but he had, over the years, grown used to it, and was relatively able to ignore the constant stream of hostility, as long as the bastard didn't actually address him.
Snape quickly and viciously launches into his lecture, and the students snapped to attention. Then pursued a verbal borage of academic background information, interrupted suddenly by –
The door noisily begun to open and all heads turned. . . to glance at Malfoy as he slumped into the classroom.
"How gracious of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said irritably, to which several students giggled.
Malfoy exchanged his own blank look for a disappointed one from his head of house. Then he just stood there, head slightly bowed, strangely still, until Snape barked, "Don't wait for your invitation, Mr. Malfoy. Take your seat."
His seat was, apparently, the desk in the far corner of the room, the space furthest away from Harry and from the door. And, if the despondency in his walk along the periphery of the room was any indication, then Malfoy knew it too. Hardly anyone else paid any notice, except for Parkison and, oddly, Boot – both who emitted soft but recognizable sniggers.
After that, Harry found it hard to focus, especially once the brewing began. He was lucky that Hermione was his partner, or else he would have surely managed to ruin their potion. . . Not that Harry really saw much during his frequent glances across the room – shock just kept forcing him to look back. As far as he could tell, Malfoy was just slouched against the desk, gazing motionlessly at the wall. . . for, like, the entire hour of class!
The panic returned with a vengeance as the new Malfoy slowly but surely freaked Harry out. He HAD to talk to Dumbledore!
"Mr. Potter!"
"Yes, sir!" Harry swallowed anxiously, his spiked nerves threatening nausea. Snape was towering over him, studying him closely and looking extremely displeased at his findings.
"What's wrong with you, Potter? You're not your usual abhorrent self," the potions master sneered.
A rush of anger actually soothed his nerves and he found it relatively easy not to rise to Snape's baiting. "Nothing is wrong, sir. I am just tired."
Though it was a cold comfort, Harry got some satisfaction from watching Snape's face sour even more when he failed to get the outburst he wanted.
"Fine. 10 points from Gryffindor for not paying attention." And with his usual flurry of robes, Snape left and returned to doing rounds about the classroom.
By the end of class, Harry had lost Gryffindor 25 points, managed a passing grade on his and Hermione's potion, worked up a nervous sweat and stress cramps, and was going to explode if he didn't get out of there. . . NOW!
"Dismissed," Snape barked, as if torn between wanting to torture them more and just wanting to be rid of their odious presences.
Harry leapt from his seat, ripped the door open, and dashed out of the room – earning quite a few stares. He ran through the dungeon, up the stairs, then more stairs, then a hallway, then –
Harry jerked to a standstill in front of familiar gargoyles. A suspicious flash of insight suggested the password. "Diamond bars."
Sure enough, the passageway opened to reveal winding stairs and Harry quickly found himself pushing open the door to Dumbledore's office.
"Harry, my boy! Come on in! Take a seat," Dumbledore urged with his usual obnoxiously upbeat vigor.
Harry sat without a word, though the Headmaster seemed to have enough for both of them. "Would you like a lemon drop," he offered, proffering a tin of candies before Harry.
"No thanks."
Dumbledore promptly began pouring one, then two cups of tea, before asking, "Would you like some tea?"
Harry found his patience being seriously tested. Why was this geezer always so infuriating? "No, thank you, sir. I have some serious business I would like to discuss."
"Well, then we should get down to business, shouldn't we," Dumbledore asked flippantly, as though he weren't a man whose business including leading one faction of a terrible civil war.
"My point exactly," Harry gritted out. Leaning forward, he quickly launched into what he wanted to say. There was no way he was going to give that old man one more second to fill with inanity. "Two days ago Draco Malfoy changed time. You yourself set me on his trail by telling me someone had stolen Ent Tree blood, and I caught him in the act. But too late I guess because yesterday I woke up and things were a little strange. And today they're even weirder! Time must've changed twice!"
His delivery was good, if faintly laced with hysteria. Harry was relieved to see that Dumbledore actually appeared to frown – he just might have attacked his headmaster if he'd smiled. Or, worse . . . twinkled at him.
But Dumbledore was studying him, looking deep into his eyes, and Harry was justifiably paranoid about the headmaster using Legimency on him. Harry wished he was in a position to storm out of the office, but instead he found himself relieved that Dumbledore could get a glimpse himself of what Harry knew was in the process of going down.
Finally, the headmaster pulled up majestically from his seat and leaned over with his palms planted on his desk. He looked down at Harry firmly, "Very well then, Harry. It seems to me that a task has fallen upon you. You find yourself unexpectedly and uniquely entangled in this affair, but only you are well-equipped to execute this mission. If you believe that time has been changed, then fix it. I am busy right now with pressing affairs at the moment. There is, after all, an intercontinental war against Tom Riddle."
Harry bowed his head and clenched his fists, hit by both shame and anger. Dumbledore knew how much he wanted to do more for the war effort, and this is what he got? Sirius was dead and he gets stuck fixing Malfoy's temporal fuckup!
Of course, on the other hand. . . he was the obvious choice to charge with the duty. And he had survived worse, hadn't he? It might even be interesting, despite having the shit scared out of him by the enormity of what was at stake. Couldn't the old man throw him a bone? "Is that all you've got for me," Harry asked, managing to keep his voice steady..
The headmaster, now sitted again, smiled and tilted his head, as if to think, but with a telltale twinkle . . . "Well, I do have one idea. Professor Snape might know something about temporal anomalies, and the potions that cause them."
Hmmm. . . not a very pleasant prospect, a scraggly bone at best. But it was a direction, and Snape surely knew plenty, if only Harry could get him to talk. Plus, maybe he could hit up Dumbledore again tomorrow; though that Legimency thing. . . With a sigh, he stood and exchanged farewells with both Dumbledore and the magnificent phoenix.
Harry stopped just short of the door, then turned slightly to ask, "Sir, can I ask just one more question?"
"Of course, Harry," the santa-esque old man said gently.
Harry glanced straight to fix his eyes on a faded blue space of sky through the window, and he founding it relaxingly easy to keep his features blank. "What is 'magic addiction'?"
Dumbledore's face sobered, though Harry did not see it, and he took a loaded moment before responding. "It's when a wizard or witch becomes addicted to casting certain spells upon themselves. It's a psychological effect, and so can develop in regards to any spell, from glamour charms to masochistic hexes. Still, the dependency is often upon euphorics, mood stabilizers, tranquilizers, and such."
Harry took a moment of his own, before turning back to the door and passing through; but not quickly enough to miss the headmaster's final words, "If it's Malfoy that you're really asking about, then maybe you should ask him."
Harry hurried down the spiral staircase and away, not knowing how to react. Now that the conversation with Dumbledore was over, he found himself wanting nothing more than to put the whole affair behind him. Now stress urged him to focus his energy on the future. Which meant. . .
Should he engage Malfoy?
It was quite the question. Harry was really curious, to the point that sheer curiosity was almost enough for him to submit himself to whatever hell interacting with Malfoy was likely involve. Surely he couldn't be much worse than his last two manifestations. At least this one hadn't changed time at the behest of a psychotic mass-murderer.
The very thought stoked Harry's anger and quashed any sympathy he might have felt for any Malfoy. No, he would go to Malfoy with what he knew to extract more information from the scum-bucket.
In moments his feet carried him to the Great Hall in time for a quickie bite to eat. He exchanged numerous loaded glances with his two best friends, but managed to keep his mouth occupied enough with eating to avoid being asked any questions. Not that the Gryffindor table was ever a good place for sensitive conversation On the way to Care of Magical Creatures, Ron and Hermione managed to illicit a promise to talk with them later and tell them all he knew about what was going on.
No Slytherins took Advanced CoMC, in any timeline.
Advanced Transfiguration was the next – and last – class of the day.
Malfoy even oozed in on time, again depositing himself in a desk at the far corner from the door. Harry watched him, and Hermione watched Harry. Malfoy was a lot closer than he had been during Potions, so Harry got his first good look at the boy and was shocked.
He was freaky skinny! Like a model, all gaunt face, long legs, no fat, no muscle. . . It was down right creepy. And his hair! His straight blond, chin length, definitely girly hair, framing eerily feminine features. Without his buff, Malfoy looked like a chick!
Uh, a slightly attractive one at that.
"Mr. Potter," interrupted Professor McGonagall.
Shit, caught twice in one day! The guilt is obvious on his face. "Yes, ma'am."
"Would you care to demonstrate," his head of house asked patronizingly.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't," Harry answered contritely, knowing McGonagall was the one teacher who took crap from no one.
"And why not, Mr. Potter?" She was a bit of a bitch too.
"Because I wasn't paying attention. It won't happen again."
Finally, the penance of public humiliation was over, and Professor McGonagall graced him with a smile. "See that it doesn't," she said graciously, and asked a volunteer to demonstrate.
. . . Chapter End. . .
PLEASE REVIEW. Reading over this chapter, it felt a little choppy, whatcha think? Keep an eye out for the next chapter – Harry vs. Draco, round 3!
