A/N: So… we had our big scan done Friday morning: and the babies are girls! I'm surprised, actually, because I just had a feeling they would be boys… but we're absolutely thrilled, of course. James came home from his shift at hospital last night with pink frosted fairy cakes and matching bears, and I just about died. (Really, pregnancy hormones make one so emotional, and I am generally never tearful… surprising though it may be, my reputation in court is rather the opposite.) I have also been feeling better and been able to return to work part-time, so I am far less likely to murder anyone just to relieve the boredom. All good things.

At any rate, Chapter 22! It is time – at last – to return to Hogwarts for real. For a nice, relaxing term…

Well, it is time to start term, at least.

Review responses to Chapter 21 are at the end – thank you to everyone who left comments for the last chapter! Enjoy the journey…

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 22: The Hands of Death and the Sands of Time

It was the First of September, and the village street was crowded as Albus Dumbledore emerged from the shadows of his chosen alley. Although at Hogwarts the thunderous sky had been threatening to burst all morning, the day was clear and bright in this north-western English hamlet. It was nearing midday now, and as Albus stepped into the street he caught scenes from an ordinary Muggle life: men and women in professional dress darting out of the little shops and businesses in search of take-away, the chiming of the door of a local dingy-looking pub, The Hanged Man, and the laughter of children from a schoolyard where lessons were apparently at break. There was no sign at all of a wizarding presence in the village. But of course, that meant very little.

Steep hills of the Lake District bordered both sides of the village, most of which was nestled in the valley. Across the valley, just at the start of the hill, a small church with an unusually high steeple stood sentry, a very old and rundown-looking churchyard set adjacent. A bit further up from the graveyard, a stately manor house stood alone, centred in sprawling grounds of emerald green. The woods around the village was old, and perhaps magical… but it was hard to be sure from this place.

Albus had dressed the part today. It had been, perhaps, one of the only aspects of his preparation for the journey he'd enjoyed. He'd taken Harry on the escapade to find appropriate Muggle clothing in Hogsmeade, as part of their trip to find him new supplies for the coming term. Harry had been a little taciturn that Albus and Minerva would not allow him to go into Diagon Alley with his friends this summer, but he'd cheered up at the prospect of finding Albus clothing that would allow him to go 'incognito' in Muggle Britain. Albus so rarely ventured into the wholly Muggle world these days; each excursion was a chance for a new outfit he couldn't pass up. Harry seemed to find it rather amusing.

So, today, Albus was wearing a tailored Muggle suit, in navy blue pinstripe. He'd wanted to buy it in turquoise, but Harry had threatened to call in Minerva to dissuade him from the scheme.

'Not that it really matters,' Harry had added with a laugh. 'Because no matter what you're wearing, I promise you that your hair and beard are going to stand out in any crowd.'

Harry had dearly wanted to learn where the headmaster was going today, but Albus refused to say. He'd seen Remus and Harry off to join the Express – having promised Harry that he could, at least, travel to the castle with the rest of the students – and set off to find Minerva to assist with the rest of his disguise. He could have done it himself, of course, but it was always easier to have another complete physical Transfiguration… and Minerva delighted in the process. She, too, had wished to know where he was off to; but he was keeping mum for now.

And so Albus Dumbledore set off down the high street of Little Hangleton in a pinstriped suit, the late summer breeze wafting his chin-length, blonde hair. His face was devoid of lines, his eyes a darker blue, and his spectacles a more fashionable, rectangular shape. 'Brian Dempsey' – as Albus had decided to christen himself – was but thirty years old or so; a real estate mogul in from town for the day, interested in purchasing property and learning about the village history.

Humming to himself, Albus pushed open the door to the little pub. He always found the local watering holes the best bet for a touch of old-fashioned gossip.

'What'll it be?' a plump, smiling barmaid asked, as Albus sat himself at a corner of the counter. She gave his suit an appreciative once-over, and Albus inwardly congratulated himself (and Harry) on the fashionable selection.

'What's nice?' he asked, picking up the menu she slid toward him and pretending to peruse it.

'The pale ale is the house,' she offered, indicating a tap behind her. 'And if your peckish, Stuart's made up a batch of steak and kidney pies not half bad for the lunch crowd.'

'That sounds perfect,' Albus said with a smile, offering the menu back. 'I'll take one of each.'

'Ta,' the barmaid said, reaching to take the menu.

As she did, their eyes met, and Albus brushed ever so lightly against her mind… he saw this woman was in her late thirties, unmarried… not a native to town. Perhaps she'd come for work? And then he saw Stuart… much older, apparently the owner of the Hanged Man. He smiled again, releasing his hold on her mind. The woman shook herself a bit as she straightened, looking dazed.

'A pint of the – the house ale, then?' she asked, trying to regain her footing.

'Yes, thank you, Eliza,' Albus said with a smile.

She nodded in a vague sort of way, and bustled over to pour the brew. Albus took an experimental sip, trying not to show his revulsion.

He hated Muggle ale.

The pub was fairly crowded, but many of the diners were far too young to have the memories he sought. A few older women who looked like regular patrons were huddled together in a corner, but they seemed deeply mistrustful of this stranger as he considered them over his pint. He was just contemplating the best next step when a gruff, aged barman appeared before him, slapping down a plate of steak and kidney pie with a grunt of recognition.

'Thank you, Stuart,' Albus said, struck with sudden inspiration as he twisted the plate around.

The man faltered in his retreat, looking back at Albus with narrowed eyes.

'I know you, boy?' he barked.

'Not yet,' Albus said with his best gracious smile. It was very strange – and more than a little amusing – to hear the diminutive coming from a man at least thirty years his junior. 'I'm new to town, I'm afraid. But I've heard wonderful things about your cooking. My mother grew up in Great Hangleton, you see, and she recommended this pub.'

'Your mother was a local, huh?' the man said, crossing his arms and continuing to glare mistrustfully. 'What's your name, then?'

'Dempsey,' Albus responded at once. 'Brian Dempsey. But my mother's name was Smith then. Margery Smith.'

He'd chosen the name at random. There were, after all, a lot of Smiths in England. He figured it was not so uncommon a name that the man could dismiss it outright.

He'd guessed wrong.

'Never heard of her,' the old man grunted, looking more dismissive than ever. 'Enjoy your lunch.' He turned to walk away.

'Are you quite sure, sir?' Albus tried, reaching into a breast pocket of his suit and retrieving one of the fake Muggle business cards he'd come with. He slid a hand across the surface of the parchment. 'I have her photo here – you might recognise her?'

He passed the card over the counter to the barman, who snatched it up grudgingly. The man's eyes drifted out of focus for a moment as he stared down at the perfectly ordinary card, then back again as his stern countenance relaxed.

'Ah, yes,' he said, smiling vaguely as he passed back the card. 'Margery. I had forgotten.'

'Of course,' Albus said with an easy smile of his own. 'It is a very long time now, I'm sure.'

'It is,' the man agreed, leaning on the bar as he spoke. 'And my memory… it's not what it used to be, I'll tell yeh that.'

'Won't you join me for a pint?' Albus invited, gesturing toward the empty seat next to himself. 'After all, you seem to have brought two portions of luncheon, and I detest eating alone.'

'Did I?' the man asked vaguely, looking down to the counter where, indeed, there were two steaming plates of steak and kidney pies. 'Funny that. Must have misread the slip.'

'It happens,' said Albus cheerfully, sliding the tip of his wand a bit farther up his sleeve.

'Well, might as well, I suppose,' the man agreed, coming round the countertop and hoisting himself onto the neighbouring stool. 'What'd yeh say your name was?'

'Brian,' Albus reminded him, holding out a hand to shake. 'A pleasure.'

'Oi, Liza!' the man barked, nearly startling Albus out of his pleasant façade. 'Chuck us a pint, won't you?'

The barmaid from earlier came bustling back around. She looked startled to see the unlikely drinking mates, but Albus could tell she daren't contradict her employer's orders. She poured out a second pint of the same revolting brew she'd given Albus, and set it down in front of Stuart without a word.

'So… you grow up round these parts?' Stuart asked, taking a deep pull from his beer.

'Alas, no,' Albus admitted. 'My mother would have preferred it, but my father wanted to be in town. I'm getting tired of London nowadays, though. Hoping to make it back to the country.'

'Aye, I don't get into London much myself,' the man admitted, now digging through his pie. 'Too many people, too many sounds. You're better off without 'em, in my view.'

Albus nodded noncommittally, bracing to broach the subject. 'And too much crime,' he added. 'I much prefer the quiet of the country, in that regard.'

'Too right,' Stuart agreed with a nod. 'We've not much to speak of here – bit of the usual teenage ruckus now and again, but it's a rare thing to see anything really nasty up in the fells.'

'What excellent news,' said Albus, eyes twinkling. 'Of course, that makes it all the more interesting when something does happen, I suppose,' he added lightly, taking a bite of his own lunch. 'I'll never forget what a fuss mother always made about something that happened here, in fact, to someone called… Riggles, maybe?'

'The Riddles,' Stuart grunted. 'Aye, that was a strange sort of business if ever there was.'

Albus fingered his glass, trying to hide his excitement. 'What exactly happened?' he asked after a moment. 'Mother said there was a family of three that died… I think she thought it might have been some sort of accident.'

'It weren't no accident,' said a new voice. Albus looked around in surprise. One of the little old women from the corner table had joined them, hoisting herself up with surprising strength onto a stool next to Stuart's, and promptly nicking his beer. Her companions in the corner looked disapproving; Albus could tell they were not overly fond of socialising with strangers.

'Brian Dempsey,' Albus said, offering his hand to the newcomer. She ignored the gesture, too busy attempting to keep hold of the pint as Stuart griped at her.

'Sarah,' Stuart said shortly, jerking his head toward the old woman. 'She was the maid up in the big house when the Riddles were found.'

'I was the one what found 'em,' Sarah clarified, nodding importantly at Albus.

'That must have been frightening,' said Albus fairly. 'You said they lived in the big house – is that the house on the hill?'

Both Sarah and Stuart nodded. Sarah cleared her throat. 'They was there for generations, they was,' she told Albus conspiratorially. 'And owned half the village to boot. But the Crown got the house in the end, after the ole pair and the son copped it. They sold it off to some bloke from Yorkshire, and he and his family was there for a year or two, but they sold it too. And on and on it went until some lad from Manchester got it a while back. He's never lived in it though – too haunted, we think. Just keeps it for the taxes.'

'It's a pity the family died out,' Albus noted, prodding lightly.

Stuart snorted. 'Not particularly,' he opined. 'The old Riddles were snobs – thought they were much better than the rest of us. You'd never catch either down in the pubs.'

'Aye,' Sarah agreed with a firm nod. 'And Tom Riddle – that's the son – he were just as bad. Course, gave his folks some troubles too. Should have seen their faces when they heard he'd run off with that trollop.'

Albus raised an eyebrow. Sarah nodded seriously at him.

'Ooh, yeah,' she said, sipping the pint again as she relished in the old gossip. 'Tramp's daughter, she was. They never mingled much either. We think she fell pregnant, and Tom ran off with her to cover it. But he came back a year or so later, sayin' he'd been hoodwinked into the marriage in the first place.'

'Did he?' asked Albus, intrigued. 'How odd. Who was the woman?'

Sarah shrugged. 'Don' remember her name now,' she admitted. 'Gaunt, I think, were her father's people. But they died off years ago too. No one ever saw the baby, if she'd had one to start with. And she never came back round these parts.'

'Tell him about when the bobbies got there, Sarah,' Stuart said.

'Well, as I say, I was the one what found 'em,' Sarah repeated. 'Summer 1943, I'll never forget it. I'd gone up in the night, because the old lady liked the downstairs rooms done while they was sleeping. I pushed open the door to the drawing room and there they was – cold as ice and frozen in their seats, still in their dinner things and looking like they'd died in terror. Well, o course, I couldn't stay in the house! I came down into the village right quick, and the bobbies went up to the big house, and we all thought they'd take him in for good.'

'Take him in?' Albus repeated. 'Take who in?'

'Frank, o course,' Sarah said, as though Albus were being thick. Stuart seemed to pick up a bit more quickly.

'Frank Bryce,' he explained. 'He's the gardener up at the big house, has been sixty years at least.'

'He were the only one what had a key,' said Sarah. She was whispering now, her head bent low across Stuart toward Albus. 'And the door weren't forced or nothing. Frank said he'd seen some teenager climbing up the hill earlier that day, but – like I say – nobody forced the door, and no one else saw the boy.'

'I see,' said Albus, quite intrigued.

'But there was no proof,' Stuart put in. 'They questioned him, of course. Kept him most of the night. But then the surgeon came back saying the bodies were clean, and they couldn't make out a cause of death. So they let old Frank go.'

'Three people aren't frightened to death,' Sarah said with a sniff. 'As far as I'm concerned, Frank killed him. And everyone knows it – we've known it for years.'

An hour or so later, Albus made his departure from the pub and headed up the high street again, toward the 'big house.'

The grounds were velvet green and lush, and the sprawling manor had clearly been grand and stately in its day. But its day, sadly, seemed to have passed some time ago. There were boarded windows on the first and second floors, and portions of the roof were missing or decayed. The front columns and half the siding was covered in a thick ivy, and there was a derelict feeling of tragedy and neglect about the estate. The aura made Albus uneasy.

As he strolled through the gates, however, he saw a stooped figure bent over a rosebush near the path. The man stood – not much less bent over than he'd been while pruning – and fixed Albus with a stare that spoke of years of deep-seated mistrust.

'What do you want?' the old man barked, taking in Albus' polished suit and wingtips with a disgruntled contempt.

'Good day,' Albus greeted with a smile. 'You must be Mr Bryce.'

'Who wants to know?' the man asked, leaning heavily against a rotting fence post.

Albus kept his smile in place. 'My name is Brian Dempsey,' he said courteously. 'I've been sent by your employer, Mr – ' he brushed casually against the man's mind, 'Dawson,' he finished. 'To do an interior check on the house.'

'R- right,' the man said, looking unnerved. 'You'll have to wait here then a mo'. I don't carry the key on me.'

'Oh no matter,' said Albus with a smile. 'I have a copy on me, in fact. Would you mind if I showed myself in?'

Frank grunted again, bending back over the bush. Albus watched him curiously for a moment in sympathy. The old gardener was aged, and slightly crippled. The upkeep of the grounds was clearly getting beyond him, though they were in much better shape than the house itself. Judging by the talk in the village, this man had lived most of his life in isolation and suspicion – forever blamed for a crime he had not committed. He longed to do something to assist Frank Bryce… but he was wary of leaving any significant magical footprint.

It would not do for the current Tom Riddle to ever be able to trace what he'd done.

'Thank you,' he said quietly. And he made his way toward the manor house.

Once out of sight of the gardener, a quick, silent charm released the side door to the kitchens. Albus had selected this entrance over the front, as it seemed a bit less overgrown. The door creaked on its hinges as he pushed it ajar, and he was tempted, on seeing the filth and dust within, to put a protective charm over his new suit. He crept quietly through the house, sensing with his magic as well as his eyes. In the drawing room the maid had spoken of, he could feel the heady shadows of dark magic… but it had dimmed with the passing years and fading memories. It was clear the house had not been lived in for decades, and Albus was sure even its Muggle owners could sense, to some extent, the ominous aura of the place.

Some twenty minutes later, he closed the kitchen door softly again, spelling it locked once more with a touch of his hand.

'I thank you,' he said to the gardener, as he made his way down the path toward the gates once again. 'I think I have everything I need.'

Frank grunted, but did not look up. Albus smiled. 'Do you hear from Mr Dawson much?' he asked curiously. Frank raised his head, and Albus caught his eyes once more.

No… and never in person. That was good. He would not need to modify the gardener's memory.

'Just when he sends the payment every fortnight,' the man said shortly.

Albus nodded once. 'Good afternoon, then,' he said, inclining his head. And he left Frank Bryce to his pruning, as he made for the gates and a safe place to apparate home.

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Remus took Harry to the platform by portkey, so that they would not have to pass the Dementors at the gates. Harry still found it hard to believe that summer was truly over, and the start of term had arrived. He was excited to get back to a normal schedule and the bustle of the school year, but the final weeks of summer had flown by… and he would miss the comforts of the castle as more of a 'home' than a 'school.' Things were never the same once term commenced.

Remus had been ill – again – over the past few days. For a while, Harry had feared that the new professor would not be recovered in time to start his teaching post, let alone accompany Harry on the train journey as he'd promised. Remus' presence was the only way he'd finally got Albus and Minerva to agree to let him take the Hogwarts Express with his friends, and – though his first concern was for Remus' health – he couldn't help a smaller, more selfish part of his brain that really hoped the man would get well so that he wouldn't have to give up yet another part of his Hogwarts experience.

Fortunately, Remus was recovered enough by the morning of the first of September to allow them to go, though he fell asleep against the window of their chosen compartment before Hermione, Ron, or the other Weasleys had even arrived. Harry crept quietly out of the train, afraid to wake him when he still looked so wan, but eager to greet the Weasley family and see Ron and Hermione aboard. The professor did not wake even with the chaos of the hundreds of students piling onto the train, nor with the sharp toot of the engine as they finally set out from Kings Cross. Harry supposed he was just too exhausted.

'Is he alright?' Ron asked doubtfully, staring at Remus' sleeping form as the train began to move. 'He wasn't that bad off when we saw him a few weeks back.'

'He's fine,' said Harry defensively, though he couldn't help but shoot his own anxious glance in the professor's direction. 'He's been a bit under the weather. Suppose he's just tired.'

'So, do you think he'll be a good teacher?' Hermione asked keenly, nodding her head toward Remus as the terrace houses of London began to fly by their windows at increasing speed.

'Yeah,' said Harry enthusiastically, smiling at Remus' sleeping form. 'He's been brilliant with me this summer. He's really patient, he knows loads about Defence, and he's just… I don't know. Good, I guess. He'll be fair, even with –'

'Well, well, well,' said a drawling voice, almost as if the subjects of Harry's musings had heard him telepathically. Harry scowled as he, Ron and Hermione turned toward the door to the compartment, where Draco Malfoy stood sneering back at them with arms crossed over his chest. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him as ever, both even more huge and hulking than they'd been in June. 'Had a nice holiday, did we, Scar-head, Weasel, Mudblood?'

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet at once, ignoring Hermione's attempts to calm them down.

'Just try it, Malfoy,' Harry spat, drawing his wand conspicuously. 'And I'll show you what I did this summer.'

'Harry, no!' Hermione hissed.

Malfoy's sneer only grew. 'I must say, I'm surprised you've made it to September, Potty,' he drawled, raising an eyebrow in mock shock. 'From what I've heard, there's yet another Dark Wizard out for your blood. Does it make you cry out in the night, Potty?'

Ron dove at Malfoy, but Hermione grabbed him by the sleeve of his jumper, yanking him back. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles menacingly, but Harry just smiled back at Malfoy's stupid, arrogant face.

'Yeah, well, I'm surprised you managed to dress yourself, Malfoy,' he noted lightly. 'Seeing as you've been without a servant for the past two months. I suppose Mummy had to buy you the trainers without the laces?'

Malfoy gave a snarl, pulling his own wand; but before Harry could even counter, Remus gave a snort from behind them. Everyone froze, but the professor merely grunted in his sleep, shifting his head to the other side and slumbering on.

'Who's that?' Malfoy asked warily, distracted.

'New teacher,' Hermione said sweetly, coming up to lay a hand on Harry's arm too. 'What were you saying, Malfoy?'

Malfoy glowered, but grabbed his nearest crony by the shoulder. 'Come on,' he muttered, and he dragged the pair of them out into the corridor again.

'Stupid git,' Ron muttered, throwing himself back into a seat as the door slid closed behind the Slytherins. On the other side of the aisle, Hermione began fiddling with the straps of a wickerwork basket as Ron rubbed his knuckles menacingly.

'I swear, if Malfoy tries anything this term, I'm gonna – Hermione, what are you doing!' he cried, breaking off his violent demonstration of what he'd like to do to Draco Malfoy and skittering over toward Harry as a massive, furry ginger cat made a flying leap from the overhead toward his seat.

'Gerroff!' he spat at the cat, pushing it away as the animal made to climb on his lap.

'Ron, don't!' Hermione said angrily, swooping in to rescue her cat. 'Crookshanks doesn't mean any harm, do you darling?' she crooned to him.

'He's after Scabbers!' Ron complained, jabbing a finger at a quivering pocket. 'I've told you a million times, Hermione, something's off about that animal!'

Hermione rolled her eyes, sinking onto the bench across the aisle and scratching behind Crookshanks' ears. 'All cats chase rats, Ron. He doesn't know it's wrong!'

'Er – when'd you get a cat, Hermione?' Harry asked, trying to get his head around the argument.

Ron and Hermione promptly began to talk over each other in an attempt to tell Harry about their trip into Diagon Alley for school supplies, when Crookshanks had apparently 'nearly scalped' Ron in an attempt to eat Scabbers, Ron's pet rat.

'He's been off colour since Egypt,' Ron griped, clearly still sour. 'And that cat's not going to help things.'

'Ron, Crookshanks will be in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours,' Hermione pointed out. 'It's not like they'll be bedfellows.'

'Whatever,' Ron said moodily.

'Did you try asking at the menagerie about Scabbers?' Harry asked, frowning. 'They might have a potion or something that works for rats.'

'Yeah, I asked,' said Ron sullenly. 'They gave me a tonic, but it hasn't seemed to do much good.'

Harry and Hermione exchanged worried looks. Though Ron complained incessantly about Scabbers useless existence… they both knew he would be miserable if the rat actually died.

'Well, maybe they'll be somewhere in Hogsmeade where you can take him,' Hermione suggested hopefully.

Ron brightened. 'Yeah,' he said, sitting up a little straighter. 'That's true. Blimey, I can't wait to go to Hogsmeade. Fred and George haven't stopped going on about it since their third year… and Honeydukes is supposed to be unbelievable.'

'Yes, well, it's a very interesting village!' Hermione put in, obviously happy to be on firm ground again. 'The inn is supposed to have been where the goblins decided to stage their rebellion in 1612, and –'

'They sell all sorts,' Ron continued with a dreamy expression, apparently not having heard a word of Hermione's speech. 'Chocolate frogs, pepper imps, levitating sherbets –'

'Harry, I know you've been' said Hermione, turning to face him and ignoring Ron, who continued to list off all the amazing sweets he wanted to try. 'But apparently, the village does all sorts at the Hogwarts week-ends. There's even supposed to be a bit of a festival at Hallowe'en.'

'You'll have to tell me all about it once you've gone,' Harry said glumly. Both Ron and Hermione turned to look at him, frowning. 'I can't go,' he clarified. 'Not with you lot, anyway. I'm not allowed.'

Hermione laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder; her face commiserating, but resigned. Ron looked dumbfounded.

'You're not allowed to come?' he asked in horror. 'Why? Because you couldn't get permission from your guardians? That's not on. Dumbledore'd never expect the Dursleys to –'

'It's not the Dursleys,' Harry said grudgingly. 'It's Dumbledore. And McGonagall. They reckon it's too dangerous, with Sirius Black still out for me. They think he'll try and have a go if he can get me on my own. And they're pretty sure he's still hanging around the castle and village.'

'But,' Ron sputtered, still looking shocked. 'But that's metal,' he insisted. 'They'll be teachers in the village too, I'm sure, and all the townsfolk are magical.'

Harry shrugged. 'They still think it's too dangerous,' he said. 'Believe me, I tried about every argument you'll think of already. They wouldn't budge.'

'But mate –'

'Ron…' Hermione warned, in a tone that told Harry she thought the professors were 'quite right' and irritated him to no end.

'No, Hermione, come off it,' Ron complained, giving her a scowl. 'I mean, Harry'll be with us, won't he? He won't be on his own. And Black wouldn't dare to –'

'Ron, Black's already killed more than a dozen innocent people!' Hermione argued, drowning him out. 'Do you honestly think he'll keep away from Harry just because you and I happen to be there? See sense!'

'Yeah, that's pretty much what the headmaster said,' Harry affirmed in a hopeless voice. 'Look, I don't want to talk about it anymore,' he said firmly. 'Let's just… let's change the subject.'

'Alright,' Ron agreed, though he still looked mutinous. 'I have one for you, Harry. What's the deal with the wandless magic lessons?'

Harry was surprised. He didn't think he'd mentioned his lessons with Snape to anyone, outside the professors at the castle. Snape was always insistent that he keep the lessons secret, for now.

'Er – how did you know I was taking wandless magic?'

Ron frowned. 'You told us,' he reminded him. 'After…' he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. 'After the quidditch match in Edinburgh,' he said, trying to sound casual.

'You don't remember?' asked Hermione in concern.

Harry shrugged. 'A lot of the details after I got back are blurry,' he confessed. 'But… yeah, Snape's been teaching me a bit about wandless magic this summer. You know I have lessons with all three of them?' They nodded, and he continued. 'Well, this summer it's been more than last. I've done a bit of study with the headmaster, and then wandless lessons and Potions with Snape, Charms and Transfiguration with Minerva, and Defence with Remus.'

'Ooh,' said Hermione, almost moaning with jealousy. 'That sounds fascinating, Harry. What did Dumbledore –'

'Not yet, Hermione!' Ron complained, rolling his eyes. 'I want to know about Snape.'

So Harry talked for well over an hour, breaking only when the lady with the trolley came round to buy them all some sweets and pasties for the remainder of the journey. Ron, though mistrustful of Harry's spending so much time on his own with the Potions professor, was torn between disapproval of this companionship and awe at the prospect of wandless spellwork. Hermione wanted to know everything Harry could remember, and was particularly interested in the couple of lessons with Dumbledore Harry had had over the course of the holiday.

After they'd exhausted that topic as thoroughly as possible (for the time being, at least, as Harry strongly suspected Hermione would have additional questions once she had digested this portion of information), Harry and Ron turned to quidditch for a while, excitedly debating the prospects for a Gryffindor victory after two near-championship years. Hermione took the opportunity to pull her Hogwarts robes over her head, and coo at the half-sleeping Crookshanks. Their quidditch chat soon dissolved into a squabble again, as Ron made a cutting remark about the cat that set Hermione off the rails. Harry tried to rescue them from a row by turning the subject to their new lessons, and telling his friends about his brief encounter with Professor Trelawney last summer.

'Is the train slowing?' asked Hermione in confusion a few hours later, breaking the conversation.

Harry frowned, looking out one of the darkened windows. It was hard to tell their location through the gale now raging through the Scottish countryside, but he was fairly certain they weren't yet in Hogsmeade.

'Can't be,' said Ron, looking at his watch as he voiced Harry's thoughts. 'There must be a half hour yet, at least.'

But the train was definitely coming to a stop. Harry could hear the grind of metal on metal as the wheels cranked to a halt. And, just as it the train finally stopped, the lights in their compartment went out.

'Lumos!' he said quickly, lighting his wand. He heard Ron and Hermione mutter the same, just as the compartment door slid open and something heavy knocked him hard into Ron.

'Oi –'

'Ouch!'

'Oof! Sorry Harry!' an anxious voice said as someone pulled him back to his own feet.

'Hi, Neville,' Hermione greeted the newcomer. It was her hands that had righted them both, apparently.

'Do you think we've broken down?' another voice asked, and Harry saw Ron slide the door closed again behind Ginny Weasley, looking furtively into the corridor as he did so.

'I don't –' Hermione began.

'Harry, there are people coming aboard, I think,' Ron said over Hermione's answer. He looked nervous even in the eerie wandlight as he backed away from the door, and Harry felt his own heartbeat accelerate too.

'What's at the window?' came Ginny's terrified squeal, as she pointed at the glass, which had started to frost.

'The corridor, Harry,' Ron said, backing toward him. 'Lots of –'

'We ought to –'

'Quiet!' came Remus' voice suddenly. Harry whirled. The new professor was no longer asleep, but getting swiftly to his feet with a handful of bluebell flames held out in front of him. He still looked very drawn to Harry, especially in the flickering light from the flames.

'Who's coming on –' Harry began to ask anyway, but Remus silenced him with a significant look as he gestured the group of students away from the door.

'Get behind me,' he said swiftly. 'And stay quiet.'

Harry followed the instructions without question… but he could not stop the incessant hammering of his heart. The night seemed to be darkening by degrees, even with their wands all lit. Harry shivered.

And then the compartment door slid slowly ajar again. Harry heard Remus mutter an oath under his breath… but his eyes were fixed on a rotting, scaly hand that clutched at the door as a tall, hooded wraith glided into their midst. He could see the shadows of at least three others behind it. He half-raised his wand, but he knew he'd delayed too long. This was no boggart.

The patronus charm died before he'd even begun it, as Harry felt his knees give way… his eyes were rolling back into whiteness and fog…

'I want to hear you beg for mercy, Harry Potter. I want to watch you suffer as you die at my feet…'

'Crucio!'

A high, cold laugh as he burned with pain…

'Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off –'

The sound of stumbling footsteps, frantic crying. A door bursting its hinge…

A high, cold laugh…

'Not Harry, not Harry, please! Not Harry!'

'Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now –'

'Not Harry, please, no! Take me – kill me instead!'

'Stand aside –'

'Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…'

A high cold laugh…

'Harry! Harry, please!'

Someone was tapping his cheeks with soft, slender fingers. Harry groaned as he opened his eyes to the touch. There were lights in the compartment once again; though most of the glare was blocked by Hermione's anxious face and thick, frizzy hair. He could see Remus and Ron stood behind her. His back was vibrating beneath him, and he realised the train was on the move again, bouncing and jolting him along as he lay on the floor.

At almost the same time, he realised he was about to be sick.

''Mione,' he tried to warn her, pushing weakly against her arms to move her out of the way. She merely stared at him in increasing concern, but Remus was a bit quicker on the uptake. In a flash, he'd pulled Harry out from under Hermione's anxious form and turned him quickly so he could lose his pumpkin pasties into a conjured basin, rather than all over his best friend's new robes. He heard Hermione and another girl – Ginny, maybe – squeal in horror and sympathy, but he did not even have the energy to be embarrassed just now.

'Thanks,' he gasped out when he was finally done, leaning back into Remus. The new professor merely vanished the putrid basin in silence, then caught Harry up under the elbows.

'Come on,' he said softly. 'Up you get.'

Harry wanted to just lie on the floor for a while yet. The wood panels were cool and soothing, and motion did not seem such a great idea just now. But in the wake of the episode he was starting to register the others' stares, and he felt the heat of shame begin to colour his cheeks. So he allowed Remus to help him from the floor and push him gently onto a seat instead. He shivered.

'You alright, mate?' Ron asked, very white in the face as he frowned down at Harry.

'Ye- yeah, I'm fine,' Harry lied. He brushed a shaking hand across his face, feeling cold sweat. He dearly wished Ron would go over to his sister instead, who was hunched in on herself in a seat across the aisle next to Neville and looking just as ill as Harry felt.

'You alright, Ginny?' he asked her in an attempt to further this wish. Ginny gave an odd sort of squeal, and Neville rubbed her arm sympathetically.

'Everyone needs to eat some of this,' said Remus, coming back over to them all from where he'd been rummaging through his satchel in the corner. He held out a large bar of chocolate, and began breaking off thick slabs. He handed the largest to Harry, who felt his stomach clench again at the sight.

'I –'

'All of it, Harry,' Remus said sternly. 'You know it will help.'

He nodded in approval as Harry reluctantly lifted the chocolate to his lips, relishing in the warmth of the sweet as it dissolved the worst of the lingering chill. The others, taking their lead from him, began to eat their own portions in turn.

'How do you feel?' Remus asked him, sliding into the next seat as Harry finished the portion of chocolate.

'Okay,' said Harry with a shrug. 'I waited too long to try the spell though. I didn't realise –'

'It is the first time you have been exposed to a true Dementor in months,' Remus pointed out in understanding. 'The effects are not quite the same with a simulated version.'

'No,' Harry agreed with another shudder. He felt much improved from the chocolate, but still weak and shaky. Another bead of cold sweat tickled at his hairline. Remus was scrutinising him closely with quiet concern, and it made him feel small.

'Take this,' he said, conjuring a cool flannel and pressing it into Harry's hand. 'And just try to relax. I need to have a quick word with the driver.'

Harry took the flannel from Remus' outstretched hand, daubing at the sweat on his face.

'What was that thing?' asked Ron, staring doubtfully at the door to the compartment as it shut behind Remus.

'A Dementor,' Harry answered quietly. 'One of the Azkaban guards. They're looking for Sirius Black.'

Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ginny all stared at him.

'I told you when you visited that they were in the grounds over the summer,' Harry reminded them. 'They're… horrible.'

'Yeah, mate,' said Ron with feeling. 'I thought you were having a fit or something. You just sort of fell to the ground, started twitching and making these really weird sounds…' he shuddered. 'Scariest thing I've seen in months.'

The scariest thing…

Harry frowned, looking more closely at his contingent of friends. They were all staring at him as though he were sickening for something. Ginny was still looking very shaky, but far less pale than she had done before the medicinal chocolate. Nobody else had cold sweat still pouring down their face… nobody else looked as though they'd lost their lunch.

He felt his cheeks burn again. 'Didn't…' he asked awkwardly, 'Did any of you lot pass out?'

Ron and Hermione exchanged a grim look, but everyone shook their heads. Harry felt the prickling of shame intensify. He'd always assumed this was just what Dementors did to wizards – having never really seen them around anyone else before. He supposed Remus and Snape had been around the boggart-Dementor with him too… but they hadn't been as close as he had. And they were a lot older; a lot more magically mature.

He'd never realised that not everyone went to pieces, like he did. He hadn't realised this weakness was not shared.

Hermione seemed to read his distress. He felt her lay a hand over his. 'We all had a tough time of it, Harry,' she told him softly.

'Yeah,' Ron agreed. 'Ginny was shaking like mad, I don't think she'd have lasted much longer.'

'It was terrible,' Neville put in. His voice was much higher than usual. 'Like there's ice around your heart.'

'I felt odd,' Ron added. 'Like I would never feel cheerful again.'

'At least Professor Lupin was here,' Hermione said, looking sideways at Harry. 'He did some sort of spell, and a silver animal darted out of his wand and sort of scared the Dementor away.'

'A Patronus,' Harry explained. 'He's been trying to teach me, but I lost it tonight. I can't stand those things.'

'This has happened before?' Hermione asked anxiously.

Harry sighed, but told them all about the time he'd first met the Dementors, in the grounds all those weeks ago. He told them about how Remus had been teaching him the charm ever since on the boggarts for practise.

'But we haven't had a lesson on the patronus in a while,' he admitted, sitting up a bit straighter as he finished the recollection. 'Not since we got back from Edinburgh.'

Before any of the others could reply, the door to the compartment slid open again and Remus re-joined them. His eyes raked over each of their faces, lingering a few moments longer on Harry's.

'More chocolate,' he decided grimly. He summoned two additional slabs from his bag, breaking the first into pieces and handing them out to the others. The second slab he handed to Harry intact.

'I can't,' Harry said quietly, grimacing as the chocolate was shoved in his hand by the professor. 'I'll just be sick again.'

'You won't,' Remus promised. 'And if you wish to avoid Madam Pomfrey when we pull into the station in half an hour, you'd better eat the lot. It'll help, go on.'

Harry sighed, but obeyed the order. The chocolate was helping, but he still couldn't shake the chill… or the memories.

'They must have come aboard on Ministry orders,' said Remus, into the tense silence. 'The headmaster gave no warning such a search would be conducted, and the driver was not aware that we would be stopped. Albus will not be pleased.'

'But if they're looking for Sirius Black, professor,' Hermione put in reasonably. 'Then, surely Professor Dumbledore will understand.'

Remus and Harry exchanged a dark look.

'Professor Dumbledore understands the necessity of having Dementors in the area,' Remus said delicately. 'But he does not approve of exposing his students to their effects. He would not have authorised this action, as no doubt Cornelius Fudge anticipated.'

Hermione frowned, but didn't interject again. Everyone finished their chocolate in silence, and Remus checked his watch.

'The rest of you ought to put your robes on,' he said, looking around at all but Hermione, who were still in their Muggle things. 'We ought to be at Hogsmeade station any minute now.'

Ron started scrambling to reach his trunk in the overhead. Neville and Ginny popped back into the corridor, no doubt to return to whatever compartment they'd stowed their own things in. Harry made to rise as well, but Remus laid a hand on his thigh.

'You don't have to, Harry,' he said solicitously. 'Albus will understand if you're not up to it.'

'I'm fine,' said Harry, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment again.

He pushed out from under Remus' restraint, determined not to show any frailty as he rummaged for his rucksack. He was not going to be the only one in Muggle clothes at the Feast… after he was already, apparently, the only one on the train who had passed out. Remus did not try to dissuade him again, but nor did his eyes leave Harry as the latter dug out his set of Hogwarts robes and pulled them on.

'You're sure you're feeling –' Remus began, as Harry threw himself back onto the bench two minutes later. But Harry cut across him angrily.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he accused, in a low whisper, so that Ron and Hermione – who were having a minor row over the state of Ron's tie on the other side of the compartment – would not hear.

'Tell you what?' Remus asked with a frown.

'That the way I get when the Dementors are around isn't normal?' Harry insisted. 'That they don't make most people pass out, or vomit, or –'

'Harry, it isn't about weakness,' said Remus soothingly. His calm tone would normally have put Harry at ease… but today, it only irritated him further. 'The Dementors affect you in this way, and not the others, because there are horrors in your past that the other students do not have. They force their victims to relive horrible memories and experiences; and you, unfortunately, have far more fodder for their power than most wizards.'

Harry scowled, looking out the window. In the reflection of the darkened glass, he could see Ron finally giving into Hermione's nagging, allowing her to retie the gold and red necktie. He watched them for a moment in silence.

'I heard him, this time,' he admitted quietly. He'd spoken so softly, he wasn't sure Remus would have caught it. But the warm weight that settled on his shoulder proved that he had.

'Heard who, Harry?' Remus asked, just as quietly.

'My dad,' Harry whispered. 'I could hear him – telling my mum to run for it. To take me and to go. Because Voldemort was coming, and he was going to try and hold him off. It was the last thing he ever said.'

The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly. Harry let his head rest against the cool glass of the window, but didn't turn around. He could feel the beginnings of tears at the edges of his eyes, and he didn't want Remus, or Ron and Hermione, to see.

'Harry, I –'

'Oi, I think we're here!' Ron shouted, bounding over to look out Harry's window and apparently oblivious to the tension in the compartment.

Harry raised his head, trying to squint through the glass and driving rain as well. He felt the train beneath them slowing again, and pushed himself up from the seat.

'Harry –' Remus tried again. Harry smiled tightly.

'Don't worry, Remus,' he said, attempting to sound light. 'I'm fine. You should go – you're probably expected there before we are. I'll see you at the Feast,' he added with a grin.

Remus did not look convinced, but he gathered his case and strode ahead of them from the train, hurrying toward the stagecoaches in the distance.

Harry, Ron and Hermione battled their way in that direction as well, heads bent and cloaks up against the gale raging around them. It felt more like November than 1 September, and the queue for a coach was already a mile long with students in a rush to be out of the weather.

'Firs' years, with me!' came a familiar voice, the only person whose shout might have been able to carry over the wind. 'Firs' years, over 'ere!'

Harry looked around, and tried to wave at Hagrid with one hand while keeping his cloak about his ears. Hagrid gave a cheery wave back, looking completely unperturbed by the downpour. The group of tiny students gathering about him looked rather like drowned rats already.

'Blimey, I don't fancy having to cross the lake in this,' Ron muttered, following Harry's gaze toward the new students. 'Might as well swim it.'

'Come on,' Hermione urged them, taking them each by an arm and yanking them up the queue. 'Let's get out of it. Harry really shouldn't be in the cold.'

'Hermione, I'm fine,' Harry insisted grumpily. But he was grateful all the same when they were finally able to duck into a coach and close the door firmly on the howling wind. The invisible thestrals began moving as soon as Ron had pulled the door shut. Even though Harry knew now what made the stagecoaches mobile, and he knew the thestrals were harmless (more or less), he still thought it was a bit creepy being pulled by invisible creatures.

'Oh great,' Ron moaned, pulling his head back from the little glass window a few minutes later.

'What –' Hermione began, but she didn't have to finish. Their coach was enveloped in bone-chilling cold once more, as Harry felt his head begin to swim again. They must be passing through the gates – where the Dementors stood sentry.

Determined not to pass out, Harry leaned back firmly against the wood of the coach, closing his eyes and breathing as steadily as he could while the thestrals pulled them swiftly into the grounds. The fresh wave of nausea and chill began to fade again, as the flickering candlelight of the castle at last came into view.

'Are you alright?' Hermione asked quietly, helping Harry out of the coach as they stopped in front of the stairs.

'Fine,' Harry said tersely, letting go of her hand as he stepped onto the ground. He wished everyone would stop making such a fuss – it only made him feel worse. Hermione bit her lip, but said nothing further as the three of them made their way up the stone staircase toward the oak front doors. But just as they were crossing into the entrance hall, a new voice called out over the crowd:

'You fainted, Potter?' Malfoy shouted gleefully. 'You actually fainted?!'

Harry felt his face burning, as he tried to ignore the Slytherin jeering… this was exactly what he had feared would happen. Hermione and Ron turned him firmly away from Malfoy, shoving him toward the Great Hall. Behind them, Harry could hear Malfoy and his Slytherin gang, still cackling at his humiliation.

As the trio turned the corner, however, their way was blocked by a very stern-looking Professor McGonagall. Harry felt his shoulders tense.

He should have expected this.

'Potter, Ms Granger, I want to see you both,' she said imperiously, crooking a finger for them to follow as she swept away from the crowd toward the staircase. Ron started to follow automatically, but McGonagall shook her head.

'Not you, Mr Weasley,' she said gesturing him back toward the Great Hall. Ron watched in bewilderment as Harry and Hermione followed their Head of House upstairs.

Harry had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy whatever awaited them at the top.

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Minerva scrutinised the children closely as they entered her office, Harry in particular. He was pale and still slightly sweaty-faced.

'Have a seat,' she invited them both, gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk. They sank into them, looking apprehensive. 'How are you feeling, Harry?' she asked him gently, bending over to feel his brow. 'Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say you were taken ill on the train.'

Harry went red. 'Fine, professor,' he muttered in embarrassment, trying to shrug out from under her examination and giving Hermione a sideways look.

Minerva frowned at the obvious lie. 'I've asked Madam Pomfrey to –'

But she was saved further explanation, as the mediwitch herself came bustling into the audience. Harry's face heated even further as she made a beeline for him.

'Oh no!' Harry moaned. 'I'm okay, really!'

But Poppy paid him no mind, already fussily gesturing Minerva out of the way so she could look him over.

'Dementors on the train,' the mediwitch grumbled in disapproval as she felt his forehead in turn. 'I'm only surprised he was the only one who collapsed. Yes, he's all clammy,' Poppy noted fretfully, as she reached a hand out for her bag. 'And the effect those horrid beasts have on those who are already delicate…'

'I'm not –' Harry begin in fury, but Poppy forced a thermometer into his mouth before he could finish his angry protest and reached for his wrist as though she had not heard him.

Minerva thought the boy's temperature was likely to reach boiling, from the increasing redness of his cheeks as his embarrassment grew. She supposed, in retrospect, she might have waited to speak to Hermione until after this indignity. But she was too anxious to pay delicacy much mind.

'What does he need?' she asked worriedly as Poppy peered into Harry's eyes. 'Bedrest? Should he spend tonight in the hospital wing?'

'I'm fine!' Harry insisted, as the matron finally pulled the thermometer from his mouth again. Poppy glared down at the reading.

'Hmm,' she said doubtfully. 'He needs chocolate, at the very –'

'I've already had some,' Harry interrupted quickly, crossing his arms and glaring.

'It's true, professor,' Hermione put in, apparently hoping to spare Harry further humiliation. 'Professor Lupin gave it to all of us on the train.'

'See?' said Harry mulishly. 'So, can we go, please?'

'That does not assuage my concern,' said Poppy firmly. 'If you've already had chocolate and are still this affected, I really must insist that you come with me for observation.'

'Oh please, don't make me,' Harry begged. He was speaking to the mediwitch, but his eyes were fixed on Minerva. 'It's only because we had to pass them again in the coaches – I was already feeling much better before then.'

'But Harry, you were –' Hermione started to cut in, looking concerned and doubtful, but Harry shut her up with a glare.

'Don't make me, professor,' he said again. 'Everyone's already laughing at me because I was the only one who went to pieces like that. If I have to go to hospital, they'll all think I'm some kind of freak.'

'Harry, you can't help what happened,' Minerva said soothingly. 'It doesn't make you weak, and it isn't your –'

'I know,' Harry cut in, still pleading. 'I know it's not my fault… but it doesn't change the fact that I was the only one to pass out, or what the other students will say about it if I don't show up for the feast. Please, professor, can't we just forget about it?'

'Forget –'

Poppy puffed up her chest in indignation, but Minerva raised a hand to quell her lecture, staring into Harry's beseeching eyes.

'Very well,' she said at last. She saw him relax immensely, but held up a finger to qualify the statement. 'I will not force you to go to hospital wing, Harry, but I want you to go directly to Poppy if you start to feel even slightly unwell during the feast, do you understand?'

'Yes,' Harry agreed quickly. 'I promise.'

'And I will be sending a mug of hot chocolate with an invigoration draught to the table, both of which you will drink immediately, in full and with no complaints,' she insisted.

'Alright,' Harry said, without even the face she'd expected.

'And finally,' she finished with her sternest look, 'You will see me when the feast is over, after which I will make a determination as to whether you are fit to return to the Tower without further care, and you will give me no arguments either way. Is that understood?'

'But I –'

'Harry,' Minerva interrupted him firmly. He sighed.

'Yes, professor,' he agreed grudgingly.

She nodded in satisfaction. 'Very well then,' she said. 'There is another matter that I need to discuss with you both. Poppy, thank you for coming by. I shall be in touch this evening if need be.'

'Very well,' the mediwitch said stiffly, packing her bag up again. Her shoulders were rigid as she turned for the door, and Minerva knew she disapproved of her decision on Harry. But, thankfully, she did not move to countermand the professor in front of her pupils.

'What did you need to talk to us about, ma'am?' Hermione asked as the door finally closed behind the matron.

Minerva tapped the front drawer of her desk, withdrawing a blue velvet pouch. She set it to the side as she took the seat, staring seriously across at Harry and Hermione.

'Your course selections,' she explained.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Professor I don't want to drop –'

'This is not about that, Harry,' Minerva cut him off. She could not help the flare of her nostrils or her clipped tone. Just thinking of Trelawney made her irritated.

'Rather,' she continued, 'It is about an issue with the timetables. Ms Granger, you are currently enrolled in twelve subjects. Harry, you are scheduled to take nine. The usual timetable allows for eight, although we have been able in the past to accommodate up to ten in a regular timetable. Twelve, however, would be impossible.'

Hermione looked crestfallen. 'So, I have to drop some electives?' she asked forlornly.

Minerva smiled. 'No,' she clarified. 'Not unless you wish to do so. I have spoken with the appropriate Ministry departments over the summer, and I have managed to acquire this.'

She undid the fastenings of the velvet pouch, withdrawing a brilliant golden chain from which a tiny hourglass was hung, spinning as Minerva held the chain aloft. Both Harry and Hermione watched it with wide eyes.

'What is it, professor?' Hermione asked, her eyes glued to the sand.

'It is called a Time-Turner,' Minerva explained. 'The Ministry has created and regulates a small number of these instruments, and our students have used them occasionally in the past. An Hour-Reversal Charm has been encased in the pendant, inside the hourglass, for added stability. The Time-Turner allows a user to travel back in time; to repeat hours, as it were.'

'Wicked,' said Harry appreciatively, staring at the little golden chain with new respect. Minerva could see the danger already, and stepped in quickly to avoid it.

'It is not a toy,' she said firmly. 'And there are many restrictions to its use; both practical and legal. The Time-Turner is limited. To travel back in time, one simply turns the hourglass once for every hour back the user wishes to travel. One turn per hour. The device is limited to a maximum of five hours at a time, as the Ministry has determined that five hours is the longest period that may be relieved without the possibility of serious harm – either to the traveller or to time itself.'

'To time itself?' asked Harry with a furrowed brow.

'Oh Harry,' Hermione scoffed. 'Obviously, there must be all sorts of dangers associated with meddling with time. What if there are two of you running about the same place? What if someone sees two of you? Wouldn't that be kind of hard to explain?'

'Precisely,' said Minerva with a small nod of approval. 'Meddling with time has historically caused many a catastrophe. And it is largely illegal for that danger. Wizards who have tried to change time have ended up instigating or improperly concluding world wars, destroying the necessary circumstances for their own birth, even killing their past or future selves by mistake. The consequences of time are so varied, and so uncertain, that altering it even in the slightest way carries a great risk. You must be incredibly careful in your use of the Time-Turner.'

'If it's so dangerous,' said Harry, now looking apprehensive, 'Why did you get one?'

Minerva sighed. 'I would have preferred not to do so,' she clarified seriously. 'And I had to make application with four departments, sign a declaration to the Minister himself, and promise to impress upon my students the importance of care with its use in order to obtain this device. But it is the only way Ms Granger will be able to keep her course load.'

Hermione blushed. 'I – thank you, professor,' she stammered.

'You are welcome, Ms Granger,' Minerva said with a smile. 'I promised Cornelius that you are a model student, and that you will only use this method to attend your lessons. I hope you will keep to that promise on my behalf.'

'Of – of course, ma'am,' Hermione promised immediately.

'Very well,' Minerva agreed with a nod. 'So, when you need to repeat hours, you must turn the Time-Turner back the corresponding number of hours necessary. It is best to do so in a loo or empty classroom, because you will reappear in precisely the same spot as you turn the timepiece. You must not share the Time-Turner's existence or power with any other student, and you must not be seen by your past self, or you will risk that others may realise something strange is going on and an alteration of the timeline that cannot be reversed. When you have completed a repeat of the hours you allotted, be sure to return to the precise spot where you wound back the clock, or the timeline may have an irreversible break.'

Harry looked thoroughly confused now, but Hermione nodded solemnly. Minerva held out the chain.

'Take it,' she said to the girl. 'And tuck it under your robes. Wear it always – even in the bath. I do not want to risk any other students finding out about its existence or, worse, meddling with time on accident. You are to tell nobody what I have told you this evening, or how you are attending your lessons. And you are to use the timepiece only to attend those lessons – it is not a device for catching extra sleep or repeating hours spent outside of lessons. Your work outside the classroom, I'm afraid, you will have to learn to manage on your own. Do you understand, Ms Granger?'

'Yes, professor,' Hermione agreed at once, tucking the chain beneath her robes as instructed. 'I promise.'

'What about Ron?' Harry asked. 'I mean, if I get to know, can't we at least bring him in on it?'

Minerva glared. 'You get to know, Harry, because you will also be using the Time-Turner. Mr Weasley is not in the same position.'

'I – what?' asked Harry, looking surprised. 'But you said you could do a regular timetable if you had ten subjects or less…'

'You can,' Minerva affirmed. 'But you and Ms Granger are the only two Gryffindor third years currently enrolled in Arithmancy. As such, it seemed foolish to the headmaster and I – when arranging this term's timetables – to create an entirely new section such that your schedule and Ms Granger's did not overlap with another subject. Therefore, you and Ms Granger shall both be using the Time-Turner on Mondays and Wednesdays, when you will have Divination and Arithmancy in the same time slot. I trust you can hold yourself to the same restrictions I have just listed out.'

Harry frowned. 'And we can't tell Ron?' he clarified, looking doubtful.

'You cannot tell anyone,' Minerva said firmly. 'Mr Weasley included.'

Harry sighed. 'This is going to be tricky,' he told her honestly.

'I'm sure you'll think of something,' Minerva said with a dismissive wave of her hand, getting to her feet. 'Now come, we ought to go into the feast. And Harry,' she said, placing a hand on his shoulder as they reached the door. He looked up at her curiously, face still a bit too pale and shoulder a touch too warm. 'I meant what I said earlier,' she told him seriously. 'See that you take both the chocolate and the potion, and come to see me straight after dinner.'

'I will,' he promised.

She nodded primly, and shooed the children ahead of her through the door.

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Review Responses, Chapter 21:

Leonore: Thank you for your great review! I do apologise for the delay, but I'm happy to hear you enjoyed Chapter 21! There was a lot of information jammed into those two Dumbledore talks, but I'm glad you liked it. And it did allow us the opportunity to advance a few of our underlying themes (lessons?) for this series. I hope you enjoy Chapter 22!

The Lord of Voldemort of Rivia: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you are continuing to like the story, and hope you'll like our latest chapter. It's not as long as 21… but that is unlikely to be a common length (I usually shoot for 7,000 – 9,000 words, going a bit shorter or longer where the conclusion feels natural). In any case, happy reading!

Guest: Thank you for your review! I'm really happy to hear that you like the characterisations so much and are enjoying the story. I hope you like the new chapter!

Blue Luver5000: Thank you for your review! Very glad that you liked the chapter and hope you will enjoy the continuation.

Estel Ashlee Snape: Thank you for reviewing! Glad to hear you are all caught up – I am still a little behind in my reading as I've been so focused on writing lately, but I'm hoping to have a few hours to catch up over the next week-end. Ah Sirius… it did seem only fitting that he would teach tiny Harry to curse. The story is actually adapted from a real-life incident I witnessed at the house of a good friend, where his sister-in-law accidentally taught his two-year-old to curse. Children are always listening! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the next instalment.

Valkyrie-Sythe: Thank you for your review! And I appreciate the understanding :). I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

LordTicky: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. Yes… we had a lot of heavy conversation in chapter 21… but I felt that it was time to delve into the beginnings of such knowledge now. But yes, Harry is still quite young – as Albus so often reminds him. Baby steps. I'm glad you liked the realism in Harry's reactions here as well. We didn't see too much angst in Part I, when Harry is still very young and very much in awe of Albus and Minerva, and – I think – largely just grateful to be out of Privet Drive. But he's getting a bit older and more comfortable around them now… and what he went through for ten years isn't going to lie dormant forever.

MoonshineMadame: (You've seen most of this, but I thought I would post it in case others shared your query)… Thank you for your great review! First off, I'm very happy to hear you liked the chapter so much! I'll do my best to answer some of your questions :), but brace yourself, because I imagine this will be a long response.

The ideas for the storylines… a lot of it I have already plotted out – all the main points, really, through what I imagine will be the end of the series. Like in numerous charts and reference lists and calendars, because some of it can get really complex – especially the timeline. The trickier aspect is laying the seeds and character development to get us to each part of my 'story map'… and deciding where some of that development should occur relative to other portions of the story. As for where the ideas actually come from – I don't really have an easy answer. Some of it comes from my obsessive need to put margin notes in almost everything I read: I have a few different sets of the Harry Potter books now, largely because my oldest and most loved copies are completely desecrated with all my notes and questions for about ten years… answering some of those questions and developing some of those ideas was one of the main reasons I started writing this series. A lot of my writing on Magical theory and history comes from this exercise, helped along by synthesising and incorporating scraps of lesser-known canon information that JKR has released outside of the seven books. Sometimes, when I am writing, the scene almost writes itself; and often not in the way I'd originally imagined it would go. That's another strategy I use, I suppose: if you can really put yourself into the mind of the character, it becomes less about 'what should I make this character do?' or 'what would be an interesting thing to have this character say?'… and much more about 'what would this person do or say now?' or 'where would this person go next?' Sometimes I have to change an entire POV portion because a scene suddenly becomes far more interesting from someone else's perspective because of something one of the characters says or does. It makes the writing process a bit more exciting :). Other bits of story literally just pop into my head – either randomly during the day or sometimes when I'm asleep. I tend to wake up in the night or first thing in the morning with something kicking around that I just have to write down immediately… before it slips into that unreachable wasteland where most of our semi-unconscious thoughts disappear to. The first portion of this entire series that I actually wrote, in fact, was the 1981 scene that eventually became Chapter One of this book. I just woke up one morning and it was all there. A lot of the flashback sequences have come from this sort of occurrence, actually… Flashing back was not originally something I'd really intended to do when I first envisioned Part Two; talk about memories of James and Lily, sure, but not actually go back and write the scenes in a flash-back form. But the night after I wrote Sirius's escape from Azkaban, I woke up at three a.m. with the idea that became Harry's birth and naming scene. Other bits of the story are influenced by various things: scenes from my own childhood and my own relationship with my parents and mentors have definitely crept in at places; my relationship with my husband James is a huge inspiration for a lot of the banter between Lily and James Potter in this story; friends and life experiences have provided inspiration for some scenes; and, more recently, I think my pregnancy has started to affect how I see certain aspects of the story as well.

See, I warned you it'd be a long answer!

As to the Merlin question more specifically – I grew up on the Arthurian stories. My grandfather, in particular, was mad for them. I always found it interesting that JKR incorporated Merlin into the Potter-universe almost as a deity, although by dates alone he should have been many centuries old (read: long dead) by the time Hogwarts was even founded, let alone when he supposedly attended. I chose to suspend the Arthurian timeline here, in favour of JKR's canon work. The 'Muggle version' of the story is all taken from true Arthurian legend (born of a virgin woman and a demon, killed or forever entrapped by Nimue, appeared as a stag to Caesar, etc.). The 'wizard' version is what I think could have been the 'true' story in the Potter-universe… I tried to tell the story in a way that would make it probable (read: the Muggle legend is one which might reasonably have sprung out of surviving rumour). I see Merlin and Nimue's story as serving a few purposes – magical history and theory, of course, and there is definitely a touch of parallel, but perhaps most importantly: fables and stories (true are not) are often the best way to teach moral lessons :). That is why Dumbledore relates the histories to Harry.

Yes… Harry's nightmares are definitely not going to be helped by his torture/imprisonment, although it is lucky that Albus and Minerva are watching out for him. I'm glad you liked their interlude. We've had a lot of their affection in the 'discreet' column… but it will certainly be interesting when Harry finally wises up on that one. To address your postscript, Harry hasn't yet (as of the end of Chapter 21) encountered dementors or a boggart-dementor since his attack, as Remus took the rest of the summer off that particular exercise largely for fear of those new memories resurfacing. His nightmare, however, incorporated bits from his time with the captor, his parents' deaths, and his battle over the philosopher's stone.

Sirius is really at Hogwarts (or, at least, really in the forest most of the time). I don't know that nobody notices, per se, as he was certainly almost caught earlier in the summer… but as of now they all seem to believe he's eluded them. Whether that will remain the case, and to what degree the centaurs are or are not involved – remains to be seen.

Okay, I think I'm at the end of the epic answer… but I hope you enjoy Chapter 22!

Anyeshabaner: Thank you for reviewing! Yes, it is sad that Harry doesn't have permission to go… but I just couldn't see Minerva or Albus thinking it a good idea after everything that's already happened, let alone what might happen. As to whether or not he sticks to the agreement… well, he's Harry, isn't he? Somehow, trouble always does seem to find him…

Pia Athena BlackHeart: Thank you for your review! It's lovely to hear you are enjoying the story and I'm glad you are excited for the updates! I haven't thought of writing a book in the HP universe, since it's JKR's baby, but I am working on a few original projects. Perhaps one day! I do appreciate the vote of confidence and hope you continue to like the story!

Evesgreenleaf: Thank you for reviewing! I'm very happy that you found the series, and thrilled to hear you are enjoying it so much. I won't promise who might survive and who might not… but, while it is definitely meant as a canon-compliant series in its inception, I definitely stand by my early comments that this is very much a vector-style deviation. So, events, relationships and development of the story will change with the effects of Harry's essentially being raised at the castle and under the headmaster. So that could definitely change potential deaths – as well as potential survivors! I hope everyone will enjoy the journey to get there! The personalities will definitely be as close to in-character as I can keep them; though, of course, I do not think "in character" necessarily has to mean that they do or say exactly what they did in canon, or love and hate the same people even (necessarily); just as with the events of a story, people are always changed by new situations, circumstances and understandings. I am not a physician, for instance, but if I were I am certain that I would practice medicine with the same attitude and quirks with which I practice law… if that makes any sense :). A bit of a roundabout answer, I suppose, but the best I can do without spoilers!

AECM: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and hope you will like the continuation!

wannabe kairi: Thank you for reviewing! Happy to hear that you like the story so much, and I do hope you enjoy the new instalment!