When the Clock Defies the Time
Chapter Two: Darkest Reflections
A cold, yet warm, drift, a current with no route or specific pace to its unknown name, yet that was what carried the unconscious form along in the dark abyss of unknown territory. Magical territory; the energy and the aura was everywhere, from the bottomless fathoms below to the open midnight of the above. But all of this mingled together in Harry's vision. His glasses had fallen, he did not know where, but it did not matter.
There was no color here. There was no light. It was a weightless expansion of reality, or perhaps some twisted fool's creation. Or perhaps it was another dimension, adjacent to that of Harry's. Whatever it was, it didn't quite matter. It seemed that here, not much did, for there was not a thing to worry over.
So this, the silence, the epitome of maddening stillness, brought Harry to his mental knees. He thought of his life, then. How scarred he must be by now, both within and without
Through years of living with Muggles, he'd been neglected, beaten, and otherwise abused. And after his discovery of his natural world, that of the wizards, he still was forced into a position the he thought that only by free will would have been considered. He was fashioned into a lethal weapon, a secret army to the Order and for the Light, the one who was to kill Voldemort. All his life, his supposed destiny, was bent on destroying a single man, though powerful, but a man none the less. But was it his? Perhaps the irony of fate that his parent's death and his survival sparked a fire in weary minds�
No, that was not to be. He was Harry Potter, no amount of foolery or magic would ever change that, he knew. Harry allowed a sigh to pass across his lips, and felt the air automatically chill before he even chanced to inhale. But he did, and the cold spread through him like it was a part of his very complex, yet utterly simple, means of living.
The endurance of his pain... how it seemed so like breathing. Instinctive, primitive, necessary, mandatory... he had to, to survive through his childhood to end up
"Here" Harry breathed morosely, his voice cracking for lack of caring and its being devoid of resolution.
A sudden rush, an invisible, numb wind, blew Harry, jettisoning him forward, though he could hardly tell. Eyes fixed helplessly forward, up and into the dark nothingness... He closed his weary green orbs and heaved a sigh again, his body going slack with the ethereal current.
He only noticed as his ears began catching a conversation, that of people, of wizards.
"It's ludicrous, the nerve of that horrid teacher..."
"Perhaps you should just hex him, then..."
"No, that would not be wise and you know it..."
Harry willed himself to roll around and face forward, and his eyes blinked back and he squinted in surprise from the sudden light. It was shaped like a standing rectangle, and he realized it to be in the shape of a mirror. Could the voices be from behind the rectangle, the reverse side of a mirror? Harry watched on in awe and mixed confusion as he neared the light, eyes growing accustomed to it. Was his stay that short-lived? Confusion was replaced with meager hopefulness. Cautiously, Harry stretched out his hand, flexing his fingers before the appendages stretched out as he neared the rectangular escape route.
And, to his relief and surprise, his fingers touched the rectangle. It was cold, slick, the surface of glass.
"Tom, what the hell is happening to your mirror?!" came a voice from the other side.
"I have no idea, Marcus, but it is interesting..."
"You daft get away from it!"
And Harry closed his eyes and put both hands against the glass, beating his fists against it. He withheld a scream as a ripple of pain coursed through him like an electric shock. But he ignored, beating against the glass again.
"Tom, the glass!"
"I know, Marcus! It's... it's glowing!"
Harry smirked, moral boosted by the stunned voices. Again and again he struck, causing pulses to ripple through the glow. Soon, a hazy picture appeared in the center, which only spurred Harry on.
And finally, with a shout, and several slamming fists later, he fell through.
Harry grunted as he hit the sink, hands flying out before falling to th floor in a heat. He lay there, body adjusting to gravity, ignoring the gasps he heard.
"Marcus, get help!"
"But... but Tom!"
"I said get help!"
Harry vaguely heard shuffled and rushed footsteps, and someone bending down beside him and rolling him over onto his back. His vision was blurry, but as it cleared he could make out the handsome, worried face of a young man apparently his age. Black hair cut short and parted elegantly, pointed chin and elegant cheekbones with a evenly-set nose, and glittering deep, almost purplish onyx eyes.
Harry shouted out in sudden realization at what he had done, ego trip killed like a chicken against an axe. He scooted away, soon finding himself breathing heavily and pressed against a wall. His eyes darted around; he was in a bathroom, like the bathrooms on the fourth floor of the school. At this, Harry's breathing regulated. But all this time, the handsome stranger watched him, either too stunned or too lost in thought over Harry to say anything.
Harry wanted to get up and dust himself off, but it was just impossible. His limbs felt like led weights. He wanted to talk, but his throat would not respond to his mind's promptings. So, he finally sighed, steadying his breathing completely.
"Who are you?" the stranger finally asked, head inclining to the left slightly as he looked at Harry's face.
Harry stiffened, able to draw one knee up and sling his arm over it. Tingling sensations of numbness plagued his entire form, but he kept it hidden behind a mask of indifference; "Harry," he said hoarsely.
"I'm Tom, Harry," the stranger said, offering his hand.
Harry's hand weakly reached out. Tom came over and shook his hand, smiling; "Mind explaining how you got through the mirror, Harry?" Tom asked, surprisingly very kindly and eloquently.
Harry looked over at the mirror, head turning slowly with his gaze. The mirror looked as if nothing had occurred, as if he had not fallen through it. Harry looked back at Tom, studying the other boy. Green-rimmed robes and the house seal of the snake†no surprise there; that was a fact Harry knew very well.
But the kindness Tom displayed to him was a little odd. The Tom Riddle he knew was Voldemort, the menace to the Wizarding world and Muggle society. This person and the one Harry had fought six times already were one in the same. Harry knew better though; he was convinced that all Time needed was a free moment
"Do you know where you are?" Tom asked slowly.
Harry glared; "I'm no child," he replied, coughing.
"I never said you were," Tom said; "Harry, how the hell did you get through the mirror?"
"Damn curse," Harry replied shortly; "Help me up," he said, again holding out his hand.
Tom took it, and pulled Harry up off of the ground. He was about to support Harry fully, but the raven-haired youth merely shoved the other away with what little strength he could must. Harry swayed, vision blurring with the sudden rise to his feet, and he held his arms out. Tom caught Harry as he began to fall backward, chuckling quietly as he set the Gryffindor upright again.
"Still want help?" Tom asked with a smirk, and Harry glared at him, but in the end nodded.
"You're hands badly beaten up there," Tom said suddenly, eyes fixed on Harry's left hand.
Harry looked down. Apparently, Tom could see the red blemish that resembled a mild burn. Harry shrugged as he held his hand up with fingers slightly bent, and said; "Damnit," as a waved of pain went up his arm and to his head.
"The med-witch apprentice will have to help you with that," Tom said; "Come on; I'll help you to the infirmary. It's a long way up," he added quietly as he set Harry's arm across his shoulders.
Harry began to notice the slight height difference. Tom was slightly taller, perhaps an inch, at most. Tome led him out of the bathroom and they began walking up the stairs, silence reigning.
"Tom," Harry finally said quietly; "What year is it?"
Tom looked at him; "It's October 22, 1954, Harry," he replied; "Why?"
Harry looked away, shaking his head as a silent reply, but all the while thinking over forty-five years. Damn you, Parkinson
Tom watched the stranger Harry worriedly. The youth, who appeared to be his age, appeared troubled. Truth be told it had been a fearfully spectacular sight to see a person come through a mirror with a glow of red, but since the glow had faded and Tom's companion had run in search of help that would likely never come quick enough anyway.
At this Tom sighed, frustrated. The assigned Healer of Hogwarts was on leave for the Ministry, and had left his apprentice, Poppy Pomfrey, in charge. Though Tom had never been in the hospital wing long enough, he heard that she was a forthright woman who forced horrible healing potions on students.
He only hoped that Harry would not have to prove the rumor's harsh realities. Tom looked at the tan face, the set cheekbones and slightly Romanesque nose, the green eyes he had never seen of such a shade that they reminded him of gems, the long ebony hair that fell to shoulder in the back and splayed bangs in the front; the ear piercing. And this Harry had a set figure, lean but not skinny, muscular but not overly so. Perfect, Tom found himself thinking, but he immediately smacked himself for the lusting. But after all, he was a sixteen-year-old young man who had notâ€well, that was another story.
Harry could feel Tom's eyes, but years in the Light of the Order's Show had fashioned his endurance to take it. He ignored it, quite completely in fact, and was soon lost to his own thoughts. He only realized what position he was in when he heard the sound of a creaking door, a door he knew well enough, opening. Harry soon found himself being placed atop a hospital bed, Tom sitting down across from him on another. Harry looked around, knowing he appeared innocently dazed and a little anxious. It was his eyes that held the nervous look, the look that won him so many free chances in life.
And Tom fell for it.
"Harry, are you okay?" he asked worriedly.
Harry looked at him and nodded, before looking at his left hand. While his right supported his weight by being pressed against the mattress, his left hand lay in his lap, fingertips twitching slightly with every slight wave of pain. Harry had already grown accustom to it. A sad ability, to become used to pain so quickly, but again, trials of life had hardened his endurance.
Harry's head snapped up, drawn again from his thoughts, as he heard the sharp tapping noise of heeled boots on stone flooring. A very youthful Poppy Pomfrey bustled out of the side room of the infirmary and down to the bed, her eyes darting around the tray she had. Her face was set in thoughtful determination.
"Now Tom, Marcus said you were coming up with some stranger?" she said as she looked up, but nearly dropped the tray when she saw Harry looking at her. Had she not possessed such quick reflexes several messy potions and items would have fallen to the floor.
"Oh my," she breathed, shocked; "I see you two weren't fooling me!" she tried to smile, but honest surprise still masked her features. Setting the tray down on the edge of the bed, she cleared her throat; "Mister Riddle," she said; "Please alert the headmaster. Or better yet, please alert Albus Dumbledore."
"Of course, madam," Tom grumbled, getting up. Casting a finally look of worry at Harry, he then departed.
Harry watched Tom leave, before slowly looking up at Pomfrey. The woman was busy collecting a quill and parchment. The parchment and quill both floated, and Harry instantly thought of Rita Skeeter.
"Now, could you tell me your name, young man?" Pomfrey asked, looking Harry up and down.
"Harry," the youth replied simply, looking down.
"What's your last name, dear?" Pomfrey asked kindly, sitting down in the bedside chair.
Harry looked around at the ground as he sought for the best reply. He could not give her his real name, nor could he give her his parents. It would cause suspicion, a disturbance amongst the few that would catch on.
"Harry?" Pomfrey asked worriedly; "Perhaps you're just a little traumatized?" she asked kindly.
Harry shook his head; "No," he replied; "My name is Harry Tomelson," he said, eyes never meeting the gaze.
Pomfrey nodded; "Dear, how did you get to Hogwarts?" she asked.
"I believe I'll ask him that, Poppy."
Harry's head lifted and he looked towards the exit. Standing there was none other than Albus Dumbledore, Tom behind him and peering around. The wizard had not changed, save for less facial wrinkles and a shorter beard. Not to mention he lacked the pointed hat he wore. It was replaced by a small cap refer to second movie. He was looking at Harry, that very same twinkle in his eyes.
"Harry, is it?" Dumbledore asked, smiling slightly.
Harry nodded wordlessly, looking at Tom. Tom shrugged, looking quickly at his professor.
"Would you mind following to my office?" Dumbledore asked; "We can clear this entire ordeal up and see what is to happen next."
Harry tried to rise, knowing the man was not one to lie, and found that his knees did not buckle under him. Tom moved over to aid him, but Harry shook his head.
"I'm fine," he said, smiling slightly.
"Well, come along," Dumbledore said.
Tom inevitably had to aid Harry along, again slinging the stranger's arm over his shoulders as they followed the then teacher Albus Dumbledore. The three walked silently up the flight of stairs, and onto the fifth floor. The sconces lit with eternal flames cast shadows along the walls, the faint light falling over sleeping portraits. /Is it that late?/ Harry thought.
"What time is it?" he asked aloud, looking at Tom quizzically.
"Nearly eleven," Tom replied.
"Then why--?"
"Marcus is a prefect, and I am Head Boy, Harry," Tom explained; "We were taking a moment during our shifts."
"Oh," Harry said, feeing stupid for his naivety. That was a given. He looked away.
"Suppose you wouldn't know what a Prefect is, though, would you?" Tom asked quietly, kindly.
"I know what a Prefect is, and a Head Boy," Harry said roughly, "I'm not stupid!"
"He never said you were, Mister Tomelson," Dumbledore interjected from ahead of them.
Harry looked up to see that the old man had stopped outside of a large mahogany door. Tom and Harry were walking slower, though Har could feel his legs by now and his knees weren't hurting so much as before. They walked up to it, and Harry felt Tom tense beside him.
"Mister Riddle, I thank you for escorting Harry," Dumbledore said; "But I think it's time that I take over from here. You need to return to your duties, anyway,"
Tom looked unsure, and Harry looked at him thankfully as a sign that he appreciated the concern. But then Harry looked at Dumbledore. He knew this person, trust was something he was familiar with. Dumbledore had yet to truly backstab him, so Harry decided that, since this Dumbledore did not know, then he would be even more trustworthy.
"It's okay," Harry said; "I know this man."
Tom looked at him quizzically, as did Dumbledore. Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes.
"It can be explained soon enough, I'm sure," Dumbledore; "Now, if you could" he opened the door with a wave of his hand.
Harry stepped away from Tom, saying a quiet "Thanks" before walking through the doors. He stopped just shy of a descending step leading to a sitting area. The walls were almost cavernously huge, lined from floor to ceiling in bookcases and shelves. The sitting area sported over-stuffed chairs and sofas, all surrounding a coffee table in front of a blazing fire.
The warmth went straight to Harry's bones, and for a moment, he allowed his guard to fall. But he snapped back to reality when he heard the door close, turning around to see Dumbledore turned away from said door, smiling kindly at Harry.
"Please, Harry, sit, I'm sure you're tired," he said, a hand gesturing to a sofa as he took a seat in an armchair.
Harry studied the old man, considering the offer, but finally took a seat on the sofa closest to the door.
For a moment, no one spoke. Finally, Dumbledore said; "I must say that this is very astounding," he chuckled; "Never before has someone fallen through a mirror."
"Or through time," Harry muttered as he sank back into the cushions and crossed his arms.
"Oh?" Dumbledore asked; "Why would you say that?"
Harry rolled his eyes; "Where else would I have come from but another time?" he asked.
"I take it you're a little disheveled by your experience," Dumbledore said; "Harry, what time do you come from?"
Harry was silent as he thought of an answer; "About fifty-five years from now," he replied.
Dumbledore's eyes widened as he too, leaned back with surprise, border-lining shock. He studied Harry for a time, sizing him up; "Well, this is astounding," he said, "What shall we do about it?"
"Get me back to my time, Professor, that's what we need to do," Harry said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees; "It's imperative that I do return as quickly as possible. I have a world to save."
At this, Dumbledore chuckled; "Young man, I hardly think that"
"No, you don't know what you're going to face fifty years from now, Professor," Harry interrupted; "The future is at stake, and I'm the one with the burden to save our wizarding world as we know it."
"Oh, so you are a wizard then?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes!" Harry said, and instinctively, he reached back for his wand. But it was not there. His eyes grew wide with surprise and sudden anxiety; "MY wand!" Harry gasped, checking all of his pockets; "Where's my wand?!" he looked down his shirt, in every pocket, his boots, everywhere.
"Perhaps it did not accompany you," Dumbledore said.
Harry fell back onto the sofa, holding his head in his hands. He knew wandless magic, yes, and was quite capable of just doing that, but he needed his wand for safety's sake. He couldn't let people know he had that much power. But, he wasn't in his own time anymore; he might be able to pull it off here. But, if he were to show he could use wandless magic, he could be considered a threat. There was never a pro without its con, at least for Harry. He chewed on his thumbnail as his thoughts increased in volume and intensity.
"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, tone tinged with worry.
Harry looked up; "Yes," he mumbled; "It didn't make it through the†the mirror."
"Yes, could you explain how this all happened?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry shook his head; "It was prank," he stated; "I had a potion poured on my arm and hand;" he held his left hand out, showing that it was still red; "And, when I went into the bathroom to wash it off, and I slipped, fell back, and I ended up just†going through the mirror," he inclined his head towards the ground as he thought of the realm he had been in for some time; "And then, I found myself coming out of the mirror, and Tom was there, with his friend."
Dumbledore nodded; "A potion, you say," he mused, stroking his long beard; "Well, Harry, we need to return you as soon as possible. Would you know what might the contents of the potion be?"
Harry shook his head, and Dumbledore nodded; "Well, we will find a solution. For now, you will need to find a place to rest."
"Could I be in a dormitory?" Harry asked suddenly; "The hospital wing"
"Oh yes, you shouldn't be left to your own means at such a time," Dumbledore said, rising; "Now, we could sort you, but I have a feeling that you should just go with whichever you choose," he paused; "You do know the Houses, right?"
"Of course," Harry said, slowly standing as well; "I'm in my Seventh Year at Hogwarts, well, in my time," he paused; "I'd like to stick with Tom, if possible."
"Oh?" Dumbledore asked, one eyebrow skeptically rising.
"Yes," Harry said; "He's the first person I met coming here. I trust him."
Dumbledore nodded; "We will arrange this for you, Harry. Now, follow me."
Harry nodded, and proceeded in following Dumbledore out of the chambers, and down into the dungeons. He was surprised at how much his strength had returned him, and how his hand seemed unaffected minus the blemish. He followed Dumbledore on down into the depths of Hogwarts, and they soon came to two large marble statues of Snakes, a portrait of Salazar Slytherin between them.
"Deputy-Headmaster," the portrait said, voice smooth as ice and coming in a gentle sighing hiss.
Harry stood with his shoulders slack and back straight; there was someone watching him, he couldn't mistake the feeling. Harry looked out of the corner of his eye, challenging the shadows to bring forth their secrets, but he received no reply of movement or sound. Looking again, he did catch the swishing motion of robes to his right, down at the far end of the corridor and behind a statue.
"Sir," Harry whispered, his head having yet to face the direction of the movement, his eyes supposedly glued to the tapestry before him; "Someone is watching us"
Dumbledore looked at Harry oddly, and then looked around; "Harry, I don't know what you mean," he said after he did so, gaze finally landing on the young man who was now standing stock still, as if poised for attack or defense.
Harry suddenly turned towards thee right, and threw his hand out and shouted; "Stupefy!"
The spell flew from Harry's hand, the rush of air that went before it knocking Dumbledore away from the line of fire, the old man shouting as he hit the floor. The spell went into the darkness of the corridor; there was a sound of surprise, and then, a thud. Harry stood straight, popping his knuckles with a look of sheer determination on his face.
"Oh, oh my," Dumbledore said, trying to rise. Harry helped the man up, looking down as he did.
"Sorry," Harry muttered; "It's... it's habit, Professor."
"I have never seen that before!" Dumbledore gasped as he began walking down the hallway. He stopped, looked at Harry disbelievingly, then continued.
Harry waited, looking at the portrait. Salazar's eyes were wide with shock, his mouth agape, the snake that had been slithering around his feet having stopped as well.
Dumbledore reappeared, looking a little flustered; "Harry, you were indeed right," he said, and Harry saw he was levitating a person behind him; "A third year trying to sneak back," Dumbledore explained, bringing the young girl around.
Harry looked up. He'd stunned a child, a young girl. The guilt was there, but not for long. She had caused it on her, he was acting only out of defense and as a result of his training.
"Enervate," Dumbledore whispered as he sat the girl on the ground and waved his hand over her face. The girl's eyes snapped open, and she gasped.
"Miss Porter," he said, "It appears that you are out after curfew..."
The girl looked fearfully up at Dumbledore, and then she glanced at Harry. He stared at her, and the girl looked away.
"Sir...I...I was" she stuttered as she rose; "I was just coming back from the... the library!"
Dumbledore stared at the girl skeptically, not believing a word; "Miss Porter," he said; "You shall attend a detention with Professor Thomas."
"Yes, sir," the girl muttered, looking down.
"Now, go, to your House," Dumbledore said, chuckling as the girl trudged away.
"Why are you laughing?" Harry asked after she had departed.
"Oh, Miss Porter is always wondering down here to visit her significant other," Dumbledore said; "Now," he turned back to the portrait; "Salazar, grant me entrance."
The portrait, still stunned by the display, swung open, revealing an archway that was the entrance to a tunnel, Harry could see the faint glow of torches at the end.
"Come along, then, Harry. Tom will more than likely be in the common room," Dumbledore said.
And so saying, the two walked through the short tunnel and into the Slytherin Common Room.
TBC
dedicated to madewithlemons, a good friend.