NEW NEW a/n: Pant pant . . . have corrected ALL words-joined-together issues. SO SORRY it took so long. Loves, J.T.
NEW A/N: The updated, new and improved, chapter 1. Hopefully you recognize enough improvements here to make it worth the reread. Lots of changes, subtle hints that will probably make more sense once the last chapter (which is close to completion now!!) is up.
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good – er, I mean, we own nothing. Yeah...
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"Oh, sod off, Potter – you think I'm any happier about this than you are? I'm not exactly jumping at the chance to spend time with your important little self."
"At least you're Snape's little brown-noser," Harry Potter snapped, not even bothering to look at the Slytherin. He was afraid he might be overpowered by the desire to plant his fist in the Slytherin's aristocratic nose if he caught even a glimpse of the trademark smirk. "He'll probably let you sit and watch me gut things."
"Probably," Draco Malfoy agreed with a dry laugh. "You'd think McGonagall would have sense enough to send us off to bedpan duty."
"Don't look at me," Harry snorted. "She's got the wit of a hippogriff - large and ravenous if provoked." Finally, Harry turned a glance on Malfoy. "But then, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
"That went out with the ferret jokes, Potter." Though the taller boy didn't bat an eyelash, Harry saw a muscle in his jaw twitch and congratulated himself on ticking him off a bit.
"I didn't find the whole thing particularly amusing, either," Harry went on conversationally. "You just did it to get Hagrid fired - too bad you failed miserably."
"Any chance you could keep your mouth shut, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, his smirk transforming smoothly into a nasty scowl. "Light conversation with you is about as appealing as snogging Hannah Abbot."
"Tried that, have you?" Harry bit back another snort. Recent years had taught him how to push Malfoy's buttons to the point of being in physical danger. Not that that bothered him, really. He'd had enough adventure in his life to see messing with Draco Malfoy as child's play.
"Hardly," Malfoy said loftily, his face becoming impassive. "Bigger fish to fry, and all that."
Harry rolled his eyes as they stepped into the entrance hall. It was dark, as they were out past curfew, and the moon shown eerily through the windows above the front doors.
"You know, there's more to life than a good shag," Harry said, feeling slightly irritated. Not because he lacked beautiful girls climbing all over him, but because he had never really let any of them get that close.
"You sound frustrated in the worst way, Potter." Harry could hear the sneer on his face. "Hacked off about losing to a Malfoy, I expec -" He broke off, as, with a very un-Malfoy-like clumsiness, he tripped over the floor and nearly went sprawling.
"Walk much?" Harry smirked.
"Stuff it!" Malfoy spat. "There's something here."
He bent down and squinted around. Harry was about to suggest that perhaps Malfoy was just turning into an uncoordinated oaf, when Malfoy inhaled sharply.
"What?" Harry demanded, bending down beside him.
"Fix your specs, Potter," Malfoy murmured, his drawl all but gone. His voice was deadly serious. "That was no loose stone I tripped over. It's a body."
"That's not funny," Harry started, but paused when his hand came to rest on something cold. Cold and clammy. Running his fingers across it, he felt the unmistakable smoothness of flesh. A cheek and a nose made themselves visible in his mind's eye.
"Merlin!" Harry breathed, his hands resting on the lips. No breath warmed his fingers. He yanked out his wand.
"Lumos," he said. In the dim light cast by his wand, he could see two bodies. They lay slumped on the cold stone floor. Their lifeless eyes were wide with surprise. Their faces were pale, and their skin icy cold.
The boy, looking about their age, seemed very familiar to Harry. He couldn't identify the face, but he felt as if he knew him somehow. The sight of the girl, who seemed to be the same age as the boy, sent an unexpected jolt through Harry. Something about her seemed very familiar. His chest tightened painfully in recognition; yet he was quite sure he had never seen her before.
Almost unnecessarily, Harry reached for her wrist. No pulse throbbed beneath his shaking fingers. Not that he had expected one.
"Dead," Malfoy muttered faintly, his voice a bit higher than usual. Harry lifted his eyes from the girl to glance at Malfoy. His expression was rigidly controlled, though in the wandlight he looked considerably paler, and he was gazing down at the boy. "Probably killed a couple of hours ago." His long fingers reached out and brushed closed the boy's stormy gray eyes.
"He looks familiar." Harry was thinking out loud. His eyes moved from Malfoy's stony expression to the boy.
"Shut up, Potter the Slytherin hissed with astonishing harshness. Harry looked up at him from where he had been shutting the girl's bright green eyes.
"What's up with you?" Harry asked. Sure this bothered him, too, and his reaction to the sight of the girl startled him, but Malfoy looked - well, he looked hurt, as though he were deeply moved by the bodies.
And nothing that Harry could think of moved Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy hadn't responded to Harry's question at all, except to school his features into a hard mask.
"Look, let's get the bodies up to Dumbledore," Harry sighed at last.
"What good will that do?" Malfoy asked, his lazy drawl belied by the tension in his eyes.
"He'll want to know, and he might know who they are," Harry retorted. "I certainly don't recognize them, but they look like they're probably our age."
"Fine." Malfoy took out his wand. Soon, the body of the boy floated at his side and he took off toward the headmaster's office, Harry right behind him with the girl.
"What's the password?" Malfoy demanded impatiently when they stood before the stone gargoyles that hid Dumbledore's office. Harry prayed that no passing prefects came upon them in this compromising position.
"It's Sugar Melon," a deep voice came from behind the boys. Harry jumped, but to his annoyance, Malfoy didn't even twitch. Both turned.
Albus Dumbledore stood behind them, all amused twinkle of the eye gone. His expression was the one that reminded Harry of some of the ancient deities he had read about in History of Magic. He radiated strength and energy. Harry felt his racing heart slow. Dumbledore would make things all right.
Well, as all right as two dead children could be made.
"What has happened?" the Headmaster asked sharply, his eyes taking in the scene before him.
"Can we talk in your office, Professor?" Malfoy's voice still tightly controlled, but not as disrespectful as usual.
"Of course." Dumbledore stepped past the boys and called, "Sugar Melon."
The gargoyle leapt aside, and Dumbledore led them up the winding spiral staircase to his office. With a flick of his hand, two army cots had appeared in front of the desk.
"Lay them here," he commanded, his voice grim. Harry and Malfoy directed their unpleasant cargo onto the cots. Dumbledore bent over them, examining each closely. Finally, he straightened to speak to his two students.
"Murdered." He spoke softly, but the word seemed to cut the air. Harry felt his face harden and glanced sideways at Malfoy. His expression was infuriatingly unreadable.
"How, Professor?" Harry asked quietly. The castle had always seemed the safest place in the world to him. Even during fourth year, Harry had felt safest within the castle itself.
"Unforgivable Curse," Malfoy spoke up, his voice carefully neutral.
"Indeed." Dumbledore nodded.
"Do you recognize them, sir?" Harry asked, looking down at the pallid faces with unease.
Dumbledore didn't answer him. He was watching Malfoy closely. "Mr. Malfoy, does this boy look at all familiar?"
"Of course he does!" Malfoy snapped, his icy control cracking a bit. "He looks like me!"
Harry started. That was the key! He'd known the boy looked eerily identifiable.
"Relative of yours, perhaps?" Dumbledore's voice was even as he watched the dark shadows moving across the Slytherin's eyes.
"No," Malfoy said firmly. "Never seen him before." "All right," Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Neither of them look recognizable to you, either, Harry?"
Harry hesitated.
"I've never seen them before, but -" he sighed. "I don't know, the girl - something about her is - god, I don't know! I feel kind of sad, I guess. Like I would if someone in Gryffindor died." Harry's gaze paused on the patch stitched into the girl's robes. Slytherin. He frowned. His eyes then flickered over to the boy's in curiosity. Gryffindor. Odd.
Why would a boy who looked almost exactly like Draco Malfoy, enough like him to be his twin brother, have been sorted into Gryffindor? He couldn't understand how a Malfoy could ever be sorted into Gryffindor. He tore his stare away with effort, and returned his attention to the headmaster.
Dumbledore was nodding thoughtfully.
"Do you know anything about them, sir?" Malfoy demanded, his gaze still on the corpses.
"I do, in fact," he said softly. He seated himself behind his desk and regarded the living students before him.
"They came here by way of a Time-Turner," Dumbledore said finally. "From the future, I believe. Well, our future. It would have been their present, of course."
Harry knew he was gaping.
"What?" he asked. "How do you know, sir?"
"One of the privileges of being headmaster is that you know most of what goes on around the castle," Dumbledore answered, a ghost of a smile passing over the wizened face. "Several wards around the castle were disturbed by their arrival."
"But do you know who they are?" Harry persisted, glancing involuntarily down at the bodies and feeling a foreboding prickle in his gut.
Dumbledore's expression became, if possible, graver.
"I will tell you with the understanding that the information won't leave this room." He eyed first Harry, then Malfoy, over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "Under the circumstances, you have a right to know."
He waited. Both boys nodded in agreement.
"Their names," Dumbledore said slowly, "are Tristan Potter and Hayden Malfoy."
"Hell," Malfoy mumbled, his stony expression shattering into astonishment at last. Harry knew how he felt. No wonder they looked so familiar.
"Relation?" he asked Dumbledore, not sure he wanted to know.
"Your son," he nodded to Malfoy, "and your daughter." His head inclined to Harry. "Both are seventh years."
The room was quiet for a few minutes, as Harry and Malfoy regarded their children. No wonder he had felt a jolt when he had first seen the girl - Tristan. She was his blood relative - his daughter. And she was dead. He felt a horrible pang in his chest. He hadn't even known her, and yet he felt her death as though it had been Ron's or Hermione's.
"What can we do?" he demanded, his voice mechanical.
"Nothing, Harry." Dumbledore seemed to draw his gaze. "You must not do anything."
"But this is my daughter - my child," he insisted, staring in horror at Dumbledore. "I have to do something!"
"Didn't you hear him, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was lazy and drawling once more. Harry stared at his emotionless face, appalled. "He said leave it."
"That's your son, Malfoy!" Harry bit out. He hadn't thought the Slytherin could be any more heartless. Apparently, he had been wrong.
"What do I care?" Malfoy smirked faintly. Harry searched his face for some sign of hidden pain or regret. He could find none. "Didn't even know the guy, did I?"
"Gentlemen," Dumbledore broke in. "While I will reiterate that you must not go meddling with time, Harry, I would expect you, Mr. Malfoy, to show some compassion. Murder is not to be taken lightly."
Malfoy's face remained expressionless.
"At least it was clean," he shrugged. "I've seen worse."
"And I would expect," Dumbledore said softly, "that after such events as you've witnessed in your life, you would not take a murderer for granted."
Malfoy pursed his lips, but did not respond.
"But, sir - Professor," Harry broke in, his chest still tight. "Are they really dead? Wouldn't there be some copy of them in the future?"
"I'm afraid that isn't the way it works, Harry," Dumbledore sighed, his eyes gentle as they regarded Harry's pained expression. "A person's conscience, that is, their awareness, can only exist in one time. Dying while traveling into the past effectively ends your life in all times. When one dies in a time before their own present, a loop occurs. These children will live up until the point at which they traveled back. Then they will loop back in time and die." Harry winced, but Dumbledore went on. "Their lives are now looped. They cannot live past that moment when they came back in time. Had they been traveling into the future . . ." Dumbledore looked lost in thought for a moment. Then his eyes sharpened and returned to Harry. "But they were not."
"But the murderer," Malfoy broke in. "Who was he? Why did he kill these kids?"
"Our kids," Harry corrected harshly. "And they obviously had a reason for coming back, didn't they?"
"And we'll never know what that was, Harry," Dumbledore said firmly. "As to the killer," he turned back to Malfoy, "the Department of Mysteries has been investigating a case involving a missing Time-Turner. I will inform them and they will look into this."
"Are either of these kids wearing one?" Harry asked. A quick inspection showed that they were not.
"The killer probably took it," Malfoy surmised. Harry noticed his pale eyes lingered for more than a moment on the Gryffindor patch on his son's chest.
"Most likely." Dumbledore looked suddenly weary. "The Department of Mysteries does investigations into events of this nature. Leave it well alone. I mean it, Harry. I do not want you to get involved. As I'm sure you've learned from past experience, messing with time is a very tricky business."
He stood.
"I must deal with the bodies and get a letter to my contact at the Ministry," the headmaster said. "In light of this event, I'll have your detentions rescheduled for next I will warn you again that the events of this evening must not leave this room. Is that clear?"
"Crystal." Malfoy nodded, turning away.
"Headmaster," Harry said, unable to stop himself. "There're still existing copies of our children still alive, right?"
"Yes."
The answer sounded almost reluctant and Dumbledore's gaze was hard. "What has happened is that their lifetimes have been knotted. As I told you,they will live until the point at which they go back in time, and then loop back to the time of their death. Once they die, time will loop back to the beginning of their lives. This is called a Temporal Tear. No more, Harry. Go up to bed, and do not concern yourself with this. You know the consequences of any more serious rule-breaking."
Harry did know. He had been warned in his second year that any more deliberate and unnecessary rule breaking would just about land him an automatic expulsion. But surely doing something about his daughter – his dead daughter – was necessary.
He followed Malfoy out into the corridor. Surprisingly, the Slytherin turned to him with an odd expression.
"Leave it," he advised. "Don't get involved, Potter. You could make things worse."
"What's worse than them being dead?" Harry said, rather louder than he'd meant to. Malfoy glared back at him. Then his expression flattened into its usual provoking smirk.
"Suit yourself," he drawled coldly. "But I'm watching you, Potter. I'd love to see your sorry arse expelled, like it should have been years ago." He turned and sauntered unhurriedly away.
"That's right, Malfoy."Harry felt bitterly angry and couldn't help getting the last word. "Get yourself a few extra brownie points with Snape. Glad to see you've got your priorities straight."
He strode up to Gryffindor Tower and didn't fall asleep until daybreak.
PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD
Draco scowled as morning sunlight spilled over his bed. He'd been hard pressed to let sleep win him over, his mind brimming with unpleasant reveries. Was his son really lying dead in Dumbledore's office? What had killed him? What had he been like? Why the hell had he been in Gryffindor? Who was his mum? Ah, there was an interesting question, Draco thought with a feral grin.
Why did he bloody care?
Grumbling to himself and wishing he'd never been born, the handsome blonde dressed carelessly for the first time in his life, and made his way toward the Great Hall. He figured breakfast would smarten him up and hopefully give him that Malfoy-esque edge he needed to attend to his usual day-to-day existence.
He was just outside the entrance hall when a voice from the shadows saved him from further unpleasant reveries.
"What did you do to him?"
Draco turned to face the owner of the voice. The shock of red hair caught his eye at once.
"Why are you talking to me?" he retorted.
Ginevra Weasley stepped in front of him, blocking his way into the entrance hall. Her small frame wasn't terribly imposing, but she arranged herself into a stance that suggested she wasn't moving until she got what she wanted. Though she would have been hard-pressed to stop him if he physically removed her, not even Draco Malfoy was low enough to hit a girl. Anyway, this might be fun – it would certainly take his mind off things if he could make her cry. "Get over yourself, Weasley." Draco rolled his eyes and smirked his darkest at her. "It's hardly something I'd discuss with you."
"You've done something to Harry!" the sixth year snapped. Draco was mildly surprised to find that this shy little girl wasn't so timid after all.
"What makes you say that?" he egged her on, enjoying her volatile mood. Weasleys were amusing when they were angry.
"Don't be stupid," she snorted. "He came back from detention with you looking white as Sir Nicholas -"
"I assume that was a compliment, Miss Weasley," said spirit remarked in passing.
"Of course, Sir Nicholas." She turned a wide, radiant smile on him, before whirling back to Draco with a nasty glare.
"Oh, back to spying on Potty, are you?" Draco mocked. Actually, he realized, he had a perfectly decent excuse not to tell Ginevra anything - not that he needed one. "Sorry to disappoint, but Dumbledore forbade either Potter or me to tell anyone." Because he knew it would infuriate her, he leaned down and tweaked her freckled nose. "Sorry, love."
Then he stepped around her and continued on, his morning's taunting doing his morale - and ego - a world of good.
"Draco, what were you talking to the littlest Weasel for?" Blaise Zabini demanded as he settled himself down at the Slytherin table between Crabbe and Goyle.
"I think I do good work, Blaise," he hedged with a shrug, noting Ginevra's angry glare and giving her a tight-lipped, predatory sneer. He figured he had better keep conversation light and as polite as he could manage, since Blaise hitting on him could spoil any level of contentment he might be experiencing.
His eyes wandered from the distraught redhead to the raven-haired boy sitting on her right. Potter looked rather pale and seemed to be only partially aware of his best friend's incessant babble. After a moment, the Gryffindor seemed to feel Draco's sharp gaze upon him, because he looked up.
Draco watched Potter conjure up a decent look of loathing before going back to his untouched breakfast.
So the git was up to something. Never knew when to keep his nose out. Draco had seen beyond the vacant look in the boy's eyes. He had a look that the Slytherin himself often wore. Potter was plotting something, and whatever it was undoubtedly had to do with their kids. Or rather, their separate kids. Draco winced as he realized how wrong his original thought had been. Kids with Potter . . . he actually shuddered.
Draco shook his head to clear it and, remembering what he had thinking before his perverted mind had been sidetracked, felt his expression lift into a tight smile. Whatever Potter was planning, it would undoubtedly be very much against the rules and possibly involve Granger and Ron Weasley. Stupid git couldn't keep a secret to save his life!
Well, whatever it was, Draco decided he would keep an eye on them. Anything - anything - to get Potter expelled! He hadn't been kidding when he had told Potter he would look for any excuse to get him into trouble.
"You seem awfully quiet this morning," Blaise commented, sliding over to take the place of Goyle, who had just stumbled to his feet. She slid close enough that her lean thigh rested gently against Draco's.
"Running the world's a difficult show," he quoted absently, not in the least affected by her charm. In fact, he really did wish she would lay off. She may have been gorgeous and seductive, but she was also brilliant. She was just behind Granger as far as good marks were concerned, mainly because she didn't really apply herself. This frustrated Draco, because she was one of the few girls he could see himself befriending without the inevitable sexual tension getting in the way.
"What's wrong?" she asked in a would-be sympathetic voice that came out more like a Pansy simper.
"Well, the fact that you're rubbing my leg comes to mind," he snapped, his patience (what little existed to begin with) running a thin line. Blaise reluctantly backed off, though she stayed perseveringly beside him. Suddenly, Draco decided he had had enough.
"Right," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, "I'm off." And getting gracefully to his feet, he stalked away, glowering at a pair of his first-year housemates, who cowered under his icy eyes.
"Taking out your mood on your own kind, are you?"
"I've said it once, I'll say it again - sod off, Potter," Draco spat, shoving the doors of the Great Hall open and strolling away at breakneck speed.
"Wait a minute, Malfoy," the Gryffindor called. For an instant, Draco thought of not stopping. But he needed to know what Potter was planning, and Potter might just be dumb enough to give something away.
"What?" Draco drawled, turning slowly back around to face the other.
"Remember what Dumbledore said," Potter said simply. "Don't tell anyone."
That was all. He turned away and was gone, leaving Draco standing silently in the corridor.
PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD
Why had he bothered to stop Malfoy? Harry let his brain toss that one around a bit. Of course, the obvious and easy answer was that reminding Malfoy that he was being watched always put the slime ball on edge and would remind him not to say anything about their kids.
Their kids . . . ugh! Harry thought, realizing how wrong that sounded. He shook his head vigorously, trying to return to his first thought.
When he finally recovered from the disturbing thought, Harry reflected that something else had caused him to follow his nemesis from the Great Hall. He wanted help. He had been planning and plotting all night. He had snuck down to the library at two in the morning to do research. He knew what he wanted – had – to do.
He had to save his daughter. Initially, he had thought that Dumbledore might do something about it, but then he remembered what Hermione had told him about "messing with time," as she had put it, in their third year. If time was already being tampered with, Dumbledore wasn't going to go about wandering through time and making things worse.
Nope, screwing up always fell in Harry's arena. But he was good at it and he usually managed to save the day regardless.
He knew he was trying to justify his actions, and was rather annoyed that Hermione's prissiest voice kept popping up in his head, telling him not to be "silly" and that he shouldn't involve himself in things he didn't understand. But he did understand. That was his daughter whose icy skin he had touched the night before. And even though he didn't know her, her life meant more to him than rules.
He ran a hand through his hair as he climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. He knew Malfoy was suspicious – and that he was no fool. He was smart and if he wanted Harry busted, he would find a way to make it happen.
Unless Harry didn't do anything.
That was part of his plan as well. Wait a few days, let things get back to normal, then take care of part one of the plan.
Three days passed and Harry congratulated himself on appearing his usual self. He had had enough adventures with Ron and Hermione to be fairly good at keeping things normal when he was scheming. Actually, his biggest job so far had been keeping everything from his best friends. They didn't notice anything, or at least didn't appear to, but the trouble was that Harry could usually rely on their help.
Not this time.
If he was caught, he didn't want them to go down too. Aside from making him sick with guilt, he couldn't have survived Malfoy's taunting. Someone had to be around to kick the blonde boy's arse once Harry had been expelled.
The trick now would be slipping away without them noticing. Harry was seated with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. He was eating a healthy amount, just for show, though his nerves were on end. Malfoy would also notice if Harry left alone. This would take some work.
Harry glanced at the staff table. All the teachers, including Dumbledore, were still there. Right.
"Where're you going, Harry?" Hermione asked as he got to his feet, in hopes of melting from the room shielded by a group of fourth year boys.
"Forgot something in the dorm." He smiled reassuringly at her.
"I'll come along," Ron said, getting up as well. "I left my Potions essay on my desk."
"Again?" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I was tired," Ron defended, glaring at her. Harry tried not to smirk at the less than subtle sexual tension dancing circles around his best friends.
"I'll grab it for you," Harry offered quickly. "You haven't finished your breakfast and we've got a match to prepare for, haven't we?" Another important part of his plan involved the crowd of students in the Quidditch stands the following night. The castle would be nearly deserted.
"Thanks, mate." Ron reseated himself and dug into his porridge. Hermione gave his not-so-gentlemanly table manners a reproving look. Ron caught the look, grinned, and pressed a big, porridge-y kiss to her cheek. Hermione shrieked.
"Ron!" she snapped, wiping her face with a napkin.
"I know," he said, his cheeky grin widening. "I'm a glutton. 's why you love me, right?"
Hermione's expression immediately softened.
The smile's what gets her every time, Harry thought, hiding his own and hurrying away from the table. The pang he had been feeling for not telling them his plans lessened a bit. They'll have each other after I'm gone.
"Is something wrong, Harry?" Ginny called after him, looking up with unmistakable concern. Fortunately, Ron and Hermione were too busy playing footsy under the table to hear her.
"Nope, never been better." He smiled reassuringly at her. She still looked doubtful, so he doubled back and pulled her into a brief, friendly hug.
"Don't worry, Gin," he insisted as he pulled away.
"All right," she said, returning his smile and not blushing under his gaze as she might once have done. He felt relieved. "But – Harry – well, I know I'm not your best friend, but if you need to talk –"
He looked down at her in surprise. Her expression was steady and sincere.
"I appreciate that," he said, hoping he sounded as grateful as he felt. "See you."
"Yeah," she nodded.
He left, feeling a bit better. It was nice to be reminded that he had friends. Knowing just wasn't enough, sometimes.
He moved swiftly toward the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower. As he mounted the first step he heard a faint click behind him. He knew it was the door of the Great Hall closing on someone else. He was also fully aware that Malfoy was following him. He had seen the stealthy Slytherin slip out of his chair out of the corner of his eye.
"Nice try," Harry mumbled. He couldn't hear Malfoy, but he had a sense of their distance. Mounting the final few steps to the seventh floor landing, Harry sped up almost imperceptibly. He was counting on a sharp corner in the corridor that Malfoy probably didn't know about. Only Gryffindors had any reason to spend lengthy amounts of time in the seventh floor corridor.
When it came, Harry was prepared. One hand gripping the object beneath his cloak that he had hidden there while dressing that morning, he dove around the corner, allowing his reflexes to take over. The corridor was deserted.
Harry pulled his hand out of his robe and drew his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, his pace a light-footed run. He had to be on the opposite side of the hallway when Malfoy came around the corner.
He made it. Malfoy's head appeared around the corner almost exactly the moment Harry simultaneously pulled to hood of his cloak over his head and reached the safety of the opposite wall, where there was no risk of Malfoy bumping into him.
"Come out, come out, Potter," Malfoy muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the hall and passing right over Harry. He started down the hall and Harry held his breath. But Malfoy passed his hiding place and disappeared around the corner at the other end of the corridor.
Letting out a silent sigh of relief and grinning smugly, Harry detached himself from the wall and slipped away down the corridor. The teachers should still be at breakfast. And he had an office to raid.
The rest of the plan should, by all accounts, have gone smoothly.
He reached Professor McGonagall's office without a hitch and slipped inside. It was in one of the tallest towers of the castle, which was definitely to his advantage. He kept the cloak on – experience was the teacher of paranoia – and went straight to her desk. He took his wand out of his robes pocket and prodded the first desk drawer. Sparks flew from the end of the wand, but the drawer didn't move. According to Harry's knowledge that meant no spells or hexes lay guard over the drawer. He pulled it open.
Neat stacks of parchment filled it, in addition to some quills (probably cheat-proofed) that lay in a gold box alongside. Harry dug carefully, knowing he couldn't be too cautious when dealing with anything McGonagall.
He made it through five more drawers before he finally found what he was looking for. He almost missed the hidden compartment entirely because it seemed too obvious. He was digging through a stack of textbooks in one of the deeper drawers when he came across a very old, very tattered copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One. Smiling reminiscently, he pulled it out and let it fall open.
And there it was.
It was one of those books with all the pages glued together and a little empty nook cut into the middle. Totally McGonagall. Harry's grin widened. There was nothing empty about this compartment.
With great care, he lifted the gold hourglass from its hiding place and slipped it into his pocket. Then he quickly closed the book and replaced it in the desk drawer. He was just sliding the drawer shut when he heard a voice outside the door.
He swallowed hard. It was McGonagall. Sliding out from behind the desk, he moved to the window so that he would be out of her way.
The situation was a bit worse than he had anticipated. The door opened, and Snape followed McGonagall through the door. Harry felt himself shudder as all of Fred and George's disgusting jokes about what McGonagall and Snape did alone in the Transfiguration classroom came to mind. He swallowed again.
"Really, Severus, I don't know what you're worried about," McGonagall was saying briskly. She seated herself behind her desk and motioned Snape to a chair in front of it.
"This is Potter we're talking about," Snape retorted coldly. "If what Dumbledore says is true, and there is something concerning Potter's family going on, the first thing he'll do is get himself into trouble." Snape's lip curled. "I certainly wouldn't want anything – untoward – to happen to him, but he is extremely foolish in matters that he doesn't understand."
"I'll thank you to be polite when speaking of my students," McGonagall snapped with unusual vigor. "Reckless though he sometimes is, Potter is as brave and noble – and intelligent – a young man as Gryffindor has ever seen."
Harry felt a warm glow in his chest. Minerva McGonagall was Hogwarts' strictest teacher and she wouldn't have been caught dead telling him something like that to his face.
"Be that as it may," Snape went on, seemingly unwilling to pursue the subject for once, "do keep an eye on him, Minerva. He's up to something. I know Draco's been watching him."
"Indeed." McGonagall pursed her lips. "I'll remind you, Severus, that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter have always been at odds. And Draco has given his classmate every reason to dislike him."
Score one for me! Harry thought gleefully, forgetting the severity of his current predicament. Take that, you greasy git!
"At any rate," McGonagall went on, clearly bent on having the last word, "if that is all you came to tell me, then perhaps we should go down. Classes start in ten minutes."
"Of course," Snape said silkily. "I do hope Mr. Potter behaves himself today." And Harry was unnerved to see that Snape seemed to be staring right at him. But the potions master merely stood.
"Good day, Minerva," he said softly, before turning and sweeping from the room.
"Despicable," McGonagall mumbled, glaring ferociously at the door. "Using his students to spy on mine. Unprofessional – most impolite." She was still muttering when she collected several books from the monstrous shelf behind her and departed.
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. That had been too close!
He made it a safe distance from the office without incident, and then ducked into a dead-ending side passage to remove his cloak. The knowledge of the tiny object nestled in his robe's pocket strengthened his resolve not to let Malfoy catch him.
Now, if he could stay out of trouble until after his match tomorrow, he'd be home free.
PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD
Draco knew something was up. Potter had been looking too smug for his own good during classes on Friday morning. He had even gone so far as to wave jauntily at Draco as they passed in the hall and had called cheerfully, "Good luck with the match tonight!"
This unusual and highly suspicious behavior had set the blonde on edge. Something was rotten in the state of Hogwarts, and it was directly related to bloody Potter's high spirits. The other members of the Dream Team also seemed a bit confused by their friend's mood swing, but they seemed pleased that he was in good humor for once and left him alone about it. Only little Ginevra seemed truly concerned. Draco had seen her eyes following Potter with an expression of unease.
Perhaps it was the Gryffindor Seeker's good mood, or perhaps it was the constant presence of Blaise Zabini, that was turning Draco's own temper so sour. He grew progressively more volatile every hour leading up to the match. What with a Gryffindor versus Slytherin match that evening, the usual tension should have been snapping. But with their Seeker and captain in such a good mood, the other Gryffs seemed determined to follow his example. Even Ron Weasley grinned good-naturedly at him.
"See you in the ring, Malfoy," he called across the Potions classroom that afternoon.
The weather was drizzly and wet, but it seemed that the entirety of Gryffindor House was resolutely cheerful. Everyone smiled, no one more than Potter, who seemed to be bursting with excitement for some reason. Draco gave the black-haired boy a look, which promised that his eyes were wide open, but Potter merely smirked at him.
The weather cleared up in time for a spectacular match that evening, in which Gryffindor flattened Slytherin with Quaffle scores, but Draco managed to catch the Snitch. He would have been exultant, as he rarely beat Potter, but he couldn't help seeing the obvious distraction that slowed Potter's admittedly superb reflexes.
Hell, he was up to something, all right.
Draco's suspicions were only confirmed when Potter disappeared from the crowd of Gryffindors crammed onto the Quidditch field.
"Shit," Draco muttered. He would get Potter if it was the last sodding thing he ever did!
"What's wrong, Draco?" Blaise, one of Slytherin's Chasers, called as Draco dug his way through the crowd. He ignored her and craned his neck. No one else seemed to have noticed the black-clad figure vanishing into the night. Potter was heading for the castle.
Draco sped up, his intention of getting to Potter and nailing him red-handed driving him on as he dodged friends, avoided enemies, and elbowed all others out of his way. Everyone was so busy talking and laughing and arguing about the game that no one seemed to have noticed that both the Seekers were heading for the castle alone.
Well, almost no one.
Just before Draco reached the edge of the crowd, a lone robed figure detached itself and swept after Potter's dwindling shadow. The hair gave her away.
Ginevra Weasley.
Good, Draco thought with a smirk. Kill two birds with one stone.
He moved silently across the dark field between the Quidditch pitch and the castle, keeping a carefully controlled distance between himself and Ginny.
And so the chase continued. It was hard work following Ginny, who was shadowing Potter, without being seen, but he was clever and the staircases weren't feeling vindictive that night, evidently.
Potter was heading for the top of the castle, and Draco soon surmised that it was probably the Astronomy Tower. But why?
Potter glanced around, and then disappeared up the stairs. Ginevra, hidden behind a suit of armor, followed noiselessly when his footsteps died away. Draco moved behind the vacated armor and waited for Ginevra to ascend the steps. Once she had, he followed silently.
At the final landing before the Astronomy Tower door, Draco stopped to listen.
"Gin!" The silly girl had been spotted. She'd probably wanted to be, Draco surmised with a sneer.
"Harry, what're you doing?" she demanded. "Why'd you leave the match?"
"Look, I can't explain." Potter gave an 'I'm so brave and noble-minded' type of sigh. "Please get going, Gin. If they find you here, too, you'll probably get into loads of trouble."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you're doing, Harry!" she insisted stubbornly.
Potter looked surprised.
"I'm actually not allowed to tell you," he said, looking a bit smug. Ginevra seemed irritated.
"So Malfoy informed me." She looked unimpressed. "But whatever happened the night of the detention, I get the feeling this is your own little scheme."
"What makes you say that?"
"Women's intuition, Mum calls it." She grinned prettily at him.
"Whatever." Potter tried to look annoyed and failed. "Look, just go, all right?"
"Sorry." She crossed her arms. He didn't speak.
"Fine – compromise," she said at last. "You do whatever you're going to do and I'll stand here and watch. I just want to know, Harry."
He hesitated.
"That way," she added helpfully, "if it's really a secret, you haven't actually told me and you won't be breaking your word to Dumbledore. And someone will know what's up, just in case."
"Oh, fine." Potter sighed again. "I've got to go before anyone else shows up, anyway."
He pulled something gold and shiny from his pocket - and Draco knew.
"Bit too late, I'm afraid, Potter," he smirked, stepping out of the stairwell with his wand drawn. "What's that you've got there?"
"Malfoy!" Potter's hiss was dark. "I knew I was being followed."
"Women's intuition?" He pointed his wand between Potter's eyes. "Planning on going to save them, are you?"
"Not that it's any of your business, since you don't give a damn!" Potter snapped, his green eyes blazing.
"What's going on?" Ginevra demanded, her hands now on her hips as she stared back and forth between the boys.
"Er - I hate to break things up," yet another voice came from the stairwell. Everyone turned to see Blaise step quickly into the moonlight.
"Did you follow me?" Draco stared incredulously.
"Yes, but that's not important right now!" Blaise's voice was lowered.
"Why were you following him?" Ginevra asked in surprise.
"Shut up, Weasley!" Blaise spat, her eyes still on Draco. "Look, someone's coming up here."
They all stared.
"Another student?" Potter sounded forcefully hopeful.
"Hardly," Blaise ground out. "Someone in red robes with the hood drawn. The castle's basically deserted right now because everyone's still out on the pitch. Whoever this is isn't being sneaky." She paused, glancing around.
"Well, we're not going to be able to hide or anything," Draco said, glancing around. "Not that we need to, if it's a teacher."
"None of the teachers wear robes like that, stupid," Ginevra snapped, looking suddenly nervous.
"No, they certainly do not," a cold, harsh voice said from behind them. All four jumped and spun around. Their cloaked visitor had arrived. He kept his hood drawn and his wand pointed steadily at the four students.
"Who're you?" Ginevra demanded, her voice rather high.
"That's not really any of your concern," the voice drawled.
"I'd say it is," Draco retorted. "You are threatening us, aren't you?"
"Details, details." The voice was disdainful. "I've merely come to collect something I believe Potter has." The hooded head turned toward Potter. "Where is it?"
Draco glanced at him, too. Potter's face was set, but he gave Draco the smallest glance. It was as though the four teens shared an unspoken agreement. They all shifted a bit to group up around Potter in the middle of the room, Blaise moving to block his hands.
"Look." She smiled invitingly at him, turning on the come-hither attitude with a flourish, but not stepping away from Potter. "We're just curious is all. You seem like the kind of person Draco or I might be interested in getting to know." For a moment, Draco thought she might be serious, until he felt something brush the back of his hand. Something cold. Potter was wrapping the gold chain of the object Draco had seen in his hands around Draco's wrist. Draco's hand bumped Ginevra's and he suddenly realized what Potter was doing.
"Foolish girl," the hooded figure scoffed, though his eyes had moved from Potter to Blaise's seductive leer. "You have no idea who you're speaking to."
"No kidding," Ginevra spoke up, clearly intent on keeping the guy from getting too engrossed in any of them for too long. Good thinking, really, since Potter was still preparing their escape route. "That's why we asked who you were."
"Don't be impertinent, girl," the apparition said silkily. "One more death will hardly mar my record, will it?"
"You killed them?" Potter snarled, and Draco felt his attention leave escape and move rapidly on to their assailant. Draco reached behind him with difficulty and gave Potter's hand a sharp jab to remind him that now was not the time to get heroic.
"Of course I did," their attacker answered silkily. "I doubt there's anyone else around this miserable place capable of murder."
"Clearly you've not spent time with some of the Slytherins," Ginevra spoke up again. To his relief, Draco felt Potter's hands move jerkily back to the task at hand.
"Enough of this!" the figure said, hefting his wand again. "Potter, give it to me!"
"Too late," Blaise said smugly.
The room flickered and vanished, as Potter tipped the Time-Turner he had been holding over and over.
They were off.
PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD
TBC