Harry Potter and the Veil of Time
Chapter Five: Back to the Past!
By Cybergades
Harry looked around himself cautiously; before him, the shining blue thread stretched away forever into the darkness, while behind him it receded to the horizon. He tried to remember how long he had been plodding along the trail of the thread of light, but found that he couldn't recall. He held up one hand in front of his face, but found that it did nothing to eclipse the faint light of the thread. In a vague, sluggish panic he tried waving his hand back and forth, but it was as if his hands weren't there at all. Raising both hands, he failed to find even his own face in the darkness.
"Bloody weird," he murmured soundlessly.
The expanse around him was unchanging and interminable. Harry wasn't even sure if he was currently moving at all, or if he was simply floating in the cold darkness. Purposefully, he tried marching forward, placing one unseen foot in front of the other, and although he couldn't see it, he at least felt as though he was making progress.
"I wish Merlin had bothered to tell me what it would feel like when it was working," Harry said to himself, still unnerved by the total silence that swallowed his words before they could reach his spectral ears. "All this fumbling around in the dark is rub-"
His last words were cut off as he felt himself being jerked forward, his stomach twisting inside him as he was yanked through the void as though he had grasped a Portkey. When he dared to open his eyes, he found that the darkness around him was pulsating, breathing as if alive, and the featureless expanse was becoming less and less so. Small pinpoints of light were beginning to appear at various points on the horizon or in the middle distance, and the shadowy forms of the dead, once absent, had returned, flitting across these points of light like moths circling a flame, or gathering near the threadlike trail to watch Harry pass by. Harry was torn between the horrified urge to hide his face, and a burning desire to try and recognize the faces of the spirits as he passed. He managed to avert his gaze, however, wary of attracting too much attention to himself.
Harry felt the breath knocked out of his lungs as he took a sudden jerking turn. The thread that once stretched straight in both directions was now winding like a snake, undulating through the darkness while more and more pinpoints of light winked into view around it like a field of stars. For the first time, Harry was glad for the apparent loss of his physical body, because it meant that he would be unable to vomit as he was pulled roughly this way and that. It seemed as though he was accelerating, like the force that was dragging him along had caught the scent of its destination and was now rushing towards it with reckless abandon. Harry saw one particular point of light growing closer and brighter, like the front lamp of a train speeding towards him in the darkness. He immediately regretted this mental comparison as he felt fear crawling across every inch of him, the light rising up to meet him, blinding and crushing and total.
Harry was so bowled over by the sound of human voices that he nearly screamed. He hadn't realized until then that his travel had taken place, not only without any sounds from him, but without any noise at all. Now he was surrounded by light and sound and figures rushing to and fro. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was still immaterial, or at least invisible.
"What the blazes is it doing?" He heard someone say. "Are they coming out of it?"
"Impossible," another voice replied, cold and stern.
Blinking his eyes, Harry realized he was in the same room from which he had departed, and the Veil stood behind him, a great stone mouth that had spit him back into reality. A handful of wizards were gathered around it, staring in fearful anticipation. Turning, Harry saw that the thin fabric of the Veil was billowing violently, and the forms of the dead were clustered near the entrance, some even stretching half-formed and shadowing limbs into the Death Chamber, scraping spectral nails on the stone floor. The glowing symbols that had activated the archway were glowing brightly, although they were slowly fading away. From various directions spells struck the gate and did nothing as the wizards (Unspeakables, Harry realized) tried to get the archway to shut itself down.
"Stop!" the same commanding voice echoed in the chamber. Harry turned to look at the wizard who spoke, and saw a tall man in robes of shimmering black, with piercing hawk-like eyes peering at the room from beneath a furrowed brow.
"Artemius, what if-?" a shorter wizard standing nearby began, but the man, Artemius, reeled on him.
"You are creating a magical interference without producing any observable benefit, and every spell that is cast will make this moment more difficult to study later. Focus on reading the trails coming out of the arch, find out what sort of magic could have caused a ripple this large, and where it might have come from." The shorter wizard stammered for several moments, stumbling over various attempts to agree with his superior, to excuse himself, to ask forgiveness, until Artemius finally snarled, "Go!" and the wizard scurried away.
Artemius stepped towards the gate, and towards Harry, who held his breath, still standing on the threshold of the archway. He squinted at the glowing symbols on the edges of the stone, his frown deepening, looking as though he had the answer to a difficult question on the tip of his tongue. He finally sighed and turned away, the sigils on the archway now glowing no brighter than the embers of a campfire. Harry felt a pressure gathering in his gut, and knew enough to take a gasp of air before the symbols winked out completely, and he felt himself dragged away from the chamber, pulled right through the walls like a ghost. He had time to wonder if he really was a ghost, if the travel through the arch had somehow destroyed him, before the acceleration caused him to black out.
"Harry Potter!" Harry heard the voice say, and heard the crowd gasp around him.
Opening his eyes, he saw that he was in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, now packed with students, who were whispering to one another and pointing at him. He recognized among them the thick fur-lined cloaks of Durmstrang's students, and the sheer airy robes of Beauxbatons. He looked uneasily towards the source of his name, and found Dumbledore standing at the teacher's table, the Goblet of Fire before him, holding a piece of paper with Harry's name on it and gazing at him with slightly raised eyebrows. As he watched, Professor McGonagall leaned down to whisper fiercely into his ear, to which he nodded slightly. Looking down at himself, Harry saw that he was in his own real physical body once again, although it was blatantly several years younger than it had been earlier today when he stepped through the gateway in the Death Chamber. It was true then; he had been sent back in time, his mind transferred into his younger body. Merlin had been right.
"It worked," he whispered to himself, before realizing that this was possibly the absolute worst thing he could say at this moment.
"It worked?" Ron asked in a hissing whisper. "What did you…how did you-?"
"Harry Potter," Dumbledore repeated. "Up here, if you please."
"Go on," Hermione said from behind him, pushing him forward slightly.
Harry plodded towards the front of the Great Hall, not eager to relive the tumultuous rumor mill that he knew was going to turn this into a circus for him. With a shudder, he realized that he was going to, at some point, be forced to speak with Rita Skeeter again.
"Through the door, Harry," Dumbledore said humorlessly. Harry gave him an apologetic glance, looking from stern face to stern face along the teacher's table, before he walked out of the Great Hall and into the room where the champions waited, the room that would be an interrogation chamber in a matter of moments. But already his wheels were turning, and he was beginning to formulate a plan. He could get himself out of this! He could save himself the year of stress, his friends doubting him, the wizarding world looking at him like a cheat and a liar.
"I can explain!" he said as he burst through the door. Fleur Delacour was so startled that she nearly toppled into the fire that was roaring in the fireplace, but Viktor Krum held her back, glancing venomously at Harry.
"Vat is the meaning of this?" he said coldly.
"The goblet spit my name out," Harry said. "I'm the fourth champion."
"Zat ees very funny," Fleur said, although no one laughed. "Do zey need us back in ze Great Hall?"
"No, I'm serio-" Harry started to say, but was bumped to one side by Ludo Bagman entering the room.
"Extraordinary!" he said. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen and- oh. Oh, you didn't tell them already did you?" He said, turning to Harry and looking slightly crestfallen. "I was looking forward to breaking the news myself, I was. Although I suppose you've a right to be excited," he added with a nudge and a wink.
"This is outrageous!" Krum said angrily. "Preposterous! A blatant-"
"Enough, Viktor," Harry heard Professor Karkaroff say, and knew that the headmasters and Hogwarts teachers were entering the room behind him. He felt dizzy, reliving these old moments again, suddenly back in his younger body. He looked down at his own hands, trying to refamiliarize himself with his fourteen year old body. He heard the headmasters arguing with each other, although it seemed less like he was there among them and more like he was watching it, as though he had taken a dip in the Pensieve and was reliving his own memories. He half-expected to look around and see another version of himself, the real version that existed in these memories, looking frightened and confused nearby. He actually chuckled slightly when Madame Maxine referred to him as a "little boy," eliciting sputters of rage from both Maxine and Karkaroff.
"He thinks zis is humour!"Maxine cried accusatorially, pointing an enormous finger at him. Harry quickly threw up his hands.
"No, it's not that, I…I'm just really nervous," he said. It was mostly true, anyway. He lapsed back into what he hoped was a respectful silence while the teachers continued to bicker with one another, a silence which became most difficult to maintain when it was Snape's turn to spin this entire scenario into an elaborate attempt by Harry Potter to break every rule on the books at Hogwarts. As they spoke, his mind began to wander, to try and understand what he could do with this new time he had been given. Visions of Sirius, Ron, Ginny, Hagrid, Dean…all those who had died for him, because of him, flashed before his eyes, and he resolved that he would do everything in his power to see that things resolved differently this time around. Not to mention that he'd have to deal with whatever threats Merlin had been talking about. But that would have to wait, he realized; there was a threat right here in Hogwarts, right now, feasting in the Great Hall, sipping insidiously from a hip flask, and any minute now, stomping through the door to offer helpful sounding and useless advice. Harry steamed with anger as he thought about how he was going to call Barty Crouch out, in front of everyone…that would certainly draw their attention away from him for a moment.
"Harry," he heard Dumbledore say. It sounded like it wasn't the first time he had been addressed. His eyes snapped back into focus, looking to the aged headmaster.
"I asked you if you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?" Dumbledore repeated patiently.
"No, of course not," Harry said, at which Madame Maxine scoffed. Karkaroff scowled, while Dumbledore only nodded.
"And did you convince one of the older students to enter your name on your behalf?"
"No," Harry said, trying to sound outraged.
"But of course 'e is lying!" Madame Maxine piped in, and the headmasters lapsed back into bickering while Harry looked around, trying to gauge the attitudes of everyone in the room. Fleur and Krum looked about as angry as he remembered, so instead he tried to get a read on Cedric Diggory, who seemed like he was sizing Harry up. He didn't look angry, and any surprise had faded from his face, and as they looked at each other Harry was overcome with the images of the graveyard, of Cedric's unmoving body slumped heavily against the headstones, and of his weeping parents. Harry resolved that, above all else, that would not be a repeat occurrence this year.
"Empty threat, Karkaroff," called Moody from the door, while Karkaroff postured about withdrawing his school from the tournament; Harry had been waiting for this. "your champion can't leave now, he's got to compete; they've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"
"Extremely," Harry said bitterly, looking at Moody. The magical eye rolled wildly in its socket, while his normal eye squinted slightly. He opened his mouth, but shut it again. Obviously he didn't expect Harry to have put together why someone might have entered him in the championship. Harry could barely suppress a smile. How much more would that eye be twitching if Crouch knew the extent of Harry's knowledge, about him, the Triwizard Cup, and the horrible decayed mess that was nursing on snake venom even now, tended by the coward Wormtail.
"Convenient?" Karkaroff echoed with a scoff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Potter."
Harry jumped at the chance to take the lead on this exchange. "Well, it's simple, really. Somebody must have put my name into the goblet, knowing I'd have to compete if it came out."
"Well, yes, Harry, that is the whole idea," Cedric piped up from the rear of the crowd. In spite of himself, Harry couldn't help but laugh. Perhaps this could be a second chance for him; he and Cedric could have been close friends after the tournament, if not for the disastrous way it was set to end.
"I mean," Harry said, continuing to steal the words right out of Moody's mouth, which was currently opening and closing soundlessly, "someone could have put a Confundus on the Goblet, made it think there were four schools competing instead of only three, and then entered my name as the only entrant from the fourth school, so it would have to pick me as the fourth champion." While the others muttered this over, Harry glanced sideways to see Moody's eye positively spiraling in Crouch Jr's eye socket. "At least," he added coyly, "that's what springs to mind."
"And 'ow convenient," Madame Maxine said with a slight sniff. "But 'ow do we know you did not do zis yourself?"
Professor McGonagall drew in a sharp breath and opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore raised a hand to cut her off.
"Minerva, there's no need to be upset, these people are simply addressing what are of course very valid concerns. However, I would like to speculate that if Harry was capable not only of fooling the Age Line, but also casting a Confundus Charm powerful enough to trick the Goblet, perhaps we should simply give him the trophy now, for he must be a very powerful wizard indeed."
No one had an immediate response to this, and so Dumbledore turned to Crouch.
"Now, Barty, I believe the rules are fairly explicit on this point, regardless of what curiosities might surround the process?"
Mr. Crouch thought for a moment before giving a slight shrug. Harry noted that he looked ill, with papery skin and sunken eyes. He realized that he must already be under the effects of the Imperius Charm.
"Er…yes," he said absently. "His name came out of the Goblet, so he's obliged to compete…"
"That settles it!" Bagman said hastily, and Harry wondered how much goblin gold was weighing down on his thoughts at the moment. "Well then, Mr. Crouch, if you'd like to explain the first task?"
"Wait!" Harry said suddenly, and all eyes turned to him.
He looked at Mad-Eye Moody, trying to formulate words, to decide how he was going to out the imposter standing in front of everyone, but then a thought came to him. He knew how this year was going to play out, assuming that Crouch was allowed to continue his masquerade as Mad-Eye Moody. He knew what to expect from the challenges, and more importantly, he knew exactly where Voldemort was going to be, at the end of the year, waiting in the cemetery on the other side of the Triwizard Cup Portkey. But if he were to tip his hand now, and expose Crouch, then Voldemort would be tipped off, and there would be no way to predict what would happen after that. Harry remembered that Voldemort had said that Wormtail was convinced any wizard who opposed him would do for the ritual that returned his body to him, and he only chose Harry so that he could bypass the magic that prevented them from touching, and for a bit of stylistic flair. So foiling this plot wouldn't necessarily stop Voldemort from returning to his former powers. But if Harry played along…if he let Crouch continue to believe that he was secure in his disguise as the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, and if he completed the Triwizard tasks—which shouldn't be too great a challenge, given that he knew what they were now, in fairly explicit detail—then he could touch that Portkey prepared, ready to dispatch whatever lay on the other side, and end this nightmare years early. He was nodding to himself in self-satisfaction when Dumbledore cleared his throat politely, and he realized that everyone was still staring at him.
"Er, what I wanted to say is," he stammered, grasping for something that would be worth holding everyone up like this. "I don't know exactly how my name got in the Goblet, but I just wanted to wish everyone good luck, really. It's an honor to be able to compete with you."
There was a pause, during which Harry could practically see the snide remarks banging around inside their various heads, before Cedric finally blurted out, "Well, I had a bit of luck beating you last time, Potter, so I wouldn't mind some more."
Their laughter was enough to dissolve the tension in the room, and the champions made their way out towards the Great Hall, Cedric clapping Harry on the back as he passed.
"If your Confundus Charm is really that good," he whispered as he passed, "I really am going to need that luck."
"But I didn't-" Harry hissed, but Diggory was already gone. Harry sighed; I guess I'm going to have to deal with this all over again after all.
"Dumbledore!" Harry called after the headmaster, who had one foot out the door. He turned back, peering over his half-moon spectacles.
"Yes, Harry? You'd best not keep your housemates waiting, I'm sure they have all manner of contraband items they've been saving up for just such a celebratory excuse to break out."
"You believe me, don't you sir?" Harry asked. "You believe I didn't put my name in the Goblet?"
"I do, Harry, I do," Dumbledore said kindly. "Unlike the wizarding world at large, I have come to know you as one who does not seek glory unnecessarily, especially when it might cause others pain." Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "Get along to the Gryffindor Common Room now, Harry, your friends are waiting."
"It's…it's really great to see you again, Headmaster," Harry said with some difficulty. He brought his hands to his face as though he was rubbing sleepiness from his eyes.
"Difficult summer?" Dumbledore queried.
"Something like that," Harry replied. He wasn't going to tell Dumbledore the truth, at least not yet.
But he knew exactly who he was going to tell.