A collective shudder and gasp went through them at the words, the light. Some hid their faces; others looked vaguely amused, as if at a joke. People stood to get a better view of the body, only to find that there was none, that the man had disappeared. Harry Potter simply stared before him, wide eyes glued to the box on the table. The entire hall seemed to be holding its breath, watching.

The box had a keyhole. The key, a silver skeleton key to match the metal on the box, was tied to it by a black satin ribbon. Harry untied it with shaking fingers; the ribbon came away with the key attached to the end of it, tied into a necklace. He forced his shaking fingers to work as he inserted and turned the key; how anticlimactic would it be if the box would not open? Their eyes were glued to him. It came unlocked. He removed the key and pulled the ribbon over his head. The silkiness of it against his skin made up for the cold, heavy weight it brought with it.

He opened the box. Inside it were small glass phials filled, as the man had said, with swirling, silver-blue strands of light, aligned in little rows. The knowledge of who they were from made him wary of touching them. The edges of the box had handles, and he pulled them, lifting the memories away to reveal a black, leather-bound book. The similarity of it to Tom Riddle's diary was uncanny. The outside of it read:

Written by Harry Nott

Illustrated by Theodore Nott

and when Harry tried it would not open. Irritated, he set it down beside the box. However, he did glimpse a piece of parchment at the bottom of the box, and seeing as it was not stuck there he felt in irritation lift, replaced by curiosity. It was a list. Glancing up, he saw Hermione with her hand outstretched, her eyes imploring. He handed it to her, and their fingers brushed comfortingly.

Her voice clear and carrying, Hermione read. "It says, 'List of People Required to be Present at All Chapter Readings and Memory Viewings,' and then it has names." She looked around, slightly nervous at having taken the title of reader. When they stared at her, all with rapt attention, she looked down and continued. "And then it says, 'Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy . . . Arthur, Molly . . . Percy . . . Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny Weasley.'" There were sniggers at the long list of Weasleys, and once they had subsided she went on. "'Severus Snape, Remus Lupin . . . Sirius Black. . . .'"

The silence went on unbroken, though the candles seemed to have flickered again. Harry, however, felt cheered. Perhaps this meant that Sirius would be revealed as innocent? He glanced down, then, imagining what it would be like to see Sirius again, to have him around. He ached at the prospect of it.

Hermione hurried on as the room began to buzz, wishing she hadn't paused. "'Cornelius Fudge, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Albus Dumbledore, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Ash and Carol Mallowitz, Clarence . . . Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.

"'These people are to take whatever actions necessary to be present, as they are the ones who are the most directly affected in the actions resulting from the changing of the future, as well as main characters in the book and the memories. Only once these people are gathered for or after dinner in the Great Hall at Hogwarts will the book and memories open. The magic has already been placed upon them to detect their presence and when a certain chapter or memory had been read or viewed. The presence of these people and the explicit following of these instructions are crucial. Once these people are all assembled, the first chapter of the book can be read.'"

Whispers broke out after a beat of silence. Hermione passed the list to Harry, who pocketed it and replaced the book to the box, placing the tray of phials carefully over it. He pulled the key from around his neck, glad for the excuse to look down; all around the Gryffindor table people were questioning him.

"What d'you think it'll be about, mate?"

"You didn't know about this before, did you?"

"Lucius Malfoy, Harry?"

"Sirius Black?"

"C'mon," Ron said, tugging Harry's sleeve. "Let's get out of here before they swarm."

Ron led the way, Harry and Hermione following shortly; they abandoned their plates, the food having vanished, and Ron pushed open the heavy door, holding it for them before leaving himself. He carried the box under his arm, as the other Harry had done.

This seemed to mark the beginning of the gradual dissipation of the crowd. The first ones to leave, though they tried, could not see the three down the corridors; they guessed they must have ran.

Amidst the crowd of eager and fearful faces, a small clump of Slytherins made their way to the dungeons, stragglers behind the main group. They were conversing in hushed voices, unable contain their anxiety until they had reached the common room or perhaps, if they could, the fifth year boys' dorm.

"You don't think," Draco said, keeping his voice low, "that the reason we're 'main characters' is because - because we're –?"

"We said we wouldn't," Pansy reminded him. "We swore we wouldn't."

"You don't know how the circumstances might change," Theo said, and the weight of this possibility settled over the three of them almost visibly.

The fourth member of the group, taller and older than the rest and feeling oddly responsible for them, swiped her long hair from her face and spoke. "Professor Snape said that it might be safer – for us – to be Death Eaters."

"Shut up, Clarence." Draco couldn't remember feeling so tense since the night before his Sorting. If his parents were there for the reading, if they found out what he had been doing –! His hand jumped to cover the side of his neck at the thought of it. Pansy, seeing this, moved to his side and pulled his hand down to his side, holding it. He squeezed. The feel of her ring, cool metal, was calming, familiar.

"Dray," Theo said reprovingly. Then he sighed, looking up to meet her eyes. "He was talking about you. You don't need to lie about it; we'd be thrashed if we were Death Eaters. You'd make a perfect one, you and Professor Snape."

Clarence sighed too, and as she looked at him they both understood her thoughts as if they were projected on a screen. There was more to it than the four of them, than even Professor Snape, could manage, and in the end their fate depended on where the world around them would take them, and how this new information from their supposed future would change that world.

"At least if we're main characters then we stay alive," Draco said. "I would think."

"Yeah," Theo replied, though his mind filled with images, and he knew that Dray could never be as sure as he was of how one death could change an entire story, no matter how significant the person.

They had reached the portrait entrance to the common room. Here Clarence left them, turning back to go a different way, and no one questioned her. They all knew how those two got when a situation arose, and that they would have come to some sort of a conclusion in the morning, when Professor Snape would explain it to them.

Crabbe and Goyle were waiting for them, having left early. "Hey Draco, what's" –

"Not now, Crabbe."

Forgoing homework, (because it was a Thursday and really, with one day left, was it worth it in the face of what had just happened?) Draco, Theo and Pansy entered the boys' dorm.

"'Night, you two. Be sure to use the potion!" Theo added, as he always did.

"Bugger off."

"My point exactly."

Draco groaned. "Just go to sleep, you prick."

"Arse."

Pansy glanced him over as she and Draco pushed back the four-poster's curtains and got in. "You look sick."

Draco did not respond, instead taking her hand and stroking her smooth, pretty ring. It did not shine; the heavy green curtains shut out the firelight. She pushed him down, crawling over him, and the familiarity of being pinned down, the weight and the pressure, was enough to still his whirling thoughts. "I feel even worse."

"Well, try not to, because there's nothing we can do now. We'll just," she leaned over him until their noses touched, "have to wait."

He could feel her breath in the movement of her chest, the warmth from her nose. Yet the proximity to her was no longer working its magic at stilling his mind, and dread crept into his chest as though left there by the air they were both breathing.

In the dark, Pansy felt rather than saw him smile. Draco Malfoy was a magnificent actor.

Up in Gryffindor Tower, Hermione Granger was going in circles. What had happened was impossible. The man had popped up inside Hogwarts – and it was impossible to apparate inside Hogwarts – and claimed that he had information about the future, that he was the future Harry Potter. He had stood near Harry, had been in the same room as him, and he had told not only Harry but everyone that he had time-travelled.

If he had travelled through time from the future, bearing information, then how had he shown himself without causing some sort of fraction in time, some drastic change? That had been what Professor McGonagall had warned her about, over all things to do with favoritism and legality. How had he communicated, how had he done it?

She had been told that it was impossible to appear to your past self in time. Had she been lied to, had it simply been a cautionary tale, to keep her from meddling? Or, perhaps, this was a new, futuristic prospect they were not yet privy to, that hadn't been discovered.

Also, she would like to know how magic could detect the book having been read and the memories viewed, if the man was dead. And he had died! He had killed himself and disappeared, there had been no body. Had his body gone back in time, or disappeared into time and space? It had happened; and yet the possibility of it happening . . . her head ached.

Harry could tell that Hermione was trying to wrap her head around things. He sighed; Hermione had always driven herself into the ground trying to figure things out. He went over to her, and Ron, seeing this, followed suit. Her head was lowered, her hair covering her face.

"Hey Hermione."

She looked up at him and gave him a forced smile. "Harry, I know you want me to calm down but, I just – Harry, this isn't right! This kind of thing, i-it just doesn't happen! This person could be working for Voldemort, that book could be cursed and you've touched it, that chest – get that off of your neck!" she shrieked suddenly, pointing to the key.

Ron looked alarmed, and Harry quickly took the ribbon off.

"Hermione, look," Ron said consolingly, "if there's a problem then McGonagall will come deal with it, remember Harry's broom?"

She inhaled deeply through her nose and sighed. "Alright, Ron. Just – just give me the chest and I'll take it to her to check. I can't sleep knowing it's in the dorm."

Harry left to retrieve it, carrying it down the stairs with a kid of wary reverence. Before he handed it to Hermione he paused. "Wait – take the cloak. Someone might try to attack you and steal it." He paused. "In fact, we ought to go with you."

"No, Harry, I'll be fine. Trust me," she insisted, seeing their skeptical looks. She stuffed the cloak into the large pocket of her robes and left. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and several other curious Gryffindors watched her go.

Harry wanted to sleep, wanted the entire evening to never have happened. He might not know how, but he knew that the book, the memories, would lead to a drastic change, to many drastic changes. But Umbridge would be sacked, she had to be; that was the first change, and it was good. What worried Harry was how learning about the future would affect his friends, his jumbled, hand-chosen family. What if someone was killed? If they learned what he had hid from them, what would happen? He hated to think of it.

Standing, Harry looked to Ron. "Coming up soon, mate?"

"Soon, yeah," Ron agreed distractedly. Ron was plagued with worries of his own. As he watched Harry clump up the stairs he saw, vividly, Hermione as she had just left. He shook the thoughts away. He needed to talk to Ginny.

Neville, who seemed to sense this, stood and waved at them before following Harry up the stairs and into the little hallway with the seven doors leading to each year's dorm room. He stopped before theirs, wondering if Harry wanted privacy. Deciding he wouldn't be much of a disturbance, he turned the knob and went in. Harry was already in bed.

Neville hesitated before he spoke. "You going to be alright, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry told him. "I'm fine."

He had not asked if Harry was fine; he had asked if he would be. There had always been a certain significant difference between the two questions to Neville, though he found it hard to explain. He knew that Harry was not alright; he didn't need to lie about it. What Neville had asked Harry was whether he would be fine, if he would feel better. He supposed it might be simple, really. Asking a person if they were fine was more for the comfort of the asker, because the idea of the person being not fine was disturbing. Asking someone if they would be was genuine concern for them and their future wellbeing.

The future; wasn't that what the entire thing was about, anyway? The man, Harry, had wanted to fix things, had wanted to insure their future wellbeing as best as he could. Neville respected this. He, of all people, with his many mistakes, best knew the miserable wish for the opportunity to go back in time and change things. His parents, especially, he wished he could change; but there was no hope for them now.

Yet the prospect of hope had always been a call to action to him, and he hoped that it would give him and the others strength the way the D.A did. If what had happened that evening was a chance to help fix the world they lived in now, then it explained why Neville did not hold within him the foreboding towards the box and the possibilities it held that the others felt. The book and the memories had the potential to change it all. It was a good thing.

His thoughts did not show on his face, and even if they had Harry, who was closed behind his thick red curtains, would be unable to see them. For all of Neville's thoughts, all that he said was "Good. See you in the morning."

"'Night Neville."

In the common room, Ron had pulled Ginny aside to disclose the nagging thought that had embedded itself in his mind like a tick at the mention of his father's name.

"Ginny, Dad's not going to be able to take off work early for this book thing. They've had him working until eleven at night for the past month, and dinner starts at seven-thirty. We can't afford it, he'll be sacked, Fudge has been waiting to do it."

"He's got to, he's got no choice! It said that everyone has to be there, or else it won't work."

"And you think that tosser'll understand it?"

"Ron," Ginny said, her voice stern at her sudden realization, "Fudge'll be in the same situation, and he's got loads of work to do." She grinned. "He'll be miserable, the pathetic sod."

That still doesn't mean he won't sack him, Ron thought darkly. But for his sister's benefit, he shoved it aside; he would have to talk to Fred and George somehow.

"Thank Merlin," Ron muttered. "I thought we'd have to beg Fred and George for Galleons. . . ."

The image of Fred and George as the sole providers for their large family hit Ron very fully in the face. The fact that this was a real possibility stuck a second, more violent blow.

But then Ginny sniggered, and he couldn't help but feel a bit lighter.

"I don't know, Minerva! Just find a way to contact Albus; there are things of much more importance to be concerned about than who that man was!"

"Severus, you can't simply abandon the issue of a supposed time-travelling stranger being in our castle!"

"You'll be surprised to find that I can!"

Severus Snape stormed out of the classroom, leaving behind his shocked colleagues. He tugged his billowing robes around himself as he descended into the dungeons, passing the common room until a wave of guilt turned him around and brought him to the entryway. Inside, the students ceased their conversations and stared at Snape silently, expectant. He spoke.

"It seems we have been presented with a . . . unique opportunity today."

"Did he really time travel, sir, is that even possible?"

"Professor, are those really your memories? Why would you give them to Potter?"

"Would they really let Sirius Black into the school, are they that mad?"

"I have no definite idea what has happened; no one does. As for the moment, I have no reason why I would gift Potter with my memories, though it is important to keep in mind that they are likely fake and possibly taken by force.

"I did not come here to answer questions; I simply wanted to warn you to behave, and to take everything that is presented to you with healthy skepticism. Many dangerous and influential people will be visiting Hogwarts very soon; it would benefit no one to give those people a reason to notice you. Lay low and keep calm, and do not let today's occurrence disrupt your schoolwork or health."

There were several quiet 'Yes, sir's and nods in response. As he turned before he left, he said, "Go to sleep; you'll need it." With that, he strode out, feeling the dull need within him throb to life, quickening his gait like a silent shadow falling in step behind him.