The Unforgiving Minute
X: The Tenth Hour
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19:50
His head pounding, the rudimentary sealant on his stomach aching, Harry arrived in the dilapidated room. His feet landed heavily upon the floor, throwing up small clouds of dust. He let out a small cough as his pupils widened, adjusting to the scarcity of light.
Dust covered every inch of the bedroom, though it was thickest upon the large four-poster bed, the once ornate hangings gone to ruin. On the warped, broken floor, there were slight indentations, as if years ago, there had been some sort of disturbance.
He should know. A little more than a year ago, his thirteen year-old self had stumbled into the Shrieking Shack, and had finally confronted Sirius Black, Azkaban escapee, the famed mass-murderer that had killed thirteen Muggles with a single curse.
On the rear wall, right next to a window fitted with spider-webbed glass, obscured by heavy wooden shutters, was a large indentation in the rotting plaster. It was roughly man-shaped, as it had been where Snape had struck after both Hermione and himself had opted to simultaneously disarm him. The impact had knocked the Potions Master out, but Harry was not above hoping that it had fucking hurt in the second before unconsciousness had claimed him.
In a time and place more than a decade into the future, but mere months ago to him, Harry had originally considered traveling back to this very day. It would have provided the chance to intervene before Pettigrew's escape, clearing Sirius in the process, and preventing Voldemort's resurrection.
However, he had discarded the idea quickly. Aside from the Aurors and Dementors already being on high alert due to the Sirius' escape from Azkaban, he had no idea of where Voldemort had been hiding. No, if he was to only have twelve hours, he'd need to know exactly where each major piece was located. The original location of Hufflepuff's Cup had been of concern, but every other factor had been a known quantity.
The day of the Third Task it had been.
Shaking his head, Harry cursed himself for his reminiscence. It was almost eight o' clock, which was far later than he had planned, as Grimmauld Place was only supposed to have been a quick trip.
"Goddammit Sirius," Harry swore to himself, withdrawing Slytherin's locket from his robes. Swinging it by the silver chain, he tossed it onto the bedding, throwing up a cloud of dust particles. Whipping forward his wand, he conjured a torrent of Fiendfyre.
The cursed orange flames leapt forth from his wand, towards the ancient bedding. For the briefest of moments, the silver and emerald face of the locket reflected the flames, before it was completely consumed. Flames hungrily ate at the locket, instantly reducing it to slag as they burned into the bedding, setting it alight.
The second Horcrux was no more.
The roaring flames reaching higher, setting the ceiling alight, Harry turned away from the sight. Smoke beginning to fill the room, sweat starting to break out across his brow, Harry walked out of the old bedroom, into the dilapidated hallway. The ghosts of footprints dotted the floor of the hallway as he swiftly passed down the corridor, onto the staircase.
The temperature rising rapidly, he made his way slowly down the creaking steps, which were bereft of banister. Towards the bottom, the warped wooden slats began to bend dangerously under his weight. With a single leap, he jumped the last few, throwing up another thick cloud of dust.
Reflecting his third-year passage into the Shrieking Shack, Harry swept down the darkened hallway, into a small room at the back of the house, which held the smashed chair. Stepping over one of the discarded legs, he leveled his wand at the floor, shooting a blast of air from it. The gust disturbed the thick dust, revealing a rusting iron ring set into the floor. A flick of his wand raised it upwards, throwing open the trap door.
The smell of wet rot wafted out of the cobwebbed tunnel below, which disappeared into darkness. Ignoring the path to the Whomping Willow, Harry quickly cast silencing charms on his feet, before swinging his wand around and rapping himself atop the head. The familiar feeling of cold running down the back of his neck, he pointed his wand at the wall.
The shutters blew open at his command, revealing the edges of the Forbidden Forest. With swift movements, he dove through the window, rolling once upon the loose dirt and weeds in the forgotten, crumbling garden, before jumping up. Casually flicking his wand behind him, he closed the shutters.
Even in the unlikely event that the Aurors were able to stop the Fiendfyre from consuming the entire house, with the trapdoor open, they might think that the perpetrator had destroyed the Shrieking Shack to cover their entrance into the tunnel.
Hopefully, anyway.
Hearing the murmur of approaching voices, Harry raced across the backyard, to the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. Beneath cover of the fading light, he crept along the edge of the woods. Hearing excited voices, he saw witches and wizards come running past him up the dirt road.
"It's Fiendfyre!" an older witch shouted, pointing in the direction of the Shrieking Shack. Chancing a look back, Harry saw that it was indeed obvious. Against the backdrop of the darkened woods, a large orange phoenix rose up from the inferno, spreading its wings wide.
"Shite," Harry silently swore again. He hadn't thought it would grow that quickly, instead of being a subtle distraction, the act of torching the ancient house had all the subtlety of a Weasley prank. Hopefully the bystanders all knew better than to get too close to the demonic fire.
Swiftly moving up the road, the first of the Aurors made their wand down the dirt road, crimson robes flapping in the evening breeze. Satisfied, Harry moved deeper into the lush undergrowth. He didn't need the Aurors to be distracted for long, just enough to reach his goal.
Cutting diagonally across the forest, he broke out from the trees, coming out behind a squat brick building. A large, red double-door was visible from the rear, set into a slight alcove.
Creeping his way through the grass, Harry waved his wand in front of the door. For a short second, a criss-crossing network of colored lines, spreading all over the surface of the building, came into view, before fading away.
The building was tightly warded, far more so than Harry would have expected. It appeared that Ambrosius Flume, the proprietor of Honeydukes, might have had his share of burglaries.
"Shite," Harry swore to himself, idly tapping his wand against the leg. He could probably disable the wards, but it would not be quick work, even under the most ideal of circumstances. Hammering them down would be quicker, but would alert the Aurors.
Which left him with only one choice.
His face set in determination, Harry reversed the Disillusionment Charm, and starting walking towards the street-facing side of Honeydukes.
Through the front door it would have to be.
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In the center of the Black library three figures sat around a vast, circular table crafted from finely polished oak, which glinted as it caught the flickering torchlight. Thick leather-bound tomes and scraps of parchment covered most of the surface, leaving little in the way for elbow room.
A slight expression of annoyance upon her features, Hermione leaned back in her chair. Her dark robes pulled taut against her front for a moment, exposing not only the generous assets of her chest, but a midsection that seemed to be slightly larger than normal.
Most would say that the fiercely intelligent Muggleborn witch had just gained a little weight, but Harry couldn't help but notice that it hadn't been distributed to any other part of her body.
"Upon first glimpse, one would be driven to say that it doesn't make any sense," she started, pulling a thick tome from the top of one of the piles.
Upon dark black leather, the title, 'Magick Most Evile', was emblazoned in gold lettering. A bookmark with a hanging purple tassel hung from it, which Hermione used to find a particular passage, before beginning to read.
"Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction-"
"That doesn't tell us a great deal," Croaker pointed out dryly. "I don't know why we're wasting out time with that book, when he have the wealth of the Black family's interest in the Dark Arts at our fingertips."
"It says what we need it to," Hermione insisted as she leaned forward, her robe losing shape, obscuring her form. "For a moment, just for the sake of argument, let's say that you're Voldemort."
"That's a little beyond my level of imagination," Croaker replied with a smirk.
"And you call yourself an Unspeakable," Harry quipped, eliciting a chuckle from the older man.
"Just humor me," Hermione said, her smile taking on a strained quality. "You're the most powerful Dark Lord in the world, perhaps a year away from conquering magical Britain, but then you catch wind of a certain prophecy. A child has just been born, and according to prophecy, he supposedly possesses the power to destroy you."
"Awfully delusional of this Dark Lord to buy into such foolishness," Harry said with a grin, trying to keep the atmosphere light. He had the vague idea of where Hermione was headed, and didn't want to discourage her from exploring any ideas for his sake.
With her honey colored eyes, Hermione favored him with a look of gratitude, before turning back to Croaker.
"So, what do you do?" she asked rhetorically, before answering her own question. "You put forth all your resources into finding this child. You fight your way through…"
Almost guiltily, Hermione shot him a quick glance. Almost imperceptibly, Harry inclined his head, urging her to continue. Clearly relieved, she did so.
"You fight through the child's parents, and finally, it's just you, alone. This is it, the moment you've worked for. Soon, you'll be free to terrorize the world without the threat of a prophecy hanging out your head. Does this seem like the ideal moment to make a Horcrux?"
"Well, obviously, it makes no sense," Croaker agreed. "If he did indeed fire the killing curse at Harry, as the stories seem to indicate, there's no way he planned to keep him around. You don't go to the effort of creating a Horcrux just to destroy it moments later."
"Exactly," Hermione agreed, nodding vigorously. "So where does that put us?"
"The book's wrong," Croaker concluded, motioning towards 'Magick Most Evile'. "There is certainly a process to creating a Horcrux, but it's not a rigid discipline. It may not even require special circumstances."
"I'm pretty sure that most of the time it does," Harry interjected, before pointing to the prominent, lightning-shaped scar upon his forehead. "I think this would count as special circumstances."
"A splitting of hairs," Croaker said, waving him off. "The point is that the process of making a Horcrux is not strictly defined."
"That's what I think too," Hermione revealed, before picking up a large, heavy grimoire, entitled 'Secrets of the Darkest Art'. "Which means," she continued, nonchalantly dropping the heavy book to the floor, "That there's more than one way to destroy a Horcrux. Harry, we can do this!"
At her conclusion, Harry sent her a fond smile, giving no hint that he held absolutely no hope. Wherever the prophecy had come from, its creator had already known that Harry and Voldemort would destroy each other. Neither could live it had explicitly stated.
Nonetheless, he favored the stunning bushy-haired witch with a fond smile.
"I know you can."
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Turning his back on the black smoke rising above the treetops, Harry made his way around the brick exterior of Honeydukes, to the street. Witches and wizards passed by him blindly, their curious eyes turned towards the smoking ruin of the Shrieking Shack.
Slightly lowering his gaze, Harry turned the corner. Rising a quick glimpse to his left, through the large plate glass window, he saw that the stores only had a few scant customers. A young couple browsed the shelves of chocolates, while an older, severe looking woman examining a box of Acid Pops. Counting the two Flumes, that made five people.
Not ideal, but doable.
A bell tinkled above as Harry opened the door to the large interior. Tall wooden shelves lined the walls, each glass cased bin filled with chocolate, toffee, nougat and other sweets too numerous to mention. The majority of the floor space was taken up by various displays of candy. A pyramid of pink coconut squares directly in the middle stretched all the way to the ceiling.
Harry's entrance drew the attention of Ambrosius Flume, the owner of Honeydukes, along with his wife, who was currently ringing up the young couple.
"We'll be closing in five minutes," he announced wearily, drawing a sharp, haughty look from the older, dark-haired woman. Giving a casual nod in response, Harry pretended to browse the stacks, while subtly drawing his wand.
The young blonde man, no greater than a few years out of Hogwarts, never felt anything as Harry silently Summoned a stray piece of hair from his collar. Catching it in his hand, Harry quickly pocketed it, before waiting for the other patrons to leave.
With an impatient glare, Harry mentally commanded the woman to leave, but having made her circuit of the Acid Pops, she moved onto the nougat, apparently unconcerned with the warning of the store closing soon. His patience growing thin, Harry withdrew his pocket watch.
Harry cursed at the time, drawing the attention of the shop's three other inhabitants. It was three minutes past eight.
Far too late.
Walking straight up the counter, he looked down upon the elderly woman, who cowered slightly in his shadow. He took no pride in what he was about to do, but time was too short, too valuable to waste with niceties.
"Excuse me, can I help you," Mr. Flume asked forcefully, making his way to the back of the store. Turning around, drawing his wand in a fluid movement, he flung a Stunner at the old man. He only had time to widen his eyes before the crimson spell struck him in the arm, dropping him where he stood.
"Ambrosius!" the plump older woman cried, before Harry spun around, his wand pointed forward.
"Imperio."
The terror immediately vacated her bright blue eyes, leaving behind a glassy serenity. Hearing movement behind him, he spun back around, to see the older woman thrust her wand towards him.
"Stupefy!"
Harry swung his wand forward, swatting away the Stunner. The black-haired woman ducked, the spell flying over her head and slamming into the pink coconut pyramid. It exploded like a ripe berry, the wave of sugary confection stopped by Harry's quickly conjured physical shield.
The woman took the brunt of the wave of pink candy, completely covering her. Looking like a festive snowman, she let out a screech of rage as she swung her wand around, clearing the coconut from her eyes, just in time to catch a Stunner to the face, her eyes not even having the opportunity to widen.
She immediately slumped to the ground, her sweets covered body making a squishing sound as it hit. Wand forward, Harry slung two quick Obscuration Charms at the two large plate glass windows. It wouldn't have worked on a normal day, but between the Triwizard Tournament and the burning of the Shrieking Shack, it would be enough.
"Close up the shop and clean it up," Harry ordered, turning to Mrs. Flume. The plump elderly woman had not moved from her place behind the counter during the fight, watching the entire ordeal with a detached interest.
"Right away," she replied, leaving behind the counter and moving towards the front of the store. Not bothering to watch her, Harry levitated both of the unconscious adults into the air, leading them through the swinging door behind the counter, spots of melted pink coconut marking the passage on the floor.
The rear of the store was a kitchen of unsettling proportion, as if it were giants that used it instead of wizards. On the far back wall, large stoves were lined, each with burners bigger than a platter. A dizzying collection of iron molds, pots and pans hung on hooks from the ceiling, gently swinging back and forth. A large island sat in the middle, topped with granite.
Quickly Harry levitated the bodies behind the island, laying them on the floor. After a half-second of hesitation, he turned away and left the kitchen behind.
A Stunner was typically powerful enough to keep someone under for at least a half-hour, though the time fluctuated with the magical skill of the person Stunned. Judging by the ease with how he had defeated Mr. Flume and the older witch, he would have plenty of time to make it to Hogwarts and back before they woke up.
Out in the open, Harry saw that the large sign in front of the store had been turned over, now reading 'Closed' to any potential customers. Diligently, Mrs. Flume was using her wand to vanish bits of the destroyed sweet, which had left its mark on almost every surface on the store.
Satisfied, Harry took the large door to his right, set into an alcove, just out of sight from the customers. The stone stairs led downwards, into darkness.
Taking the stairs quickly, Harry lit his wand, causing the shadows to retreat. The basement was half the size of the upper floor, nearly filled to capacity with brightly colored boxes and crates. The cement floor was cool and dry, with none of the moisture or disrepair associated with buildings below ground level.
Following the memories of his Third Year excursions into Hogsmeade, Harry made his way around the boxes to the rear of the basement. With a wave of his wand, a section of floor, formerly seamlessly integrated into the dusty ground, swung outwards. Without hesitation he jumped down, closing the trapdoor behind him.
The space below Honeydukes had earthen walls, with crumbling stone stairs leading downwards into darkness. Harry hadn't the faintest idea who would go through all the effort to make a connecting passage, but was grateful for their existence.
His wand held aloft, lighting his way, Harry raced down the passage, taking the worn stairs four at a time. One hundred and twelve steps later, his feet placed down upon the damp ground at the bottom, sliding slightly. The rough movements of leaping down the stairs had begun to pain his stomach slightly, but he shrugged them off, moving deeper into the passage.
He began to jog across the uneven floor of the rock tunnel, following its twisting path through the ground. Sweat quickly began to break out over his body, due to the humid nature of the passage, but he maintained a steady pace as he wound through the earth beneath Hogwarts. It was very clear that architect of the tunnel had either not cared or had never learned that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line.
Eventually he reached a smooth stone ramp, stretching upwards. Stopping for a moment, he reached into his robes, and withdrew the last of the Polyjuice from the bandolier. Raising it to his eye level, he saw that the flask was only a quarter full.
At most, he had fifteen minutes before the transformation failed. Cursing his loss of five hours, Harry took the hair he plucked from the boy's head, and placed it in the potion. It fizzed for a moment, before turning a light shade of green. Quickly he downed the unpleasant substance, causing his insides to churn, and his skin to bubble most uncomfortably. He doubled over in discomfort at the final step took place, pain coursing through his body as his bones shrunk.
Rising up from his bent over position, the transformation complete, Harry saw that Lucius' robes dragged slightly on the floor. Cutting them away at the bottom, he brought his wand up, transfiguring the smooth surface of the stone ramp into sandpaper.
Backing up slightly, he lit his wand, before taking a running jump. His momentum moving upwards, his boots gripping the rough surface, he clambered up the ramp, not stopping until he reached a blank expanse of stone near the top. Extinguishing the light, he tapped it upon the flat stone, the words that the Marauder's Map had given him so long ago on the tip of his tongue.
"Dissendium."
The grinding of stone met his ears as the stone slid aside. Eagerly, he stepped through threshold, his boots coming down on cool stone. Stepping out from the shadow of the statue of the One-Eyed Witch, the Third-Floor Corridor came into view.
With its quiet halls, adorned with statues and tapestries flapping the breeze, it was a far cry from the nightmare vision Hogwarts had become in his world. The last time he had seen the Third-Floor Corridor, thick webbing had covered every inch of the halls, broken only by the dried remains of unfortunate victims of Voldemort's magically-enhanced acromantulas.
Taking a right, he crept down the deserted hallway, passing the Charms classroom. As he had thought, there were few people around, most likely due to the imminence of the Third Task.
Behind him, he heard the stone witch's hump slide back into place as he took a right turn, hugging the corridor wall. Creeping down the hall, he spied the double-doors leading to the Infirmary. Ignoring them, he took another right turn, which emptied out at the bottom of a stone spiral staircase. As soon as he stepped out of sight, he heard the Infirmary door open.
Stepping onto the first step, Harry froze in place at the sounds coming from the hallway. They were footsteps, but not of the typical variety. As opposed to double footfalls, a single boot hit the stone, followed by a short, sharp rap, like a cane hitting the floor. As if the person possessed a wooden leg.
Just as Mad-Eye Moody had.
A cold, silent rage settling over his mind, Harry swept his wand down, adorning his boots with silencing charms. Quietly, he crept back into the third-floor corridor, taking a right at the Infirmary.
Sure enough, the large, bulk form of Mad-Eye Moody was moving away from him, clunking away at a high speed, his straggly grey hair flying behind him. Gaining on the disabled professor due to his unburdened gait, Harry drew his wand.
Right now, Crouch Jr., in guise of Mad-Eye, was no doubt on his way to the maze which now covered the Quidditch Pitch. In less than an hour, he would find entry into the maze, and do everything he could to assure that Harry Potter reached the Triwizard Cup first.
Taking a quick look around, Harry saw that he was the only one in sight. Stopping for a moment, he raised his wand, aiming it between Crouch's shoulder blades, a killing curse upon his lips.
One spell, and he could change everything.
Shaking his head, cognizant of what he was about to do, Harry hesitantly lowered the wand, stowing it within his robes. Without Crouch's interference, there was no guarantee that Harry would reach the Cup first, and despite being handed such a golden opportunity, sadly, Harry needed everything to occur exactly as it had.
Everything.
As soon as his wand was stowed, Crouch froze in his tracks, before spinning around, wand pointed straight at Harry.
"Woah, what's the big deal?" Harry asked, holding up his hands, which were smooth and unblemished, bearing no resemblance to his own.
Moody's electric blue eye rolled in his head, while his mouth pulled into a scowl.
"You're following me, son, and that's not something you want to do to old Mad-Eye. Where are you going?"
"O-out to the Third Task," Harry stuttered, before lowering his eyes to the ground. In his own form, it would have never worked, but in this much younger body, probably fresh from Hogwarts, it was more than effective.
"Is that so? Then don't let me stop you," Moody snapped, before marching off, his fake leg dragging awkwardly as he walked.
Harry stood in place for a moment, just long enough for Crouch to round a corner, before sprinting back in the opposite direction. Reaching the spiral staircase, he rushed up it, taking the steps three at a time. Fortunately his borrowed body was in good shape, and he made it up the seventh floor with minimum taxation upon his breathing.
Exiting from the staircase, he crept down the deserted hallway, making his way down the familiar seventh-floor corridors. Nostalgia pulled at his mind as he passed a familiar alcove, one that Ginny and he had stopped often at during the end of his sixth-year to steal kisses.
Turning a corner, he saw the renowned tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, eternally trying to teach trolls the art of ballet. Rapidly, he walked back and forth in front of the blank expanse of wall, his eyes closed, and a single phrase repeating in his head.
"I need a place to hide my book."
Upon completion of the third pass, he opened his eyes, to find that a large door had appeared on the blank wall. Harry immediately entered through it, at last finding the hiding place of the Diadem.
The room was as large as a cathedral, with high windows which let in slanted rays of sunlight, throwing all of the clutter into sharp focus. Alleys and roads made from broken, tottering furniture separated the sections of the room. Working from memory, he made his way through the maze, to the large cupboard with acid burns upon the front. Opening the creaky door, he was met with the sight of vast clutter, including books, corked bottles, and a cage with a five-legged skeleton inside.
Most importantly, however was the tarnished tiara sitting on one of the upper shelves.
Ravenclaw's Diadem.
With slightly shaking hands, he withdrew the tiara from cabinet. Dusty, with a dull-looking sapphire set into the center, it was no wonder he had passed by it without a second look during his sixth-year.
Turning it over in his hands, the dusty silver grew scorching hot beneath his hands. With a hiss, he dropped the diadem to the ground, feeling blisters begin to form on his hands. With a snarl, Harry launched a kick as the cursed object, sending it tumbling down the alleyway, coming to rest at a pile of broken, bloodstained axes and swords. Withdrawing his wand, he thrust it forward.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green light struck the diadem directly in the center, destroying it in a rain of silver shrapnel. With a satisfied nod, Harry turned away from the remains of the Voldemort's horcrux, and made his way back through the maze.
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A gentle fire crackling in the ornate fireplace sent flickers of yellow light splashing across the Drawing Room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Having once been home to more than sixty witches and wizards, those unable to fight on the battlefield had instead waged war upon the Dark aspects of the ancient home.
Gone were the Dark artifacts and other dangerous objects, not to mention the Black family tree, bereft of Sirius' name. The doxy- infested curtains had been purged, leaving no chance of attack while attempting to have a pleasant evening.
Just as Harry was currently attempting to do with his wife.
On a long couch directly across from the fire sat Harry, length-wise. Ginny sat between his legs, leaning into him, her back pressed into his midsection. Bending down to her creamy pale, freckled skin, he nuzzled the nape of her neck, blowing aside wisps of ginger hair. She chuckled at his ministrations, playfully squirming away with a chuckle.
"Why Mister Potter," she said, her voice containing barely restrained laughter, "Aren't you aware that at any moment, someone could come through the door?"
"Oh, I don't know about that," Harry said slyly. Reaching over to his wand, lying on a nearby end table, he silently slung a Locking Spell directly at the door, causing the lock to click into place.
"I mean, it is fairly late at night," he continued, before carelessly tossing the holly and phoenix-feather wand back onto the table. He then wrapped his arms around her shoulders, crossing them over one another and pulling her back towards him.
"Hmm, you know, it is," she agreed with a content sigh, grinding her rear into the straining hardness below his belt.
"What have we here?" Ginny asked playfully.
"Someone who's always glad to make your acquaintance."
"Oh, is that so? And does this 'someone' intend to work the same sort of magic that Mr. Smith has upon Miss Granger?"
Surprised, Harry let out a snort of laughter.
"How much longer do you think she's going to try to hide it?"
"Well, you know Hermione," she wistfully replied. "She'll keep pretending that her loose-fitting robes are actually hiding her pregnancy until one of us calls her out on it."
"Probably," Harry agreed.
"During which," Ginny continued, turning her head to partially meet his gaze, "I will expect to have your full support for."
"Yes dear," answered Harry with a grin, placing a gentle kiss on her freckled forehead.
"I'm serious," she insisted, turning around on the couch so that she was on her knees, facing him, her normally warm brown eyes narrowed. "She's beginning to reach the point that if she keeps pushing herself hard on the Extractor, she'll…"
Ginny trailed off, realizing that she had just dragged the giant elephant in the room into the conversation.
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. The two typically had an agreement not to discuss the horcrux tied to him, as it was a painful reminder of the very real possibility Harry wouldn't live through the war.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he assured, raising a hand to her face and cupping a cheek. "I was serious too, and I'll be right there with you when we tell Hermione to slow down, and actually act like she's pregnant."
"Yeah, I know," she sighed, her gaze trailing downwards. "But we were having such a good night, and I had to ruin it by mentioning-"
"Ginny, please shut the fuck up," Harry kindly requested.
Her eyes widened for a moment, before Harry leaned forward, capturing her lips with searing kiss. Quickly it deepened, their mouths opening wider to accommodate one another. She let out a low moan, all the way from the back of her throat, before Harry broke the kiss.
"Better?"
"Mmm. Much," she agreed, closing her eyes for a moment, before quickly placing her hands on his chest and pushing him back against the arm of the couch. From her knees, she leaned forward, capturing their lips once again. She broke it first this time around, sliding down underneath his chin, trailing kisses down to the tender flesh of his neck.
Helpless, he let in a sharp intake of breath at her ministrations, before she began to slide her knees backwards, her face trailing downwards. Nearly panting with anticipation, the back of Harry's hands found their way into Ginny's ginger tresses, urging and pleading for her to continue.
A loud, sudden blow upon the door interrupted them, causing both to jump.
"Fuck!" Ginny swore, her head darting up.
"We're a little busy!" Harry said loudly, making no attempt to hide his extreme annoyance.
"I need to talk to you, Harry!" Croaker yelled, giving no indication he knew or cared he was interrupting. "But the door's locked."
"Gee, I wonder why," Ginny spat, crossing her arms.
"Did you hear me?" Harry yelled back, angrily.
"Just go see what he fucking wants," Ginny said with a huff. "He sounds strange, so there really might be something wrong."
Though it was the last thing Harry wanted to do, the first being his wife, the second being throttling Croaker, experience and patience stayed his hand.
"Don't go anywhere," Harry said with a slightly forced grin, before rising from the couch.
"Just make it quick though," she urged, flashing him a wide smile and a wink.
Moving quickly, Harry grabbed his wand from the table and rushed to the door, unlocking it with a casual wave of his wand. Opening it, Croaker made as if to enter, but Harry kept moving, driving the former Unspeakable back, closing the door behind him.
"What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want?"
Seemingly unperturbed by his hostility, the elderly wizard's red-rimmed eyes darted back and forth, his white hair sticking up in all the wrong places.
"We need to talk," Croaker repeated, beginning to knead his gnarled hands.
"So talk."
"In private," he clarified, shaking his head.
"You just interrupted myself and my wife, Martin," he snapped impatiently. "If you don't make this quick, I'm going back inside."
"Fine," he snapped, bringing up his wand and casting a Veil of Privacy around them.
Harry was surprised to see the advanced charm. What was so secret that it couldn't be talked about around the other three inhabitants of the house?
"Do you think the Extractor is really going to work?"
If not for the unease, the agony in the man's voice, Harry would have immediately turned around and left him, but the desperate quality in it spoke to him. Whatever was on his mind, it was clearly eating at him.
"I…I don't think so," Harry answered truthfully. Having both destiny and the odds against him was not an encouraging sign.
Croaker nodded to himself, almost in a satisfied manner, before canceling the Veil of Privacy, and walking away.
For a moment, slightly surprised by Croaker's abrupt departure, he considered chasing after the man, before discarding the idea.
After all, it was impolite to keep a lady waiting.
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Harry left the Room of Requirement without a look back, brushing dust off his front as he moved. His eyes darting back and forth, making sure the coast was clear. Loathe to get caught now that his work at Hogwarts was done; he crept back down the tall spiral staircase, all the way back to the third-floor corridor.
For the briefest of moments, he flung a gaze towards the doors to the Infirmary, wondering if truly he did the right thing. He did need things to occur exactly the same the original timeline had, but to give Crouch…
Harry crushed the thought before it could blossom further. His decision was made. Dwelling on the past did little good.
Making his way back to the statue of the one-eyed witch, he tapped it with his wand, once again saying the activation. The stone hump opened at once, and Harry scrambled through, running down the ramp. Lighting his wand at the bottom, he started down the dark tunnel at a jog.
He had gone no more than thirty steps when he heard faint movement from up ahead. Immediately extinguishing the light emitting from his wand, Harry quickly cast a hearing enhancement charm.
At once, he heard the faint patters of rodents moving through the dirt, soil giving way as worms slithered through it and the echoes of footsteps on the ground above. What he heard most clearly, however, were boots trudging upon the damp ground of the tunnel, and voices.
"…telling you, I heard something," an unknown voice insisted.
"Could have been anything," a wry voice pointed out. "Maybe even your own footsteps."
"Quiet down!" a third, more authoritative voice hissed, "And keep your wands out! Who knows what Jenkins heard, but whoever this guy is, he uses Fiendfyre and attacks the elderly. He'll have little sympathy for the law."
"Shit, Aurors," Harry swore quietly under his breath. He had rushed the job at Honeydukes, and it hadn't been good enough. Another fucking mistake he could ill afford.
Canceling the hearing spell, Harry lit his wand, inspecting the tunnel. The earthen walls were barely six feet in width, making movement difficult. He could probably take out all three of the Aurors, but if any of their spells hit the tunnel itself, they ran the risk of a cave-in.
Regretfully, Harry turned back towards the entrance into Hogwarts. Reaching the ramp, he bounded up it, and re-entered the third-floor corridor. Halfway out of the hump, he turned and waved his wand, undoing his bit of transfiguration on the ramp, reverting it to its smooth texture.
Through the front door of Hogwarts it would have to be. Not the way he wanted to leave, but it would have to do.
Ducking out of the opening, he swung his gaze down the third-floor corridor, to see three figures staring at him from twenty feet down the hall, wands raised.
"I'd suggest lowering your wand," the deep, collected voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt recommended. Flanking him were two other members of the Order, Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle.
Almost unconsciously, Harry's lips pulled back into a feral snarl, crimson beginning to taint his vision. He couldn't afford yet another unexpected event eating up his dwindling remaining time.
At once, Diggle drew back, his eyes widening.
"By Merlin!" the diminutive man squeaked. "It's him, the wizard who broke into Gringotts!"
"Stupefy!"
Harry deftly sidestepped the pink-faced witch's Stunner, twisting his wand as he did so, before thrusting it forward. A clear spell spiraled forth from his wand. Kingsley raised a shield, but the colorless spell swerved by it, slamming into a suit of armor.
"Get down!" Kingsley ordered as the suit came to life, and swung out with its heavy spear. Hestia and Kingsley ducked under it, but the flat end of the spear caught Diggle in the chest, knocking him backwards. He fell hard upon the floor, rolling as he clutched his chest in pain.
Narrowing his dark eyes, Kingsley shot up, launching a Bludgeoner. Harry merely sidestepped it, before deflecting Hestia's Body-Bind back at her. She blocked the spell, before ducking, barely missing another swing by the animated suit of armor. Spinning around, Kingsley flung a Concussion Hex at the construct, causing it to fall to pieces.
Quickly, Harry thrust his wand at Hestia, before cutting it back across his body, making a full circle and ending at its original position. The black-haired witch blocked the first three spells of the chain, but the last, a Stunner, struck her in the chest, sending her tumbling to the ground.
As soon as the chain ended, Kingsley stepped behind the downed suit of armor, and cast a high-powered banisher. Harry replied with a Gravity Wall, killing the momentum of several pieces of armor mid-air. Swinging his wand to the side, Harry directed one the floating pieces into the way of Kingsley's blasting curse.
Both combatants quickly conjured physical shields, blocking out the rain of metal shrapnel. Harry, dropping his shield more quickly, flung a Hurricane Banisher, sending the entire set of armor swirling down the hallway. His wand still held aloft, Kingsley ducked, while angling the shield, letting the pieces collide off of the solid shield and go flying past him.
Dedalus Diggle, finally struggling to his feet, was stuck in the stomach by the flying helmet, knocking him back to the floor.
Whipping his wand to the side, Harry levitated a small end-table, and flung it at Kingsley. The Auror quickly dropped the physical shield, before conjuring a length of chain from his wand. Swinging it forward, he knocked the table out of the air, shattering the piece of furniture.
Kingsley began to swing the chain around, but Harry's cutter tore through it, rendering it useless. Vanishing the small remaining length, seeing a black spell heading towards him, Kingsley conjured a physical shield. Harry's Pepper Bomb exploded on contact with the shield, throwing out plumes of grayish smoke, which the Auror inhaled.
At once he began to violently cough, his eyes tearing and reddening.
"Run!" Kingsley croaked, before raising his wand upwards. Needing no invitation, Diggle began to stumble down the hall, away from the two combatants. Frantically, Harry began to animate another suit of armor, but the stone archway above him collapsed with a loud crash. Abandoning the animation, Harry brought his wand up, freezing the mass of falling stone in mid-air.
Occupied with holding the stone aloft, Harry saw Kingley fling a Stunner, pressing his advantage. Keeping his wand aloft, Harry spun around backwards, barely avoiding the crimson spell, before canceling the freezing spell.
For a moment, the chunks of stone began to fall, before Harry's Hurricane Banisher struck. Like a deadly hail, the stone flew down the hallway. His eyes widening, Kingsley quickly conjured another physical shield. Not given enough time to position the shield, a large piece slammed directly into the flat of the shield, throwing him backwards, skidding along the floor.
The Auror jumped shakily to his feet, just in time to deflect Harry's Disarmer, before cutting his wand back across his body, sending a body-bind into the wall. Walking forward, his wand a blur of movement, Harry continued to chain his spells, casting nearly continuously.
Stunner. Disarmer. Bludgeoner. Confundus. Body-Bind.
Faster and faster Kingsley's wand moved. Beads of perspiration dripped from his bald head as he frantically tried to keep up with Harry's rate of fire. On the eight spell, Kingsley swung too wide deflecting a spell, taking him off balance. Sensing victory, Harry watched as Kingsley just missed swatting away a stunner, taking the spell in his chest. The Auror immediately crumpled to the ground, his single gold earring gleaming in the torchlight.
Immediately, Harry began to sprint down the hallway, passing by Kingsley's unconscious form. If it were anyone else, he might have considered using heavier, potentially dangerous spells to save some time. However, Kingsley was probably the best wand, aside from Dumbledore, that the Order of the Phoenix had.
If Harry failed, Kingsley would prove vital to the war effort.
Vanishing the dust from his robes as he ran, Harry turned the corner, just in time to see a silvery shape pass by him. He rounded his wand on the form, but it didn't slow as it disappeared into a stone wall.
Unease beginning to creep in, Harry entered into a full-on sprint. Though he couldn't be one hundred percent sure, the silvery shape had looked suspiciously like an unformed Patronus. Most likely Diggle's.
He was sending out word to the Order.
At full speed he hit the main staircase, jumping the entire first landing in a single leap. He tumbled forward in a partially planned roll, before jumping up and repeating the process until he made it all the way to the ground floor.
A scant amount of students and adults cloistered about the main entryway, talking quietly. Reaching the bottom, a great deal of eyes turned in his direction, unease and wariness written upon most of the faces. With his wild hair and torn expensive robes, he must have made quite the sight.
They witches and wizards parted before him as he tore off through the main entryway. The silencing charms fading away, his boots clacked loudly upon the flagged stone as he sprinted towards the open doorway leading out into the courtyard. As he exited the school, into the dying rays of sunlight, his eyes took in all there was to see.
The courtyard was much more tightly packed, with large groups of students and adults talking excitedly about the upcoming Third Task. Standing at the base of the stairs, Harry's eyes widened as he saw the familiar form of Dedalus Diggle, talking excitedly to a crimson-robed Auror. His large purple hat askew, he gave a start at Harry's exit, before quickly raising his wand to his throat.
"That's him!" Diggle's squeaky voice exclaimed, amplified to fifty times its normal volume. "The guy who broke into Gringotts!"
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Directly after the fall of the Ministry, Grimmauld Place had become one of the last refuges in Britain safe from the tyranny of Voldemort's rule. Order members, supporters and their families had flocked to the door, and Harry had accepted them all.
To compensate for the influx of residents, every available room had been upgraded to provide some sort of sleeping quarters. Even Regulus Black's old room had been pressed into service.
The large, well-furnished room had been stripped bare of all of Regulus' possessions, even the large Slytherin banner which had hung upon the wall. Twin dressers had been placed up against the center of the wall. Hugging each side of the bank of dressers, and extending all the way to the wall, leaving scant inches of space, was two full-size beds.
The bed on the right had discarded robes, socks and various undergarments strewn all about it, almost completely obscuring a crimson and gold bed cover. The debris of clothing stretched out onto the floor, under the bed, and even onto the dresser, even more scraps peeking out between partially open drawers.
Tacked to the L-shaped section of white plaster above the bed, so thick that it practically wallpapered the entire area, where hundreds upon hundreds of photos. The majority of the photos showed a black-haired girl with long bangs and a prominent chin smiling wide. They showed her eternally picking a daisy from the ground, and placing it behind her ears. Another showed her eyes dart around back and forth, before giving a devilish smile, and lifting up her shirt to reveal a lace-trimmed crimson bra.
Despite Colin Creevey's proclivity for taking pictures, there were a few of him and his girlfriend, Romilda. One at the center had both her and Colin, bobbing drunkenly, cheering as they held up matching bottles of Firewhiskey.
The other side of the room was a complete antithesis of the disorder that Colin and Romilda waded in. The bed, with a cream-colored cover, was crisply made, the pillows stacked immaculately. Every one of the drawers on the left side was shut tightly, no articles of clothing poking out, and nothing stacked atop the dresser.
In a single large photograph, hanging framed above the bed, smiled Zacharias Smith and his then-wife, Su Li, clinging to each other tightly. Love shone clearly in their eyes.
In a sense, Harry couldn't help but think of it all as taunting mementos to an age lost. Of the four, only Zacharias remained. Su had been one of the first to die, being killed during the first attacks on Diagon Alley. Zacharias had abruptly moved out of the room, prone to long stretches of disappearances, using every waking moment to hunt the ones responsible for Su's death. Only his hatred had kept him going.
Colin had been devastated by Romilda's death by friendly fire, a stupid mistake that still bothered him to this day, but the small, blonde young man had held it together until Harry's last encounter with Voldemort, deep beneath the Fens. His hope drained, suicide had been his only reprieve.
They had never complained about their close quarters, none of them, not even once. With such divergent styles of living, Harry would have thought the living arrangement would cause problems, but in dark times, they had banded together.
And Harry had let them all down.
With a sigh, Harry sat down on the cleaner of the two beds, putting his head in his hands. Seeing reminders of his failures was never an easy thing. He probably would have never set foot again in the room, had not Croaker requested that Harry meet him up there.
Conversing deeply with the ghosts of friends long since departed, Harry was caught unawares by the opening of the bedroom door. It admitted the wild-eyed Croaker, wand held aloft. Waving it once, he cast a Revealing Spell.
"You requested a meeting alone, didn't you?" Harry asked, displeased by the man's actions.
The former Unspeakable shook his head, further disrupting his unruly nest of white hair.
"You never know who might be trying to listen," the elderly man replied, his eyes continuing to dart about the room.
"That's quite enough of that," Harry snapped, his voice rising in volume, before raising a hand, his middle three fingers extended. "There are three other people in this house, all of which I trust more than you, Martin. Believe me, I'm tempted to tell them everything I learn today."
"You can't!" Croaker insisted, shaking his head again.
"Why not? You didn't seem to have any argument ready when I told you the Extractor probably wouldn't work. Why not tell them? What could I possibly tell them at this point that could be any worse than that?"
As opposed to answering, Croaker began to nervously pace about the small room, his head down, his hands grasped behind his back. Stopping, he fixed his wide gaze upon Harry.
"Even if the Extractor works, and you end up both finding and killing Voldemort, what then? Would this world truly be any better off?"
Harry let out a derisive snort.
"You have to ask me whether a world with or without Voldemort would be any better?"
"So if Voldemort was gone, you'd still bring a child into this world?" challenged Croaker.
Harry stayed silent for a moment, frustrated that he'd been so easily led by Croaker's questioning, and well aware of the truth of the matter. There were so few people left in Britain, the devastation so rampant, that there was barely any magical society left to speak of. What few remained not only had to deal with the tattered remnants of the Death Eaters, but with Muggle military forces. Caught in the crossfire between the different sects of Wizarding society, the Muggles had decided to fight back.
With devastating results.
Though Harry was loathe to admit it, even if Voldemort was defeated, the war would continue until nothing of Britain remained.
"Fine, I wouldn't," admitted Harry between clenched teeth. "But what the fuck does it matter? I'm not going to walk away from this, it'd be an insult to every person that gave their lives to destroy that bastard and his pawns."
"They followed you willingly," Croaker gently pointed out. "That's besides the point, though. It matters because I can give you the chance to go back and prevent the war from happening in the first place."
Harry could only stare at the elderly wizard, wondering if the cheese had finally slid off Croaker's cracker.
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about hope. You are aware that Miss Granger was given a Time-Turner during her third year, correct?"
A scowl immediately settled over Harry's face.
"That wouldn't do us much good," he sourly stated. "Even if you somehow developed a Time-Turner that went back further than a few days, whatever happened, happened. You can't go back in time to fix a mistake. It's either intractable, or the traveler is the one that causes the problem in the first place."
Harry should know. After Dumbledore's death, he had spent far too much time thinking about what he would change it given the opportunity.
Surprisingly, rather than looking put-out by Harry's certainty, the former Unspeakable grinned widely.
"So, you've known people who have traveled back into the past?"
"I've used a Time-Turner before, Martin. When you use it, the outcome is already determined."
"That's funny," Croaker replied, crossing his arms. "According to Hermione, the two of you were successfully able to save Sirius Black from the kiss of the Dementors. Do you think he would have escaped without your help?"
Retorts immediately rose in Harry's mind, but he swallowed them, considering Croaker's words.
"Picture the Time-Turner as a raindrop falling upon the ocean, Harry. However negligible, a raindrop has impact when it strikes the surface, albeit in a small, localized area, all with no discernable effect upon the rest of the ocean. Picture time as being this ocean. What would happen if an asteroid fell instead of a raindrop?"
"You'd destroy the world," answer Harry, crossing his arms.
"Perhaps," Croaker conceded, "But it's all conjecture at this point. At the very least, you'd be able to make widespread changes, which would have lasting effects."
"Destroying the universe won't solve many of our problems."
"The concept of a paradox is a theory, not fact. Regardless, say it wipes the slate clean, thus destroying this world, as if it never existed. Is there truly much here left to save?"
Ginny, his Ginny, immediately sprang to mind, the sole bright spot in his life since the summer he turned seventeen. This was bigger than him, though. All the friends, family and allies that not only he had lost, but every innocent person that had fallen victim to this endless war.
"It's a moot point," Harry claimed, side-stepping the question. "If we had the ability to travel back in time, why wasn't it used? We saw the world crumbling around us years ago, saw where it was heading."
"There are obvious risks involved. I may not be concerned by the idea of a paradox, but that didn't mean my colleagues weren't."
"What kind of risks?"
Croaker raised a single bushy white eyebrow.
"Look," Harry said with a sigh. "I still don't believe that the Unspeakables made a time machine, but if we had the chance to save everyone…I'd be a fool if I didn't at least listen."
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At Diggle's amplified shout, the groups of mingling people broke off from conversation, looking around with equal parts confusion and fear.
Before the echo had even faded, Harry leapt the front stairs, landing on the flagged stone at the bottom. A poorly aimed Stunner flew almost six feet above his head as he folded into the crowd, ducking between two young women.
"Where is he?" the shorter one asked before jumping in the air, a vain attempt to scan the crowd.
"He's over there!" Harry announced theatrically, pointing somewhere off to his left. In the wake of turning heads and gasps, he threaded his way deeper into the crowd, steadily making his way towards the road leading out of Hogwarts.
Without warning, a heavy, calloused hand fell upon his shoulder, squeezing it tightly.
"Where do ye think ye're going?" a deep male voice asked.
In a single movement, Harry grabbed the arm with his left hand and spun around. Raising the arm upwards, the tall, bear-like man was forced to one knee, letting out a growl of pain.
"Keep quiet if you want to keep your arm!" Harry hissed, but his warning came too late. At once, people began to flee from Harry, creating an open space in the middle of the crowd.
"Fuck!" swore Harry, seeing a crimson-robed Auror emerge from the crowd, wand drawn.
"Let him go," an older female Auror ordered, her weathered face grim. Turning his body slightly, Harry forced his prisoner to the right, blocking the Auror's line of sight. As he did, he saw her eyes widen slightly, at a point behind Harry's shoulder.
At once, Harry raised his arm up, forcing the man to his feet, before kicking his foot straight out, the sole connecting squarely with the man's back. Unprepared for the blow, he sprawled forward, directly into the approaching Auror, taking her out. Whipping his body around, Harry launched a lightning-quick Disarmer.
The red light slammed into the chest of an approaching Samaritan. With a look of shock, visions of glory vanishing in an instant, the man's wand was dislodged as he was blown back into a group of older students, knocking down the bunch of them.
Feeling movement behind him, Harry swung back with his left elbow. It met something hard, which yielded at the impact with a loud crunch. Her eyes clouding over, blood beginning to drip from her shattered nose, the female Auror fell backwards. Without a look back, Harry darted forward to the edges of the clearing, the dull thud of her body striking the ground filling his ears.
People fled from his approach, trampling over one another in a desperate effect to get away from him. They parted like the Red Sea before him, creating an avenue of clearance. Screams echoing in his ears, Harry took advantage of it, sprinting as hard as he could.
"Stop!"
Chancing a look back over his shoulder, Harry saw several crimson-robed figures push shove their way through the crowd, wands leveled at him. Facing his attention back forward, Harry snapped his wand back, conjuring a magical shield. Harry felt the impact of several spells bounce off it as he dug deep, forcing himself to run faster.
The crowd beginning to thin, Harry risked dropping his shield, before transfiguring the ground behind him into ice. He then quickly re-applied the shield, just in time to deflect another spell. A small, satisfied smile crept onto his face as he heard the unmistakable cursing and thuds that accompanied slipping on ice.
Putting distance between himself and the Aurors, Harry's feet left the flagged stones, and met the hard dirt of the road which ran around the lake, all the way to the gatehouse.
The edge of the Hogwarts Anti-Apparation Wards.
The end would have come far more quickly had he not lost his broom in the Gringotts lobby, but with no other recourse, Harry continued to run. The ripples of the great lake lapped gently at the shore on his left, while spectators surrounded the site of the Third Task, apparently unaware that a fugitive was fleeing the grounds.
Harry's breath burned slightly in his chest, the borrowed body apparently not used to running long distances, but he forced himself on with a ruthless abandon forged from years of fighting.
Conjuring a small mirror, he held it up with his left hand as he ran. In it he saw the small group of Aurors falling further behind, the icy floor holding them up far more than he could have every hoped for. Nearly two hundred feet separating them, Harry saw one of the figures in the lead desperately slung a Stunner at him. He didn't even have to try to avoid it, as the poorly aimed spell passed by him on his left, splashing into the water.
Safe passage to the gatehouse beginning to seem like a certainty, a tremor ripped through Harry's body. Beginning to sweat violently, he tried to block out the inevitable.
"Fuck," swore Harry as his skin began to bubble unpleasantly. He had known there hadn't been enough Polyjuice to last an hour, but didn't expect it to run out this shortly. As he grew slightly in stature, his body morphing back into its former hard musculature, he kept moving towards the gatehouse, his teeth gritted.
The pressure mounting in his body, his skin re-arranging itself, it became too much. With a growl of frustration, Harry stumbled forward, the mirror falling from his slack fingers. He thrashed on the ground for a moment, before the transformation ended, reverting Harry back to his scarred body.
At once he grabbed the mirror and jumped back up, continuing his former pace. Slight pain radiated from his stomach, the exertion of running pulling at the roughly healed wound. Glimpsing back into the mirror, Harry saw that the pursuing Aurors had stopped in their tracks, each one either bent over breathlessly, or hands upon their hips.
Harry's ease of mind evaporated upon seeing four figures emerge from behind the group of winded Aurors. Fifteen feet above the dirt road they flew, crimson robes streaming behind them as they rushed towards him.
Shite.
At once, Harry turned around, backpedaling with his wand held aloft. The four approaching Aurors flew in a loose, staggered formation, eliminating the possibility of being taken out with a single spell. They wasted no time in drawing their wands, and beginning to rain spell fire as they grew closer.
Harry snapped off a quick Concussion Hex, before raising a sturdy magical shield. The middle two fliers immediately pulled up, letting the impact from the blast assist their movements, rather than fight it. They were only deterred for a moment, before continuing to cast.
His shield was more than equal to their spells, harmlessly bouncing off like toddlers trying to tackle an adult. Seeing a Shield Breaker mixed in among the spells, Harry dropped his own shield for the briefest of moments, before re-applying it, letting the breaker pass through. He easily deflected the last of the flurry as the Aurors flew by him, each pair of eyes angry and determined.
Spinning, he saw the middle two fliers perform neat turns in mid-air, while the two on the outside performed wide turns, intending to rush him from three different directions. With satisfaction, Harry noted that the Auror to his left had flown over the lake.
Moving as quickly as he could, Harry cut his wand across his body in a series of complicated arcs. At once, a giant tentacle four feet in diameter rose forth from the lake. Fish and various other sea life still swimming within the watery construct, it lashed out at the flier. The impact knocked the rider backwards off his broom, sending him splashing heavily into the lake.
At once, Harry conjured another magical shield, letting his transfigured tentacle slide back into the lake. It deflected the first volley of spells from the incoming Aurors, sending them into the dirt. Backing away slightly to improve the angle of his shield against the two-headed attack, he tracked every spell carefully, until the tell-tale crimson of a Disarmer appeared.
He quickly dropped the shield, before rolling in the dirt. Two spells barely missed him, throwing up dirt and bits of sods as they dug into the earth. Jumping back up, ignoring the unpleasant tugging in his stomach, Harry thrust his wand forward, the tip connecting directly with the incoming Disarmer.
He struck the Kinetic Re-direct perfectly dead-on, the spell flying back at the Auror ten times faster than it arrived. In barely a blink, the Auror was blown backwards off his broom, hitting the ground with an audible crunch. Neatly catching the Auror's wand, Harry began to sprint forward, making for the fallen broom.
The two remaining Aurors passed by him, before swinging around and chasing him. They launched spells nearly continuously, impacting off his magical shield. Quickly glancing over his shoulder, he saw that they were pressing hard, coaxing all speed they could from their brooms. In their haste to prevent him from picking up their colleagues' broom, they had broken formation, flying close together.
His own magical shield held aloft, Harry reached the fallen broom. He made as it to reach for it, before swinging out with the Auror's wand. At once, a physical shield popped into existence, directly in front of the Aurors. They barely had time to widen their eyes before they slammed into the construct at full speed.
Both brooms immediately snapped, pitching their riders into the air. Limbs flailing as they fell, Harry snapped out with two quick Stunners, picking them out of the air, before casting two cushioning charms. Not bothering to watch their landing, Harry tossed away the Auror's wand, before picking up the broom.
It was a Cleansweep Five. Nothing special, but it would get him out of here far faster than running would, and with significantly less damage to his patched stomach. Quickly mounting the broom, Harry rocketed forward, heading straight towards the gatehouse. With another broom in hand, his next objective would be far easier.
A mere fifty feet from the stone structure of the gatehouse, a figure appeared in a flash of fire. Wearing bright purple robes, the figure's bright blue eyes blazed as it beheld Harry's approaching form, a bright red phoenix perched upon its shoulder.
Dumbledore!
The hand holding the Elder Wand beginning to move, they locked gazes, bright blue meeting bright green. Dumbledore's eyes widened perceptibly, surprised reflected in them, stilling the motion in his arm.
It was only a half-second of hesitation, but it was all Harry needed.
Urging even more speed from the broom, he flew over the gatehouse, soaring above Dumbledore. The air began to grow heavy with magic as he did, as if lightning was about to strike.
Not having a desire to cross wands with Dumbledore, Harry apparated in mid-air. A tremendous pain ripped through Harry's body as he disappeared, an ear-splitting crack left in his wake.
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Author Notes:
Too often in time-travel stories, nostalgia overwhelms Harry upon his return trip to Hogwarts, weighing down the narrative in angsty exposition. I tried to avoid that in his chapter, still keeping the focus upon Harry's quest, with the ever-moving clock hanging above his head.
Two full chapters, plus an epilogue are all that remain in this story. I don't know when the next chapter will come. I've got a one-shot that should be ready in two weeks, and after that I'm probably going to work on chapter 2 of 'Ouroboros'. Beyond that, who knows? Perhaps reader response could influence this (hint hint).
Thanks to Liron-Aria for her hard work beta-work on the chapter.
Any comments or questions shall receive a reply. I very much enjoy feedback, as it serves to inspire my muse. Even a simple "liked it" or "it sucked" is usually enough to coerce me back to the computer, as opposed to continue playing Dead Space 2. My replies have been slow as of late, due to the business of life, but I'll eventually catch up.
DLP Thanks:
Blaise, The Berkeley Hunt, mknote, rand32085, Palurien, knight504, animekingmike