Chapter Two -
And night's acrimonious shade, you approach
Impelled by his own prolific panic and the spiraling exigency of his current situation, Harry bolted from the Whomping Willow's covert entry and raced across the grounds toward the main doors of Hogwarts. The entrance leading into the school had been blasted wide open. The massive oak doors that had once adorned the castle's magnificent stony facade were now dissevered, lying utterly humbled, shattered into a thousand fragments upon their preceding steps. Harry sprinted past the bits of granite and splintered wood littering the Entrance Hall and crossed the threshold into the Great Hall.
The moment Harry stepped into the overcrowded room, all heads turned toward him and a heavy silence ensued. What seemed like a hundred eyes were trained on him, but Harry paid the avid stares no mind. He scanned the wide expanse beyond the eager spectators, searching for the towering figure of the man who might be able to offer Harry the help he so desperately needed.
"Hagrid!" he called out, "Has anybody seen Hagrid?"
When several people near him shook their heads in the negative, Harry spun back around, intent on checking the grounds and what was left of the half-giant's hut. A hand on his shoulder, however, stalled his progress. He glanced back to discover who had interrupted his quest and was not surprised to see an anxious Hermione returning his gaze, her eyes vitreous with unshed tears and her brow lined with an oppressive disquiet.
"Harry... I'm so sorry," she began, "It must have seemed like we weren't supporting you back there. And that's really not the case. It's just that... this is... a lot to take in. But Ron and I are behind you, Harry. OK? No matter what."
Harry took no time in pulling Hermione into his arms and embracing her, relieved to have the support of his two best friends. He wasn't certain what would be required in finding Snape and ensuring the man's survival, but he was determined to do whatever it took. Receiving his friends' unwavering encouragement only deepened his resolve and boosted his faltering courage.
Hermione pulled away from Harry's consoling arms, wiping away the tears that had broken free from her red-rimmed eyes with the back of her hands. She hiccuped softly as she struggled to ease her shallow breathing. Harry spared her the task of renewing their previous conversation by inquiring about Ron's whereabouts.
"He's with his family... over there," she answered.
Hermione gestured toward the far corner of the Great Hall where the massive hour glass structures that contained the multi-colored stones indicating the rise and fall of house points had once stood. All that remained of the lofty vessels was a plethora of glittering crystal shards strewn about the stone floor among the brightly-colored gems.
Harry's roving eyes shifted away from the remains of the glittering jewels and settled upon the Weasleys. He grimaced as he bore witness to the family's undisguised show of despondency. All of them were fraught with despair, sobbing and embracing each other. Ron was gripped in Mrs. Weasley's arms, the matriarch weeping with abandon against his shoulder, while George was crouched into a sitting position on the cold stone floor, trembling and inconsolable in his calamitous grief.
Harry's eyes wandered toward Ginny. Her disheveled appearance revealed the anguished suffering of losing a sibling. The long strands of her crimson mane were matted and tousled and her eyes appeared swollen from crying. After a moment, her gaze found his.
Dim in expression and spirit, her eyes seemed cold, almost indifferent, contrasting with the pained, sympathetic look which Harry bestowed upon her. She held his gaze for only a brief moment, before dropping her head to stare at the rubble on the floor and then turning back to her grieving family once more.
"Ginny just... needs some time, Harry," Hermione offered, having just noticed the awkward exchange, "She's just mourning Fred right now..."
"She won't even look at me," Harry whispered, his throat suddenly tight as fresh tears emerged in his stinging eyes.
"She loves you..."
"She blames me."
Hermione said nothing in response to Harry's heartbreaking declaration. She didn't need to. Harry had seen the unmistakable apathy directed at him from those pained, brown eyes, shimmering with resentful tears. Some part of Ginny held him responsible for Fred's death... or maybe there was more to it than that.
Perhaps she had never gotten over Harry dissolving their relationship after Dumbledore's funeral. Maybe her bitterness had grown and festered during the nine months they had spent apart, a time when her family was in constant danger because of their close relationship with Undesirable Number One.
Harry supposed it could also be because he had abandoned her in favor of attempting to bring about an end to the war. He certainly had not put her first. That he could admit. He had hoped that she would wait for him. But... perhaps love is not patient... or maybe... maybe what they had shared was never really love to begin with...
"Harry, didn't you mention that you were looking for Hagrid?"
"What?" Harry asked, startling when he heard Hermione's question, distracting him from his dismal reverie, "Oh... yes."
"Well, he just came into the Great Hall. There... by the entrance," she noted.
Harry whirled around, scanned the crowd feverishly and breathed a grateful sigh of relief when he spotted the massive form of Hagrid approaching him.
"Harry?" Hermione asked in a timorous voice, "Do you need me to stay while you talk to Hagrid? It's just that I..."
Hermione's eyes swept across the expanse of the Hall and glanced over to where Ron stood with his family, a look of nervous guilt radiating from her eyes.
"Go on… go to him," Harry whispered, and then leaned over to place a gentle kiss her cheek, "I'll catch up with you later. I promise."
Hermione accorded him with a small, melancholy smile before leaving his side and making her way over to the mournful assembly. Harry's gaze lingered for a moment, and he watched as Ron pulled Hermione into his arms, leaning into her and burying his tear-laden face into the curve of her neck as he let go of his anguish, weeping and tightening his grip on her.
"All righ', Harry? I heard yeh were lookin' fer me. Yer not hurt, are yeh?" Hagrid asked as his enormous hand swooped down and clapped Harry on his back, temporarily knocking the breath out of him.
"N-n-no," Harry stammered between a series of coughs and gasps, "I'm OK. I just… I just wanted to ask... Can you identify this?"
Harry held out his right hand for Hagrid so that he could get an adequate view of the tiny glass vial and the small black feather that resided within. Hagrid bent down to better inspect the offering, his eyes squinting at first, then widening in recognition.
"Do you know what kind of animal the feather might have come from?" Harry pressed, "I mean, I'm pretty sure it's a bird, but I don't really have a clue what kind of..."
"That's a Chatham raven feather!" Hagrid interjected quickly, his voice rapt with excitement, "Where did yeh get tha', Harry? Merlin, I haven' seen one o' them in twenty years!"
"A Chatham raven?" Harry questioned, "I've never even heard of that species."
"Oh... well, don' know ter much abou' 'em, meself, actually. It's Professor Snape who's the expert on the Chatham ravens. He knew all abou' 'em, o' course. Even had a portrait o' one guarding the entrance ter his dungeon quarters. He was fond of that portrait fer sure. I think that's the real reason why he kept the dungeon as his quarters instead o' moving in ter the Headmasters'..."
Harry didn't stick around to hear the rest of Hagrid's rambling supposition. He raced from the Great Hall at top speed and headed down the dark corridor that led to the dungeon, only lessening his speed when he neared the potions classroom. Once he was standing directly in front of the familiar door, he inspected the remainder of the gloomy, dank hallway, searching for this raven painting that Hagrid had mentioned and the door that ushered into Snape's private quarters.
Of course, Harry had absolutely no clue where the man's personal rooms were located. He had no way of knowing for certain if he was even in the correct hallway, but he assumed that Snape's quarters would most likely be in the vicinity of the classroom where he had taught for the majority of his tenure at Hogwarts.
Harry turned around and peered down the length of the corridor, attenuating his eyes so that he could decipher the dark perimeter of the passage. His pulse sped up when he noticed, just within the periphery of his vision, a narrow hallway that branched out from the main corridor. Harry drew closer to the subsidiary and turned the corner. His heart nearly stopped when he noticed the large, imposing wooden door, barely visible in the murky shadows. Beside it, hanging amid the cold, damp stones of the dungeon wall, was an enormous portrait of a majestic, black bird.
The great bird was perched atop a lonely branch of a barren, warped tree overlooking a tempestuous ocean which was sentient and restive. Its volatile waves churned as if anticipating an imminent storm. The raven's feathers were pitch-black and lustrous, catching the intermittent luminance radiating through the turbulent storm clouds overhead. Its piercing ebony eyes were intense and fathomless, daunting in their exquisite fervency.
It remained rigid and still as Harry studied it. The raven's dark, attentive eyes stared across the vast ocean beyond as if it were searching for some altruistic lost love, awaiting a foretold, prodigal return. In a slow, languid motion, it turned its magnificent head and fixed Harry with an expectant, inquisitive stare.
Realizing that this raven must be the guardian of Snape's quarters, Harry panicked when he became cognizant of the fact that he had no idea what the password was. The raven only cocked its tenebrous head to the side in response to his blatant unease.
Harry lowered his head and worried his lower lip with his teeth as he pondered his choices. From what he had learned about Snape over the course of the last few hours, he could discern only two possibilities...
"Lily?"
The raven tilted his head in confusion and annoyance, as if disappointed by his first attempt. Harry took a deep, reassuring breath and resigned himself to the inevitable, now knowing precisely what the password must be...
"Gray?"
Harry's second attempt was followed by a resounding click as the heavy wooden door swung open, beckoning his admittance into the dark, abandoned rooms within. He could feel himself shudder with trepidation as he moved forward into the dim space.
Now that he had gotten this far, Harry wasn't even certain what it was he was looking for. Of course he was hoping to find a way to ensure Snape's survival, but Harry was doubtful that he would succeed in procuring an antidote to Nagini's deadly venom or some cure-all potion that could heal the man. Even if he could find such a miracle elixir, the daunting task of finding Snape in order to administer the remedy remained improbable.
Harry felt his panic spike as he realized that it was far too late for that, anyway. It had been nearly four hours since the massive serpent had attacked Snape, forcing Harry to accept the dreadful truth; If Snape hadn't already been treated for his injuries, he would have succumbed to the fatal wounds by now.
No, if Harry were completely honest with himself, neither an antidote for snake venom nor a healing potion was what he sought. It was confirmation he was yearning for. He needed to know if Snape's intense memory had been real. He longed for some irrefutable proof that could pacify his burning desire to understand what it was that he saw in that memory. He needed to find some sort of tangible evidence which could validate that Gray had indeed existed… that he wasn't an unfortunate hallucination caused by Snape's battle with death… that Gray had truly lived... and loved.
Above all else, Harry needed to know, for certain, whether Snape had been correct. He needed to know if he could possibly have been that anguished boy from Snape's memory, if he and Gray were one and the same. For Harry was now beginning to suspect that the only person with the ability to save Snape was not Harry at all... it was Gray.
"Lumos!" Harry whispered into the quiet stasis, disseminating light throughout the gloomy space.
His eyes darted over the scarcely lit room, searching for something that would catch his eye, pull his focus.
Bookshelves lined almost every inch of wall space, their ledges packed with a multitude of ancient, worn tomes and texts. Harry skimmed their spines for anything that would give him pause... a journal, perhaps, or maybe another hand-me-down school textbook like Harry's old Advanced Potion-Making book owned by the Half-Blood Prince. Since Snape was so fond of writing in his potions book, Harry supposed he could have written in others as well, but he found nothing. The shelves only consisted of several volumes of Potions manuals and Dark Arts tomes. There was nothing indicative of a long lost love from the past.
Harry abandoned his perusal of the main sitting room, deciding instead to investigate the bedroom on the assumption that if Snape were hanging on to any meaningful keepsakes from his past, it would be there that he would have stashed them.
As soon as he entered the new room, Harry's attention was drawn to a modest, run-down table situated beside the bed in the furthest corner. Its wooden surface was unfinished and splintered. Just below the worn, scratched tabletop was a solitary drawer that had been left partially open. The rickety drawer hung askew from the table as if the simple act of opening and closing it over the years had eroded its track. Harry felt his heartbeat accelerate as he approached it, feeling a sudden confidence that something of significance lay within.
Harry's hands were shaking as he pulled the drawer open and peered inside. A single object occupied the confined space – a large, leather-bound book, its dark cover faded and worn.
Harry seized the heavy tome and pulled it from the drawer to examine it in greater detail. His heart nearly stopped when he read the book's familiar title emblazoned across the cover in blood-red lettering – Secrets of the Darkest Art.
"Oh my God… this… this is… but it can't be…"
Harry rifled through the pages of the book until he located the section he was searching for, the chapter on horcruxes. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he scanned the pages pertaining to horcrux creation and destruction. Then he saw them, the hastily marked underlines and poorly-drawn circles and arrows highlighting pertinent passages, penned upon these pages only a short time ago in a cold, leaky tent while on the run from a madman.
Harry's brain was reeling. His breath caught in his throat as he grappled with the sheer improbability of the situation. How could this Dark Arts book exist in this drawer, when he knew for a fact that Hermione still had it stowed within the magically-enlarged depths of her beaded bag?
He stared at the markings, tracing along the pen marks with his fingertip. The inked amendments looked discolored, as if faded by age, yet he recalled making some of these notations himself. He and Hermione added them only months before...
As Harry relinquished a terrified, tremulous breath and gripped the book in his shaking hands, he realized there could only be one explanation for this anomaly; Snape was given this book… years ago… by someone who has access to it only now…
Harry rummaged through the remainder of the tome, searching for more, now desperate to deepen his understanding. He slowed his frenetic search when he neared the back of the book. The last page had been bookmarked by a folded piece of parchment. Harry reached for the paper and just as he began to unfold it, an old photograph fell from within its creases.
With trembling hands, Harry picked up the photograph and flipped it over to view its image. It was a muggle photograph, a polaroid. Its surface was washed out and cracked, but its content was still discernible; Two boys... the very same two from Snape's memory.
The teenage Severus Snape was bearing an uncharacteristic grin and was holding a small, scaly black winged creature in his arms. Harry was almost certain that it was a newborn thestral, judging from its horse-like face and thin, skeletal body.
The other boy, Gray, was not looking at the camera. His attention was fixed on Snape's brilliant smile, beaming with pride and exuberance. His left hand was placed gently on the tiny creature's head, and Harry narrowed his eyes to decipher the faint markings that were etched into the skin on the back of Gray's hand.
I must not tell lies.
Harry's breathing quickened... his heart raced... it was him. He was Gray... and he was going to go back in time. Somehow.
He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, placed the photo aside and unfolded the sheet of parchment, feeling both terrified and thrilled at the same time. He opened the aged letter, smoothed out its heavy creases and began to read the poem that was scrawled upon its surface, its lines handwritten in a very familiar, cramped narrow script...
Gray Skye Mourning
In the space sundering dawn's divining inception,
And night's acrimonious shade, you approach,
Luring me with your resonating effulgence.
Fractured and vacant, I stand before you,
Benighted by fate's callous providence.
A simple caress of your hand awakens me,
My heart, forsaken, stirs from its slumber.
Your gentle touch beguiles my senses, captivates my soul,
In love's tranquil embrace, we thrive, entwined, enamored,
Deeply, your love flows through me, igniting this fervent blaze,
The scent of your skin, the taste of your lips, enraptures me.
I am yours, completely, wholly, eternally.
Yet you abandon me, leave me to my wretched solitude,
Bereft of your light, my haunted eyes dim and weep,
My heart, rent, shattered, screams for your spirit,
I ache, bleed, die, in the wake of your absence.
The memory of you binds me, torments me, as I grieve alone,
The breath that once ghosted over your lips, slows,
Hindered by your imparted agony, piercing, abiding,
And as the imminent tempest looms, I wait for you.
In the hollows of despair's cruel chill, I linger.
I can almost feel you here, love,
As the storm nears, drawing ever closer,
Where the wind gently susurrates,
Whispering its sorrowful lament,
Reminding me of your breath on my skin,
The warmth of your body against mine,
And your tears spilling onto my cheek
As you cry for my desolation.
So I await your foretoken return,
As I slowly perish, wither, fade,
Your desperate plea still
echoing in my mind...
Survive Severus.
Promise me,
You'll live.
Tears fell from Harry's burning, virescent eyes. His breath suspended, as a strangled, despairing moan escaped him. Trembling fingers desperately tried to wipe away the evidence of his anguished torrent of emotion as his heart ached with a fathomless grief for the boy who had suffered this pain, this miserable sorrow. Harry's sadness deepened when a sudden realization took hold of him, a profound, heart-rending understanding...
I did this to him.
It didn't matter, though... not really. Harry knew now, without a doubt, that he was Gray, and he had no choice but to go back. He had to do what he must to ensure that Snape would survive his impending attack.
There was no dead body... no proof that Snape had died from his mortal peril. Harry knew what that meant; There was a chance the man had beaten the odds. Harry had to believe that. He had to try.
And he knew that he had to go back in time... because he had already done it.
Harry folded the parchment back into its indented creases and replaced the photograph into the folds as he pondered the arduous task before him. Just knowing that he was destined to go back was not enough. He now must figure out how to make it happen.
Harry was rather clueless about time travel, his only experience with it being that brief escapade in his third year when he and Hermione had gone back several hours to save Sirius and Buckbeak. This, however, was far more complex. A time-turner would never work for this vast amount of time. Not to mention that Harry was quite certain the DA's mission to the Department of Mysteries resulted in the destruction of all known time-turners in Britain. He wouldn't be successful in procuring a time-turner even if he had intended to use one.
A time-turner would be inadequate for another reason as well. The device only took you back, not forward. It was only capable of time reversal. Harry needed a method that would allow him to go back, yet would return him to his proper time as well. He was sure he was not meant to stay. After reading Snape's heartbreaking, lamented poem... Harry knew he was fated to leave.
Just as Harry began to tuck the folded parchment back into its place between the bookmarked pages, a penned notation caught his eye. He skimmed the blemished page and fixed his gaze upon a paragraph near the bottom. A single spell had been circled in red ink, and in Snape's neat scrawl, a solitary entry was written beside it that read... lunar cycle, one month.
Harry's gaze shifted from Snape's exegesis and settled instead on the spell that he had circled. His green eyes instantly widened in astonishment as he realized that he had discovered the solution to his dilemma...
Time Regression Spell
Latin incantation (vrbl.) - Tempus Procedere
Performed correctly, Tempus Procedere will temporarily transport the caster back to a pre-determined time and place of his or her choosing. Stringent intent is necessary in order to achieve proper placement.
Warning: This spell is exceedingly difficult and should only to be attempted by the most adept and powerful witches and wizards. Incorrect time placement is highly probable.
Banned by the British Ministry of Magic in the year 1541
Harry snapped the book shut, the crucial page still marked by the folded parchment, and rushed from the room. He exited Snape's quarters quickly and raced down the long dungeon corridor toward the Great Hall in search of Ron and Hermione.
Harry had just rounded the corner, when he collided with someone approaching from the other direction. Harry staggered backward, reeling from the startling impact and dropping the book onto the stone floor. He shook his head to clear it, then glanced up to see a discomposed Hermione looking back at him.
"Harry! Why didn't you tell me you were leaving the Great Hall? I was worried about you!" she scolded.
"Sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to upset you. I just needed to..."
"You were down in the dungeons, weren't you?" she interjected.
Harry nodded. A fretful quietude followed as Hermione's gaze left Harry's nervous features and found respite on the leather-bound book lying upon the corridor floor. Its front cover was face-up, the striking red letters of its title easy to discern even in the dim hallway.
Hermione gasped, then bent down to seize hold of the anomalous object.
"This is... but it can't be... I have it..." she spluttered, opening the book and directing her attention to the same section that Harry had sought.
Her eyes enlarged with blatant shock and amazement as she perused the marked pages. After only a moment, Hermione thrust the still open book into Harry's arms and proceeded to pull out her beaded bag from where it was concealed in her sock. She opened the small purse, leveled her wand at the aperture and summoned the book's doppelganger.
It zoomed out of her bag and fell neatly into her outstretched hand. Hermione took no time in opening the book to the same page as its twin and drawing nearer to Harry so she could compare the two.
Harry focused his attention on Hermione, observing her escalating panic as her eyes darted from one book to the other. Finally, she looked up into Harry's eyes and fixed him with dazed, stunned expression.
"You found this in his personal quarters?"
"Yes."
Hermione swallowed hard, gazed back down at the two identical books fleetingly, then trained her eyes upon Harry once more, fear and apprehension emanating from within their depths.
"It really is you, isn't it? You're Gray..." she muttered, "And... and you're going back..."
Harry didn't answer right away. He pulled out the parchment from the back of Snape's book, placed it in the front pocket of his jeans and handed the book to her.
"You keep this. This is the one that should remain here," he explained, "And I take this one with me."
He reached for the book that had previously been inside her bag and rifled through the pages until he came to the last one. He found the Time Regression spell and turned the book around so that Hermione could view it.
"This is the spell I have to use. It will take me back in time and then return me after a month's time. I... I'm not certain if that means a month will pass here as well... but I suppose it's possible it could be instantaneous..."
"Harry, have you looked at this?" Hermione inquired, her voice quavering with fear, "It's extremely dangerous! It implies that it's nearly impossible to perform correctly. Harry... you could end up lost in time... or stuck in some foreign place..."
"Yes I've read it, Hermione. But listen... it's just like third year, OK? Think about it. The only reason I had the confidence to repel all those dementors was because I knew that I had already done it! You're forgetting Hermione... all of this has already happened. The book proves that," he expounded fervently, "Not to mention... I do have a bit of an advantage when it comes to spell casting."
Harry reached behind him and pulled out the Elder wand from his back pocket, waving it in front of her, hoping to ease her tension. Unfortunately, however, her expression remained agitated and fearful.
"Look Hermione... I have to do this! I am the only one with the ability to save him. And I have to save him, Hermione. I have to try. I just can't let him die..."
"But Harry... you'll be going back to when Professor Snape was in his seventh year at Hogwarts. You're going to see Dumbledore again... and Remus, Sirius... and your parents! They have ALL died because of Voldemort and this war. Won't you be tempted to try and save them as well?"
Harry's throat tightened and his eyes burned as new tears welled up at the corners and spilled down his cheek. He took a deep, tremulous breath and held it, attempting to alleviate his spiraling dread.
Yes, he had thought about that. The very idea of seeing them all again, alive and well, all the while KNOWING that they were fated to die, sickened him. But Harry knew enough about the balance of time to know that their deaths could not be undone. He had seen them all, either in death or in resurrected form. He knew for certain they had died. Therefore, their destinies could not be altered.
There was still hope for Snape, though, and Harry was determined to keep the man from Death's oppressive stranglehold.
"I know I can't help them, Hermione. I'm not saying it will be easy, but I know how this works," Harry whispered, his voice faltering.
He looked deeply into her warm, compassionate eyes, still laden with distress, and fixed her with an imploring look.
"Please understand, Hermione... I have to do this."
After a brief pause, she seemed to acquiesce. She took a slow, steadying breath and nodded in consensus.
"Where?" she asked, he voice shaking.
"The Shrieking Shack," Harry answered without hesitation, "Where's Ron?"
"He went back to the Burrow with the rest of the family," she whispered, her head lowered in despondency, "I'll let him know what's going on. Don't worry, Harry... we both support you."
Harry nodded his head, then looked back up and voiced one final request.
"If it is a month until I return, please... please apologize to them for me. The Weasleys... Andromeda... McGonagall... all of them. I assume I will miss several funerals. But I..."
"I know, Harry," she interrupted, "It's OK. They'll understand... Go. Save him."
Harry wrapped his arms around his best friend and held her tightly as grateful tears cascaded down his face, "I love you," he whispered into her ear.
"I love you too, Harry. Please be careful."
Harry pulled away from the consoling embrace, gave Hermione a tender kiss on her tear-strewn cheek and retreated back down the main corridor toward the Entrance Hall. His pace quickened and his heart raced as he exited the school, entered the Whomping Willow's secret passage and sped through the narrow tunnel.
For the third time that day, Harry emerged from the tunnel's end and set foot into the dilapidated edifice. As soon as he entered the room, Harry's stomach churned and roiled at the familiar sickening plash of blood on the floor. He turned from the morbid scene and concentrated on completing his task.
Harry checked his back pockets, making certain he had with him his invisibility cloak and both the Elder and Hawthorn wands. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to take the Elder wand as he knew the Dumbledore from the past would be using it, but he was positive it would be required in order to perform the Time Regression spell correctly.
Next he confirmed that Snape's poem and photograph were both safely secured in his front pocket. After assuring himself that they were indeed still there, his hand brushed up against the cold, silver chain of the feather pendant. He pulled the pendant from his pocket and placed it around his neck, knowing that it must travel with him as well.
Harry took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then opened the Secrets of the Darkest Art to the last page. He read through the scant instructions several times before he felt comfortable enough to attempt the spell.
Closing his eyes and concentrating on the time and place he wished to go back to, Harry held up the Elder wand with a trembling hand and articulated the incantation that would send him twenty years into the past...
"Tempus Procedere!"
Chapter End - TBC
A/N: I got done with this chapter a little quicker than I had expected. Better early than late! I hope you enjoy it. Next chapter ETA - July 27th. Thanks to all who have taken the time to review my first chapter. I really appreciate it. And I do love to hear your thoughts on my writing. :)
Please Review.