Harry Potter and the Chains that Bind

by patrick mcclellan

6th year. Time magic. New teachers. Causality. Year 6 replacement. I continue JKR's characterization, and that means Harry is not a god, no one cuts themselves, there is no implied harem, there is no Mary Sue, Dumbledore/the Weasleys aren't actually evil. If you've read it, go ahead and write me a summary, if this isn't good enough.

20. Chapter 20 The Casualties of Causality

Chapter 20 - The Casualties of Causality

Harry awoke early, and moved the cards off of the dirty poem, which had been scored into top of his bureau. They covered it exactly. This led him to wonder if whoever had done it had arranged it so the deck hid their creation. It would have worked perfectly; then Harry chanced to move the cards. If Harry hadn't awakened last night, there was no telling how long he would have gone without noticing something wrong. He left the poem on there for now...it was creative, albeit dirty; and he thought he might be able to find a use for it.

Potions was both harder in a way, because they were into their N.E.W.T. projects, and easier in a way, because Snape expected them to work quietly. It was something Harry found possible when the potions master wasn't hovering over him all the time. A week from today, next Thursday, he would have to sample the potions, and judge its readiness based on its resemblance to the juice of a ripe pomegranate.

Harry had never tasted the juice of a ripe pomegranate, so that definitely would be interesting.

The causality cloak was well under way by Friday. The idea was that most of the cloak would be the same color, with a sort of a wonky line representing the maker, and three or four other lines representing other people. The point was that the students could then see when other people had an effect on their lives, which although Harry didn't actually want to know, seemed to be happening. When done properly, the line that represented the creator was jagged, not like Harry's scar, but like a true bolt of lightning.

He had decided to put in Ron and Hermione of course, and he was forced to put in Voldemort; but as a last minute whim, he added Parvati. He was mildly curious to see if she had a tremendous effect on him.

The cloaks were able to go back a number of years; Professor Walken even claimed that they could go to well before a person was born, if one did it right. Harry decided not to test that, stopping at his first birthday. The cloaks had just started to turn colors, so Voldemort's green thread had only just appeared and had yet to intersect with his red one.

It would take several more weeks for the cloak to catch up with his past and get on with his present, but he had an idea... Assuming he knew when Voldemort had attacked him, and how; he should be able to undo the changes...He would know for certain where the man would be, after all. Hadn't he long wished that he could go back and change it? Well, maybe this was what Dumbledore had intended all along! He always knew deep down inside he couldn't go back, but now maybe he could.

His book, which was obviously not a book written for school-aged witches and wizards, said that it was not possible, but it was an unsatisfying answer in Harry's mind. He knew there was a book from the restricted section in the library that they had used for one or two days of class, one that they had been allowed to look at briefly but not study intently, because it catalogued what Walken had called "dangerous misconceptions" about how to cheat the nature of causality, which, at least according to his book, was the primary reason he couldn't go back. Harry had to figure out a way around that, and he could go back. Then he could save his parents. He could even possibly help defeat Voldemort, with knowledge from the future. He was antsy the rest of the day, just waiting for the opportunity to get to the book.

After D.A. was over, he almost ran back to the common room. It was imperative that no one discover what he was up to: He knew Hermione would shoot down anything that had to do with defying an authority to attempt something magical above and beyond what a teacher said. It would end up being like Molly Weasley's reaction to his birthday gift all over again.

Harry could hear it now. "These kinds of things are forbidden for a reason, Harry...Professor Walken is an expert, Harry...Awful things happen to wizards who muck about with time, Harry." His last experience "mucking about" with time had saved Sirius's life, not to mention Buckbeak, so he didn't need or want a lecture from Hermione.

Ron was another story. Temporalism was actually a class he was very good at, and Harry knew Ron had a tremendous amount of respect for Professor Walken. While his friend was game for a little rule-breaking any other time, Harry thought it very possible that Ron would side with Hermione on this one, though he couldn't even imagine what Ron would say. Being top in a class was so out of character for him that it would make him truly unpredictable.

Harry passed through Defense against the Dark Arts in a fog, imagining what he'd say to his parents when he got the chance...If it took him a month, six months, or even years and tears, he'd get back to his parents. After all, time wasn't something that could be a barrier to this project. He was disappointed with himself for not coming up with it sooner....he could fix so much! It generally all boiled down to his parents dying, however. He could go further back and expose Pettigrew for what he was before he'd been made a secret keeper...or even further and try to stop Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort...it was hard to decide where to begin, and he occupied himself with thoughts of what he'd change, if he could, for the better part of the afternoon. D.A. went smoothly, although if his plan succeeded tonight he could save them all the risk.

After class, Harry pulled the map from its hiding place in his chest, and readied his invisibility cloak, which he kept in his school bag. Sneaking around alone was new to him, so he spent a long time staring at the map and trying to pinpoint all the little dots in relation to his path...It was going to be a gamble for sure.

When Harry did finally make his way to the library, he realized that in his haste he hadn't waited nearly long enough, and there would still be students studying at the long tables. Parvati was there, and Harry was very tempted to sit next to her and clue her in on his exploits, or possibly just forget them for the night. He stood behind her long enough to see that she was alternating back and forth between an ancient runes text and a catalog. It might have been the same one Harry ordered the SkyBall from, now that he focused on it, but she was looking at quills and the SkyBall was nestled on its chain which hung invitingly low. The quills she was looking at were special glowing models, designed for taking notes at night or in the dark. Harry committed the page to memory; Parvati's birthday was sometime in May, though he wasn't sure when, and it seemed a little premature to be getting her a gift now, when they might not even be together then.

The restricted section was fairly easy to get into. In spite of its name, it was generally left open because students quite often needed access to a book inside. Under the cape, it was a matter of avoiding the students who were in there while finding the large, blue book. Its golden lettering would help set it apart...many of the books here were so old or subdued that a flash of color was just what was needed to set them apart. After at least forty minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for. He found it tougher to balance the book, map, cloak, and still do the general motivating than he had anticipated, however, and as he spun around a Slytherin, he stepped on the edge of the cloak and yanked it off his head.

The map and cloak fell to the ground. He just happened to run into Minerva McGonagall, and that was when his luck ran out.

"Potter!"

"Professor!" he spat, startled. He was still holding the book - Stealing Time by Aloicious Fugit. She lifted the heavy tome out of his hands and flipped through it.

"You are in very serious trouble, Mister Potter."

"Yes, Professor," he answered numbly. It was really the first time he went out alone, he'd been to busy with schoolwork until now, and he had gotten pinched.

"Pick up your cloak and come with me!"

Harry carefully picked up his cloak so that the Marauders' map would stay hidden. He didn't need to lose that, and he was silently thankful that blind luck had caused the cloak to fall directly on top of the map, concealing it completely. McGonagall walked briskly to one of the reading rooms on the other side of the library. Madam Pince was always on the students about using them to snog in, but they were as good a place as any for your head of house to yell at you.

"What is wrong with you, Potter? What did you think you could accomplish?"

Harry said nothing. He couldn't think of anything that would help him out, at this moment.

"What a wonderful excuse!" McGonagall snapped at last. "Detention, my room, tomorrow! And read your book! Your text book. You wouldn't even be here if you had!"

Harry bowed his head and slunk out. He couldn't even get in trouble for being out after curfew, because it was still early. Not like that mattered. He was in hot water again anyway; why let something like that get in his way?

***

"Detention, Potter?"

"Yes."

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Snape snidely asked.

Harry decided not to be combative. He couldn't see why anyone would make such a big deal out of it. It's not like they would do any different, if they were in his shoes. He was seriously starting to dislike his Occlumency; not because it wasn't working, but because it may have been, which meant Snape might have been right about something. That was a possibility Harry didn't want to consider. It didn't allow him to hide his detention from Snape, however.

"You are a moron, Potter. Not only did your distress undo a month's worth of near-negligible progress; your idea is laughable."

That made Harry mad, and he snapped back. "Oh, it's laughable to try to save my parents from dying? Laughable to try to stop your lot from causing...who-knows-how-many innocent deaths?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Do not attempt to presume you can alter time. The Dark Lord would have annihilated you even faster than your pompous, arrogant father. What has happened has happened. It is an immutable, unchanging fact, and the sooner you get that through your ridiculously thick skull, the better."

"Yah, my mum is dead, and to hell with anything that could change that! It's not like you'd ever want to take it back, Mister I'm-so-sorry-I-killed-people. Maybe if you lick Dumbledore's boots enough she'll just walk through the door!" Harry shouted.

Snape crossed his arms and pointed coolly at the door. "Out."

Harry stormed out, so angry that he couldn't even attempt to clear his mind. All he wanted was to make things right, and if it took a little magic that no one would tell him about, he'd do it himself. Maybe it was in the restricted section. Who cared...rules and the idea of forbidden books could go to hell when it came to dealing with Voldemort. The dark wizard was going to kill him anyway, so restricted sections were the least of his problems.

He went through the next day in a dark mood, glaring off anyone who wanted to talk to him. Parvati didn't even try...taking one look had been enough to convince her that he wanted to be left alone. Harry felt bad for that, somewhere deep inside.

His detention was for five that night. It cut short his meeting with Kingsley, which was just as well, since Kingsley was busy anyway, and really just wanted to know what Harry had done with his books. Harry told him with some sense of trepidation.

"Honestly, that's a relief." Kingsley said. "I can always borrow the book they're in if I have to, which I don't expect I will. I might ask you to pay for them, but only because I know you can, and I don't make much as an Auror."

"I can do that," Harry quickly agreed. "Just tell Remus what they cost...he can give you money. I'll cover Hermione's book, too." A hundred galleons worth of books was a small price to pay for information that could save his life. Nothing beat a good disarming charm though. He'd have had to pay that much if he was buying them for Auror training anyway.

"Tell Hermione she's a genius," Kingsley said, examining the book Harry had plopped down carefully and tugging on his earring. The book trembled slightly, but otherwise behaved.

"Oh, if I tell her again, Ron may curse me," Harry remarked. Kingsley looked up questioningly. "May I be excused?" he asked, letting the large black Auror wonder. Kingsley waved him off.

As soon as he could, he hurried to McGonagall's classroom. He didn't want to make her mad. Somewhere in his head, in between remaining resolutely angry with Snape and feeling bad for how short he had been with Parvati, he was still thinking about where to get the kind of trinket he needed to go back fifteen years. McGonagall was at her desk, and rose immediately when Harry entered. He inwardly prepared him for the worst....he hoped she wasn't still as furious as she had been the night before.

"Harry, sit down." This was not what he expected at all. Harry was taken aback by Professor McGonagall's soft tone and sudden use of his first name. When he looked, he realized she looked tired, and exceptionally sad. He sat immediately.

"I'm going to tell you a story," she said, and then, with a flash of the McGonagall Harry knew well, quickly added, "if you can keep your mouth shut. Can you do that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said immediately, his curiosity piqued. Professor McGonagall paused for several moments, collecting her thoughts or perhaps simply to compose herself.

"Long ago, when I was still a student here, I met an extraordinary young man. He was magically powerful and very intelligent; very curious. He, like I, was a Gryffindor, though he worked as had as anyone I ever met. Almost as hard as Miss Granger, and that's saying something. I don't think he was as intelligent as she, though he may have had more…well…what some would call wisdom. His name…I cannot tell you that, Mister Potter, but for now it won't matter."

Harry nodded, and Professor McGonagall watched him silently as if she was appraising his thoughts.

"Does it seem odd to you that he wasn't in Hufflepuff with all of the other hard-working students? Or Ravenclaw with those who are mentally gifted?" She leaned forward over towards Harry and dropped her voice a bit.

"He could have even been a Slytherin. He was quite ambitious." She paused again, looking down at her wand, which she had been absentmindedly rolling in her fingers.

"Quite ambitious. Does it surprise you that a man that driven by knowledge was in Gryffindor?"

"No," Harry said, thinking of the time when the sorting hat revealed that it placed him in Gryffindor because he asked it to. It had taken considerable pride in informing him that he might have made an excellent Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall continued. "Sometimes we wondered, as we often do. Look at Pettigrew. How that conniving rat ever got into Gryffindor -- but I digress, Potter.

"Regardless of where he truly belonged, he was placed in Gryffindor. We knew each other quite well by the time I was in my fourth year, so I was one of the first to discover his interest in Temporalism. In those days, Dippet was the headmaster, and when he discovered the infatuation with time magic, he was not amused. It is a complex magic, full of subtle intricacies and quite dangerous, even in the hands of a professional. It was nearly unthinkable to allow those studies to fall to an amateur. However, there was another student at that time that was quite remarkable, and he was a Slytherin. Do you know of whom I speak?" Harry did.

"Lord Vol-" He began, but professor McGonagall cut him off.

"At that time, he was known simply as Tom. I must admit I am somewhat shocked that you know to whom I refer. I only just learned the truth from Professor Dumbledore myself. And an impressive student he was; well-liked, talented, ambitious, and very, very intelligent. More so than perhaps anyone who has walked these halls, before or since, teachers and students alike."

Harry nodded, because he had heard Dumbledore say something to that effect himself.

"Dippet was quite accommodating to young Tom, and when my friend convinced Tom to research time magic as well, Dippet relented."

"Vol-" Harry caught himself with a stern look from Professor McGonagall, "Tom knew Temporalism?"

"I sometimes think there was very little Tom didn't know. Regardless, he was quite keen on it for a short span of time, until he discovered that the universe, or at least that aspect of it, would not be easily bent to his will; that like all others, he was subject to causality...he was culpable. Do you know what that means?"

"No," Harry answered, though he thought he'd heard the word before.

"That he, like you or I, or Professor Dumbledore, or anyone you could name could not escape the consequences of our actions...I believe Professor Walken is fond of calling them 'the chains that bind.' In the end, Tom decided it was not for him. My friend of course continued on, though I have to wonder if Tom Riddle didn't perhaps allow him to continue, using him as a resource, allowing him to do all the work with a Slytherin's eye for when the potential rewards would be ripe for reaping."

Professor McGonagall stopped, and looked at the hem of her robes. "I suppose that's neither here nor there." She seemed to grow sterner. "And now the only person to ever survive Tom's wrath is meddling with time! Trying to cheat the most fundament rule of time magic!"

"I-"

"I don't want to hear it!" she interrupted Harry. "You're not the only one who knows a little something about it!"

Harry's temper, which he had so far kept in check, suddenly rose to his lips. "Then why would Dumbledore allow me to take the stupid thing in the first place? If Dumbledore thinks that it's possible, there must be some way of…of…" Of what? But Harry did not finish. He expected Professor McGonagall to snap at him, but she did not.

"Of course Professor Dumbledore knows what you're up to. He's no idiot. He simply chose to allow you to ascertain the truth on your own. There are other benefits to Temporalism; you have proven to be quite proficient, by all accounts, and in any event, Professor Dumbledore has discovered that you don't take kindly to those who would tell you that something cannot be done. The problem, Harry, is that in this case, it's not a matter of whether the action is permissible. It is simply not possible. They are gone, Harry, and not even time magic can bring you to them or them to you."

"I don't believe you," Harry heard himself say, though some of the bits of information from Professor Walken's classes were starting to arrange themselves into something that made more sense. Professor McGonagall sighed and tugged at a silver chain around her neck. She removed her hat and slipped it over her head, and placed it firmly in Harry's palm.

It was a time turner.

"This one is a bit different than the one I loaned Miss Granger. It runs a half-minute to the turn. Hold it in front of you, and turn it forward to go forward, and backward to go back. Well, go on then!"

Harry began to turn the tiny hourglass, then paused, looking up and Professor McGonagall. What if it didn't work? What if he had been deluding himself all along? What if Professor Walken had been telling him the truth all along, and he couldn't go back? What would happen then? Would he be lost somewhere, stuck between times? Would he be injured, or even die?

"And here you are Potter, thirty seconds later and no time traveling to be found."

"But…"

"Causality, Potter. You didn't appear in this room thirty seconds ago, looking at yourself, did you?"

"No," said Harry, glumly beginning to understand why Voldemort had deemed the magic largely useless for his purposes. Miss McGonagall glared at him, and he realized for the first time that she was no longer taller than he was.

"In precisely forty five seconds, I want you to use the time turner exactly as before." Seconds after she finished saying this, another Harry appeared next to her, staring doggedly at an object in his palm. A look of grim resolution lined his face. He glared at his seated self, but did not speak. The seated Harry arose and stepped warily forward, examining himself with all the meticulous attention that said he didn't believe what he was seeing. Of course, he did believe what he was seeing…he'd even see it again, but it was certainly odd to see yourself standing there in front of you, looking back. It seemed a bit unreal to be wondering what the future Harry, the 30-second-from-now Harry, was thinking. As he watched, his future self held out the time-turner, nodding at his younger self.

"Well, go on then," his older self said. Harry looked more closely at the time-turner in his hand. It was a fine, slightly tarnished silver and the "sand" appeared to be bits of gold and something deep red – possibly rubies. Something was engraved on it, but he couldn't make it out. He looked closer and tipped it in the light.

Tempus something. He tipped it further, and was suddenly spinning in reverse. When he looked up again, he was staring at another Harry, who was seated at a desk and looking at him apprehensively. Time travel was confusing, and now he knew why he had been warned not to confront the past version of himself in his third year... Now he understood; causality wasn't a rule to prevent him from going back, it was simply a word to describe how things were...not a suggestion, but a fact.

As quickly as it had come on, this idea escaped his mind. When he had saved Sirius (and even himself) from the dementors, he had even seen himself. He head definitely lived through it though, and when he and Hermione had gone through it the second time, he found himself doing the things that he had already seen himself do.

Harry bowed his head, and remained silent.

"Do you see now why I'm concerned, Potter?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry answered glumly.

"Am I going to have to talk to you again?"

"No ma'am." Something occurred to him. "About the lake..."

"I would appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about that. One could even say you owe it to me!"

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that. He decided to do as Dumbledore suggested, and simply stared at her.

It worked, because McGonagall continued. "Even the best spells can only do so much...It can take the years from me, but they always return. He had an accident you know...used the wrong spell. That's the power you're dealing with, Potter: He isn't capable of aging normally. He started working on a spell to reverse the damage forty years ago. Five years ago, he admitted failure. He was near deciding something rash, I'm afraid. Between the two of us and two of our friends currently in America we redirected our efforts...perhaps if he couldn't end the effect the time magic had on him, we could reverse the aging on....the people we care about. That was actually much easier, even though we knew that it couldn't be permanent, or even long-term."

Harry realized that she was talking about Professor Walken, and with a start, he realized he'd be wrong about Minnie. It wasn't a daughter or niece at all; it was her.

"I won't tell anyone," he said. In his current state of mind, the irony of her situation wasn't lost on him. Walken was a master at temporalism, probably one of the world's foremost authorities, and yet time had cheated him and McGonagall...The one thing he had the most control over was the one that had cost him the most.

McGonagall looked up as if she didn't know where she was; then gradually retained her normal composure.

"Go on, Potter. If you can tell me you've given up on this; and that you're done trying to cheat causality, then you've been here long enough."

"I can...I mean...yeah. I'm not sure what I mean. I think I get it now."

"And not a word about...?"

"No," Harry said. "That's none of my business." Harry rose, packing his bag and straightening his chair. McGonagall remained where she was, her head down and eyes fogged over. It was obvious, even to him, that she was deep in thought. She nodded weakly. At the door, Harry stopped and turned. "I'm glad you figured something out." Professor McGonagall glanced up, with a dazed look on her face.

"Excuse me?"

"With Professor Walken. I'm glad you figured something out. I just wanted something like that...but with my parents...I guess." She nodded, and Harry knew the conversation was over.

When he got back to the common room, Parvati was waiting for him on the couch.

"It's Friday night - date night." Harry hadn't been on anything he could officially classify as a date, other that the ball. He wasn't averse to the idea, though.

"Can you give me a minute?"

"Of course. I'm glad you're not so moody today."

"Me too," he answered. He shot up the stairs and went straight to his chest. The marauders' map was near the top. Harry wasn't surprised to see McGonagall and Walken were together...it would take some getting used to if he was going to think of him as an old man....older than McGonagall even...but it was somehow a comforting idea. Harry was much more comfortable learning a complex and dangerous magic from someone who'd been around, versus someone his age, which is how he'd thought of Walken before. Parvati was sitting where he'd left her, on a lounge immediately in front of the stairs. There was only so much of a date you could have in an empty classroom, but he was willing to suffer for a good cause.

Harry spent almost the whole weekend with Parvati, since he was afraid that he'd been ignoring her. He knew she hadn't been expecting much out of him, but he still felt guilty for it. They would have gone to Hogsmeade together if they'd the chance, but since the visits were canceled, the best they could manage was the odd secluded hallway or room, and sitting next to each other in the great hall. At first Harry tough it was going to be an ordeal, and they did get their share of looks, but after the Saturday, they were already old news. By Sunday evening, no one seemed interested enough to give them more than a cursory glance.

"I know who Minnie is!"

"What?" Parvati was leaning against him on a lounge. Beside her, Lavender perked up slightly.

"I found out who Minnie is, Harry repeated. "I talked with Miss McGonagall today, during my detention." He had Parvati's rapt attention now, and she sat up with anticipation.

"Her daughter?" Harry shook his head. "Her niece?" Parvati ventured.

"No relation...It's just an old friend of his, that he went to school with," he said a bit louder than he needed to. The best part was that he had avoided telling a lie.

"But she looks as young as we do!"

"He specializes in time magic...she's almost as old as he is. Takes some of the thrill out of it, I'm afraid, doesn't it?" Parvati slumped back, digesting this, then nodded despondently.

"If it's true. Are you sure about this?"

"It came from McGonagall herself. She asked me to keep mum, so you know..."

Parvati nodded. Lavender made no such promise though, and unless Harry missed his guess, that would keep people too busy to bother McGonagall with stupid questions for a while. Parvati and Lavender weren't the only gossips in Hogwarts. Harry was counting on Lavender to leak the word to one of the other ones...on in a different house...Gryffindor students were naturally a little wary of perpetuating gossip that had anything to do with McGonagall. It would be akin to spreading tales about Snape for a Slytherin or Flitwick for a Ravenclaw.

For a long time, Harry wondered how people like Lavender could be considered the bravest of the brave. Then, after he thought about it, he realized that there were different kinds of brave, and that being able to talk freely about anyone might have been one of them. His aunt may have called it cheek, but nonetheless, it was bravery. It was now possible to see how Dumbledore had been right when he had talked about all the different ways in which one could be brave; when he was talking about Neville in their first year.

Monday, their causality cloaks were nearly a quarter caught up with their lives, for most of them. The line for Voldemort was obvious for him, because there was Harry'a, a relatively stable, deep red one, then Voldermort's, a sickly green, and the point at which they met skewed both lines dramatically. Harry knew that he had been a perpetual thorn in the side of the dark wizard, but it was nice to see just how much of an impact he had...it made him feel much more important. Whereas his line was simply skewed off to the side a bit; Voldemert's was genuinely messed up. It was starting to come back towards his, and Harry knew that eventually, they would intersect again, at the end of his first year. That would be more that a week away though, so for now, his cloak was very uninteresting. Ron's was quite striking, as he'd added the twins, which were generally one line, and also Ginny. He had quite a few things going on already.

"I heard what you did," Walken said, pulling him aside. Harry didn't really want to talk about it, with Walken, McGonagall, or anyone else.

"It won't happen again," he sighed. "I get it now."

"Let me show you something..." Walken walked back to the table where his cloak had been spread out and tapped it with his wand. Immediately, a brownish-red thread began to creep from the edge. Its progress was slow but measurable.

"You can give that a look at the end of the week."

"What did you do?" Hermione asked. She had a very beautiful cloak with her parents on it, so it had intricately intertwined lines already starting. It didn't look like simple thread either, and knowing Hermione, it wasn't.

"You added someone, didn't you?" Ron guessed. Walken nodded.

"If you can't figure it out at the end of the week, I'll tell you," he said. Harry wasn't in the mood for games, and he had decided that he didn't like Walken all that well anyway, so he had nothing to say to him.

The next day, he was supposed to check the potion for progress, but it hadn't changed colors like it should have, so he didn't. There was little he could do other than watch Hermione, Neville, and Connor, so that's what he did. It was slacking of the most impressive type; Snape expected them all to be working on their own, so if they looked remotely busy, he left them alone.

Defense hadn't changed; it was still the same demanding scheme he had started the year with. It was still difficult, and it seemed to be getting harder because Harry was sick of taking so many notes, but at least it was consistently tough. He knew what to expect.

The next day, a notice on the board caught his attention. It wasn't because it was about Chocolate Frog cards; there had always been a list for them. It was because the list was literally so large that it covered up half the cork board. By far, the most common cards were people who were experts in something, though Harry knew that the cards quit working after about two minutes, so he had no idea why. When he saw Ron, his friend was jingling a handful of coins with a smug look on his face.

"What gives?" Harry asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron innocently.

"You're walking around with a pocket-full of money, which I'm sure is someone else's." Ron sat down on the lounge, and Harry followed him.

"Remember how I said something big was coming?" Harry nodded. "Well this is it, mate!"

"But how can people ask for a card when they only last for a few minutes? Did they make one that lasts longer?"

"Hardly. There wouldn't be any money in that would there? I mean, if you could just save the cards you want, why would you buy more than one?" That made sense to Harry. "Watch," Ron commanded, pulling a card from his pocket. He used the tip of his quill to pry open the edge of the package, and kept the top pressed down hard, so that the frog inside very likely couldn't even wiggle. He held the package up very close to his eye and peered through the package. "I think that's Morgana. She's not a bad one."

"And that doesn't wear them out?"

"Nope," Ron said. "They aren't even activated until you pop the frog off them."

"So that means that you can pick and choose, then?"

"I was wrong before, mate."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Do you know that these cards are selling for a galleon a piece, closed? If you get a good one, you can sell it for four, maybe even five galleons!" Harry whistled softly to himself.

"That's great....really!"

"You're telling me," Ron said. "...And I get half of it! I'm telling you, my problems are over!" Harry thought about it. The money was nice, that was undeniable, but Hermione and Ron had gotten him more than the galleons ever had.

"Just...don't overdo it," Harry advised. Ron frowned.

"Whaddyou mean?"

"I mean, it's been great to have money all the time, but it doesn't always help me out when I need it. That's what Malfoy's problem is, I think; he thinks all the worlds problems are answered with gold." Ron seemed to think about that. He furled his brow.

"So I'm Malfoy, now?" This was quickly turning bad.

"That's now what I meant! I just...."

"I get it. I'm still not as good as you!" Ron had jumped up.

"It's not that..." Harry tried to explain himself.

"So what you're telling me is that the money will make me stupider?"

"That's not what I said, Ron!"

"Forget it. Forget I said anything," Ron said hotly. He stormed up the stairs to the dormitory, passing a confused Connor on the way. Ron almost knocked him over on the way by.

"What's his problem?" Connor asked, at the bottom. Harry was too frustrated to even answer. He was wondering though, and it was a good thing Connor didn't take it personally, or there could have been a major incident on the stairwell.

Thursday, Harry was listless. Hermione had done almost all of his D.A. on Wednesday night with the younger students, and Ron was steadfastly avoiding him. When he'd gone up to the room, Harry found a neat stack of galleons, along with a list of the things he still had that were Ron's. Ron was nowhere to be found, so Harry had to stack everything on his bed. The last thing he wanted to do was have another row with Ron. Hermione didn't talk about it, and Harry didn't push her.

Potions was another matter. Ron wasn't in that class, so at least he could concentrate. That was good, because his binding potion had to be tasted, and Harry was already somewhat nervous about anything he produced under the tutelage of Snape going in his mouth. It looked the right color. With apprehension and with Connor and Neville cheering him on, he first took a sip, then a gulp. It was revolting, and nothing like the pomegranate juice he had talked Dobby into getting him the week before.

"What was that?" Neville asked as Harrry screwed up his face.

"You mean besides me fouling this potion up miserably?" Harry replied.

"No...I saw it too. Was it supposed to glow before you drank it?"

"Glow?" Harry was lost.

"I bet someone switched it!" Hermione said. "It would be easy if they had another potion with them, and a line of sight!" Harry, Connor, Hermione, and Neville all looked around. In the very back to the room sat Malfoy, who was staring intently at his wand. Draco looked up, and was watching him fixedly. After a while, he couldn't resist ribbing Harry.

"Not quite what you thought, eh Potter?"

"What did you do?" Connor rose menacingly. Malfoy seemed to realize he'd said too much, and did his best to ignore them.

"Professor Snape," Hermione said.

"You are a genuine annoyance. What do you want this time, Granger?"

"Malfoy replaced Harry's potion with something strange...Can we go to the infirmary?"

"Did you see it?"

"Well, no," she admitted.

"But we saw the glow!" Neville said.

"Did it look different, smell different...Is he ill?" Harry didn't feel ill. He shook his head slowly.

"Do you have any reason to doubt that Potter is simply an incompetent moron with a sub-standard potion?"

Of course they couldn't object. That very thought was flashing through his mind, and Snape probably literally knew it.

After a moment of silence, Snape continued. "Stop making excuses as to why you made such a miserable potion, and by the next time you come, I expect twelve inches on what you've done wrong. And you'd better get to work on remaking the potion...unless you want me to fail you. Ten points from Gryffindor for telling such ridiculous lies."

"What a crock!" Connor said, later on in the hallway. "You could have died!"

"He wishes," Harry said.

He was mildly surprised that he hadn't turned any colors or started any kind of dribbling. Knowing Malfoy, he could expect something.

Harry didn't expect Snape to be looking for him, so he didn't bother to go. No one sent for him, so he didn't figure Snape was anxious for him to be there. No big surprise there. He didn't want Snape peering in his head after he'd just gotten in a fight with Ron. No doubt Snape would just push his buttons anyway.

Friday in temporalism, Harry actually saw something that mildly interested him. The line that Walken had added to the cloak was now clearly visible. It ran along his line until it violently intersected both his and Voldemort's. They all three met in a glorious explosion of color. Ron was even looking, though he was pretending not to.

"Have you figured out who that is yet?" Professor Walken asked quietly. Harry was thinking about it. There was a small list of people even in his life, and an even smaller list of people who affected him and Voldemort. It wasn't hard to guess.

"My mum."

"Right in one, Potter. Do you see why what you wanted to do could be so catastrophic, even if it was possible?" Harry nodded dumbly. He'd already found what Dumbledore had obviously intended for him to find...he knew he couldn't change the past...so why was he still even in the class?

"Some people say the universe has a sort of safety...that causality prevents you from making that kind of mistake because it would shred reality," Walken paused.

Harry didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Ron was watching keenly, while pretending to ignore them. His own causality cloak was fairly consistent, after a nice start. The lines wavered slightly, but not overly so; his brothers certainly impacted him, but not in the same way as Harry, Lily Potter, and Voldemort.

The most infuriating thing, other than Ron being a total git, was that McGonagall and Walken were starting to make real sense...the time turner and now causality cloak were going a long way to explain things to him. He hadn't gotten a look at Stealing Time in the restricted section, but he was starting to wonder how one could possibly cheat causality.

That Sunday, Hermione stopped Harry in the common room.

"I don't want to talk about it," he began. "I'm not even mad at..."

"That's not what I wanted to talk about," Hermione interrupted. "Can we go someplace a little more private?"

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Look, I need to show you something and Ron will...get unreasonable if he thinks we're in a broom closet snogging or something. Just humor me."

"What about Parvati?" He didn't want to mess up things with her when they were supposed to be going so well.

"I'm not going to touch you, Harry!" She whispered. She raised her voice and almost shouted, and she was certainly loud enough for everyone in the common room to hear.

"Headmaster's office! Now!" She stormed out of the painting hole, and Harry had sense enough to follow her. They walked in the general direction of the headmaster's office until Hermione found a lesser used hallway, and darted down it, rushing into a room full of desks stacked to the ceiling. It certainly looked like a good place to find oneself alone with the former girl-of-his-dreams. Parvati was out there somewhere, though, and Harry fidgeted nervously.

"Really!" Hermione scowled, seeming to read his mind. "Is that all you boys think about?"

"It's hard not to. I mean, you are dying to get me alone."

"Get a clue!" Hermione snapped. "I have something you should see." She reached into her pocket and pulled forth a small, uneven ball. Scored into its side was what Harry eventually recognized as a number - a 5. She dropped it in his palm.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"This is practice, like your mother's necklace. I'm doing the same thing for mine, and I wanted everything to work properly."

"So what am I looking at? Is this something about Ron, because..."

"It's not about Ron. You two will have to sort that out." Hermione seemed nervous. That in itself was not unusual, but it probably wasn't a good sign. Harry had experience with this sort of magic though, and while he got a certain amount of voyeuristic glee from seeing memories, he wanted to know what he was getting into.

"What do you know about your mother's pendant?" Hermione started.

"You know more than I do," Harry said. "I know what Flitwick told me...one memory, all that. I assume you've seen it, so what gives?"

"Harry, have you ever noticed anything strange about that...an echo, maybe, or the feeling that you're seeing more than you should...more than you can be?"

"Get to the point, Hermione." In fact, Harry had felt exactly that way, he'd just never been able to put how he felt in words.

"I've been all through that report, and in never says anything about only being able to store one memory. Recall one, yes, but I felt that...that ghost of a memory, Harry, I know you had to as well."

"Perhaps," he admitted. "What's that have to do with this?" He held up the small, misshapen sphere.

"That was going to be more practice for creating my own, but I got the extra memory that your mom had left there and put it in that. It was surprisingly easy, actually...transferring memories..."

"Alright," Harry cut her off. "So you're telling me that this was in the pendant?" Hermione nodded slowly.

"Use it, Harry, I think you should see that. I can leave..."

"No. I need you here." Harry couldn't read the look on her face, but somehow he knew he should continue. "Parvati has been great, really, but there're...well...things that just aren't anyone else's business. I can tell you anything. I can tell her a lot, but not quite anything."

Hermione didn't speak for several moments. When she finally did, she took several deep breaths. "You'd better sit down first, Harry."

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That's all for this year. I'll be taking a Christmas break, so the next update probably won't come until January...a whole month without me! Whatever will you do? Don't do anything I wouldn't do, but if you do; name it after me. Thanks to all the readers, even if you don't do reviews.

I leave you with a little Christmas poem I came up with while walking back to the dorms on a cold and snowy night at the University of Northern Iowa:

The Night Before Christmas (UNI)

T'was the night before Christmas, the campus was quiet.
There wasn't a hint of the home coming riot.
The lots were all empty, the cars were all gone
There wasn't a print on the snow covered lawn.
There was no music blaring, No shouts and no yells
Just the deep rolling chimes of the campanile bells.

Just after eleven, I stepped from my lair,
I bundled up tightly and slipped down the stair,
I made my way slowly across to Lang Hall,
And, looking to heaven, watched pixie dust fall,
A prismatic halo surrounded the moon,
The bells in the clock tower struck nighttime's noon.

Deep in my heart I knew something was here
When voices like thieves deftly slipped past my ear,
As I made my way west, now mantled in white,
Snowfall made magic swept ghosts through the night.
When what should appear to my wondering eye?
Snowflakes and starlight were sharing the sky!

The twisting mists shaped into faces and clothes,
In starshine and shadows a ballroom arose,
To my left, cavaliers, and maids on my right,
The clock tower's sixth ring throbbed through the night,
They flitted and twinkled in armor and gown,
Around me pure moonlight was trickling down.

They twirled in time; they marched in a row,
They waltzed on the rooftops and sidewalks below,
As seraphim spun in slippers of glass,
In dresses of snowflakes with tresses of brass;
And knights in frost armor rode white flaming steeds,
They pranced on their hooves and did chivalrous deeds!

As the clock finished striking on midnight's twelfth ring,
The steeds faded to dust and the angels took wing,
The wind was just wind and the snow was just snow,
The temperature dropped back to twenty below,
And bathed in a silver-white moonbeam alone,
I bowed my head slowly, and made my way home.