Chapter 24 - A Visit with the Masters

Harry didn't say anything to Ron as Malfoy exited the great hall.

"Please tell me we did not do that," Hermoine whispered desperately. Ron was silently shrugging.

"Who cares?" Harry answered. "He deserves a lot more. Frankly, I'm a little upset that it's all he's getting."

"He could have been on a broom! A hundred feet in the air!" That didn't occur to Harry, but it sounded like a fine idea to him. "I can't believe I let you two talk me into this..."

"Don't start, Hermione," Harry said irately. Ron had almost eliminated criticizing Hermione, so he couldn't be counted on to say something that might offend her. Harry was finding it much easier to do, on the rare occasion that she required it. Around him, people were whispering, though there was a general air of confusion. People didn't seem to know what to make of it...Harry didn't know what to make of it himself. Until he got a chance to read the Weasly brothers' letter, there was no way to even tell whether Malfoy had done the transfiguration on purpose. Still, Harry had the sinking certainty that he knew what had caused the transfiguration.

When they got back to the dormitory, Ron dug though his chest for almost the entire night in a futile attempt to find the letter the twins had sent explaining Operation Ferret. Harry was almost sure that Malfoy had been a rat, and not a ferret, but when he thought about it, nothing else made sense. Hermione was livid that Harry and Ron had talked her into helping, but Neville seemed quietly satisfied. Neville wasn't even asking about what had happened; probably because he felt about the same as Harry did...Perhaps Ron was too enamored with trying to behave for Hermione, but Neville had a long and unhappy history where Malfoy was concerned, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if they shared the same attitude; whatever the Slytherin got, he had long deserved.

Harry was especially careful the next day. If Malfoy was the victim of some sort of prank, Harry's or otherwise, he'd be looking for revenge, and no one would be safe. Harry wished he could have walked around with the Marauder's Map open, just to see who was around the next corner.

A few times, he a turned the bend only to run into a group of people. One time Kingsley was behind him.

"Ease up, Potter," the huge bald black auror rumbled softly.

"Excuse me?" Harry had been paying attention to the people in front of him, not the people behind him.

Kingsley stepped up smoothly to his side, and spoke without moving his lips. "I said, 'Lighten up, Potter.' You look as if you're going to curse someone. Makes one wonder what you're really up to."

Harry was trying to look innocent, when a tiny voice barely reached his ear. "Told you he was too jumpy," Slytherin smugly pronounced. Kingsley looked down, but Harry simply shrugged as if to say who me? He had to resist the urge to clamp his hands over the cards.

Kingsley passed him by with an easy loping stride, and Harry had a brief moment to relax. Draco would be foolish to try anything with the auror so close. Harry had made it all the way through the day and was on his way to Muggle Studies, and purebloods like Draco didn't even like to hang around in that area of the castle, so Harry figured he was somewhat safe there. Most of the kind of students apt to be in the area of Muggle Studies didn't care for Malfoy or his friends anyway, so it wasn't likely that Draco would choose that spot for an ambush.

As he walked slowly back from class with Parvati, he managed to get most of the story from her. Draco had been transfigured into a large, white rat, and he was absolutely livid. From the sound of it, he didn't know who to blame, though most people seemed to agree that Connor was a convenient suspect. Connor's wand had been returned to him, and everyone important had declared him innocent of this crime, but it didn't do a whole lot to change anyone's mind. If it wasn't an infatuated girl (of which there were less and less), most of the students didn't trust him.

Draco was ignoring that rumor and Connor; probably so he could focus his rage on Harry. Harry was amused that Draco would ignore what everyone else thought, just to blame him. In his mind it was funny in an ironic way that Draco would ignore the evidence to the contrary and still be right about exactly who had turned him into a great rat.

"Whats up then, mate?" Ron interrupted Harry's thoughts as he slumped into the seat next to Harry on the lounge in the common room. Parvati was on the other side, but she was mostly keeping to herself today. She did look up at Ron long enough to nod briefly, then turned back to scribbling in a heavy, leather-bound book.

"What have you got there?" he asked her, before Harry could figure out what was up.

"My journal," Parvati answered, without looking up. Ron didn't appear as if he cared at all what was in the book. After a glimpse that was more bored curiosity than anything else, he looked back to the fire.

"Are you keeping an eye on things?" Ron asked finally.

"Of course," Harry answered with bravado he didn't entirely feel. "That rat is trying to get to me, but he's going to have to wake up early in the morning before he can surprise me."

"Rat?" Parvati was watching them now, no longer writing.

"Malfoy," Ron answered. Parvati continued to stare at Harry. Her big green eyes reminded him of Olivander the wand maker's, in a substantially less creepy way.

"He thinks I'm the one turning him into a rat," Harry explained.

"Are you?" Parvati asked.

Harry had been expecting this. He had formulated an answer ahead of time...one that wasn't exactly a lie per se. He had merely asked the twins for a way to get even...they had been the ones responsible. He couldn't prove it, but he was becoming more and more certain of it every moment. "No," he answered smoothly. "Not that I mind. As far as I'm concerned, it's just his body matching the rest of him."

Parvati smirked, and after a while turned back to her writing. Harry was mildly disturbed by how easy that had come to him. The next day, Parvati walked with him more than she usually did, and it wasn't hard to see that she was keeping an eye out for any of Draco's funny business.

It was Tuesday before Malfoy finally caught up with Harry alone. Parvati couldn't follow him around forever, even if he wanted her to, which he didn't. He felt somewhat awkward about the idea of her covering him.

Walking to potions wasn't an ordeal. Though it was in the dungeon and you had to traverse a labyrinth of corridors to reach it; walking with Neville, Hermione, and Connor gave him a certain sense of security.

When he got into potions, Draco was glaring at him so fiercely that he could feel it. Hermione was feeling a little ill, and she looked queasy as well. She was blaming it on the influenza inoculation they had received earlier.

"Professor?" she said hesitantly. Snape glared at her.

"I'm not...i'm not feeling so well," Hermione continued. "I think the fumes in here might be getting to me. May I go to the infirmary?"

Harry expected Snape to come back with some sort of scathing commentary, but instead he simply pointed toward the door. Hermione exited before Snape had time to reconsider. Neville and Connor glanced at each other, and then Harry. Neville's Ghost potion was nearly finished. Harry was almost sure that Neville had worked on it outside of class, which was a amazing; Neville hated Professor Snape. It left Neville with only his reports to do. Connor hadn't talked about his potion. Harry had lent him the book from Remus Lupin; the one where he had gotten his idea for the binding potion, and so Harry was left to assume that it was something also related to animagus transformation in some way. Harry's potion was starting to seem more like the book had suggested it would. He'd put a sample of it into the Colibri flask that Arthur Weasley had given him for his birthday, just so Draco couldn't ruin it again.

Harry still hadn't figured out what was in that last potion that Draco had slipped him. Nothing had fallen off or turned inside out yet. Draco couldn't say the same.

At the end of class, Snape stopped the three of them. "I need to talk to you, Longbottom. You too, Colier. Potter, go to your common room."

"Can I just wait for...?" he started.

"No!" Snape snapped. "Get out."

Harry shuffled through the door, cursing the day of Snape's birth. As he walked slowly back to his room he heard a slight noise behind him. Belatedly, he drew his wand, just as Toothill had advised him, and in time to deflect a curse. The beam of dark violet ricocheted from his shield charm and very nearly rebounded on Malfoy. It passed over his left shoulder and Harry could see the spot where his robe was singed. Malfoy spit another three curses in rapid succession

"You're crazy, Malfoy!" Harry was having to move very quickly.

"No, Saint Potter," Mafoy answered back, puffing with exertion. "You're the one who's crazy, if you think you can do that to a Malfoy and get away with it!"

"Do what?" Harry managed, though Malfoy was too worked up to bother answering. Harry was pretty sure he knew anyway. Something thudded and grunted, and the curses stopped. Harry squinted into the dark hallway to see Draco pinned against the wall buy a lone figure with dark, wavy hair.

"You two boys should be ashamed of yourselves...fighting in the hallway. An innocent passer-by could have been seriously injured! Potter; detention. Mr. Malfoy-"

"...Is my responsibility." Snape said from the hallway behind them, with Connor and Neville watching on. "Thank you, professor."

"But-" Ambrose Walken began.

"That is all, Professor Walken. Since Draco is in my house, I really must insist that the repercussions for this indecent fall to me. I am, after all, the professor most familiar with him."

"Very well," Walken acquiesced.

"I will sort this out," Snape continued. "I can assure you, Mister Malfoy will get what he deserves." Snape led a gloating Malfoy away, whispering quietly in his ear, while Harry, Neville, Connor, and Professor Walken looked on. Finally the Temporalist turned to Harry.

"Be in my office tomorrow at five, Potter. It looked to me like you were doing defensive magic, not curses, so there's no reason this has to go beyond us three. I somehow doubt that it will make it any further than Snape."

"Why's he in trouble at all?" Connor asked.

"Because there are rules, Connor, and they need to be rules for everyone, not just the Potters or Malfoys or Coliers. I came here to talk to Snape, and I can see that's not going to happen now, so let's get moving."

Of course, now that Malfoy was presumably detained, and escort was really un-necessary. They walked with him anyway because it would look odd not to. Detention for Walken...now that would be a real pain.

***

"Come in, Harry." Harry paused. His instructor looked ashen and was moving with a deliberately slow gait. A suspicious-looking flask rested on the large desktop behind him.

"Are...are you drunk?" Harry stammered. Walken seemed to consider that question very seriously.

"No," he decided at last. "Not yet."

"I'm not sure if I should be here," replied Harry, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm not sure that this is exactly...proper."

"Think I'm a pervy old deuce, do you then? Fair enough, I suppose, although I must say that I was looking forward to our conversation tonight. Minerva tells me you are aware of her...accommodations. It would be so nice to chat with someone with no fear of letting something slip."

"Accommodations?" mused Harry aloud, until he realized that Walken was referring to the de-aging spell McGonagall had been using. She'd all but admitted that Walken went to school with her then. Harry took a hesitant step forward.

"If you're sure I'm not intruding, professor. If you'd rather be spending time with other people, I can always leave. And come back, even."

"That's very polite of you, Mister Potter. Do you ever finding yourself chatting with an old friend, someone to whom you can bare your soul, and finding that you sometimes just wish you had a fresh set of eyes on things?" Harry thought about Parvati. That was more or less exactly how he viewed the relationship between them. Hermione was the smartest person he knew, outside of Dumbledore, and sometimes he found himself wishing that he was asking the same questions of Parvati. Certainly, Parvati couldn't have helped him make his signet, but Parvati wouldn't have wanted to, either. Her answer to him would have been far more personal. Harry loved Hermione, and he'd do anything for her, but he thought he could understand where Walken was coming from. "Mister Potter? If you would like to serve your detention on a different day, we can work something out..."

"No," Harry said. "I'm okay with tonight, if you are." He stepped into the office, and set his heavy bag down. Professor Walken stared at the door, and then turned back to Harry.

"Let's get started then, shall we?" Walken asked, momentarily renewed. He moved behind his desk, and tossed the flask into a side drawer.

"Marvelous invention, that," he said, pointing at the drawer. "It occurs to me now that I should have had you create flasks with the tempus sinus charm done up on them....could make pumpkin juice last forever. If you like it. I never cared for it. The wand sleeves were ok, but how many school lads like yourself have to worry about someone summoning their wands?" Harry nodded. Something he had been wondering bubbled to his lips before he could stop it.

"So you de-age yourself every morning then? I expected you to be..."

"Old?" Walken finished. "Yes...I am old, of that there is no doubt. I have a confession to make...I'm afraid I have to ask you to make a very solemn promise to me first." Walken had his wand out now, a shiny black one of about twelve inches. Harry suddenly wished he'd taken his wand out now.

"I can see that you're nervous," Walken said. "You don't have a reason to be, you know. When I was young, and you were asking a wizard to promise, the two lads involved...or lasses, whatever...would touch wands. We always thought that if we did tell that somehow it would cause our tongues to swell in our throats, our teeth to soften up, and our lips to grow together...even if we just thought about ever telling. Now that I look back on it; it didn't work all that well. Anyway, that's what I was about." Harry pulled his wand, being careful to maintain a tight grip on it, then tapped Walken's. Certainly they weren't casting anything ancient and powerful, but Harry felt a stirring in his wand-hand nonetheless. It could have been his imagination. Walken got up and pulled a very dusty tome from his book-case, which had a few dozen thick books. Harry saw that Walken had written a few of them. They looked thick...incredibly boring. He laid the book on the desk, and Harry was only mildly surprised to see How to Cheat Time by Aloicious Fugit. The professor's copy was very obviously older and much worse for wear than the one Harry had attempted to take from the Hogwart's library.

"Yes, yes; you and this book are well-met, I think. It has quite a bit of...questionable information in it. It even tells how to cheat causality! Aloicus was fond of not telling the entire truth; however." He opened the book to a spot which had been marked with a discoloured ribbon. The book fell open to that spot, as if it was a quite well used passage. The subject matter there was familiar to Harry, because they had read it in class...It was something to do with how unpredictable temporalism was when used on living things. This book was much like his school books, in that it had scribbling in the margins. Harry couldn't read it though; he though it may have been Latin, or something like it.

"Once upon a time I studied this book --lived it, really-- in order to divulge Fugit's secrets. You see, it has quite a bit of the truth...enough to be very dangerous in the hands of an amateur. There are passages, for example, about slowing and even stopping aging. Oh yes, Fugit never comes out and says that it can be done for people, but he does all but."

"Professor McGonagall told me you stopped yourself from aging. How?"

"A terrible accident, Potter. One that I arranged. One that I have never been able to duplicate or reverse. There is a price you see...one with which you are all too familiar."

"What could be so bad about being immortal? Isn't that what Voldemort wants?"

"Immortal? No. Ageless? Yes. Believe me, if someone dropped a rock on me I'd be done...but as long as I'm not killed..."

"You never get old."

"I never get old," Walken agreed. "I was keen on it at first; the first ten or twenty years...Then do you know what happened?" Harry shook his head. "One by one, my family succumbed to the world outside. First my parents. Then my brother. Then it was a string of good friends, some older, some younger, but all dear. Then I realized that death wasn't an obstacle; that I had not cheated it. I had cheated myself, Potter." He looked at Harry's wondering face. "You don't want to hear me feeling sorry for myself," he said. "I shouldn't have lain that all at your feet, Harry. I'm sorry." Harry shrugged and looked at the book.

"You haven't told me how that cheats causality."

"So I haven't. Good catch, Potter. I'm glad one of us is thinking today, at least." Walken paused a moment, during which he seemed to compose himself. Then he struggled to his feet, only bracing himself on the desk slightly. He pulled a silvery key from the neck of his shirt and unlocked the cabinet behind him, which sounded as though it was a very secure place to put things. He turned around with something familiar looking in his hands.

"Is that a prophecy?" Harry gasped as Walken handled the small glass sphere inside carefully. Walken looked up with some surprise.

"It isn't...but you have a good eye. I found the glass globes intended to store prophecies convenient. They are too frail, and I've remedied that. All the same...ah....don't touch." He set the globe on a small brass ring that was on his desk. You could never have too many brass rings, Harry had found. Wizards seemed especially fond of spheres, and from crystal balls to whatever this thing was, the humble brass ring showed its utility time and time again. Every well prepared wizard had one or more.

The ball itself was a different matter. As Harry gazed, he saw the room in which they were sitting, complete with a tiny Professor Walken and Harry Potter.

"Is this some kind if time in a bottle then?" Harry asked, gazing at himself talking to Professor Walken. In the globe, he saw Walken stiffen.

"Exactly how much do you know...am I missing something here?"

Harry fished around in his pocket, but the Time in a Bottle wasn't there. He shrugged. "Hermione made one...it...some...however. All I know is that is that it seems dead useful." It had a tendency to fall out of his pocket and lodge in between the cushions on the lounge in the common room. He'd bet money that it was snuggled safely among a cloud of red, replaying whatever had happened during the last two minutes in the area around it.

"Well, it would be, but wizards don't think the same as Muggles. They forget about some of the truly mundane problems. Mental blind spots, I expect. I don't imagine most wizards regard it as more than a novel curiosity. How long does Miss Granger's last?"

"Two, maybe three minutes," Harry said. Something about Walken's globe fascinated him. It seemed to glow inward. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

"That's not too shabby, I suppose. They've made them that will last fifteen minutes or more, but that's quite a feat. Do you know what this is, Potter?" Harry shook his head as he continued to stare into the hypnotic ball. "This happens to be a time bomb. Care to take a guess on what it does?"

"No," Harry said honestly. The way that class went, nothing would surprise him. Walken jerked his head back as though Harry was trying to pinch his nose.

"You aren't the least bit curious?" The Professor sounded hurt, so Harry though it would be a good idea for him to clarify.

"Oh, I'm very curious, but I know that guessing won't do me any good; I'll never in a million years guess what it does." Walken arose and lifted a large patch from the wall. Harry managed to tear his eyes away long enough to realize that it was a causality cloak, though unlike the ones they had made, it was composed of fine links of some type of very light metal. A dark blue line jaggedly dissected the cloak. That would be Walken's. Harry looked at it more carefully, as his professor was starting to talk again.

"Minerva...Professor McGonnagal's." He tapped a very dark green line with his wand tip. It never strayed far from his. "Do you think I could just pull that out, and have everything else lie as the chips fall?" Harry thought about it.

"No, I don't suppose you could."

"Why not?" Professor Walken pushed.

"Well, you're not showing it, but her line has to be different for us all. How could you just...pull it out?"

"How indeed," Walken said, smiling. "Here's what Fugit had to say, something with which I have come to agree; you can't cheat causality, because it only describes the universe's cloak, do you get that?" Harry, who was sick of everyone telling him he couldn't change things, nodded impatiently. Walken ignored him, and place the end of his cloak over the tip of his wand. Harry just had time to shoot backwards in his chair as Walken blew the edge of the cloak apart. The beam of light crashed into the ceiling, where it burst the stone and dug a large hole. Harry's heart was on high alert, and Walken was staring at his wand tip and frowning.

"Damned ebony," he said at last. "So touchy! Anyway, look what I've done to my cloak..."

"If you weren't a sot, perhaps you wouldn't have," Harry said crossly.

"I...meant to do that," his professor insisted. "Look at the end." Harry did. It was ragged, rough, and unraveling rapidly.

"You've ruined it," he said. Walken shook his head impatiently.

"It will rebuild, much as yours did. That's not the point."

"So...what is?"

"The point," said Walken, licking his chapped and cracked lips. "The point is this; what if you could do that to time?" Harry stared dumbly. "What if you could take the tapestry that is all existence; you, me, everyone, and unravel it?" Harry had to digest that. "It's going to redo itself, sure. What if I cut one thread off first? Think it will just leave a gap where that one thread goes?"

"No," Harry answered, "and I think you're mad."

"That's good, because that is what Aloicious Fugit means when he talks about cheating causality. He should use a different phrase...you aren't cheating it at all...you're counting on it. I might just be mad."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked in spite of himself. He had resolved himself to the idea that trying to mess with time was futile, and now Walken was telling him otherwise.

"The time bomb is supposed to unravel the tapestry of existence, Harry, and allow causality to remake it as it will. It isn't a time shaper...it's a time un-shaper."

"Then why haven't you used it?" he asked. Walken stared longingly at the flask in his drawer, but resisted the apparent temptation to pick it up.

"Don't think I haven't been tempted," he admitted. "It's not that easy though."

"Why?" Harry asked. Walken sighed.

"Power, Potter. The universe has vast, potentially untapped reserves of power. Everywhere there's motion there's power. Time is motion, you know." Harry nodded as if he did know, while in fact, he thought that his professor may have actually gone mental. "Look, follow me." Harry did as he was told, though he felt rather stupid by now. They walked to the back wall of the classroom, which was an outside wall for the castle.

"Walk to the door, and count off the time," His professor urged. "Don't look at the watch on your wrist...just walk and meter off the steps." Harry did it, though it was only because he was certain that Walken was some sort of genius, and that there was indeed a point.

"Eighteen...nineteen...twenty." He said that last bit with a sense of finality, as if that was what the answer was destined to be from the very beginning.

"Now, the same thing, only outside, in the hallway." When Professor Walken saw Harry roll his eyes, he added, "humor me. You wouldn't be the first lad to think me insane." Well he had that right. Ron thought he was some sort of batty genius, too.

"Thirteen...fourteen...fifteen...sixteen..." He stopped, because he was now at the door. He must have taken bigger steps on the outside.

"Congratulations; you're a time traveler," Walken said somewhat acerbically. "Doesn't feel so epic, does it? When you enter my room--actually about one step into my room--you hit the enlargening charm, which confusingly enough shrinks everything in the room, while leaving the room the same size. Time passes relative to you, so when it takes you longer to walk the same distance, time has slowed down, and you've done more work, and spent more energy doing it. When nothing moves at all, time has stopped. It takes quite a lot of energy to do that, true, but not an insurmountable amount of power. How much do you think it takes to undo existence?"

"A lot?" Harry ventured.

"A lot," Walken confirmed. "And it all comes from somewhere...nobody slides. Why, blasting curses, a simple reducto, do nothing but release some of the energy--a fraction really--and look at the havoc they cause. When causality has been undone...when the causal cloak of the universe has been unraveled, where do you think that energy comes from?" Harry had no reply, so he could only shrug.

"I have a theory," said Walken, sitting down. He again gazed at the flask. He was having a hard time tearing his eyes away from it.

"I don't mind sir...I mean, I know it's not exactly proper at all, but it's not like you planned on having me here today."

"Thank you, Harry," Walken said, unstopping the flask. The strong smell of alcohol permeated the room. "I find there are a good many things I'd rather forget."

"You were saying?" Harry nudged. This conversation was getting interesting.

"I...don't know. Where was I?"

"You have a theory; about the time bomb."

"Fugit never got so far as to detail the whole process. He theorized if you could make the device, it could undo time to the point at which you finished it. He never considers the costs though...he only focuses on what you can do. Or undo as the case may be," he added.

"Why doesn't everyone have one then, just to take back a mistake or hasty word? There's loads of things I'd take back if I could."

Walken pounded on the desk and pointed at Harry, as if that was an excellent observation. Harry was positive his professor was now truly sloshed. "And it's a nice thought...isn't it? Undo that stupid mistake; take back that hasty word...who wouldn't want to be able to do that, really?" Harry nodded, as if he hadn't just asked the same thing himself. "I'll tell you why. For one, it took me almost twenty years to make this one," he pointed at the softly gleaming ball. "Sure, I could make it faster now that I've done all the work, but still. It's still no mean feat to your average wizard." Harry nodded. That was a particularly unsatisfying answer, and even on the miniature version of himself, forever trapped in the globe, the look of discontent was evident.

"More important though; when I was creating this…certain things...occurred to me to make me believe that not all threads are destined to re-align themselves on the cosmic braid," his professor added.

Harry suddenly wished he had Parvati here, so she could decipher some of what Walken was talking about. He had the feeling she'd understand terms like the cosmic braid, or at least find them amusing. "What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean very simply this: Unbound though they may be, the chains will number one less than they started with." It took a bit for that to sink in. Walken took another deep swig, and his eyes watered a bit.

"You mean it will kill you?" Harry finally asked.

His professor nodded. "I think so," he added, un-necessarily.

"But how? Why?" This just didn't make sense to Harry.

Professor Walken shrugged. "Maybe the universe has a sense of justice...or humor. Maybe it's to keep us from meddling with time. Maybe it's just the scales leveling out. Who really knows, Harry?"

"But that means the whole world is subject to your whims!"

"I suppose it does."

"So you could undo it all and take away the past...however long!" Something about that seemed very unfair to Harry.

"Only the once!" It was obvious that Walken was trying to be funny, and Harry didn't laugh. "Look...you wouldn't even know it happened...you'd just wake up tomorrow, and it would be last month, last week, last year...you wouldn't be re-living anything...you'd just be living it. There'd be no 're-doing' for you."

"It would kill you!"

"To be honest, I'm about ready. Minerva…Professor McGonagall is one of the last people I have left. I'm about ready," he repeated. Harry didn't believe what he was hearing. "As near as I can tell, it can't reset time to any point you desire...it resets it to the exact moment at which you cast the final incantation on the bomb. Anyway, there is no proof that I'm right, and in any event, I only just finished it just as your last year ended. You wouldn't be making up much."

Harry didn't know what to say. He certainly wouldn't have made a time bomb, even if he could have. What use could it be? To undo everything, and then kill him to boot? He didn't see the need for that. Professor Walken was peering at an intricately carved chess set on a pillar behind him. "Fancy a game?" He asked. Harry just stared. This was unlike any other detention he'd ever gotten.

"A game...while serving a detention?"

Professor Walken smiled. "Unless you're a sharp I don't think you have a chance at besting me, I'm afraid. I merely want to help you understand causal chains a bit better." He rose to his feet, and dragged the heavy chair on which he had been sitting to the board. The miniature pieces regarded him casually. Harry sighed and dragged his chair over as well.

Several hours later he was starting to understand what Walken was doing. As predicted, he hadn't won a game, and in fact, it dawned on Harry that Walken was arranging the moves Harry would have to make. In a fit of giggles over the queen's assault on Harry's bishop, which involved a slap to the face and boot to the pants, Walken let slip that Harry would really love what happened in three moves. Three moves later, Walken's king rose from his throne, picked it up, and bashed Harry's knight over the head with it. Then the diminutive figure kicked the fallen body and shook his fist at it. Harry was too irate to talk much, so instead he took the punishment wordlessly, let Walken continued to drink and laugh, and walked back to his dorm under his invisibility cloak when it was all over. On the plus side, it did help explain things. On the minus, it reminded him how bad he was at thinking in advance when compared to someone truly brilliant. A noise in the hallway made him stop and peer into a darkened classroom. It wasn't that he was afraid of Malfoy, it was just that he knew Malfoy wasn't above hiding in a shadowy corner and letting loose the moment he spied Harry.

***

"Fred and George have arranged to meet us," Ron said, startling Harry out of his thoughts. He was absent-mindedly rubbing the Time in a Bottle, staring at the miniature figures without really seeing them.

"For...you-know-what?"

"That's right," Ron replied. "I can't find that letter anywhere, so we pretty much have to meet them. We've got to find out what they've done, before Hermione kills me."

"What if whatever they've done is...something rash?" Harry asked, feeling tinges of regret for the first time. He and Malfoy lost no love between them, but there were some things Harry wouldn't do...he couldn't see murdering Malfoy, and while he didn't think the twins would stoop to that, he had to wonder.

***

Friday, Harry hurried directly from Kingsley's office to the common room. They were going to sneak to The Three Broomsticks unit Ron realized (after a good long ride on Harry's Motorbike) that they could just ride it down to Hogsmeade, since everyone had to be used to the sight of it now. Harry was now a good deal more comfortable at riding it, and in fact, was better than Connor. Connor claimed that it was because he had never learned on a regular bike, with the shifters and brakes reversed, but Harry preferred to think he was a natural. It was a lot like flying the old Cleansweep that Natalie had let him borrow, when you got down to it.

When they reached the alleyway behind The Three Broomsticks a hooded figure stepped from beneath the stairs, which line the back of the building. There was a tense moment until the cloak's hood was lowered and the shocking red hair of Fred (or George) Weasley was exposed to the early almost-spring air.

"Got a new sweet-heart, Ronniekens?"

"Sod off!" Ron replied. He'd been going for his wand with one hand, but the other was still wrapped tightly around Harry.

Fred (or George) eyed the bike appreciatively. "You do know how to travel in style, Harry, my boy." He pulled a pair of decrepit-looking robes from inside his own cloak. "Put them on, ladies. We don't need your adoring fans to pay more attention then they should."

Ron and Harry slipped the threadbare robes over their own, and Harry found to his amazement that his robe made him appear to have a large gut. Ron's was even more amusing, as he now resemble a pudgy woman. Fred (George?) was smirking as he raised his own hood. As it did, his hair changed to an ashen grey and the stubble on his cheeks appeared to be a full beard.

"Well, that's downright handy," Ron mused, staring at his own chest.

"Only works on the punters though," his brother replied. "Any one with some ambition can see through these in a flash. Though I doubt we're likely to run into anyone with real ambition. George and I sat in there for a good half-hour and never got a second look." So it was Fred! Harry felt proud that he had guessed the proper twin. They had followed Fred as he talked, and had nonchalantly ambled into the tavern. An ugly old lady sat at one of the high tables, apparently looking for them.

Fred nodded and they sat down. "Hi G-" Ron got, before he was cut off by a sharp kick under the table. "Grandma," He finished, almost smoothly.

"What will you fine witches and wizards have to drink?" Madam Rosemerta said from behind them.

Fred ordered for all of them at once. "A round of firewhisky, top-shelf." Then he added, "on me." He leaned into them.

"We shouldn't really be drinking that," Ron said, from the side of his mouth.

"Pour it into ours," George replied, just a discretely.

"So," Fred began. "What can you do for us?"

"We want to know about..." Ron paused

"About white rats," Harry finished.

"Why didn't you read the letter? That explained it all," replied George. Ron was shaking his head. Madam Rosemerta returned with their firewhisky, and Fred surreptitiously poured a bit out of Ron and Harry's glasses, and into his and George's.

"What, specifically, would you like to know?" Fred asked. "Revenge is a time-consuming and tedious process."

"Did-" Harry paused and then lowered his voice. "Are we correct in assuming you know all about white rats?"

"Well..." George drawled. "I don't know about white. I mean the color...that's kind of an individual thing."

"Right." Fred agreed. "It just so happens that we have in our possession a certain...manual...dealing with the complexities of rat transformations. As much as we'd like to take credit for the color, I'm afraid our humility must intercede."

"A book?" said Harry, trying to figure it out in his head. "And where did you get a book like that?"

Fred and George glanced at each other. "Your house," they both said simultaneously.

Harry was temporarily stunned. "My house?"

"Your house," George responded again, levelly. "But not to worry...The chaps who wrote it up..."

"Let's say..." Fred added.

"We trust them." George said finally.

"You know who wrote it?" Harry asked slowly.

"Of course!" Fred almost shouted, before George put a hand on his arm. "Masters Padfoot, Prongs, Wormtail and Moony never steered us wrong!"

"Literally!" George added.

"I mean," Fred continued. "If there had been a time or two we ended up in a girls' lavatory or someone's parlor, then I'd worry a little more."

"Certainly. It's what we would have done," George said. Harry's head was getting tired from swiveling to watch the twins talk.

"Indeed," Fred agreed. "But the fact is they're pretty reliable."

"In a shady sort of hidden-by-fate-and-time sort of way. I'd even trust them with Fred's children." George snickered, downed some firewhiskey, and winced a little.

"When will it wear off?" Ron asked, hesitantly.

The twins shared another brief glance. "Never," they both pronounced.

"The transformation is completely..."

"Totally..."

"Utterly..."

"Irrevocably..."

"Oh, good one, George. I do like the sound of that...irrevocably..."

"Irrevocably..."

"...Permanent," they both finished. Ron was torn between grinning and looking anxious, and Harry was pretty sure that was how he looked as well. So if he had this right, the twins had taken the book created by his father, Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew, and turned Malfoy into a rat with it. Something was a bit poetic about that situation.

"Wait a minute," Ron said. "No way...you're telling me even if he gets rid-"

"Ah!" Fred exclaimed, waggling his fingers.

"Do you mind? Some people might not know yet." George finished. He and Fred glanced around.

"You see," Fred started. "As it turns out, baby brother, the hard thing isn't getting him to be a rat…"

"He's naturally a rat," George offered.

"Yes," Fred replied, draining his glass. "The hard part is getting him be not a rat again. Took a good bit of work to iron that one out; I don't mind telling you. But, yes; until he gets rid of that coin, which we'd bet he'll never do..."

"Well, I really don't care if he's permanently a rat," Harry announce quietly.

"We couldn't have that on your conscience so you'll have to settle for 'occasionally a rat'," George said, draining his glass. Ron smirked at that. Harry was only slightly torn. One part of him felt just the tiniest bit sorry for Malfoy, but he knew it was the part that would feel sorry for anyone.

The three looked up as some more people came into the pub, and Fred glanced around. "The key to successful mischief-making is knowing when to say 'when'," he announced at last. "This is 'when' for the firewhiskey, 'when' for the disguises; any longer and someone will notice, and 'when' for you two."

"That's right," George added. "Any longer and you risk getting pinched." Fred stood and helped George to his feet, which Harry reckoned was more for the costume effect that anything...after all, George was the old lady. The twins escorted them to the back of the pub. George made a show of hobbling impressively.

"Harry," Fred started. "While your choice of transportation is something we would normally consider downright cool..."

"You could have picked something a little more subtle. Now, normally I'm a big fan of flashy..."

"Go big or go home!" Fred added.

George nodded in agreement. "However; next time, do try to be more inconspicuous. That's just begging to get caught right there."