[AN] Thanks for reviewing, honestly. I have admitted to myself that I have to finish this regardless...it's a casualty of my personality, but reviews really do make me feel like I haven't wasted my time.
I am guessing that this book will be no more than 35 chapters, and I have until 33 and the last half of the last chapter written down fairly completely, so I can honestly say that I am fully expecting to be finished by Christmas. That makes the title of this chapter fairly apt.
Also, my ever-patient beta has been tied up with her own life. This chapter is only betad by me. When she gets a chance to change it, I'll repost it. [/AN]
Chapter 30 - The Beginning of the End
"I wish I could have slipped him my potion, instead of drinking Neville's. We'd have him. I should have told McGonagall. I should have waited for Dumbledore."
"You're beating yourself up, mate." Ron punched him. "We were all gone. You had to make do with Neville and Connor. It's a flipping miracle you got as close as you did. Besides, I thought your potion wasn't done yet."
"It isn't, but it would have worked for a bit." Harry glanced around. Neville and Connor were not in the room. "And they did great," Harry insisted. "I wouldn't have even seen him without them."
Ron raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything further.
In potions, Harry once again had to try his potion. It had finished curing for the second time and it was again ready to compare to the juice of a ripe pomegranate. Harry uncorked the phial apprehensively. He wasn't alone...most of the class had failed to produce a worthwhile potion, or simply had one that wasn't ready yet. At least one or two people every class had to sample their potion. Just the other day, Ernie MacMillan had produced copious amounts of violet steam from his ears and nose and a smell Harry fervently hoped was truly unique.
Harry touched the potion to his lips and took a sip. It must have done something, because immediately his head felt cool. He felt relaxed and calm. In fact, he felt wonderful.
The potion did not taste anything like the juice of a ripe pomegranate, however. Harry was already planning on acting as though it did, but Snape glared at him and he knew that it would be pointless to try. Somehow, the great, creeping, shadowy git could tell.
He shook his head with a dour scowl. "Twelve inches. Your next failure will be your last failure, Potter."
Harry knew enough to keep his mouth shut. It had only taken six years to reason out that Snape wanted him to respond. He was not about to give Snape anything he wanted.
Neville was next. Harry knew his potion worked. Neville knew it worked. Connor knew. Snape had to be fairly certain; he had followed every step of the way. Still, Harry got the feeling that most people were waiting for him to fail, even hoping for it. This was in spite of the fact that he had out-performed some students in the room, Harry included.
Neville raised the small bottle with the hint of a smile on his face. The room, normally held silent in deference to Snape, was today hostage to Neville Longbottom. He tilted the bottle, and the smoke inside rolled out and down his throat. Gradually, he became more and more translucent. Harry hadn't seen it from this end. It was far more interesting to drink it than to watch Neville do it. Connor nodded with a grin, and most of the other non-Slytherin students applauded with what sounded to be real enthusiasm.
Snape remained silent for several moments. When it became obvious that Neville's potion was not a failure, he grinned evilly. Harry didn't like it one bit. "Very well Longbottom. Five points to Gryffindor."
There was a strained silence in the dungeon. Snape had awarded points to Gryffindor? And not just any Gryffindor, perhaps Hermione, who really was one of his top students, but Neville Longbottom, who hadn't even started the year in his class? Harry glanced around. Connor's mouth was hanging open in stunned disbelief, and from the looks of it, he wasn't the only one. Even Malfoy looked unpleasantly shocked.
"As you were, Longbottom." Neville turned to glide back to his seat. "Longbottom!" Snape barked. Neville paused and turned. "I said...as you were." Neville continued to stare. "Perhaps that was conveyed as a suggestion. It assuredly was not. As. You. Were."
"Y...you want me to change back?"
"Was I that obvious, Longbottom?" Blaise and Draco were laughing softly from the back.
"It will only last a few minutes."
"And you know this with certainty...how?" Harry knew how. Neville had been a first-hand witness to the potion. "I certainly hope you aren't going to tell me you tried this potion without...competent supervision?" Neville shook his head. Harry knew if Neville had any color, he'd be red by now. "Then perhaps you gave some to a test subject?"
"N-no, sir."
"Then in typical Gryffindor fashion you have bravely chosen to test the potion on yourself, without knowing how long it would last, or indeed, even if it is permanent?"
"Please, Professor," said Hermione. "Can't he just wait a few moments? It wouldn't be-"
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape pronounced. He coolly leaned back in his chair.
"But-" Hermione started.
Snape didn't let her finish. "In your vast experience, surely you know that if this effect is enduring, every moment is one I will need to attempt to counter it."
"Well," drawled Malfoy lazily. "You can hardly expect Granger to know that. Her parents are Muggles! I'm amazed she can mix tea, really. It's a wonder she's kept up so far, but it's not her fault. Perhaps Longbottom has been helping her all along." Blaze Zabini laughed, but Nott, Harry noticed, did not.
"Professor," Padma Patil said hesitantly. Snape glanced at her as if he really didn't care what she said, which he probably didn't. "Draco got to wait for an entire hour for his potion to wear off."
"Mister Malfoy was using a sanctioned, known formula for a familiar potion. Longbottom is playing with magic he does not comprehend. The least he could have done was research how to halt the effects."
"But-" Hermione started.
"Five points from Gryffindor. I am the professor in this classroom. Since you seem so eager to discuss this, you may do the research. I expect a report on my desk a week from today." Hermione glared a very un-Hermione-like glare, but she didn't speak again. Neville, who had made his way to his seat, was waiting to change back so he could sit down again. He looked utterly discouraged. Snape surveyed the classroom...Blaise and Draco were openly laughing, but no one else wanted to be assigned a report. "Since I am feeling kind today, if this does prove to be permanent, I shall award you five points." Draco and Blaise laughed even harder.
"I hate that man," Neville muttered. Not two minutes later, the potion wore off.
"There goes your chance for five points, Longbottom," Draco said. "That's a real shame. That might have been a new personal record for you."
Harry knew Neville was mad, because he was actually seething. He didn't know how mad until they got into the hall. Generally, Blaise and Nott didn't walk with Draco, and he would be alone unless Crab and Goyle showed up. Today, they were alongside him, and that must have emboldened him. When they were well out of earshot of Snape's dungeon, Draco stopped suddenly. He turned to them, and Harry immediately knew that whatever this was, it would be bad.
"Really Longbottom, how could you not see this coming? I mean, failure runs in your family."
Neville glanced up darkly. "What do you mean by that, exactly?" His tone silenced the hallway. Hermione held her arms out and put one hand one Harry's arm and one on Connor's. For now he decided to let her stop him from cursing Malfoy into jelly.
"Well, they were aurors, weren't they? Bang up job they did. Really-" Malfoy never got a chance to finish, because Neville had pulled his wand and had Draco backed completely against the wall. Draco looked to Nott and Zabini. Zabini had drawn his wand, but Nott only had his half out. "Do you need an invitation?" Draco asked, caustically.
"Convince me," Nott said. Harry had his hand on his wand, but he wanted to see how this played out. His auror texts had mentioned situations like this. They said once you got involved, you owned it. Harry wasn't too keen on owning anything.
Malfoy's mouth moved as though he wanted to talk, but nothing could come out. Neville didn't have that problem. "I'll take my friends over yours, any day." Draco's eyes rolled to Nott.
"That doesn't convince me," he said, dropping his wand in his pocket. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall where he could watch. Blaise looked confused.
Neville smiled slowly. It was spectacularly frightening. "Know what I think runs in your family?" He didn't wait for Draco to answer. "Being a great, bloody rat." He jabbed Malfoy's forehead with each word. Draco's eyes narrowed.
Harry knew what he was going to do well before he did it. He was sure Neville knew it too. Apparently, Connor also knew, because as Malfoy shoved Neville backwards, Connor moved forward. He easily pinned Draco's wand hand with one arm and slammed the other into Draco's throat.
"Put him down!" Hermione said sharply, jabbing Connor in the back with her wand. He ignored her. Draco tried to say something, but all he could manage was a croak.
Harry stepped forward. He didn't want to get physical with Connor. He was pretty sure he could more hold his own in a duel, but in a fist fight, Connor looked as though he could make Dudley cry. He lightly grabbed Conner's arm. He was on the American's right, so it was the one choking Malfoy. He could feel the lump of the scar that ran up the inside of Connor's arm. "Not now, Yank." He wanted to remind Connor what being expelled meant, but he wasn't sure how to word it around others.
Regardless, his plea fell on deaf ears, and Harry was considering threatening him when Blaise moved his hand. Harry managed a fast shielding charm, but it was overkill; Connor must have seen the movement out of the corner of his eye and his left hand shot out. He backhanded Blaise roughly, and the slim Slytherin went down swiftly. Draco triumphantly whipped out his wand, and Neville casually took it. Nott was still leaning against the wall, watching.
"Connor," Neville said, softly. He was smiling. Connor paused long enough to listen. "It's not worth it. Trust me."
"Oh, but it is," Connor said. Malfoy was starting to go funny colors again.
"It's not. He knows he could never beat us in a fair fight so he tries to make us angry enough to do something that will get us in trouble. He's not worth getting in trouble over." That was precisely what Harry had tried, and failed, to come up with.
"I'm not angry," Connor replied pleasantly.
"You need to let him go now," Hermione said. She must have noticed how well being calm was working with Neville, because she sounded as though Connor wasn't slowly strangling a student in front of her.
"I'd rather shake him 'till his soul rattles," Connor shot back, just as nonchalantly.
"Don't bother," Neville shrugged, tossing Draco's wand back down the stairs. "He'll get his, soon enough. Besides, I'm not entirely convinced he's got a soul."
Blaze was struggling to his feet. Nott offered him a hand, and he took it. With a brief shrug, Connor released Draco.
"You'll pay for that," Malfoy hissed. Harry thought that rather than trying to sound sinister, his throat was simply too roughed up to talk normally.
"Oh, really?"
"Witnesses!" Malfoy jerked his head back towards Nott and Blaise.
"We have more," Neville replied.
"I'm a prefect."
"Please," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Only because daddy bought it for you. Nobody likes you, Draco. Anyway, I am too. We've had this discussion, remember?"
"I'd say you should get while the getting's good," Connor smiled. Draco sorted that one out in his head.
"Pathetic," he said, turning away. "And you? What's your excuse?"
Harry couldn't hear what Nott said as the Slytherins walked away, but it sounded like "I don't like you." He smiled to himself.
Connor laughed as the four Gryffindors continued up the corridor. Finally Hermione turned, wound up her hand, and slapped him resoundingly. Natalie abused Connor every day, but Harry had never seen him take anything quite like that from her. He practically felt it.
"If you ever force me into a situation like that again -ever!- I will report you to the headmaster myself. Unlike that pathetic rodent, I can prove it."
Connor didn't say anything, but he raised his eyebrows and rubbed his cheek. They walked all the way back to the common room without her saying another word. Just before the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione turned to Connor.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Connor looked down at her long enough to make her squirm. He was still stroking his red cheek. "Your fingers are numb, aren't they?"
Hermione tried to look furious, but the scowl couldn't quite stay on her lips. It kept falling off. "Totally," she finally replied, shaking her hand. She wasn't smiling, but at least she no longer looked as if she wanted to report them all.
In Defense against the Dark Arts, they were learning the Patronus charm, which Harry had been able to do since his third year. He was able to watch other students and slack off, which he did to the fullest of his abilities. Draco had not skived off this class as he had in the past after a brush with Harry or his friends, but he had changed into a shirt with a high collar. Harry was watching him surreptitiously. He wanted to convince himself that he didn't care, but the truth was just too funny to ignore. Half-way through the class, Ron elbowed Harry in was surely supposed to be an unobtrusive way, but was really about as subtle as a steam-roller.
Draco's patronus was a small, jittery animal...one with a long bald tail and quivering whiskers. Whether Operation Ferret had struck again or this was simply the form his Patronus was destined to take, it was without a doubt hilarious. Malfoy caught them staring at the ghostly rat which, to be fair, didn't look inordinately offensive on its own, if a bit hazy around the edges.
"Do you have something to say, Weasley? Need to borrow mine? Couldn't afford your own?"
"You need new material," Ron said. "That poor bit's getting old. Look on the bright side; if you need a friend to talk it over with..." he waved to the rat. "I hear you might share a special bond."
"I can see the family resemblance," Neville pitched in, and nearly everyone who wasn't a Slytherin laughed.
"All right, all right. Take this seriously, now," Professor Shaklebolt said, yanking them back on track. He didn't play sides, and it was most certainly only his presence that was keeping and actual dual from spontaneously erupting. "Potter, you know more than most how useful this is. Stop distracting people."
Harry had remedial potions that night, and he was quite expecting to have an odd time of it. He was pleasantly surprised. Not only was he somewhat capable with the Chansonarc, his head had felt better than ever, and it had since their lesson that morning. He still had most of that ruined potion...he planned on keeping it, provided nothing fell off or ended up where it wasn't supposed to be.
Snape mentally prodded at him for at least an hour, and Harry even had new secrets to keep hidden. In spite of that, even when the sweat was dripping from his nose, his head felt somehow solid.
Of course, Snape would never admit to Harry that he had done anything right; Harry had to rely on his lack of relevant criticism. If Snape was saying something about the topic at hand, it was relevant. This night, most of it seemed to be about Sirius Black and what a thoroughly despicable youth he had been. Harry listened and ignored it, letting his fingers dance over the Chansonarc, and thinking about polka-dotted prams, just to annoy Snape. He answered the scowling potion master's questions with ease, demonstrating that he was indeed paying attention, and even stayed cheerful and candid when the questions turned to his own potion.
"Where did you fail, Potter?"
"I don't know," he announced, bravely.
"I don't know is not a NEWT level answer, you incompetent lout."
"I've started your report, I'll find an answer." When he was civil, it truly outraged Snape the most.
"I truly doubt that. List the steps you took."
Harry listed them, right up until the part where he stirred it exactly four times clockwise in the light from a new moon. The steps were word for word what the potion's instructions called for, but Snape still felt the need to insult several steps.
"You should have crushed the pine seeds, not diced them, and you shouldn't have used a steel knife. Obsidian blades are far superior when working with seeds."
Harry nodded serenely. "Perhaps with your advice, I'll end up with something more acceptable, next time."
"Figure it out yourself, Potter!" Snape snapped. Apparently, he had endured Harry's polite chat for as long as he could. He stood, lifted Harry by the shoulders, and shoved him out the door. Harry was half expecting it, but was not expecting Snape to hold on to him as the last moment, jerking him backwards. "If I ever...ever hear that you have threatened one of my students like that again, I will have you expelled before you can say No, please, don't."
Harry paused. He was still in a good mood. He smiled and offered a bewildered Snape his hand, in a Muggle-style hand shake. "I'll make sure you don't hear about that, then." He left before Snape could get irate enough to throw him out again.
The next day in Temporalism, Professor Walken was anxious and unusually terse with them. For half the lesson, Harry avoided saying anything. When he did ask a question, Walken snapped at him.
"Detention!"
"Wait. What?"
"Detention! Tonight. My office. Five, Potter. Fifty points from Gryffindor." Harry had already forgotten what the question was, but he didn't think it was that bad. The he started to wonder if Walken was drunk again.
"Fifty?" Hermione asked, in a lost-sounding voice. That just didn't happen for one question.
"If he comes, I'll award them back," Walken said.
"But that's...that's bonkers!" Ron exclaimed.
Walken pivoted, glaring at Ron with his timeless blue eyes. "Care to re-phrase that, Weasley?"
Rom stammered an apology, and Walken turned back to the wand sleeves they had been testing.
After class, Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. "Tell me if I'm out of line here..."
"No," Hermione said firmly. "But he certainly was. I've half a mind to lodge a formal complaint."
"Wait until after his detention," Ron said. "We need those points back." Hermione favored him with a withering glance, and he shrugged. "Just saying. S'true. It's only a few hours. You can wait that long, can't you?"
"I suppose." She harrumphed and glanced back in the general direction of the classroom. "Totally uncalled for," she repeated.
That night, Harry left early. Malfoy was far too enraged for him to discount a hallway reprisal, and he wasn't about to ask for an honor guard to his detention. Parvati wanted to walk with him anyway, and he had to walk a tight-rope any time he told her 'no'. Anyway, she probably only wanted to come because she and Lavender thought Walken was dead sexy, and it would give her considerable currency with her friends if she could meet and talk with him outside of class. Even if he was a little nutty.
He stood outside the door for several moments, because coming from the classroom were loud bangs and booms. Eventually, he gathered his courage and knocked on the door.
"What?"
"I'm here for my detention, Professor."
"Oh." Walken was grimy and his room was a mess. "Sit down, then." Harry did as he was told. After a good quarter hour of watching Walken empty cabinets on the ground he cleared his throat. The Professor ignored him until he did it several more times. Walken wheeled around. "What, Potter?"
"Can Gryffindor have its points back? I mean...I came."
"What?" boomed an oddly familiar voice behind him. He turned to see a young Minerva McGonagall standing in the door way. She was fixing a stare that could have frozen a flame on Walken.
"Nothing, Minnie. He got detention. I temporarily took some points to make sure he came."
"Did you have reason to believe he wouldn't?"
Walken sighed. "No, Min."
"How many?"
"How many what, Min?" Walken was talking as he looked through drawers.
"Don't act daft! How many points?"
"Fifty. Now make yourself useful and help me go through this room again."
"Fifty points? Have you returned them?"
"Fifty points to Gryffindor. There. Satisfied?"
"I most certainly am not! What did Potter do?"
Walken continued to dig, and when McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, he sat back on his knees. "I may have over-reacted." McGonagall scowled. "What do you expect? Someone is holding my life in their hands! All existence!"
"It's not Potter's fault you created that infernal device in the first place. At every chance you publicly discredit Fugit, and then you privately create a device he outlined."
"I started that long before Potter was a gleam in his father's eye. Probably before his father was a gleam, in fact." Walken waved his hand. "Go if you want to, Potter."
"The time bomb, then?" Harry said.
McGonagall spun to face him. Harry had a hard time not staring at her. He couldn't honestly say she was beautiful, but all the things she did as a teacher; the scowls, glares, and pursed lips, looked much, much better on a younger face. In fact, they reminded him very strongly of the kinds of looks he and Ron had been getting from Hermione since, well, forever.
"What do you know of the time bomb, Potter?"
"Not much, Professor. I've seen it, is all."
"When I stand before you like this, and only then, you may call me Minnie. I would prefer that the students not know exactly who I am. Even if none are around now," she added. "Besides, between us, I don't really feel like Professor McGonagall when I'm...like this." She raised her hands and looked down at her younger body. Then she turned back to Walken. "Stand up." When he ignored her she repeated herself. "I said stand up, 'Brosie." Walken reluctantly did as he was told. McGonagall raised her wand, and with nearly a minute of waving, put everything back in its proper place. "We've searched this room for days. It's not here. At least we know what Pettigrew took." The cabinet door was open, and the brass ring the sphere had been resting upon was bare.
"That doesn't reassure me," Walken said, slapping his legs as he rose.
"Well, it shouldn't!" McGonagall snapped. "You've given detention to the one person who tried to stop him. I hope you're satisfied." Walken ignored her and stared at where the time bomb should have been.
Finally he spoke, though he continued to gaze at the bare spot it the cabinet. "Potter, I thought I said you could go." He licked his lips, and Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Barty Crouch Junior, who had been impersonating Mad-Eye Moody for most of Harry's fourth year.
"I will, but I was hoping to ask you a question before I go."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow and Walken finally looked him in the eyes. "Go on, then. I suppose I owe you that much."
"It's just...so much has happened this year, and I've been trying to look at it, and see the reason behind it all, but..." Harry trailed off.
"Reason behind it all?" Professor Walken echoed. Harry nodded. "That's an easy mistake to make, Potter...Harry. If I can still call you that." Harry nodded again. He'd had bad days, too. He'd never handed out a detention because of it, but he knew the feeling. "Harry, look at your cloak." His causality cloak was still on the wall of the classroom. "What is the reason your mother died?"
That was a tough question, because the answer made him mad. "To protect me, I suppose."
"That was her reason for doing what she did. The direct reason she did was some kind of curse, most likely. That happened because Voldemort...is it true he's Tom Riddle, by the way?" Harry nodded. "Unbelievable. Tom was...I wouldn't have guessed that, ever. Anyway, it's tempting for us to look at the problem backwards and say she died to that you might live. While that could be true, it would be more true to say you lived because she died. Do you know what I'm getting at?"
"No," Harry said honestly.
McGonagall chimed in. "He's saying that you are assuming everything happens for one specific purpose. Well that's not how causality works. Perhaps you'd be better off looking at all of the experiences you have had this year and asking 'what will these produce'? That would serve you regardless of how the universe works."
Harry thought about that for a while. He toyed with a quill as he did. "So...there are reasons these things have happened..." Walken was nodding. "But there may not be a reason these things have all happened."
"I think you get it, Harry. It's a hard thing to put into words, but that sounds pretty close."
Harry wasn't sure what was more odd, the actual idea, or the fact that he almost understood it. "But all these things happening could be the cause of something further on."
"That's pretty good, Potter. Harry. Yes. That is how I would look at the events of this year. Or the events of your life in general. An easy way to think of it is this: Did the sun rise this morning so you wouldn't stub your toe, or did you not stub your toe because the sun rose and you could see?"
Professor McGonagall looked up. "That's a terrible example, 'Brosie."
"I...I think I get it," Harry said. And the most amazing thing of all? He actually did.