AN Little late this weekend, but the ebb and flow of creativity has been in the ebb state recently, as always thanks to my betas Gamer0890 and Red, but not Palkey this time, because he was a stinky father with a sick kid and didn't beta for me :(

Chapter 8

Harry watched Neville pack his bag as the release bell tolled.

It was the end of September, he'd been teaching for just under a month, and the turbulence of settling into the role was fading. He'd been paying close attention to this student in particular and he'd noticed a problem. Neville was an abysmal caster. It was true in his childhood, and had gotten better as the years wore on, but it didn't quite make sense now.

Activating an enchanting circle didn't require precision beyond touching the circle itself. It didn't require a font of unspent magical prowess, there was no incantation, no theory. All of this was true, and yet Harry had noticed a few false starts on Neville's enchantments in the duration of their classroom time. A few tap-taps where the first had struck true.

"Neville," he called, his nervous student jumped, despite the friendly tone. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

As his old friend slung his bag over a shoulder and traipsed over Harry activated the augmentation to his eyes. It was uncomfortable to do so in the castle, so much magic in the air at once gave him a headache, but he ignored the excess and tapped the demonstration circle he'd written out for the class.

"Could you arm this for me?" Neville didn't even notice the faint glow of his eyes, the boy was too busy steadfastly avoiding eye contact.

He reached out with his wand, and the shaking in his hand caused him to miss the drawing at first, but it ought not to matter. There was a delay in activation, and with his extra senses Harry could see the faint bleed of magic from the wand.

Like a light pink mist, energy emanated from between Neville's fingers and flowed down the wand before the second jab connected and the circle flared bright. Harry closed his eyes quickly as it flashed, when he opened them again they were ordinary and the room no longer filled with a wash of color and sensation.

"Your wand isn't fit for you," he noted, surprised, he'd never seen something like it before. Trading wands became quite common in his day, most people lost their original wand at some point, but he'd never seen magic leak from a wand during use.

Neville looked up sharply at that and met Harry's eyes with a twitchy sort of determination. His brow furrowed, and there was defiance in the look, even if he still came across as timid as he said: "W-what's that professor?"

"Your connection with your wand is imperfect, there's a …" he struggled for the right words, "a loss of efficiency. Does that make sense?"

Neville shook his head, Harry tried a different approach.

"Whenever you're casting, do you sometimes feel something in your wand hand? Cold, or warmth, or a tingling perhaps?" Neville started nodding, and with it, a distant but approaching look of horror. "Was this wand made by Ollivander?"

If he recalled correctly, Neville had used his father's wand throughout school, and lost it some point after graduation. Harry knew it was made by Olivander and passed down, but Professor Potter would have no way of knowing that.

"Yes professor, it's a real Ollivander, made for my father!" Neville was nodding earnestly at his question, Harry feigned dawning comprehension.

"Ah, I see, inheriting wands isn't uncommon," he said, being careful with his tone. "Families often share enough similar traits to make wands interchangeable, not always though. When I was in school, a friend of mine broke his hand-me-down wand in our second year. His proficiency in casting went up dramatically after replacing it."

Neville was looking down at his wand in fondness, Harry could see the connection to his father in Neville's eyes. He knew his next words would fall on deaf ears, for now, but he said them nonetheless.

"If you'd like, I could take you to Diagon Alley some weekend to get something better aligned to your magic?"

"N-no thanks, professor, I don't think my Gran would approve."

Harry nodded, not pressing the flighty boy just yet.

"The offer stands," he said gently and dismissed Neville with a nod. His young friend turned tail, fleeing immediately, and Harry sat back in his chair.

As sure as Neville was to reject the idea at first, it was of equal certainty that the trip would be made after the Triwizard champion selection. If Neville were to have even a mockery of a fighting chance in the tournament he needed a proper wand.

A proper wand, and a battery of private lessons, but Harry could only do so much before the tournament began. He put the thoughts behind him as he retreated into his office, there was time enough to stress about the year's events and precious too little time to work on what really mattered.

His dreams were proving less and less helpful as the days wore on. He tried to conjure the last images he'd seen from his lost memories as he ascended the spiral stair from his office to his room. They were few and far between. Most nights he crawled into bed after sitting hunched over his desk all evening and fell into a dreamless sleep. Other nights he re-lived various points in his life, always from his years fighting Voldemort, usually with a heart-wrenching appearance of Fleur.

The dreams of the strange purple runes, and what he was coming to understand were his last moments in his own time and place, were the rarest. He knew he could go to Dumbledore and use the pensieve to get a better look, but he was hesitant. The pensieve could not enhance the images per se. If he didn't see it, it couldn't be remembered, even inside the device, but it was a more stable and visual environment to review. There were undeniable benefits to its use in this specific case, but it came with a much more direct involvement from Dumbledore, which was something Harry wasn't fully convinced was wise yet.

His time was very different from this one. The lines of propriety were often bent in pursuit of survival, and many had broken altogether in the wake of Voldemort's conquest. The rituals performed on and by him were certainly not above board, the entirety of those fields of magic were heavily regulated or otherwise banned outright. For good reason in most cases, but the fact remained that he wasn't sure what he would find in these memories, and he didn't need that insight censored through the lens of Dumbledore's morality.

Progress was stalling though, he couldn't deny it, as he sat at his desk and stared at the wall. The pieces of Hermione's magic that he could decipher were detailed there. Any number of small connections, runes and arithmancy that told him he was looking at expressions about the body and mind. Configurations often used to transform, preserve, transport, the scope of the spellwork was broader than anything he'd ever seen.

Time magic had been, and currently was, heavily guarded by the Ministry. He'd never seen texts about the types of runes and arithmancy used to manipulate it. He doubted Hermione had either, which meant this was likely her own creation. A reinventing of magic built whole cloth to fit her needs. Typical Hermione.

It did add difficulty to the recreation process, but if anyone was qualified to crack Hermione's code it was him. Fleur may have a better understanding of runecraft, a steadier hand with arithmancy, but she'd never understood Hermione and vice versa.

The way home was staring at him from his wall, and he stared back, as he did most nights.

Dobby came with his customary dinner. They'd made great headway in recent weeks, gone were the lavish feasts, now he hardly had room for complaint from his meal service. Today's simple selection of ham, with soup and bread on the side, was the perfect end to a day of study. The bottle of wine played perfect compliment to it, the house Elves knew his preferred vintage by now, and their consistency never failed to delight.

"Thank you Dobby," he dismissed, hardly taking his eyes off the runes.

He hadn't dreamed of the runes for over a week. He'd turned over every piece he had, plugged them into every equation he could think of, and noted a whole host of potential effects. He simply couldn't progress without more data.

He dropped into bed hours later, without any breakthroughs, but down a few bottles of wine.

The ceiling drifted over head, unsteady to his drunken eyes, and he blew out a labored breath.

"Think I'm going to be sick," he murmured aloud, and then laughed at the thought. "How embarrassing."

He switched to French almost without meaning to, and the sound of his own voice struggling around the words pricked the corners of his eyes with tears. She wouldn't be happy with how much he'd been slacking.

"My accent has probably gotten worse," he whispered, barely audible in the dark room. "Haven't had much chance to practice, and what's the point without you there to tease me about it?"

He sighed.

"But it's fine, I'll keep working on it." He turned onto his side and the contents of his stomach sloshed uncomfortably. "I'm coming home, mon princesse."

-o-o-o-

Harry sat on his broom, not too high off the ground, and watched the figures above weave amongst each other. The last weekend of September was chilly, and the students had started dawning their heartier winter robes to fly.

What had started as Harry enjoying his downtime in the air, accompanied by the Weasley twins from time to time, had evolved into a sort of flying club in the wake left by the inter-house cup being canceled. Now most of the Gryffindor quidditch team came out with him on Saturdays, and the other teams were beginning to turn up, eager to get airtime in some form.

"Wondering when you'd turn up, ickle Ronnie…"

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts and turned at the sound of Fred's taunts. Ron and Hermione were below, being greeted by the twins. He saw Hermione weekly, not the easiest encounter on his schedule, but he'd yet to cross paths with his old best friend. Ron had died years ago, by Harrys recollection, and that time sharpened the edge of this particular nostalgia.

Ron was holding a broom, nervous in body language, but determined in countenance.

"Well I'm on the team aren't I?" he demanded of his older brother, and Harry had to suppress a laugh at the squeaky waver in his voice. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Oh, of course, naturally," George said, tone and grin speaking of nothing good.

"But we can't let just anyone into Potter's Pack," Fred continued, "there's an initiation."

Hermione rolled her eyes, clearly wondering why she'd tagged along when she could be in the library comfortable and studying. Harry wondered if she'd yet worked out why she felt the need to be there with Ron, or if that came later. She probably already knew, Hermione had always been better with the emotional stuff than either of her friends.

Ron was putting on a brave face, rising to the twins' challenge with no small amount of trepidation, but rising nonetheless.

There was no initiation as far as Harry knew, the Weasley twins were just taking time out of their leisure to torment their little sibling. As a teacher, he likely should have put a stop to it, as evidenced by the look Hermione threw his way. He just chuckled and waved down to her. The twins' antics were heartwarmingly familiar, in a place where reminders were often painful, so he generally looked the other way.

He watched Hermione pull her eyes away from his apathetic form in frustration and then go wide. He pivoted his broom around to follow her gaze and blinked in surprise as well as he saw Dumbledore making his way across the lawn toward them. He threw a look over his shoulder toward the Weasleys, the trio was drifting nearer the lake, whatever the twins were up to they were on their own.

He dipped down to ground level and drifted to meet the headmaster halfway. "Morning sir," he said brightly, hopping off his broom, "joining us for a fly?"

Dumbledore chuckled and made a show of throwing his wind tossed beard over a shoulder. "No, no, I'm afraid my last leisurely flight was on a Nimbus 1000. Had a nasty fall one day. Never much cared for brooms since."

The headmaster continued to laugh, causing Harry to be unsure whether the story was true. He joined in on the laugh out of politeness and asked: "How can I help you then, professor?"

"Oh, I just wanted to check in, see how you were fairing, you know." He gestured with the sweep of his arm, across the lawn toward the lake, "walk with me, my boy."

Dumbledore set off, around the quidditch pitch, and Harry followed wondering where this was going.

"So, how do you find it, being a teacher?" Dumbledore asked idly as Harry caught up to him.

"Less terrifying than I expected," Harry said after a moment's thought, "after that first initial panic of all their eyes on you it's not so bad."

Dumbledore nodded, smiling, "indeed, the first step is always the hardest. And how are the students receiving it?"

"Am I being asked to evaluate myself on my prowess as a teacher?" Harry asked with a wry smile.

"Heavens no Harry, this is called small talk," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye.

Harry laughed and nodded, "they seem to be picking it up well, and most seem to enjoy the process, the looser nature to study. Doesn't hurt that they're mostly Ravenclaws."

"Good, good," Dumbledore mused thoughtfully, lapsing into silence.

Harry's eyes wandered as they continued to follow the lake's edge. He could see the small bobbing figures of a handful of people on brooms over the waters, it would seem the twins had conscripted more of their fellows into whatever prank they were playing on Ron.

As he watched one of the figures dove dramatically, Harry's eyebrows shot up as the flyer reached the point of no return on the dive, he pulled up at the end, but not in time to avoid a dip beneath the surface. A cheer broke out and Harry cringed, sneaking a glance Dumbledore's way to confirm that the headmaster did in fact see that.

"A lively group," the head teacher noted innocently, "I am glad the quidditch tournament's cancellation didn't ruin their whole year."

Harry relaxed with a grin, "I don't encourage it, I swear professor."

Dumbledore nodded in a knowing way.

"Yes, the Weasley twins are exceedingly good at taking their own initiative. But, of course, that is not what I brought you all the way out here to discuss." His demeanor shifted, they were far enough away from onlookers, and it seemed they had reached a point that satisfied his security standards.

"First, I wanted to tell you that I have confirmed Barty Crouch Jr.'s presence here under the guise of Moody."

Harry nodded, he'd been certain from their first meeting, when they spoke in the trophy room after the feast. "How sir?"

"That brings us to my second reason," he said, producing a sheaf of parchment from his robes, "I don't know if you remember in our first meeting, but you showed me images of a certain map."

Harry blinked dumbly at the blank Marauder's Map before he took it hastily.

"I was reviewing in the Pensieve when I noticed it. As luck would have it, it was still in Caretaker Filch's office. I think it belongs with you." Dumbledore smiled warmly as Harry turned the map over in his hands, a swell of emotion threatening to overtake him.

"Thank you, professor," Harry said after a moment to collect himself, "It'll certainly come in handy."

He'd completely forgotten about the map in the wake of Dumbledore returning the invisibility cloak to him. He was well enough equipped to get up to his old hijinks now, at the very least. They'd certainly been enough to stall Voldemort once, he reckoned he could do it again.

"Weekend after next," Dumbledore carried on after a tactful pause, "our furry friend will be playing host to a collection of our most available friends. Will you be able to attend?"

"Certainly, professor," he said immediately, perking up at the news.

The reformation of the Order of the Phoenix before Voldemort's return was one of Harry's biggest goals. If they could get a head start at protecting the prophecy and, more importantly, the Gringotts problem, then their chances of changing the outcomes were all the better.

"Who do we expect on the guest list?"

"Oh, a few ministry friends I'd expect," Dumbledore said idly, "there are of course members of staff that will join in on the festivities, just not this first time. I put out the word with some of the families involved in the last war, I don't think we'll be disappointed."

Dumbledore stopped by a tree on the shore and inspected its branches approvingly, Harry came to a halt beside him, trying to guess at who would turn up. Tonks certainly, perhaps Kingsley, but he wasn't sure how openly the senior auror would work with them this early on.

"I think that's far enough," Dumbledore pulled him from his musings as he turned back the way they'd come. "That was really all I was hoping to discuss with you Harry."

Harry fell into step with him once more, wishing with every other foot fall that he could hop on his broom and drift alongside the headmaster. His knee was twinging with pain with each step, and he knew it would be aching by the end of the day if he kept himself walking around on it. They neared the quidditch pitch again, and half as a joke he turned to the headmaster and said:

"Going down to the village tonight for some drinks with a few teachers, care to join?"

Dumbledore seemed to think on it for a moment before he shook his head with a smile. "No, my boy, I've found having the headmaster around tends to put a damper on the mood, but enjoy yourself!" The headmaster turned to leave and Harry threw a leg over his broom, relieved to support his weight against it.

"Oh, Headmaster," he called, Dumbledore paused and turned back, "do you know where the soul is kept in the body?"

Harry fought off a grin as the venerable old wizard puzzled over his words like a fine riddle. His smarting knee had reminded him of an old joke between him and Fleur.

"I don't believe I do," Dumbledore said after a few moments' thought.

"It's in the knee!" Harry said, patting his offending limb. Dumbledore looked at him with a quizzical face, head tilted slightly to the side, before his face split into a grin.

"Is it now? I happen to have a birthmark on my left knee that is quite an uncanny map of the London Underground."

Harry nodded, remembering that little piece of trivia for some reason.

"Well, if all things go according to plan, we won't need it."

He left the headmaster to ponder his words, feeling a bit too proud of himself. For all the times Dumbledore had dropped some confusing knot of a sentence on him and drifted off to leave him picking at it all week, he sort of understood the appeal from this side of things.

-o-o-o-

"Two more Rosmerta!" Harry called over the low din of the bar crowd. The proprietor nodded to him as she set down a full tankard in front of a local.

He turned and scanned the bar, on instinct more than anything, while he waited for his drinks. There were a smattering of locals gathered around the inn, enough to make the collection of teacher's not stand out at least. He retrieved the pair of whiskeys the matron dropped off and limped back to the table with a grimace.

Aurora and Pomona were listening with rapt attention to a story Hagrid was sharing. As he approached he deduced it was a tale of his recent exploits with the Skrewts. He set his second tumbler down in front of the Astronomy professor and raised his own to his lips to take a hearty sip.

Hagrid finished up his story with an out-of-place look of fondness on his face as he described the vicious bouts of flame his little creations had begun producing.

"A-are you sure you want your students caring for them Rubeus?" Sprout asked, a conflicted look on her face. He blinked at her, uncomprehending.

"O' course, it'll be fun, and they need all sorts o' care. It'll be good work for 'em."

Harry just shook his head, smiling privately to himself, and set his drink down. "How are lessons going, Hagrid?" he asked in the ensuing lull in conversation.

"Oh, great!" Hagrid said brightly, "think I'm really getting the hang o' this teaching business. How about you professor?"

It still caught Harry off guard when Hagrid or Dobby addressed him as such. For some reason his students doing so was less disarming, perhaps because his old friends all looked so young, but coming from the other professors it felt wrong.

"No complaints," he said cheerily, "classes are going well, just enjoying the calm before the tournament."

There was a round of nods, various levels of excitement or trepidation for the coming events. Trelawney seized Sinestra in a conversation about the current retrograde state of Mercury. A conversation that had less than little hold on Harry's focus, apart from the comedic disconnect between the two professors' opinions on its significance. As best he could tell, Trelawney was trying to equate the astronomical event with a forecast of impending doom for the Triwizard. Sinestra was doing her best to side-step out of the conversation as politely as possible, and failing spectacularly.

Harry pulled out a little notebook he'd taken to carrying around and flipped through it to find the last page he'd scribbled down notes on.

"Working on the weekend? How boring."

He looked over as he finished his drink to see Aurora's teasing eyes trained on him.

"Not if you love your work," he said smugly, tapping the page with a finger before he conjured a quill in his hand. "The work never stops."

She leaned over to inspect the page, there was nothing explicitly damning on it, so he allowed it. She whistled low under her breath at the sight.

"I'm no expert on Runes," she said, eyes tracing the page, "but that doesn't look anything like what I studied in school."

He laughed, "abstract runes aren't covered until mastery," he explained, "too easy to blow yourself up when you're crafting your own runes."

Professor Vector was across the table, and she tuned in then. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," he said, and she moved around the table to join his side. "I was actually hoping to discuss with you and Babbling. I'm running into some walls."

"I'll get the next round," Sinestra said, putting on an exaggerated tone of defeat as she plucked his glass off the table. "Since you insist on working."

She made a face of disgust and slipped around the neighboring table toward the bar. Septima settled into the seat beside him and looked down at the notebook with an appraising eye.

"Interesting," she murmured under her breath, and then she was flipping a few pages back to look at other bits of his Arithmancy marked in the margins. Panic gripped his stomach for a moment, suddenly unsure how much of the book's contents was sensitive information, but she only went a few pages back before she was flipping back to the original page.

"These are connected, no?" He blinked and looked at the specific equation she was pointing out.

"Somewhat," he said unhelpfully, "I'm still trying to work it out."

She flipped back a few pages, and stopped on another part of the complex equations written on his bedroom wall. "These formulas, they produce variables for this-" she flipped back "it's a vector set. What are you working on?"

He could recognize the professional curiosity in her voice, there was a gleam in her eye as she looked at him that told him at least part of her mind was still focused on the notes on the table.

"Best I can tell, it's some sort of teleportation circle," he confided, walking a fine line of how much information to give.

She nodded and returned her eyes to the page with this new data. Aurora returned with fresh drinks and Harry took his gratefully, focus split between the Arithmancy teacher and the group at large.

It was nice to unwind in this fashion. The bar was too crowded and loud for his preference, but it was nothing to the hallways of Hogwarts on a daily basis. The great hall was an absolute no go for meals, and though he was largely content with his mealtimes in his room, it was nevertheless nice to drink with people from time to time.

He'd been meaning to get with the Arithmancy and Runes professors anyway, to pick their brains about some of the stuff he was working on. The multifaceted nature of these fields of magic meant that fresh eyes were almost always the answer to a roadblock. It was complicated slightly by how much he was able to share, but he harbored no delusions about being the foremost expert on pretty much anything.

"-did you play?"

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by all eyes at the table, save Vector's, turning his way. He fished around for what the topic of conversation had been. Ah, quidditch, Aurora had been commenting on his weekend flight club with the Weasley twins and their crowd.

"No," he lied easily, "but there was a racing club at Snakebinder."

"That explains the Firebolt," Sinestra nodded and Hagrid perked up.

"A Firebolt?! Tha's mighty impressive professor." Harry took the compliment with feigned shyness.

"Thanks Hagrid, yeah, she's a lot of fun." The conversation moved on and Harry paid more attention to his notes under Vector's inspection than he did to his coworkers.

She stayed glued to the book throughout the next round, and the night was winding down when she finally surfaced.

"Do you have this at scale?" she asked as she passed the book back to him.

"Some of it, in my rooms, I was actually hoping to get your insight on it at some point." She was nodding even before he finished his statement.

"Certainly, it's a fascinating approach to the problem, I'll get Bath to take a look too." Academics had their uses, he had to admit. Most would look at a sprawling and roundabout way to achieve something a simple apparition could accomplish, and ask why bother? Like Fleur and Hermione though, Vector seemed to find the problem itself worth the pursuit. That would work to his advantage as far as he saw it.

They paid their tab and the gaggle of teachers headed off down the main street toward the gates of Hogwarts, a little tipsy, and in good spirits. Harry's leg was burning, as he knew it would be earlier when Dumbledore had prompted an unscheduled walk about the grounds, but he ignored it for the most part.

One moment he was cramming his hands in his pockets as Hagrid opened the gate for them, and the next his vision went white from a flash of pain behind his eyes and he was falling to the ground.

-o-o-o-

"Are you sure about this?"

Harry grinned at Fleur, she had her hair pulled up but it had unraveled as she worked. She was frowning at him, unimpressed with his casual dismissal of the dangers.

"Course I am," he said and rolled his eyes when her brow furrowed. "We got it all set up, no point in turning back now."

He gestured to the room at large. There were runes and equations scrawled on all four walls, carefully aligned with one another. A matching circle, overlaid with a multitude of other geometries, graced the ceiling and floor. Harry stood in the middle of it and Fleur crossed her arms in the doorway, just outside of the boundaries of the spell.

"I should be going," she said, as a last ditch attempt to dissuade him. He just shook his head.

"Need you around in case it goes wrong," he said, unbothered, "you're better at stitching people back together than I am." He tapped his shoulder, where the tattoos of her life-saving treatment rested under his robes. "Besides, nothing's going to go wrong, this time tomorrow we'll be lounging in the French countryside, meeting the parents and all that."

She didn't look reassured by his jokes, but he made them anyway, because she wanted to be reassured even if only to shoot down the platitudes. She pulled in a deep breath and released it in a huff, betraying her anxiety, and he crossed to her. His grin softened to a smile, and he wrapped his arms around her. She was rigid in his embrace for a heartbeat, reluctant to be comforted, but then her arms came up around his back and clenched the fabric of his robe.

"Tell me it will work," she said softly, quietly, in a weak whisper.

"It will," he promised, being as truthful as he could be in the face of the lie. Neither of them knew if it would work, that was precisely why he wouldn't allow anyone else to try it.

"Well, let's get it done then." When she released him her tone was all business, the decisive command of his lieutenant. "I am quite looking forward to you asking for papa's blessing."

It was her turn to adopt the teasing smile, and he returned it.

"Well, I'm off then," he said and they shared a quick kiss before he returned to the center of the room. They'd spent months setting up this backdoor in the ICW's wards, theorycrafted and tested it as best they could, all that was left now was to do it. Their eyes met from across the room and he nodded to her with a final smile, before he closed his eyes and visualized the stretch of French beach Fleur had shown him as a test point.

He turned, stepping out of the room and willing himself across the distance, and his heart soared as he felt the familiar sensation of apparition begin to constrict him. It seemed for a moment as if it would work, but then he felt a pull, a slow to his movement between planes. He felt himself stretch, being spun out across the cosmos, and then he was rent in two as white hot pain consumed him.

-o-o-o-

"Harry!"

Harry gasped, jerking upright on the cold ground, and stared in confusion at the assortment of faces around him. The Hogwarts professors all looked down in shock and concern, and he recalled quickly that they were on their way back from the pub.

"I'm- alright," he said thickly, accepting Hagrid's assistance in standing. "How long was I out?"

"Out?" Hagrid asked in confusion.

"You just collapsed!" Aurora exclaimed, concern written clear on her face.

So not long then.

"I'm alright," he said again, more sure this time. "Let's get back, it's cold."

They traipsed off, and Harry frowned as he fell into step with them. That was new, his dreams of the past had never bled over into his waking life before. As delightful as it was to take a walk down memory lane from time to time, he wasn't sure he wanted it to become an all-the-time sort of thing.

It wasn't until late that night, back in his rooms, when he started to wonder if the memory might offer some new lead in his research. He was back out of bed and committed to a sleepless night as he began recreating Fleur's anti-apparition work from memory.

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