LMAO this story has been finished on Ao3 for so long I think I forgot to check back up on it on ffn. So sorry to all y'all old folk who still use ffn, I think I'll just post the rest of the chapters all at once so I can get it out of the way. *prayer hands*
Tim surprised himself by actually being able to successfully cast the famed Patronus Charm at all. Sure, there were puffs of silvery smoke for the first couple of tries, but he finally managed a corporeal Patronus while still on their first day of practice. He had been testing out happy memories for the first half-hour, but things finally came together when he focused on the memory of sitting on a rooftop in the middle of the night drinking Sundollar coffee with Jason and Steph while she filmed the two of them on her phone. He wasn't sure why it was this memory and not one of the many times he'd realized that a supposedly-dead loved one was actually alive, but apparently it was enough to give his charm shape.
Maybe I'm less depressed than I thought, he thought to himself, watching the large bird fly over to Harry's stag and perch itself on its antlers. Harry's ease with the Patronus Charm was obvious, judging by the way he left his stag to its own devices for a solid hour while he walked around the room giving people tips on their spellcasting.
Tim watched someone's trout swim through the air, leaving silvery vapor trails behind it, which was when he caught sight of Susan staring at her wand blankly, twisting it between her fingers. Curious and eager to help, he wandered over to her and tapped her gently on the shoulder. She looked up at him with glazed eyes, which was when Tim realized that she wasn't actually okay.
"Hey," he said quietly, "you try casting a Patronus yet?"
After a moment of silence, she shook her head and looked back down at her wand.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
She immediately shook her head, but Tim waited another second, and then she whispered, "I can't do it."
"The Patronus?" Tim clarified, leading her to sit down on one of the cushions next to him.
"It's…I can't. I have—I don't—" she stammered. "I—I can't think of any happy memories." Tim felt his heart sink at her words. He'd seen her laughing with the other Hufflepuffs before. Then why…?
"Listen," Tim told her. "If I, someone who's been diagnosed with clinical depression, can find a happy memory, then anyone can."
Susan let out a small gasp, which turned into a hiccup, which then turned into a very soft sob. Tim wanted to embrace her, but he wasn't sure if she was comfortable with that, and he was too nervous to ask, so he just sat beside her for the next couple of minutes until she started talking again.
"I would have never thought…" she started slowly.
"Most people don't," Tim assured her kindly.
And then came the reveal. "I…also have depression."
For the first time in a very long time, Tim suddenly felt like there was a concrete reason for him being where he was right now. Like some higher power had brought him to Susan. He wasn't religious, but he believed in fate. This was fate.
"Whenever I try to think of happy thoughts, my brain keeps on going for the bad memories, and there are so many of them," she admitted to him, sniffling. "I don't know why, it doesn't make any sense, I just can't…"
Tim waited to be sure that she had finished her thought, and then he said, "You know, I think my depression is what helped me make a Patronus."
Susan eyed Tim suspiciously. "That—that doesn't make sense…"
"Sure it does," he continued, the words just coming to him like he was reading them from a book. "It's because I know what pain and sadness are that I'm able to recognize the good memories for what they are."
She stared at him, brows furrowed. Tim decided to keep going and see if he could make things clear. Jason had explained all this to him once, the philosophies surrounding happiness.
"When people are living in a positive state, they always want to be happier. They can always find a reason to want more, to feel like they aren't happy. But when you're living in sadness, you're willing to settle for anything. You understand what being happy really is, because you know what being 'not-happy' looks and feels like."
Susan wiped her nose on her sleeve. "So…maybe I just have to find a not-bad memory instead of seeking out a specifically 'happy' memory. Does—does that make sense?"
"Totally," Tim agreed, and he offered her his hand. "Do you want to try again?"
For a moment, Tim was afraid she'd refuse. But Susan slowly got to her feet, using Tim's hand for support.
"I suppose," she said quietly, "that if you can do it, I can at least try."
"That's the spirit," Tim grinned, patting her on the back, and he was not ashamed to admit that he teared up a couple minutes later when he saw Susan produce an incorporeal Patronus.
There was an odd joy that came with seeing someone's Patronus take shape. Tim wasn't sure what actually dictated what animal came out of someone's wand, but they all seemed to complement their casters, much like a spirit animal would. Ginny's horse and Ron's terrier in particular amused Tim by their startlingly appropriate connection to the personalities of their casters.
As he watched Luna's hare hop around Neville's head, he heard a faint clicking, and he immediately turned to the singular door to the room, which opened and closed quickly, a small many-hatted house-elf sliding into the Room of Requirement.
That was when everything went sideways.
He approached Harry, trembling, and Tim immediately ran over to the pair, squatting down so that he was at eye level with the elf.
"What's wrong?" Tim asked, harsher than he probably should have. "Why are you here?" The room went silent at Tim's words.
But Dobby acted as though he hadn't even heard Tim, tugging at Harry's robes and whimpering. "Harry Potter, sir…Harry Potter, sir…Dobby has come to warn you…but the house-elves have been warned not to tell…"
"You're a free elf, Dobby," Tim countered. "No one can tell you what to do."
Dobby grabbed his hats and let out a high-pitched whine. "Mister Tim is right…but…but…"
"But what?" Harry asked hurriedly. "What's happened, Dobby?"
"Harry Potter…she…she…"
She? A woman warned the house-elves not to tell…not to tell Harry…Dobby, a free elf, is afraid of—
Wait.
She.
"Fuck," Tim hissed, gripping his wand. "Dobby, Dobby," he asked, grabbing the elf by its scrawny shoulder, "are you talking about Umbridge?"
Dobby's already wide eyes went as big as saucers, and his head spasmed like he was caught between nodding and shaking his head.
"What about her?" Harry asked, grabbing Dobby as the elf attempted to bang its head against Harry's legs. "Dobby—she hasn't found out about this—about us—about the D.A.?"
The house-elf continued to try and harm itself, like it had been cursed to do so if it let out this information. Knowing Umbridge, that could definitely be the case.
"Is she coming?" Harry whispered desperately.
"Yes, Harry Potter, yes!" he howled, banging his feet against the floor, and Tim was immediately in Vigilante Mode.
If everyone tries to exit at the same time, no one will be able to get out in time. I need another exit, or at least—
Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw a door on the other side of the room that he knew hadn't ever been there before. Room of Requirement to the rescue.
"Everyone out!" Tim shouted, standing up quickly. "Gryffindors through the main doors, everyone else through that door!" He pointed to the new exit. "Head to the closest public space or to a trusted teacher's office! Don't travel in a pack!" He had absolutely no clue where the back door led, but it was an exit, so Tim would take it.
Tim's orders fell on deaf ears. Everyone was still staring at Dobby with abject horror.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Harry roared. "RUN!"
Miraculously, it seemed that enough people had unconsciously processed Tim's commands that the room split in half, people heading for either door. Tim, quick as ever, made sure he was first to the back door—since he had no clue where it led, he might as well be the one to lead the others through. He found himself leading a couple dozen students down a spiraling stone staircase, dimly lit by the occasional torch. They went down several stories, and Tim was beginning to wonder if this exit led anywhere before he came across another doorway. Ideally, Tim would have gone out and slowly let people out behind him in twos and threes so as not to draw attention to their large numbers, but Tim was worried that Umbridge would storm the room and find the back door, so he wanted people out of this hidden passageway as quickly as possible. Plus, he knew they were already several floors down from where the chaos probably was, so Tim opened the door in front of him and blindly released the flood of students into—
The Entrance Hall?
Indeed, the door actually opened on one side of the Entrance Hall, mere feet away from the main doors. The Room of Requirement had led him to the closest exit. Tim silently thanked the founders of Hogwarts for having put such a room in their castle.
He shut the door after the last student ran out and turned to face the clump of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who were all looking to Tim for directions.
"Okay, stay calm, people," Tim told them, and he stood in front of the door. "You're all safe. It's—" he checked his watch "—about ten minutes to nine, meaning all of you should theoretically be headed back to your dormitories." Everyone nodded, following so far. "So, I want you, in groups of two or three, to walk to the grand staircase and get off on a random floor. Count to ten, and then find your way back to your respective common rooms. I'll stay here and keep watch." For a moment, everyone stood still, just like back in the Room of Requirement, but then Cho nodded at Tim, grabbed another Ravenclaw girl, and headed up to the grand staircase, and everyone else followed suit. Once the last student was out of eyesight, Tim slipped behind the same brazier he'd used the night he'd been found out by the Gryffindor trio, making sure he could still see the door.
Tim had ushered his fellow classmates away just in time, for, less than a minute later, three sixth-year Slytherins, popped out of the door, looking around confusedly and complaining to one another.
"Dammit, the Mugglefuckers got away," the blond muttered. "How're we supposed to find them now?"
"I suppose we should just head to the common rooms and see who shows up," the tall one said, shrugging. "That's the best I've got."
"Do either of you guys even know where the fuck the Hufflepuff Common Room is?" the last one asked. "Cuz I got no fucking clue."
"Ugh," the blond sighed, "you're right, Miles. Maybe we should just head back to the dungeons. Crack open some Firewhiskey. Merlin knows we deserve it after holding a raid like that one."
"Hear, hear!" the tall one cheered dryly. "Hey, at least Draco got Potter. That's gotta be cause for some celebration, right?"
"Wait, like he 'got him' got him? Like, they're an item now?"
"No, Miles, Potter didn't just randomly become attracted to his arch-nemesis."
"Hey, it could happen, love is weird."
"What I meant," the tall one explained, "was that he caught Potter outside while everyone was running away."
"Did he now? Shit."
Yeah, 'shit' is right, Tim thought to himself as he watched the Slytherins head up the stairs and back down to the dungeons. And if Umbridge was leading the raid, she'd totally take Harry herself back to her office or—
Tim slipped a hand into his pocket and took out his comm link, turning it on and flipping through channels until he heard talking. It was low, and Tim had to turn up the mic significantly, but Umbridge's voice was still the first to filter through.
"—quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been. Marietta's mother, Minister, is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation. Floo Network office—she's been helping us police the Hogwarts fires, you know."
Marietta Edgecomb, that little snitch. And—holy shit—the Minister? For Magic?
An unfamiliar voice chimed in, and Tim could only assume it was the 'Minister' to whom Umbridge had been speaking. "Jolly good, jolly good! Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to—galloping gargoyles!"
There was a shriek that definitely belonged to Marietta, and there was a moment during which Tim genuinely feared Umbridge had done something horrible to the girl, but no one else in the room, whichever room this was, seemed to react, so Tim could only hope nothing serious had happened.
"Never mind the spots now, dear," said Umbridge, "just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister—"
More wailing. Tim held his breath.
"Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him," Umbridge hissed. "Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she had something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately at that point this hex came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me any more."
A hex to negatively alter someone's physical appearance? Ooh, that was devilish.
"Well, now," said the Minister. "It is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge, you did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?"
Oh God, Tim realized. If she says I was there, that I was teaching them self-defense, everything I've worked for with Umbridge will disappear.
"Haven't we got a counter-jinx for this?" the Minister continued. "So she can speak freely?"
"I have not yet managed to find one," Umbridge grumbled, sounding miffed. "But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here." Ah, yes, because hearsay was just admissible now, apparently.
"You will remember, Minister, that I sent you a report back in October that Potter had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade—"
"And what is your evidence for that?" McGonagall's voice was curt and suspicious. To have such a gathering of peoples, this must have been going down in Dumbledore's office.
"I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Minerva, who happened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was quite unimpaired—"
Umbridge continued on, but Tim was too busy mentally hitting his head against a wall to listen. How could I have been so stupid? Of course it was the bandaged man! Why did I assume that his drinks had high alcohol content? He could have made himself sober with a spell, and I wouldn't have known because I'd already made up my mind that he was drinking too fast! Amateur, amateur!
He focused back in on the conversation when he heard Dumbledore's soft-spoken, "Thank you, Fortescue, that will do."
"The purpose of Potter's meeting with these students," Umbridge continued, "was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age—"
"I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores," Dumbledore interrupted gently.
"Oho!" The Minster—Cornelius Fudge, rather—laughed, his voice heavily laden with sarcasm. "Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on—Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it Potter's identical twin in the Hog's Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involving a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life, and a couple of invisible dementors?"
"Oh, very good, Minister, very good!" an unknown voice chimed in.
"Cornelius, I do not deny—and nor, I am sure, does Harry—that he was in the Hog's Head that day, nor that he was trying to recruit students to a Defense Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after Harry's Hogsmeade meeting, so he was not breaking any rules in the Hog's Head at all."
Huh. That was an odd stance to take, seeing as Harry had just been caught in the act of leading an unregistered and therefore illegal club tonight. Tim started to make his way towards Dumbledore's office, sticking to the shadows and avoiding any ghosts or students on the way.
"That's all very fine, Headmaster, but we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are," Umbridge pointed out, exactly as Tim had expected.
"Well, they certainly would be, if they had continued after the decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that these meetings continued?" Tim stopped, still very confused as to what Dumbledore was going for here. They had been in the middle of a meeting tonight.
"Evidence? Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?"
"Oh, can she tell us about six months' worth of meetings? I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight." Okay. Okay…so he was trying to lessen the punishment, then? Tim, personally, would have just pleaded guilty if he'd wanted to do that, but Dumbledore obviously had a plan that Tim didn't yet understand.
"Miss Edgecombe, tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear," Umbridge urged her. "You can simply nod or shake your head, I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months?"
There was a silence during which Tim could only assume she nodded her head.
"Just nod or shake your head, dear," Umbridge repeated, and Tim wondered if Dumbledore or Harry was giving Marietta the feeling that she couldn't tell the truth—something on their faces, some part of their body language, perhaps. "Come on, now, that won't activate the jinx further…"
More silence.
"I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear? I'm asking whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven't you?"
Umbridge was beginning to sound more panicked. "What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?" So she had denied the claims. Maybe Marietta wasn't so far gone after all.
"I would have thought her meaning was quite clear," McGonagall remarked snidely. "There have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?"
Umbridge sounded quite distressed at this point. "But there was a meeting tonight! There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, Potter organized it, Potter—why are you shaking your head, girl?"
"Well, usually when a person shakes their head, they mean 'no.'" McGonagall said dryly, and Tim bit back a laugh. "So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign language as yet unknown to humans—" She was cut off by a combination of noises Tim couldn't place, but some sort of scuffle must have occurred.
"I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores," said Dumbledore in a voice so quiet and so furious that it sent shivers up Tim's spine.
"You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge," came the smooth voice of Kingsley. Dumbledore's office must have been packed. "You don't want to get yourself into trouble now."
"No—I mean, yes—" Umbridge stuttered, breathing heavily, and Tim could imagine the way her nostrils had probably flared. "—you're right, Shacklebolt—I—I forgot myself."
Yeah, cuz normal adults "forget themselves" sometimes and hurt their kids… Tim rolled his eyes. She wasn't fooling anyone.
"Dolores," Cornelius Fudge continued, clearly trying to move on from the current altercation, "the meeting tonight—the one we know definitely happened—"
Umbridge collected herself at his words. "Yes, yes…well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off, and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain trustworthy students (more Slytherins, no doubt), so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind…We needed evidence and the room provided…"
Tim's stomach dropped. She had the list—the list Hermione had tacked up at their first meeting—the list that definitely still had Tim's name written on it.
"The moment I saw Potter's name on the list, I knew what we were dealing with." There was a rustling as she handed off the parchment to someone else.
And what did you think when you saw my name on it? Tim wondered as he crept down the second-floor corridor and towards the Gargoyle corridor.
"Excellent," Fudge remarked. "Excellent, Dolores. And…by thunder…See what they've named themselves? Dumbledore's Army." The list was again passed off.
Dumbledore sighed. "Well, the game is up," he admitted. "Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius—or will a statement before these witnesses suffice?"
Come again?
"Statement?" Fudge sounded just as confused as Tim felt. "What—I don't—?"
"Dumbledore's Army, Cornelius. Not Potter's Army. Dumbledore's Army."
Tim's thoughts strayed back to their first D.A. meeting. "She's got some…some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army, Hermione had said. "She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."
Dumbledore's taking the fall for Harry—no, for all of us, Tim realized, just as he reached the stone gargoyle.
"But—but—" Fudge let out a horrified yelp. "You?"
"That's right."
"You organized this?"
"I did."
"You recruited these students for—for your army?"
"Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting," Dumbledore revealed pleasantly. "Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course."
"Then you have been plotting against me!"
"That's right."
"NO!" Harry screamed, echoing Tim's thoughts. "No, Professor Dumbledore!"
You don't have to do this Dumbledore, Tim thought. Despite him imprisoning Tim, despite the loss of trust between them, Tim respected Dumbledore's power and understood that the majority of the school's safety was due to his presence. You're the only thing keeping Death Eaters out of Hogwarts—let me take the fall, I can handle it—
"Be quiet, Harry, or I am afraid you will have to leave my office."
"Yes, shut up, Potter!" Fudge practically screeched. "Well, well, well—I came here tonight expecting to expel Potter and instead—"
"Instead you get to arrest me," Dumbledore finished for him. "It's like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn't it?" But that wasn't the case. The only reason Dumbledore was doing this was because he recognized how important Harry's safety was, more important that his position as Headmaster. Tim had always thought his leadership position was the most important thing to Dumbledore, but apparently, he'd pegged the man wrong.
"Weasley!" Fudge squealed, and Tim started, not realizing that a Weasley was in there with them. He hadn't heard their voice yet. "Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?"
"Yes, sir, I think so, sir!" came the same voice that was acting as Fudge's hype-man from before. He must have been a relative of the Weasleys, another one who worked in the Ministry, closely with the Minister for Magic.
"The bit about how he's been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he's been working to destabilize me?"
"Very well, then. Duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the Daily Prophet at once. If we send a fast owl, we should make the morning edition!"
Tim heard the door slam and immediately hurried to hide behind a column.
"You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged and then sent to Azkaban to await trial!" Fudge announced gleefully.
"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, sounding only mildly disappointed. "Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag."
"Snag? I see no snag, Dumbledore!"
"Well, I'm afraid I do."
"Oh really?"
"Well—" Dumbledore started plainly, "it's just that you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to—what is the phrase?—'Come quietly?' I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course—but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing."
"Oooh, harsh," Tim whispered. Then, he heard the scraping of stone on stone, and he watched as the gargoyle stepped aside. Out burst an excited man—tall, redheaded, and wearing a pair of distinctive horn-rimmed glasses. Definitely a Weasley.
"Merlin's beard!" he muttered to himself, clutching a stack of crumpled papers to his chest and grinning madly. "Dumbledore's going to get it this time…!" He sped right past Tim without so much as a second glance, clearly on a mission.
"Don't be silly, Dawlish," Tim heard Dumbledore chide over the comms. "I'm sure you are an excellent Auror, I seem to remember that you achieved 'Outstanding' in all your N.E.W.T.s, but if you attempt to—er—'bring me in' by force, I will have to hurt you." Dawlish? How many people were in his office?
"So," Fudge sneered, "you intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores, and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore?"
"Merlin's beard, no. Not unless you are foolish enough to force me to."
"He will not be single-handed!" McGonagall cried out.
"Oh yes he will, Minerva!" Dumbledore announced, louder than before. "Hogwarts needs you!"
"Enough of this rubbish!" Fudge shouted. "Dawlish! Shacklebolt! Take him!"
Tim had to turn down his comm once the sounds of combat came through, loud blasts and swearing coming from every direction. However, Tim found himself not particularly worried, as he was more than aware of Dumbledore's incredible arcane prowess. There was no question in Tim's mind as to who would come out on top.
"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked someone, concern seeping into his voice.
"Yes!" McGonagall coughed back. Fawkes squawked cheerfully from somewhere in the office.
"Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious," Dumbledore admitted. "He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe's memory like that while everyone was looking the other way—thank him for me, won't you, Minerva?" Oh. Oh. No wonder the girl had been so silent while she was being interrogated. "Now, they will all awake very soon, and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate—you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember—"
"Where will you go, Dumbledore?" McGonagall said. "Grimmauld Place?"
"Oh no. I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he'd never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you…"
Ominous…
"Professor Dumbledore…" Harry whispered, his voice cracking, and Tim turned up his comms again.
"Listen to me, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, and he sounded more serious than he had the entire night, "you must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practice it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams—you will understand why soon enough, but you must promise me—remember—close your mind—you will understand."
This felt like the perfect time for Dumbledore to let Harry in on what was going on, but apparently the old man still wanted to keep that information to himself, even though, without Dumbledore around, the chances of Harry doing stupid things would be exponentially greater.
Then, the was the sound of some objects being moved, and Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly very clear, "My apologies, Timothy, but it seems that your assistance will be needed at Hogwarts just a bit longer." And then there was a crackling noise, and then silence.
Before Tim had time to register what had just gone down, he felt something cool trickle down his whole body, like a small stream of water had dribbled on his head, and, when it reached his feet, a familiar pins-and-needles sensation came over them.
Just as people in the office were beginning to wake up, Tim slipped away and headed back to Ravenclaw Tower, only half-listening to the conversation. He had a theory that needed to be tested.
He slid into the common room and flung himself onto a padded chair, pulling his legs up close to him. From across the room, Aruna, the sole inhabitant, raised an eyebrow before returning to her indoor stargazing activity that she so often partook in.
Pulling off his shoes and socks, Tim tapped both of his bare feet and whispered, "Finite."
Nothing. No runes snaking up his feet. No odd sensation in his feet.
Dumbledore's charm had been broken the moment he'd left the premises, as though he was offering Tim an out. All Tim would have to do is abandon Harry, who needed Occlumency tutoring badly and was clearly a bigger target than ever before.
Well, shit, he thought, letting out a little sigh. Guess I'm staying at Hogwarts after all.
Fun fact: When Tim was talking to Susan, I kept on thinking of this one philosopher I read in high school, but I cannot for the life of me remember who that was, so I just shoved some Epicureanism in there because it fit the message Tim was trying to get across and seemed like a philosopher Jason would have read at some point.