Chapter 9
Earlier that night...
"Harry! Harry! Harry!"
Someone was shaking his shoulder. At the same time, something warm and soft was hugging him. He blinked a few times just as bright white light entered his eyes. It took a while before his eyes could adjust to their surroundings.
"Uh, what-?" he grumbled.
"HARRY!"
"I'm up! I'm up! What's all the fuss ab-"
Harry suddenly froze.
This must be some cruel joke or a horrific nightmare.
Ron Weasley. His long-dead friend, kneeling in front of him. He was alive and he looked young, like a teenager. And he was talking to him. And he looked very nervous.
He then looked down and saw a jumble of bushy-looking hair lying on his chest. He recognized that hair, or rather the owner of the hair.
Hermione.
But it can't be. Hermione's hair was straight. At least that was what became of her hair when she reached adulthood. Adult Hermione was quite pretty.
The owner of the hair looked up. Harry saw a very familiar face. Their eyes met. Her hazel eyes were swimming in tears.
"Harry?"
At this point, he wondered if someone would be kind enough to pinch his arm or better still, hit him with a sledgehammer squarely on the head. Like a fish coming out of the water and trying to breathe air, his mouth opened and closed several times as his eyes darted between the two persons. Nothing has come out so far.
It took him several minutes before he could blurt out something and that something was, "Ron? Hermione? But-, but you were dead. You both were dead. I went to your funeral."
Hermione quickly got off him. Her hand cupped her mouth. As for Ron, he simply stared at Harry with his mouth wide open.
"Harry, what are you talking about? We were having conversations, remember? We were talking about your godfather and that strange dream you were having," said Hermione rather anxiously. She gingerly reached out and felt his forehead. "Your temperature seems normal and you don't look peaky. Did you feel anything like a headache or nausea?"
Harry shook his head. "No. I feel fine."
That wasn't a lie. He was feeling fine actually. No headache. No drowsiness. No nausea. No ringing inside his ear. He truly felt fine.
"Well, can you stand up?" asked Ron.
"I think I can," replied Harry. With Ron and Hermione putting their hands under his arms helping him, he tried to push himself up. But all of a sudden, he stopped. He just realized something.
"Why am I on the floor?" he asked Ron.
"You fainted," the boy replied. "Now let's get you up."
With a grunt, Ron and Hermione lifted Harry off the floor. They let Harry go the moment he was fully standing.
"How do you feel now, Harry?" asked Hermione timidly. Her hand stretched halfway out as if she was ready to catch him from falling at any moment.
The coach swayed from time to time and sometimes crashes can be felt or heard as the wheels traveled over the old track joints. At certain parts of the railway line, the swaying and crashing could get so bad that many were thrown off their feet.
Harry however stood steadily on his feet. Somehow, none of the crashing and swaying affected his stability.
"I feel fine. I feel... energetic and young actually," he answered Hermione's question.
"Harry, we are all young," said Ron, feeling a bit amused and concerned.
"No kidding," said Harry, looking at Ron up and down, still in utter disbelief.
"Come on. Let us all sit down. I already have enough anxiety as it is," said Hermione.
The other two did as told. Hermione decided to sit beside Harry. She rummaged through her pouch, took a piece of a handkerchief, and began dabbing her eyes.
"Why are you crying?" Harry asked her.
Hermione however didn't answer. She continued dabbing her eyes in silence.
"She panicked. We both were panicking, Harry," said Ron who went on to sit opposite of him. "We were deep in the conversation when all of a sudden you turned off *Ron snapped his finger* just like that."
"That's what happened?"
Ron nodded earnestly. "We were talking about Sirius Black and Hermione was saying something to the effect of you writing to him about your dreams. Midway, you suddenly closed your eyes, your head lolled to the side and you slid off the seat and onto the floor."
"You weren't breathing, Harry," said Hermione, sniffing. "I-... we thought you were dead."
"For a few minutes," Ron added. He then leaned forward toward Harry. "Blimey. This is the second time this happened. What is going on, Harry? Are you sure you're alright?"
"The second time?"
Ron nodded. "Yeah. Remember last year? The dementors were on board the train. You're the only one who fainted. Not that those creatures didn't affect any of us but still. Boy, Malfoy had a field day when he heard what happened to you."
"Stop mentioning his name, Ron! I'm sick of him," said Hermione feeling disgusted. "I hate remembering what he did to Harry."
"Sorry," Ron apologized. "But yeah, you scared us, mate. There are no dementors this time around so it must be something else. I scoured the whole corridor while Hermione attended to you to see if anyone was playing tricks on you. Found no one. Not even Malfoy. He was too preoccupied with Parkinson *shudders*. Saw him busy smooching her inside his compartment. Everyone else was minding their own business. We were relieved when you woke up, that is until you started acting weird and talking nonsense. Will this be a normal occurrence, Harry? Because if it is, something needs to be done."
"I agree. You need to see Madam Pomfrey when we arrive at Hogwarts, Harry," Hermione gave her support. "Have her look into you. Maybe she can work out something."
Harry said nothing, however. For some reason, hearing Malfoy's name being uttered brought him joy. He however couldn't deduce why. He racked his brain but found nothing. His memory was in shamble. He couldn't remember his past. He had no idea what was going on in the present. All he remembered was that before being in the train coach with Hermione and Ron, he was falling asleep.
The three of them fell silent and Harry took that advantage to observe his surroundings. The old lantern above him swayed gently to the rhythm of the train. The compartment they were currently occupying looked old, very 1960s-like. And from where he came from, things didn't change. He then turned his gaze toward his friends. It was so strange to see them being so young. The last time he saw them, they were looking very frail from old age.
Then all of a sudden, it hit him.
Turning to Hermione, he asked, "What year is this?"
Hermione who was watching him as though she expected strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment hastily rearranged her features and replied, "It's 1994, Harry. Why?"
"Are you sure?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, I'm perfectly sure. But why? Why do you look so surprised?" said Hermione.
"Yeah, mate. Wow, those Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup screw you up, didn't they? They even make you forget what year this is," said Ron, now looking very concerned.
"I-... where are we going exactly?"
"Hogwarts. We're starting our new term. Harry, can't you remember anything?" asked Hermione.
Harry didn't answer. Instead, he turned to look out the window and immediately he fell into his thought.
The rain was pouring heavily outside and the day was getting darker. It was getting difficult to view the beautiful countryside outside. Meanwhile, the train continued to chug along, slowly snaking its way through the countryside towards the north where its destination lies.
He thought he was dreaming. He hoped that he was dreaming. He was falling asleep after all. He had a busy day, that day. He just got back from the cemetery that late evening. Traveling from his home to the cemetery and back for someone as old as him was never an easy task but it had to be done. He wanted to do it no matter what. And he did it every day. For her. The one girl he loved. And he loved her dearly.
But this felt so real. So real that it couldn't be just a dream. He could truly feel the softness and warmth of Hermione's body when she hugged him. He could feel their hands holding his arm firmly when they helped him to stand up. The fabric of his seat felt rough and real. The swaying of the train felt real. The ruckus it made as the wheels traveled over the track joints and the ambiance lighting, it all felt real. He stared at his hands.
They felt real.
A deduction began to form inside his brain despite his memory fogginess. He didn't want to believe it, but somehow he had traveled back in time. To 1994. And right now he was on his way to Hogwarts.
But why 1994? Was there a purpose to it?
He knew something happened in 1994. Something really big. The Quidditch World Cup Ron mentioned was one of them. There was more. He knew there would be more. He just couldn't remember what it was. His memory was still hazy, probably due to the sudden and unexpected time travel. He hoped it would clear up eventually and he hoped it would happen fast.
"Harry?"
Hermione's voice woke him up from his thoughts. He turned to look at her. He suddenly realized that he was facing another problem. His best friends. How can he tell them that he wasn't the same person they used to know? How can he tell them what he suspected happened? Would they believe him? Would they call him crazy?
Ron and Hermione were staring at him. Patiently, they waited for his response.
He smiled and shook his head. "I'll be fine. I'm-... I feel exhausted."
The explanation would have to wait.
Hermione nodded in understanding. "Get some rest then. And maybe take a nap. I'll wake you up when we arrive. We'll bring you to see Madam Pomfrey once we're at Hogwarts."
"Sure."
She then grabbed a book that was lying beside her and began to read.
The three of them suffered a silent journey for the rest of the way. Harry spent his time looking out the window. Hermione meanwhile spent her by reading her book. She would glance at Harry from time to time. As for Ron, he just sat there, his back leaning against the back of his seat and his eyes staring at the lantern hanging from the compartment ceiling looking bored.
Harry smirked a little as he watched his friends via the reflection of the window.
Throughout the rest of the journey, Harry kept on thinking. He finally understood what was happening but he still didn't know how and why it happened. By some freakish circumstances, he was thrown back in time from the year 2072 to the year 1994. He was still attending Hogwarts in 1994. It was supposed to be his fourth year of schooling and he was fourteen entering fifteen years old that year. He was still young.
He knew that something big happened within the fourth year of his schooling. He just couldn't put a finger on it. And he bet with all he had that the same thing will reoccur this time around. If only he could remember what it was. One thing he knew for sure was that he wouldn't like it.
The Hogwarts Train chugged slowly as it entered Hogsmeade Station and ground to a halt as it reached the platform. Feet shuffled and soon the corridor outside the trio's compartment was filled with students waiting to exit the train.
The three of them were already in their school uniform. Harry for one felt uncomfortable. It wasn't because of the uniform. It fit him perfectly and they were brand new. The fact was he felt weird. He studied his reflection in the window. He looked so young. Then he remembered he was a 92-year-old man.
A 92-year-old man wearing a school uniform.
Harry felt like vomiting.
"You okay, Harry?" asked Ron. "You look like you're about to throw up."
"Does it show?" asked Harry swallowing hard.
"Well, yeah," answered Ron. "Your face turned a slight shade of green."
If only they knew, Harry thought. He slid the compartment door open. "Don't worry about it. Come on. Wait! Did anyone else know?"
"That you fainted?" said Ron. He then looked around at the crowd that was now gathering outside their compartment waiting to disembark. "Nah, I don't think so. If there's one person who would love to make a fuss about it, it will be Malfoy. I guess we'll see."
Harry nodded.
The rain fell heavily just as they got off the train. Everyone around them, pushing against each other, was making their way hurriedly toward the line of carriages that were waiting to take them to the castle. Harry himself was busy looking up and down the platform until all of a sudden a familiar figure caught his eyes.
He smiled.
It was Hagrid. Like always, he wasn't that difficult to notice, sticking like a sore thumb amidst the sea of short people. Harry misses the gentle half-giant. Hagrid was a good friend and he was loyal to the end. He married Madame Maxime and passed away 25 years after the war. Madam Maxime followed him five years later. They didn't have children, however. Hagrid moved to France after he got married and Harry would always make it a point to visit him and Madame Maxime whenever he stayed at his in-laws' house. His wife loved the couple as well. Like Hagrid, she too had a close relationship with Madam Maxime.
Harry truly misses Hagrid but at that point, the gamekeeper was busy herding the first years. He decided that he would let Hagrid do his job, knowing that there would be time, in fact, lots of time for them to meet.
But just as he made his way to the carriage, someone bumped him hard on the shoulder from behind.
"Watch it, Potter!"
It was Draco Malfoy and his male escorts, Crabbe and Goyle. He gave Harry a sneer and a middle finger before he made his way toward the awaiting carriages.
"What an arse," grumbled Ron.
"Leave it, Ron," said Harry, rubbing his shoulder. "He's not worth it."
"He's still an arse, Harry. You know he's not going to leave you alone," said Ron.
"Then let's not give him any more incentive to do more than what he did."
The trio reached one of the vacant carriages. Harry took a glance at the thing that was pulling the carriage as he climbed into the carriage. It was a thestral. He knew that he would be the only one who could see it. At this age, both Hermione and Ron had yet to see death. The pair sat side by side while Harry had the whole bench for himself.
"You changed, Harry," stated Ron just as the carriage began to move.
"As in?"
"I would have thought, you know, that you would get mad for what Malfoy did back there."
"It was just a shoulder bump, Ron. That's hardly a reason for me to get all work up," said Harry as he placed his backpack next to him.
"I don't get it, Harry. You always rise to the bait he threw at you."
"That was before and that is all Malfoy can do, Ron. Getting a rise out of people now and then," said Harry.
"But-."
But Harry interrupted him. "Listen Ron. We all know who Draco Malfoy really is. We saw everything that he had done. That however is not the reason for us to drop down to his level. Let it go. At least he didn't know that I fainted on the train."
"Fine."
Harry then turned his gaze to the outside of the carriage, watching silently as the night scenery flew past by.
The castle came into view as the carriage trundled past the magnificent gate that marked the boundary and the entrance into the school's compound. Like before, the view never failed to amaze him. The ancient castle was his home back then after all.
The castle suffered extensive damage after the Battle of Hogwarts concluded. It was rebuilt immediately and while the builders were at it, they decided to include new designs and features as well. Bigger Great
Hall, newer and bigger greenhouses, and larger dormitories were among the new additions. The Quidditch field was redesigned as well. Players now have bigger locker rooms and hot showers to use before and after a game.
The Quidditch field that was now coming into view in front of him however remained unmolested.
Harry remained silent as he let the beauty of Hogwarts and its ground washed over him.
The carriage ground to a halt right at the bottom of the stone steps that lead into the Entrance Hall. The trio disembarked and along with other newly arrived, immediately climbed the stone steps, eager to get into the cavernous Great Hall and be embraced by its warmth.
But just as they got near the Entrance Hall's landing, Harry suddenly stopped. "Wait!"
Both Ron and Hermione shadowed his movement. "What is it, Harry?"
Harry did not answer. Instead, he took out his wand and immediately fired a curse at the ceiling. There was a scream and a ghost wearing a bell-covered hat and a bow tie appeared out of thin air. One of his hands was holding several water red and white water balloons and the other fervently rubbing his bottom.
"Potty shot me!" the ghost cried. "Nasty smelly Potty!"
"I wouldn't have done it if you weren't being naughty, Peeves," said Harry quite firmly. "All of us had our impromptu shower on our way here. We're not in the mood for another one. I suggest you stand down and let us through."
But Peeves decided to ignore his warning. He took one of his water balloons and aimed at Harry.
"Fine then," said Harry. He threw several curses at Peeves, each of them hitting the exact same spot as the first one. Peeves cried in pain and immediately disappeared through the adjacent wall, throwing up all of his water balloons in the process. The floor of the Entrance Hall became wet as a result but at least none of the students ended up being Peeve's victims.
"How did you do that?" asked Ron in awe.
"Do what?"
"That thing you just did!" exclaimed Ron. "I thought ghosts were supposed to be immune to curses. I mean it would just fly right through them, wouldn't it? You can't hit a ghost, can you?"
"Well-."
"And when did you learn to use nonverbal spells?" asked Hermione very curiously. "We weren't supposed to learn that until our sixth year."
Silence fell upon them as Harry suddenly realized that every student within the vicinity had their eyes trained on him.
But just as he cranked his brain real hard in trying to come up with a good response, he heard someone calling out his name.
"Mr. Potter!"
Professor McGonagall had just come out of the Great Hall and was heading toward them.
"Potter attacked a Hogwarts ghost, professor!" said Malfoy who was watching the whole event from the sideline. "We all saw it!"
Ron growled at him which Malfoy completely ignored.
"I am fully aware of what Mr. Potter did, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall just as she arrived in front of Harry. Turning her attention back to the boy in front of her, she said, "Five points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Now get moving, all of you. Get yourself into the Great Hall. The sorting ceremony will begin at any moment."
Malfoy looked like he had been slapped with a Hogwarts letter saying that he was expelled from the school and Christmas would be canceled for the next five years.
All of the students slipped and slid across the wet floor as they made their way across the Entrance Hall and through the double door on the right into the Great Hall. Professor Flitwick and Professor Hooch were standing at the Great Hall's entrance, waving their wand at the students to dry them.
"Don't forget you need to see Madam Pomfrey, Harry," whispered Hermione as they took their seat at the Gryffindor table.
"I remembered that, Hermione," Harry replied.
"Not now, Hermione," said Ron. "Let him eat first. I want to eat first."
"Yes, I know that, Ron," said Hermione.
Someone took a seat beside Harry. A rounded-faced boy whom he recognized well. Someone he held in the highest regard just like his two best friends.
"Hey, Harry."
Harry smiled. "Hey, Neville. So err... you had a good summer?"
"Yes, I had a good one. My grandma didn't allow me to see the World Cup unfortunately so that's a bummer but overall, summer is okay," replied Neville.
"We wondered that as well, Neville. You're missing a lot, you know," said Ron.
Neville shot Ron a look and said, "Please don't rub it in, Ron. I know what I'm missing." He then shook his head.
Harry turned his attention towards the High Table. Albus Dumbledore was sitting there chatting merrily with Professor McGonagall. He saw Professor Sinistra, Professor Babbling, Professor Burbage, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Hooch, Professor Vector, Professor Trelawney - they were all there. His gaze finally landed on a man famous for his greasy hair and his demeanor toward the students.
Professor Snape.
Harry's younger self would look at Snape with great loathing. That feeling no longer exists however for whatever reason Harry couldn't remember.
Harry silently hoped his memory would return in full force soon.
Their eyes met. Harry gave Snape a curt nod and turned his attention elsewhere.
He observed that there were two empty chairs along the teacher's table. One belonged to Hagrid. He would be arriving with the first year, that is if he and those students didn't capsize. From the enchanted ceiling, he could see that the rain was getting heavier and heavier. Definitely not the best time to arrive at the new school, Harry mused.
The other chair would belong to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He racked his brain trying to think who would be filling the chair that year. He knew that he already had that information. He just couldn't get it out. The forced time travel must have muddled his memory quite a bit more than he expected. He gave up moments later and decided to wait. One way or another, he would know in the end.
"I heard that you attacked a ghost just now."
That voice took Harry by surprise. It was Nearly Headless Nick. Nick was sitting a bit further down the table beside one of Gryffindor's seventh year. At least Harry still remembered him. He fully expected the Gryffindor resident ghost would be angry with him. But the look on the ghost's face told him otherwise.
"Well, yes," answered Harry sheepishly. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to."
Nick however waived his apology away. "It's about time someone else teaches Peeve a lesson. Peeves only respect the headmaster, you know. And the Bloody Baron. It's good to know that there is someone else he would be fearing."
"I don't intend to make him fear me," said Harry.
"Well, he should. There are too few people in this castle that he fears. Peeve bows to authority, Harry Potter. Dumbledore and the Bloody Baron has it. Time to add another one, don't you think?" said Nick.
Harry said nothing.
A highly excited and breathless voice called from down the table. "Hiya Harry!"
Harry turned to look. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember who the owner of the voice was. He recognized the face though. He decided to instead smile politely and greet back, "Hi."
"Harry! Guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"
"Oh, that's great."
"He's excited to be here!" said the boy. He was practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh? Can I introduce him to you later, Harry?"
Harry gave the excited young boy a thumbs up.
The sorting ceremony went without a hitch and the feast began after that. Luckily Professor Dumbledore was a man of few words. Either that or the headmaster himself was so hungry that he could eat a hippogriff. The feast also marked the beginning of Hermione's crusade in defending house elves' rights, thanks to Fred and George Weasley.
It didn't take long for each of the plates to be wiped off clean. The buzzing chatter within the hall ceased immediately the moment Albus Dumbledore stood.
"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered *Hermione gave out a humph of disapproval* I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office if anybody would like to check it."
"Oh, we will. Won't we, Forge?" said Fred, grinning.
"Yes we will, Gred," said George. "Absolutely will."
George then leaned toward Harry and whispered, "And we'll bring along some gifts for Filch too."
Harry just smiled and shook his head.
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
There was quite an uproar. Fred, George, and all whom Harry recognized as members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were mouthing soundlessly at the headmaster. Harry however remained passive.
Ignoring the uproar he just caused, Dumbledore continued, "This is due to an event that will begin in October, and continue throughout the school year. It will take up much of the teacher's time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-."
Dumbledore's speech was somehow cut by the sound of the door behind him banging open.
Harry meanwhile slowly took his wand out.
A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that
flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, and began to walk up toward the teachers' table.
A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.
The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him so frightening. One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye - and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head so that all they could see was whiteness.
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone.
Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.
The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.
Someone grabbed his hand. It was Neville. "Harry, why did you take out your wand?"
Harry placed his wand back into his pocket.
"Nothing, Neville," he said as he turned his attention back to the stranger.
"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said Dumbledore brightly. "Professor Moody."
It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.
"Woah," said Ron. "Moody? Alastor Moody? Mad-Eye Moody?"
"Who is he?" asked Hermione.
"You seriously didn't know? Hermione, he's like the best auror ever to live! Half of Azkaban is full because of him," said Ron.
"Are you forgetting that I'm a muggle-born, Ron?" said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Now shut up! There's more Dumbledore needs to say."
"As I was saying," Dumbledore resumed, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing at Mad-Eye Moody. "-we have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. "I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "-though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar."
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.
"Er - but maybe this is not the time.. . no. . ." said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely. "The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."
"Death toll?" Hermione was looking alarmed. Her anxiety somehow was not shared by the rest of the students who were chatting excitedly to each other.
With the exception of Harry.
He no longer hears what Dumbledore said next. His gaze remained transfixed on Mad-Eye Moody. Or rather as he suspected, Barty Crouch Jr. impersonating as the famous Auror.
Harry continued to watch 'Moody' every move, what he ate, and what he drank. He also looked for clues on how he talks. Barty Crouch Jr. certainly did his homework well if he was really impersonating Moody in this timeline.
Except for the way he drank from his own personal flask from time to time. Harry immediately timed it and found that Moody would drink between thirteen to sixteen minutes and would keep on doing that for the rest of the event.
Bingo. He doubted thirst was the result of that repeated action.
Harry's instinct threatened to take over. He tried hard to calm it down knowing that any action on his part would result in him being expelled for attacking a teacher. Besides, as of now, he had no proof. Only knowledge. That would not be enough. For now, all he could do was watch.
The feast finally came to an end. Students began making beelines toward the Great Hall entrance.
"Come on, Harry," said Hermione as she grabbed his hand and beckoned him to follow her. Ron joined the two as well as they made their way out of the Great Hall.
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of beautifully bright, green eyes followed them in their wake. Her eyebrows furrowed. She then turned to the girl who was sitting beside her and they both exchanged knowing looks.
Madam Pomfrey was reading some parchments at her desk when the trio arrived at the hospital wing. She looked up and saw them entering the ward.
"Mr. Potter," greeted Madam Pomfrey, returning to her parchments. "I did not expect you to be here this early but since you never failed to earn the dubious Patient of the Year title every year since you studied here, I'm not surprised. What's the problem this time?"
Hermione tapped Harry's arm with the back of her hand. "Harry?"
"Urm... yeah. I fainted," said Harry.
Madam Pomfrey quickly looked up. Her eyebrows furrowed. "When? Where?"
"On the train," Harry replied.
"He also wasn't breathing when he fainted," Hermione quickly added. "For a few minutes." She then went on to explain to Madam Pomfrey what had happened.
"I see," said Madam Pomfrey.
Madam Pomfrey got up, took out her wand, and began waving it all over Harry's body. A buzzing sound can be heard coming out of her wand. After a few minutes, she said, "I couldn't find anything. There's nothing wrong with you. How do you feel?"
"Right now? I feel fine," said Harry.
"Well, you should."
Madam Pomfrey put her wand away. She then proceeded to do some simple medical physical exam on Harry.
"All seemed to be in order. There's nothing wrong with you, dear boy. At least for now," said Madam Pomfrey as she peered into his eyes.
"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with him, Madam Pomfrey?" asked Hermione earnestly.
"Well, I could have him admitted to St. Mungos tonight for further evaluation if needed. They have specialist healers there who can do a lot more than me. I'm just a nurse, you know. Will you agree to it, Mr. Potter?" said Madam Pomfrey as she tested Harry's balance.
Harry's eyes widened at this. He immediately pulled away from Madam Pomfrey.
"Woah that won't be necessary! Thank you, Madam Pomfrey! I feel great! We'll be on our way then! Sorry to bother you! Good night!" said Harry. He then grabbed Hermione's arm and steered her towards the entrance to the ward. "I am not going to spend the first night at Hogwarts in a hospital, Hermione," he whispered to her.
"Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey called him back just as the trio was about to exit the ward.
"Yes, Madam?"
Madam Pomfrey marched toward him and handed him a small vial of white-colored potion. "Take this before you go to bed. This will help you sleep. Get a good rest tonight, Mr. Potter. Come see me if the symptoms re-manifest."
Harry took the vial and muttered thanks. The three friends then made their way to the Gryffindor Tower.
Madam Pomfrey just stood there, shaking her head while watching them leave.
The Common Room was jam-packed with people when the trio arrived. Everyone was busy exchanging their summer stories with one another. The Quidditch World Cup and the upcoming Triwizard Tournament became the hot topic of the day, or rather the night.
Harry, unfortunately, couldn't join in any of the conversations. His amnesia was even worse than he thought. He had no recollection of the Quidditch World Cup although he knew he attended it. Ron had graciously reminded him of that. He remembered his younger self staying at The Burrow that summer but couldn't at all remember what happened before that. He couldn't remember who his godfather was but he remembered who Dudley Dursley was. He couldn't even remember the names of many of his friends but he knew their faces. Out of his five roommates, he could only remember Ron and Neville. He recognized the other two but he had no idea who their names were. He ended up sitting and listening idly to everyone talking.
As for the Triwizard Tournament? Everyone was excited about it but not him. He, unfortunately, could not remember why.
His amnesia seemed to be very selective about he what could remember and what he could not.
Hermione sat with him inside the Common Room most of the time. As on the train, she was more preoccupied with her books and as before, she would glance at Harry every now and then, just to make sure that he still belonged to the living world.
It was a strange sight for Harry. For many decades, he was used to many of his friends as adults. At least most of them became adults. Now they were teenagers and they were alive too. He watched Fred, George, and Lee Jordan playing Exploding Snaps.
One of the twins would live until old age. Harry, unfortunately, couldn't remember which one and why the other died.
It was getting late. The common room was slowly becoming deserted. They would be having their first class the next day. Many would want to get prepared.
Hermione bid Harry and Ron a good night before climbing the spiral staircase that leads to her dormitory.
"Sleep tight, Hermione. We'll see you tomorrow morning," said Harry. Both he and Ron then made their way to their dormitory.
Neville and the other two boys were already fast asleep when he and Ron entered.
"Hey, Ron. What's the name of the other two? I don't mean Neville," said Harry as he changed into his pajamas.
"Seamus and Dean. Blimey, your brain is getting wrecked, Harry," said Ron as he climbed into his bed and pulled his blanket over him.
"I know. Many times, I thought of ramming my head to a wall just so that my brain could reboot," said Harry, echoing Ron.
Ron sniggered. "Yeah well, don't do that. You'll lose a lot more."
"Yeah."
The storm was still raging outside but it was calm and warm within the dormitory.
"I might go in for it, you know," said Ron sleepily through the semi-darkness. "If George and Fred found out how to, you know."
"Go in what?" asked Harry.
"The tournament."
"Oh, that. Yeah, you do that," said Harry. "But will they allow you to do that?"
"It doesn't matter, right? Once you're in, you're in," said Ron.
"Yeah, probably."
"Imagine a thousand galleon prize money and eternal glory. That would set you for life, wouldn't it?"
"It should."
"Yeah."
"Well, good night, Ron."
"Good night, Harry."
Rolling over on his bed, Harry's mind wandered to all the events that happened on that day. He wondered if the moment he woke up the next day, he'll find that he was back to his 92-year-old self, that all of these were just a dream. A truly weird dream.
He silently hoped so. He had enough of all the craziness of the magical world. He just wanted peace.
Ron had fully entered dreamland. Harry sometimes felt jealous of his best friend's ability to easily fall asleep. Ron could basically turn on and off just like an electric lamp.
This time-traveling thing was really weird. Throughout the whole 92 years he lived, not once he hear of any wizards or witches who managed to do it. Hell, he didn't even know if such a feat was possible. The only method for time traveling he was aware of was via time turner. Even then, even the most powerful time-turner in existence wouldn't allow a person to travel that far into the past. For all he knew, just like Neil Armstrong who was hailed as the first muggle to set foot on the moon, he could be the first human, wizard or not, who managed to travel back in time by the magnitude of years.
But he never intended to go back in time. He did not even know how to do it. One moment he was lying on the bed he shared with his wife and the next moment he was in a train compartment, with Ron and Hermione who were supposed to be dead. And he ended up in his 15-year-old body!
Who exactly was his wife actually? He just found another thing that he could not remember.
Something must have happened. Something that he had no knowledge of in which he could not explain. The only explanation he could come up with would be that someone or something sent him back through time for a job or task that he needed to finish. But what?
And why the fourth year?
Drowsiness took over him. He finally decided that he would wait. He decided that he would be patient. Perhaps that way, the answers would come. He pulled his blanket closer to his chest, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
The potion that Madam Pomfrey gave him sat untouched on his bedside table.
To be continued...
A/n: None for now.