57Chapter 2: The Time Loop
Pretending to be sick once more, Harry wondered whether he could easily get his hands on some Wizard Wheezes next time in order to be more convincing. He slept in a bit longer, then got ready for the day and threw on his invisibility cloak.
As unpleasant as it would be to talk to Moaning Myrtle again, there was a good chance she had witnessed someone cast a curse in the bathroom. It was only a matter of convincing her to talk, especially since he hadn't visited her in a while.
Harry remembered he hadn't checked the map to see if the bathroom was occupied, so he peeked under each of the stalls before taking off his cloak. "Myrtle? You there? It's Harry."
There was a pause, and he thought he heard the faint sound of rushing water. "Myrtle?"
Bursting out of one of the stalls with a splash, Myrtle flew over his head and slowly floated down, frowning at him with her arms crossed.
"Hello, Harry. It's been ages since you visited me."
"I know, and I'm really sorry. I've been busy."
"Oh, of course . . ." She sighed, gliding past him. "Why would you bother finding time for me?"
"I'm here now, aren't I? Look, I'm on an important mission, and I thought you could help."
Myrtle's expression soured. "You didn't come to just talk, Harry Potter."
"Maybe not, but this is important. You want to help, don't you?"
"Favors. That's all people want. Myrtle, this boy likes me, what should I do? Myrtle, my parents don't understand me. Myrtle this and Myrtle that—and then I fix their problems and they abandon me . . . and end up happy . . . and I'm stuck here, forgotten . . ."
Harry fidgeted, unsure what to say to make her feel better. He was guilty of what she accused him, but she was rather annoying, and a bloody ghost, so what could he do about it? "C'mon, don't look at it like that. I mean, you're changing people's lives. Making people feel better." An image of Draco at the basin flashed before his eyes. "It's important."
"Well . . . I do try to make a difference when I can . . ."
"Then it would make a big difference if you could help me. Do you remember anyone coming in here to try and reverse time? They may have had a device, or said something strange, maybe."
"Oh, I don't know, Harry. I've only been here a few decades, but still . . . many people come to this bathroom, crying to me about their issues. I only remember the cute ones," added Myrtle, before she broke out into giggles.
"Has Draco Malfoy tried to reverse time?"
Myrtle cocked her head. "What, because he's cute?"
"Because he's—?" The last word Harry associated with Malfoy was cute. "No, because he visits you. Surely you'd have seen him—maybe only recently." If this had been a lengthy and arduous project, Kreacher or Dobby would have had some hint about it. But they hadn't mentioned Draco's visits to the girls' bathroom, so it was likely a blind spot. After all, what useful information could be gained from following someone into the bathroom?
"I may have seen him in here before. He didn't cast any spells, though."
"Are you sure? Myrtle, it's really important that you remember."
"He hasn't! You and your friends are the only ones who have used this bathroom for anything magic in a long time . . . Remember that terrible potion you made? Before then, the red-headed twins came here for their projects, and before them, a girl with pink hair, and before her, too many to keep track of." She watched him as his eyebrows stitched together with frustration. "I'm sorry I can't help you more, Harry."
"It's alright. Thank you anyway." His inquiry was too broad; once he knew more, she may be more useful.
The next day, Harry decided to eavesdrop on Malfoy's conversation with Myrtle. He only had an approximate guess of when Malfoy would come to the bathroom based on when he had walked in on him originally.
He slipped silently into the bathroom to avoid Myrtle's detection, and waited nearly half an hour loitering by the sinks before Malfoy swept in. Harry saw his composure crack with every step; he must've been barely holding it together until he could be alone. "Myrtle?"
Myrtle floated through one of the stall doors. "Draco! Are you okay?"
As soon as she asked him this, he broke, covering his face with his hands, shoulders heaving.
Myrtle drifted closer, her desire to touch him plain as she lifted her hands slightly from her sides. "I'm sorry, Draco . . . I'm sorry."
He heaved a shaking breath and looked at her. From where he stood, Harry could see Malfoy's face in detail, the red-rimmed eyes, the glisten of snot below his nostrils, the crinkles in his chin. "Th-there's nothing to be s-sorry for. It's all on me . . ."
"There has to be some way I can help. If I could only . . ."
Malfoy didn't seem to hear her, and instead gripped the sink to steady himself. "Sometimes I think about ending it . . . It would be easier if I were gone."
Harry's stomach knotted. Did Malfoy mean what he thought he meant?
Moaning Myrtle's voice drifted gently through one of the stalls. "Don't say that. I'm here for you, I'll make it better. Don't cry . . . Don't . . . Tell me what's wrong . . . I can help you . . ."
Malfoy's entire body shook. "No one can help me. I can't do it. I can't. A-and unless I do it soon . . . he says he'll kill me . . ."
"He can't scare me, Draco. There's nothing he can do to hurt me."
"If you could help, I would tell you. But you can't."
"Isn't there anyone . . . ?"
"I have someone, he's hardly even trying . . . He's useless."
Was Malfoy talking about Snape? Harry wondered why Malfoy thought he was useless, considering Snape was a Death Eater, too; surely he could use any help he could get.
"What about your friends?"
Malfoy shook his head, fresh tears flooding his eyes. "No. No, they can't know. I-I am supposed to bear it alone. That's what h-he wants. I would only be putting everything at risk. Y-you are the only one I can talk to . . . And even then . . ."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Draco . . ." She placed a hand on his shoulder and as the palm of her hand disappeared into him, he shivered. "If I can't help you with your mission, surely there's something I can do . . . someone I can haunt, perhaps?"
Malfoy seemed to stir from his despair. "Y-you can haunt someone?"
"I could spy on someone, if I was careful. But if the person realized and told Dumbledore, he would find a way to cast me out—"
"Harry Potter."
Myrtle gasped, scandalized, though it was merely for dramatic effect because Malfoy continued as though she already knew of his deep loathing for Harry.
"I need to find out if he knows about my plans. Or at the very least how close he is to finding out. He has this magic cloak—he can become invisible . . ."
"Then will you tell me what it is that upsets you? The responsibility that causes you so much pain?"
"No." Malfoy's tears started again as he was reminded of the secret he had to keep. Harry supposed he would also resent that he had to go to Myrtle, of all people. Or rather, of all spirits. "It's highly unlikely that Potter knows anything of importance . . . but he could be following me around, or trying to eavesdrop again . . . I don't know if I've let something slip, given him too many clues."
Myrtle let out a low whine. "It's wrong to watch him when he's unaware. What if I witness something inappropriate?" She giggled, and Draco's eyes flashed—not with anger, but with triumph.
"Will you help me, then?" he asked, dropping back into a more pitiful tone.
Myrtle glided to the left, sighing. "Yes. Though I would hate for him to catch me. If he came here, that would be much easier."
Malfoy rubbed his temple. "Not for me." He was breaking again. "It's—it's like my mind is empty. I can't concentrate, I c-can't think, and when I do anything it's as though it's not even me. Everything keeps piling on, and I'm not sure how much m-more I can take . . ."
Malfoy had worked himself up so much that he hardly seemed to hear when Myrtle said, "I'll take care of it. I don't want you to worry."
Anger stirred inside Harry. While Malfoy's crying seemed genuine, it was obvious he was manipulating Myrtle by exaggerating his desperation.
"What I said earlier—it was a lapse in judgement. I don't want to die," he said so softly Harry almost missed it. "At least I have you. Without you, I think I wouldn't have the strength—the strength to continue."
Myrtle beamed, though the look was a bit crazed. "If I'd had you when I was alive, I wouldn't have wanted to die, either. Oh, Draco. You have to believe in yourself. You're stronger than you think."
This was blatant flattery, Harry thought, as nothing Malfoy had ever done could be considered strong. He was the antithesis of strength.
"If I were strong, I would have completed my task by now."
"Or are you strong to not want to complete it?"
Malfoy covered his face with his hands. "I can't afford to question him—to question myself . . . it only makes it harder."
"Oh, Draco . . ." said Myrtle, watching helplessly as Malfoy cried, more quietly and hoarsely than before. He was unable to muster tears, but not because it was merely for show, rather because he looked exhausted. For the first time, watching him, Harry found his throat constricted. Merlin's sake, do I actually feel sorry for him?
"I should go," Malfoy said finally. He splashed his face with water and dried his face with the front of his cloak. For a moment, he studied his face in the mirror, tugging on the bags under his eyes, then adjusted his tie. His gaze flickered to where Harry stood—he had accidentally exhaled through his mouth. Nevertheless, Malfoy decided it was nothing, whispered "Goodbye, thank you," to Myrtle, and walked out of the bathroom.
Without thinking, Harry hurried to follow him.
Malfoy walked quickly until he was well out of the bathroom's range, then slowed his pace, sighing. By straightening his back, pulling his face into a slight scowl, and cracking his knuckles, Malfoy transformed back into his usual self. Still, anyone who knew him well enough would be able to see through this posturing.
Without warning, Malfoy stopped in his tracks.
Step.
Harry froze, but his footfall had been pronounced. Soundlessly, he took a step to the side, and another, as Malfoy stared at the place he'd heard the sound.
"Potter, if you're there," whispered Malfoy, "you're dead." He raised his wand. "Petrificus Totalus!" The spell shot through the air and down the corridor, fizzing out before it hit the wall. Gritting his teeth to keep from swearing, Harry continued slowly in the opposite direction. If he could make it to where there were others, sneak past with them . . .
"Accio cloak! Revelio!" shouted Malfoy, looking wildly about. Nothing happened. Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy, then said in a low voice, "Expelliarmus!" The spell sent Malfoy's wand flying, and Harry bolted, ignoring Malfoy's enraged threats. He ran up to the seventh floor, through the portrait hole, and up to the boys' dormitory. His heart raced; Malfoy's suspicions since he had discovered him on the train were stronger than he had assumed. Did anyone else know he had an invisibility cloak? Crabbe and Goyle must know, and possibly more Slytherins. Then again, Malfoy had known for months and the rumor hadn't reached him, so maybe he had kept it to himself.
The Marauders' Map showed Malfoy wandering the halls, path erratic and repetitive. After a half an hour of this, Pansy Parkinson met up with him and led him to the Great Hall in time for the last ten minutes of dinner. Harry skipped the meal under the pretense of illness, thinking it best to avoid Malfoy for the remainder of the day.
An hour later, Harry's stomach growled. Ron and Hermione were in the common room, but he wasn't in the mood to join them and repeat the same conversations he'd been having over and over.
"Dobby?"
With a loud crack, the house-elf appeared as summoned, smiling up at him from beside his bed. "Harry Potter, how are you? Dobby—Dobby has nothing new to report—" Having said this aloud, Dobby's smile fell and he looked about to find something with which to hurt himself.
"It's okay! Dobby, it's fine, I didn't call you here about that. Have you been sleeping like I told you to?"
"Yes, sir, four hours a night!"
"Only four? Is that enough?"
"Oh, it's plenty, Harry Potter. Dobby has never slept so much in all his life."
"Er, great. You can sleep more, if you want. I don't know how much house-elves are supposed to sleep, but however much you need." He continued through Dobby's thanks, "Listen, were there leftovers after dinner? Would it be any trouble to get me some food from the kitchens?"
"Not trouble at all! Dobby will be back soon." He Disapparated, leaving Harry to think. If he only had a day to track Malfoy and figure out what he was up to, how could Dobby help? And was there anything he should have asked before that might help him?
No more than a minute later and Dobby reappeared, balancing a plate full of meat and potatoes in one hand, a cup of juice in the other.
"Thank you so much, you're a lifesaver."
"Anything for Harry Potter. Just say the word."
"Have you eaten? Would you like some of this?"
Dobby shook his head so that his ears flapped back and forth. "Dobby is allowed to eat as much as he wants in the kitchens."
"Okay, suit yourself." After going many nights with only scraps for dinner or having food withheld as punishment in his childhood, he could manage skipping a meal every now and then. Since he was making up for his stunted growth, however, his body protested whenever he became too hungry before bed.
"Did you know that Malfoy talks to one of the ghosts here?" Harry asked between bites.
"No, does he? Dobby hasn't seen him talk to any."
"Right. He does it in the girls' bathroom, so I thought maybe you didn't want to follow him."
Horror spread across Dobby's huge eyes at the chance he had missed something, so Harry quickly talked him down. "It's not a big deal. He just goes there to cry about his problems. Like today, he visited Moaning Myrtle and started sobbing and talking about some task he had to do."
At the house-elf's intensified confusion, Harry set his plate down in case he would have to suddenly restrain him. "You seem surprised."
"The—the Malfoy boy only cries when he's alone. He hasn't said anything to anyone worth mentioning to you, Harry Potter. I failed you . . ."
Harry leapt from his bed to grab Dobby's arm, keeping him from grabbing a book from the desk. "You haven't failed me! He only talked vaguely about his situation, having to complete a task. It wasn't anything useful." That was a white lie, since as a result of discovering Malfoy in the bathroom, Harry now knew two things: that Malfoy didn't want to complete the mission Voldemort had tasked him with, and that Myrtle was a potential source of information.
"Harry Potter needn't lie," said Dobby, voice choked with anguish.
"I'm not! You have my word. Look, let me ask you something. Has Malfoy ever come close to telling someone? Or if you had to guess, who might know about his plans?"
Dobby was returning to his senses, so Harry picked up his plate and continued to eat.
"Young Draco Malfoy's friends are not like Harry Potter's friends. He is separate. He doesn't want them to get close."
Harry nodded slowly as he chewed. "I think I understand what you mean. Out of his friends, though, who do you think he would tell about his plans? Assuming he hasn't already."
"The girl he's sometimes with—Pansy Parkinson. She knows what to say to him, his large friends don't."
"Crabbe and Goyle? I don't imagine they would." Maybe he ought to follow Pansy's movements for a day. Crabbe and Goyle were mainly silent, keeping to grunts as a means of communication, whereas Pansy was a notorious gossip. If anyone would let something slip about Malfoy, it was her. "Thank you, Dobby."
"No trouble at all. Should I follow Pansy now?"
"You can in a few days. Take a break, you've earned it."
"Oh, thank you, Harry Potter. I will see you soon!" With a crack, Dobby Disapparated, and Harry was left alone with his mashed potatoes.
After two days that were uneventful apart from a few cheery conversations with Ginny, Harry decided to try speaking to Myrtle again.
"Hello? Myrtle, are you in here?"
Moaning Myrtle rose out of the stall, clearly expecting Malfoy. Upon seeing Harry, her expression soured slightly. "It's about time you visited me, Harry. I thought we were friends."
Harry stifled a scoff. This again. "We are! Er, just—school has been very stressful for me. But I wanted to see how you're doing."
"Oh, I'm sure it has been hard for you, Harry." Myrtle's eyes sparkled behind her glasses, and she was the picture of sympathy. "I hear things, you know, so I can imagine what you're going through . . ."
"Really? What kinds of things?"
"You-Know-Who coming back, Cedric Diggory dying, and just last year, at the Ministry . . ."
Harry swallowed, resolving himself to keep his composure. "Yeah, all of that. And this year, someone has been attacking students."
Myrtle nodded. "I heard about the attacks. Makes me think about my own death, how life is fragile . . ."
"Er, right, I'm sorry."
She let out a long sigh and sunk beneath the tiled floor, rising out of one of the stalls a moment later. "You figured out who it was last time, didn't you? You were very heroic, Harry."
"Thanks. I had help, though. My friends—" He stopped himself. Best to stay on track. "Anyhow, I think Draco Malfoy has something to do with it."
Myrtle blinked at him through her thick glasses. "Oh? You think so because you dislike him."
"I have plenty of evidence. And if he keeps at it, everyone's lives could be in danger."
"That's not so bad. It's rather dull here without any danger." Myrtle giggled and floated closer to him.
"Fine, then my life's in danger."
Myrtle pouted. "You're not the only one."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I can't tell you, Harry."
"I'm only trying to help. Don't you believe I can do it? I killed the monster that killed you all those years ago."
"So you want to stab the next thing in your way?"
"No! I don't want to kill anyone, if I can avoid it."
She seemed to believe him, and came closer, eyes narrowed. "Do you know who's been visiting me?"
"Draco Malfoy."
"Draco has kept me company, but you haven't been to the girls' bathroom in a long time . . ."
"I've been busy! And I'll have plenty of free time if you help me. We won't have any time together if I'm dead."
"How would you spend that free time, Harry?"
"There'd be time to visit you, of course, and—and maybe the baths again, if I knew the password."
Myrtle bit her lip. "Don't pretend you would, you're trying to trick me!" With a mournful sigh, she flew back into the toilet.
Cursing himself, Harry decided to try it again the next day.
"You won't believe me."
"I will! I will!" Myrtle floated closer.
"After so long without visiting you, I was ashamed. I thought you hated me now and wouldn't want to be bothered."
"Oh no, Harry, of course I want you to see me. I am upset, but two years for me is more like two months. And I'm used to people leaving me."
Harry reached deep within himself to further his deceit. "To make it up to you, I want to come visit you every month. Er, at least once."
"You will? You promise?"
He cringed at her unabashed eagerness. "Cross my heart. If I don't show up for a while, then it's because something bad's happened, or I am too busy trying to figure out who's attacking people to see you."
"It's hard to say no to you, Harry." She fluttered her eyelashes. "If I help you, then it has to be our secret."
"Of course."
"That boy, Draco Malfoy, talks about many things with the Slytherin girl Pansy Parkinson. I remember back in your second year, you made a special potion to change your appearance . . ."
"Myrtle, that's brilliant! Er, though I already knew he talked to Pansy about being a—well, that he talked about things that he doesn't with just anyone. I think they're going out, it makes sense."
"No, they're not! He doesn't fancy her. He doesn't."
"How do you know?"
"Just . . . guessing."
Of course Myrtle would want to think there wasn't anything romantic between Pansy and Malfoy. At least, he would tell Myrtle there wasn't in order to gain her loyalty.
"He has a lot of responsibility. You're not the only one in danger, Harry."
"So you're saying he's not the one cursing people, then."
Myrtle flew further away, sighing. "I know you don't want to help him, so I won't tell you anything more."
Unsatisfied with the information he received from Myrtle, Harry tried every day for a week to find out more about what she knew. The most he learned was that Malfoy had not yet told her his exact plans or anything about his involvement in the two attacks on students that year. Harry was certain she hadn't lied about it because she seemed to desperately want to win his favor by helping.
Over the next week, Harry shadowed Pansy while using the cloak, choosing different hours each day so he could pass undetected and slowly create a composite of her May 8th.
Pansy would leave the Dungeons in the morning with Blaise Zabini fifteen minutes before the start of breakfast and say quietly to him something like, "This is the second week in a row he's missed meeting up. You're up later than I am, has he been getting enough sleep?"
"He goes to bed early more often than not," said Zabini. "I believe he's been using a sleeping draught. Perhaps the dosage is too high . . ."
"Right, could be." She spent the rest of the morning whispering rumors and critique to Zabini and other Slytherins about whomever they passed from the other Houses. This is when the day began to diverge; Harry's timing and interactions with others seemed to have a ripple effect on the school.
While he had first assumed Pansy was unaware of Malfoy's bouts of indifference toward her, Harry realized from the private moments of gloom and hurt after being slighted that she was above all else determined to act as though things were normal. Most days, she rested her head on Malfoy's shoulder when they were chatting after lunch. He wormed out of it by saying she was hurting his shoulder, and she would sit up straight and glance around to check if anyone had seen.
There were snippets of conversation that made it seem she didn't know many details about Malfoy's task: "Draco, if there's anything you want to tell me . . ." and "Have you asked Snape for better potions?" and once a whispered, "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do whatever you need." By passively observing, the most Harry discovered was how much she didn't know.
So, for another week or so, Harry returned to his normal routine and went through the motions of class, conversations, and occasional investigations. As he reached the three week mark, he was hit by a fresh wave of panic. It may have been nineteen days, or twenty days, or twenty-two days, as he had lost an exact count. Before he decided whether it would be a tell-Ron-and-Hermione-he-was-trapped day or a pretend-to-be-sick day, Ron made the choice for him.
"What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" Ron crouched at the side of Harry's bed so the others wouldn't hear.
"Not quite," Harry replied, about to feign a cough, when Ron said, "Something else is wrong, isn't it?"
Harry nodded. "Can you wait for the others to leave?"
Ron took a deliberately slow time getting ready for the day, until the others had gone.
"For three weeks now, I've been trapped in the same day. I don't know why, but when I wake up, it's the same day all over again."
Twenty minutes later, he was reciting the same spiel to Hermione, who fired a series of questions at him about what she had or hadn't suggested before.
"Have I told you to spend a day interfering as little as possible? Not talking to anyone?"
"I've tried that."
"What about the reverse? You should ask for advice from as many people as you can, surely someone will have a clue or you'd find out if there's anyone like you."
"You haven't suggested that yet, usually you just tell me to go to Dumbledore."
"And this is the first time you've listed off so many things I've already said, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I ought to try that again in the future. So who should I talk to?"
"I'd talk to the professors. All of them. Someone has to know something that would help."
Later that day, Hermione agreed, adding, "In general, you should talk to different people each time the loop resets."
Over the next few days, Harry spoke with professors, explaining his situation and asking for their advice. Trelawney and Snape he decided to put off until he really felt he had no other choice. McGonagall was his biggest hope after Dumbledore, so he wanted to hold off talking to her for a few more weeks, if he was trapped that long. In order of who ended up being the least to most helpful, he talked to Professors Binns, Sprout, Burbage, Sinistra, Flitwick, Babbling, and Slughorn. Before the time loop, he could have remembered the order in which he spoke to them, but now his mind organized them as they mattered.
He hadn't expected much from Professor Binns, but talked to him anyway. "You've been teaching at Hogwarts a long time."
The professor stroked his translucent chin. "Yes, I have. However, the attempts to alter time at Hogwarts, few of which I have heard proved successful, have tended to last no more than a few minutes."
"So someone's tried to reverse time before?"
Binns shook his head as though a fly were circling him. "I cannot remember."
Professor Sprout was similarly unhelpful. "Have you told the Headmaster about this?"
"Yes, I have. I've spoken with other professors, too, and they've given useful advice, though nothing that has ended the loop so far."
She studied him, then looked around the greenhouse. "If I had some kind of plant that could reverse the effects of a time-altering spell, I would use it. Unfortunately, such a plant has yet to be found. Given the rarity of the situation you're in, nobody has had an incentive to research a cure."
Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor, startled Harry with her concern, eyes shining as she offered to make him tea. By the time their drinks had cooled enough to drink, she offered her perspective. "Muggles are surprisingly interested in time travel and perhaps more ignorant to the consequences as wizarding folk. In a recent popular Muggle film series, a boy trusts an old man who sends him back in time, causing the boy's mother to fall in love with him—"
"With the old man?"
"No, the boy." She wrinkled her nose. "And given how far back he goes in time, it has a significant effect on their life. Return to the Future, I believe?"
"Mhm. I think I've heard of it . . ." A poster appeared in the haze of his memory, though because he had seen very few films in his life, he hadn't paid much attention to it at the time. "So what, you're saying students raised in a wizarding home would be less likely to try it than Muggleborns?"
"At the very least, Muggleborns may romanticize it. The practice is highly restricted and largely forbidden in wizarding society. Luckily, you haven't gone more than a day back in time, and it was unintentional, so chances are you won't face any punishment from the Ministry if they learned of it . . ."
Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy professor, stood and paced after he explained everything to her. "It is curious that you are the only one who is experiencing the time loop . . ."
"As far as I know."
"In Astronomy, we have studied the alignment of the stars and the clarity of the sky. How do you feel when you study space?"
"I dunno. Small."
"Explain what you mean by small."
"Well, like it doesn't matter what I do. And that doesn't feel true when I'm not looking at something bigger than myself, bigger than all of us."
"I understand what you mean. The constellations are more reliable than we are as individuals and groups, constantly colliding with one another. Even when you test the properties of people up close, study their behavior, it can also significantly affect the outcomes of reality.
"Similarly, the conditions of any spell are worth studying in order to determine its effects, and vice versa. Two days ago, there was a new moon, and two days from now, Mercury will be at aphelion. These conditions are out of our control, and by studying them, we can learn about the properties of the universe."
"In a way, I suppose I have been using what I learned in Astronomy." If his actions were permanent, he would not have continued to say, "I have a map that charts the movements of students in Hogwarts. It shows their names, where they are on the grounds."
"Then you should be wise to study it properly." She gave him a long look that made him shrink a bit with guilt. "After this loop ends, I hope you will no longer use the map."
Professor Flitwick asked for Harry's story a second time so he could take notes about certain details. "The closest charm to what is affecting you is the Hour-Reversal Charm."
"Aren't Time-Turners charmed with it?"
"Precisely. Tell me, what is your understanding of the difference between a charm and a curse?"
"Er, a charm changes something, and a curse is Dark magic?"
"Close. A charm changes the properties of its target, while a curse causes harm to or controls its target. A charm can have negative effects, while Dark magic necessitates pain or sacrifice to cause negative effects on the target, positive results for the user. An Hour-Reversal Charm takes the caster back in time, while the world remains the same. A curse is not as clear. I feel perfectly conscious, but normally there is a chance this could all be happening in your head. Although would a curse make other people dismiss the chance we are created and controlled by it . . . ?" He drifted off into a thoughtful silence.
"Professor, what would the negative effects be?"
"That is the trouble. If you do not know what the positive effects are, then it will be difficult to ascertain."
When Harry entered Professor Slughorn's office, the man looked up from his desk and set his quill down. "Harry, my dear boy, how are you?"
"Fine, Professor. There's something I have to ask you about . . ." He launched into an explanation about what had happened so far.
"I see. Do you have any evidence that Malfoy may be behind it?"
"Not exactly. What do you think?"
"The curse must be fueled by something. A sacrifice would be required for a spell this powerful."
Harry thought of the Horcruxes. If it cost a life to split one's soul, was this costing him time?
"A sacrifice could take many forms. You may not know until it is over. As to whether You-Know-Who is behind this, we must hope he is not, because if you are the target, this would be designed to weaken you, if not drive you to madness."
Professor Babbling, professor of Ancient Runes and Ancient Studies, was deemed the most helpful by Hermione when they debriefed what Harry had learned. "I can write you a note to check out a book on ancient time travel practices. I forget the full title, but for short it is called Turning Time. Hopefully you will find what you are looking for it."
After he asked Babbling to rewrite the note three days in a row, Hermione had spent a sufficient amount of time reading Turning Time: A Newly Compiled History of Time Travel and Time Travelers, they finally had answers to some of their questions. First, that the distinction between Dark and Light magic is not so clear cut in every culture, if it existed at all; second, time travel is possible through different kinds of magic; third, unintentional time travel is not new; fourth, no one in recorded history has existed in the past for longer than five days; fifth, lack of control in the amount of time one is sent back indicates a lack of emotional stability or ignorance to the art of time travel; and finally, there is no single proven set of laws that time-magic follows.
"We can probably rule out You-Know-Who casting the spell himself. It's still possible that someone with lesser abilities did it for him."
Harry leaned back in his chair. "This is all pointing toward Malfoy, you realize that?"
"It does look bad . . . Though you did say he hasn't said anything to Myrtle or his friends about time travel."
"Not yet."
She glanced at him, then flipped through the book's pages. "If we're assuming this magic would have been triggered by pain or sacrifice, injuring Malfoy could have done it."
"What, he wanted me to hurt him?"
"Could be—Oh!" Her finger landed on a section titled Time and space. "Have you tried leaving Hogwarts?"
"Not yet."
"The curse took effect in the school. Perhaps if you got far enough away, it would stop. If I remember correctly, Ursula Spencer did that when she was doing illegal experiments with time travel that backfired."
"As in, I should leave the country?"
"Try going to Ireland, maybe, or France. Wherever is easiest."
"Good idea. I'll ask Hagrid."
Harry was right to brace himself for a rib-crushing hug and rock cakes at Hagrid's, as he received both after running through the events of the past month. Then he told him that Hermione had suggested leaving the country.
"That's a good idea, an' I'm glad yeh came ter me. If this continues, jus' know yeh can visit me, right?"
"Thanks, Hagrid."
"Easiest way out is yer gonna wan' ter take the Beinn Bus ter the coast, it'll cost yer a fair amount, mind, then take a Portkey tha' will get yer to Dublin."
After memorizing Hagrid's more detailed instructions, Harry set off on the Beinn Bus from Hogsmeade, which took two hours to reach the southwest coast of Scotland. At the small outpost off of the bus he bought a Portkey service across the Irish Sea to Dublin, checked into an inn for the night, and flopped onto the bed. He wanted to sleep right away, but was too anxious to slow his brain down. Getting up, he sat at the tiny desk in the room, tried to force himself to write with the quill and ink. Hours passed, until midnight passed, then it was almost one, and still he couldn't sleep—
The walls began to melt. His desk folded away into nothing as everything around him zipped away, tucked into some alternate reality, leaving him lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as the early dawn filtered into the dorm room. Shock only lasted a moment before frustration swept over him. It doesn't matter what I do. Judging by the dark stillness of the room, it was a full day before, sometime after midnight.
He thought back to Malfoy, leaning over the sink, ready to give up. How long would he have to be stranded in time before he broke like that? At least Malfoy knew what his task was—Harry was ignorant to what he was supposed to do and how to escape. If I died in the loop, would I die permanently, or wake up in bed? He wasn't yet willing to try something so drastic.