57Chapter 5: Tower of Diaries
At breakfast, Harry tried to reconcile the scowling Malfoy he knew too well with the one who had been intoxicated with love potion. Before, it had been difficult to associate the same magic that Romilda Vane had intended for Harry with the magic that had created Voldemort. Merope Gaunt had likely used Amortentia to force Tom Riddle, Sr. into loving her. If Malfoy could experience such a dramatic change from hatred to love, of course Voldemort's father could have appeared to love Merope.
The potion had been too convincing, had created a crystalline reality so delicately balanced that it eventually shattered.
As convincing as the alternate reality Malfoy showed Harry was—surely there was a version of events that would have left them as friends, not rivals—it was invented. Harry knew that.
Malfoy caught his eye as he had this thought, causing Harry to dribble some of his drink onto his robes. He tried to pass it off as an unfortunate coincidence, though in the corner of his vision he could see Malfoy and Pansy snickering about it.
How did other people feel after using Amortentia on someone? Why had the Amortentia worked on Malfoy even though they were of the same sex? Usually Harry would go to Hermione to ask for research help, but the subject was too embarrassing. She would only reprimand him for using the love potion, and he already regretted it.
Regardless of the fact that the target had been someone Harry loathed, he felt intense shame in having forced another person to fancy him—and a boy, at that. Fighting was a different sort of violence to forcing intimacy, maybe because in battles there was a mutual, unspoken agreement that they were each willing to risk harm for the possibility of hurting the other. A twisted kind of contract.
Since many students had just gotten out of class, the library was teeming with people when Harry arrived. After some time browsing the bookshelves, he found the section on potions and grabbed a stack of four books that he thought might have what he was looking for.
The most secluded desk in the corner of the library provided Harry the privacy he wanted. Already feeling his motivation wane, he flipped through the pages of Producing Potions: Studies of the Effects of Problem-Solving and Culture-Changing Concoctions, 1854-1954. He justified his lack of direction by telling himself he could find something useful for a different plan. On the page he opened to, there was an illustration of a tall bottle with a ship painted on the front in the midst of a flat ocean, a slight spray at the ship's bottom the only evidence that it was moving. The page next to the illustration was labeled solutions for bodily ailments. Harry read on:
This digestive potion emerged on the American market in the early 1800s as a response to the increasing age of the wizarding population and the need for easier intercontinental travel. Appropriately, the potion was originally produced under the name "Smooth Sailing" (see fig. 14).
"Hello, Harry."
Harry quickly shut the book and looked up at Luna Lovegood, who regarded him curiously.
"Er, hi, Luna."
"What are you reading?" She reached for the book, fingers missing it by an inch as Harry pulled it away.
"I'm just—I'm doing some research. On potions."
"Oh. Would you like my help? If you say no, I won't be offended." Luna tilted her head and blinked, emulating the expression of an owl.
"Well . . ." She was in Ravenclaw, after all, so he figured she must have good research skills. And she was likely to be unfazed by his situation. "Okay. Thank you."
Luna smiled and sat down next to him, pushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Can I see the book?"
Harry slid it toward her. "I'm looking for information on a potion. Amortentia."
Luna searched him briefly, then looked back at Producing Potions. She waved her wand then tapped the book's cover. "Astendo Amortentia!" With a heave, the book flipped over to a page somewhere in the middle with the subheading, "Subject-substance Relationship: Amortentia Case Study."
Harry gaped at her. "You have to show me how to do that."
"A Ravenclaw student invented the charm a few decades ago. It's a secret among our House; some say we have ten times the secrets of the others . . ." Luna's voice drifted off as she leaned over to read the page.
Harry tried to remember the movement she had made, the enunciation of the spell, but knew he would have to see it again in order to recall it properly later.
"Here." Luna turned the book toward him.
He skimmed until he found a relevant excerpt and pointed to it for Luna to follow along:
In an objective trial of the potion, when compared with a control group, potioneers found Amortentia's effects were not solely contingent on the quality of the brew. 13 married couples, 22 couples in new relationships (under 6 months), 10 pairs of friends, 14 pairs of strangers, and 15 pairs with negative opinions of each other were tested. Each pairing was between a wizard and a witch. In general, the potion's effects varied depending on the preexisting relationship between the potion recipient and subject.
Harry leaned closer to the page. This was what he had been hoping to find.
Effectiveness here is measured by the potion's outcome (believability, intensity, and complexity) rather than by how drastic the increase in affection is felt before and after the potion (see fig. 28 for a more comprehensive analysis of the data). Based on the findings, if the recipient has strong negative feelings for the person they are meant to fall in love with (referred to henceforth as the subject), the potion will be less effective, creating a mindless obsession in the recipient. If the subject is a stranger, the obsession is similar, and the focus of the recipient is on the person's physical characteristics. Between friends and married couples, the potion is more effective, enhancing a pre-existent friendly, intimate infatuation. Between new couples, the potion was most effective, creating a combination of passionate physical and emotional desire. These results held up in comparison to a control group, who ingested placebos.
There was a more specific, technical explanation following the summary, though Harry had trouble following it and gave up, sighing heavily, willing his breathing to return to normal.
"Is there something else about Amortentia you want to know?"
"Its effects on—I mean, how the potion works on people of the same sex."
Luna paused, probably caught off guard. "That's not in here. I doubt it will say specifically, so you would have to test it."
"I have." Harry shut his mouth abruptly; in his head, it seemed a simple statement of fact, but out loud, it brought on an intense wave of shame.
"You have tested it? On whom?"
Harry regarded Luna. There was something about her steady expression that made him want to explain everything from the beginning. "Can we talk somewhere more private?"
They left the library and Luna suggested the greenhouses. ". . . It's warm—you know, for the plants—and I go there sometimes with Neville."
Once they were alone, Harry told Luna about the time loop, the routines he'd developed, what he hoped to find out, and finally—the love potion. "I want to understand because it was so . . . out of the blue. And if I'm trying to find out more information from Malfoy, I need to know which, er, methods work on him."
Luna tickled one of the plants, making it dance. "What was it like?"
Harry flushed. "What do you mean?"
"Which description from the book applies to him?"
"Oh. Er, I dunno, sort of the negative relationship one, he seemed out of it at the time. Except . . . also . . ." Don't say it, don't say it— "The couples."
Luna raised her eyebrows. "You've got your answer, then."
For the first time that day, Harry felt genuinely annoyed at her. "No, I haven't, because it doesn't make sense. Besides, something could have been different about the potion. Amortentia strengthens the longer it's kept."
"I suppose you won't know, unless you use it again. Or have someone else try it."
Harry scoffed. "I can't use it again, and I couldn't ask someone else to be involved, let alone do it without their knowledge." Luna didn't have to change her expression much for Harry to continue, "I did it without Malfoy's knowledge, sure, but there was a point. He wasn't supposed to . . ." He sighed. "It doesn't matter, there's nothing to figure out. I know he hates me. We hate each other."
"But you don't actually still hate him, do you?"
Harry put his head in his hands and groaned. "I can't hate him, not like I used to, but I can hardly like him, either." He rested his hands in his lap. "A strong dislike, then. He's a coward, a prick, and a Pureblood-loving git. He's a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake. And yet . . . I can't help thinking this is the point. If I'm reliving the day I nearly killed him, it's got to have something to do with that. As I've told you, the only thing changing from day to day is what I know about the magic behind the loop and Malfoy's plan. I suppose, also, my opinion toward everyone is changing, and that includes Malfoy."
"I'd like to help you, Harry."
"You would?"
"Yes." Luna smiled. "If you need help, just find me, explain everything like you did, and I will do my best. I can tell you what I did today so you know where I'll be."
"Thank you, Luna." Harry wanted to hug her, but she made no motion in that direction. "I don't know how you can be so calm about everything."
"You know, I've heard of stranger things than this, Harry."
After that day, Harry went to Luna for guidance whenever he thought of something new to discuss. She always initially reacted the same way after he explained the loop, but then was motivated to find something novel to say, to approach his predicament from a new angle.
When he told her about the Amortentia again, she suggested, "You should find out what his Amortentia smells like."
Harry nodded slowly. "Then I could find out who he really fancies, in case it's not Pansy, and use her to get more information."
"That's not what I meant. Maybe you should try something else."
It was Luna, after all, so he didn't expect her to understand all of his choices. "What should I do if I want to know more about what he's up to?"
"I find that my best ideas come when I least expect them. Focus on something else, and maybe it'll come to you."
With her advice in mind, Harry decided to continue going to class. Some days, he told Ron and Hermione that he was stuck in time and asked them what he should do, others he spent as though nothing was off and focused on learning something useful from his textbooks.
A week later, after managing to get through an entire day without thinking about the Amortentia incident, Harry had unusually vivid dreams. He couldn't remember how he got to this part, dreaming about kissing Ginny. They were in the Great Hall and rows of students had their heads bent over the tables, focused on revision. Then Ginny had to leave—and that was okay, he was aware of the time loop, it would happen again.
When Ron shook Harry awake, it sent an irrational surge of anger through him. A moment later, he remembered why; in his dream, Malfoy had given Harry a love potion at breakfast and they met up in secret at the Quidditch pitch to snog. And it was actually nice. Before Harry'd had time to get his bearings, he had been forced awake. As he dressed, the warm feeling from the dream ebbed and he felt an awful twisting in his gut.
"You alright, mate? You look like you're gonna be sick."
Harry steadied his breathing, hoping this would calm his stomach. Unfortunately for him, the feeling of fullness in his throat grew worse, and he mumbled something about needing a minute before rushing up to the bathroom. He splashed his face with cold water, then gripped the sink to steady himself. When he looked at his face in the mirror, his expression reminded him of Malfoy on the fateful day they had fought in the girls' bathroom.
It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to mean something, Harry reassured himself. There were plenty of reasons why he would have such a dream: the time loop getting to his head, the shock of Malfoy's actions under the love potion, the fact that Malfoy happened to be on his mind because of his investigations. And actually, in the dream, wasn't he pushing Malfoy away? Or he at least remembered the stiffness of the kiss, the awkwardness. He had overreacted.
Under normal circumstances, he would have kept the dream to himself. However, these were unusual circumstances, and his embarrassment would be temporary if he wanted to talk to Ron about it.
"I was wondering, have you had any dreams where you kissed someone?" he asked that evening, trying to play off the question as off-handed and casual as possible.
"Just kissed?"
"Er, yeah. If it was more I don't need to know."
"Of course, loads of times. It doesn't really mean anything, sometimes I don't even know the girl. In fourth year, though—" He stopped mid-thought and cleared his throat. "Have you not?"
"Sure, once in a while." That was a lie; something told him only having one or two such dreams put him in the minority. "Last night, I had a dream where I kissed someone I don't like." He paused, thinking quickly. "Pansy."
"Oh, no." Ron clicked his tongue. "Happens to the best of us."
"What do you mean?"
"After I had those Cauldrons, I had a dream about Romilda, even though in a way she nearly killed me." He shuddered. "She's fit enough, just . . . also a bit mad . . ."
"Right." Realizing he was rubbing his arm where Malfoy had touched him, Harry dropped his hand.
Ron peered at him. "You okay, mate? It's not a big deal."
"No, I know. The loop's just getting to me, is all."
"Have you asked my brother for help yet?"
"Which brother?"
"Bill. He was a Curse-Breaker, remember? If he can't help, he might know someone who can."
"I'll try him, then."
On the morning of the following day, Harry left a note on his bed for Ron, writing that he was going to London and if he and Hermione could cover for him he would explain everything later.
Some of the goblins in Gringotts stared at him warily as he entered, and he realized his disguise charms must look rather obvious to them. He took out his wand, causing a few more to look up, and restored his appearance.
Seeing Bill sent a thrill of joy through Harry that he couldn't quite explain. It was his smile, wasn't it? A look that made him feel like everything would be okay, and a firm handshake that gave him hope that Bill would have the answers.
"Harry, it's good to see you. Shouldn't you, er, be in school? And what's happened to your eyebrow?"
Harry's hand jumped to his left eyebrow, then to his right—or at least, where his right should have been. He wouldn't try altering his appearance without a mirror again anytime soon. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?" All of the goblins had returned to their work, but some had their ears perked up. "It's about a situation at Hogwarts. Nothing urgent. I thought if I came around lunchtime . . ."
"Ah, right, I can take my break now." Bill led Harry through a corridor to a small but plush break room, seemingly designated for human employees as an afterthought. The decorative plaster ceiling had a carving of a serpentine dragon at its center and glass lamps filled the room with light.
Posh decor aside, Bill seemed out of place in his formal clothes, especially because he still wore an earring. His hair was in a short plait that he could somehow make look cool. "Is this about Ron or Ginny?"
"No, no, they're fine." Harry launched into an explanation of the curse, starting with the first day he cast Sectumsempra as Bill listened, nodding every now and then, his puzzled frown deepening by the minute.
Once Harry was done, Bill stood and began to pace. "Unfortunately, this is outside of my expertise. When I was a Curse-Breaker in Egypt, my team and I had some context as to who cast the curse and the kind of magic they used." His rugged features trained on Harry. "It is likely you are the sole person with the power to break the curse, if it is indeed a curse. If you solve five components of the curse—intent, strength, originality, effects, and catalyst—you should be able to figure out how to break it."
"Intent, I have no idea. Strength, I'd say it's stronger than average—"
"Which suggests more than one person created this. Or it built up power over time."
"And Malfoy's the catalyst . . ."
"Probably, if your finding about the blood holds true. You said you tried to find information about similar spells without much luck?As far as intent, I can say that based on my experience, there would almost certainly be motivation behind this curse, even if it has been lost over time. On the day before it began, you regretted what you did to Draco Malfoy, right?"
"Yeah, I dunno, I think I vaguely wished the day hadn't happened."
"My thought is that—well, this may be obvious—but whoever cast the curse wanted to go back in time because of something they regretted."
Instinctively, Harry had guessed regret played a part in the reason time reset. Although, he had assumed it was his own regret, not someone else's.
"Any number of factors can set off a curse. Maybe the key is narrowing those factors down, figuring out who cast it." He studied Harry, whose expression had darkened with doubt. "Once you have more clues, such as the curse's parameters and descriptions of its effects, write them down to bring to me, and based on that I'll find you the right person to talk to."
Even though he still had more to figure out, Harry knew he had been right to talk to Bill about the loop. His best chance at ending it was to study those who could have played a role in the hiccup in time.
With the help of the Marauders' Map as well as the passage of what he guessed had been two months in total, the world of May 8th had nearly opened up to Harry. He knew approximately who would be where when, as well as what they were doing. Before the time loop, he used the map only when he needed to see what Malfoy was up to. Over the past sixty-odd days, everyone's actions became of interest as he searched for a clue of something unusual that could help him figure out how to end the time loop.
Nearly every day, Harry watched the tiny pairs of dots and names move and interact. Ron and Hermione were in the common room with many other Gryffindors, who were also dispersed throughout the dorm. There was a predictable flow of people when certain people would go the bathroom or leave for dinner. Harry followed a different set of dots each time, just to be aware of potential changes and if there was anything worth investigating under his invisibility cloak.
While under his cloak, he caught Astoria Greengrass—younger sister of Daphne Greengrass—talking with her friends about Malfoy with a sort of curiosity that made him suspect she fancied him. From other conversations he had overheard, the underground cult of admirers had grown this year as rumors among Slytherins grew. He tried to understand Malfoy's appeal from the perspective of Astoria and her friends and ended up with fragments of comments:
"My glasses tell me he's looking glum today—"
"He's still gorgeous. So mysterious—"
". . . mysterious, or a dick?"
"When I first talked to him, he was really nice. Charming, even."
When Astoria talked to her few Pureblood Ravenclaw friends, though, her tone was much different.
"If you're in danger from the Dark Lord once he has control of the country, I'll vouch for you."
The conversations filling the day often made Harry cringe—the failed jokes, the whispered judgments, the petty gossip. It made him want to find every bad interaction he'd ever had, crumple them all up, throw them out, and start anew.
"She's a slut," a Gryffindor whispered about a Ravenclaw seventh-year named Rashida Sauer, loud enough that she heard as she passed by with her friends. Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot were walking with Rashida and while Boot merely winced, Goldstein replied immediately, "Watch your virginal mouth, Laurel. No one gives a damn about your opinion."
Laurel flushed, but managed to pull off a slightly disgusted expression before continuing on with her friend. Harry had renewed respect for Goldstein, who had already proven himself in Dumbledore's Army.
It was in the mundane that people showed their true nature. When this thinking made him too judgmental, he revised his sentiment: disposition was revealed by the mundane, while potential was revealed by the exceptional, the actions he'd seen once or twice in these seventy days. Although Romilda Vane often said things that made Harry want to grab her by the shoulders and give her a good shake, a few weeks earlier she had invited a second year eating alone to sit with her and her friends. Moving beyond the times she had said unpleasant things, he could make peace with Romilda for her occasional acts of kindness—they revealed more about who she could be later in life than who she was at her core.
If he paid close enough attention, people became more complex, dimensional, even those he had known well since first year.
After class one day, Harry chose to watch the dots of Dean and Seamus, since they had been together the time he beat up Malfoy. The two moved through the corridor, down sets of staircases to the third floor, and entered one of the classrooms.
"Odd . . ." muttered Harry. He waited for a professor to enter as well, or for them to move around, but instead, they stopped in one place, dots and names overlapping, and were still.
Harry reached into his pocket for his invisibility cloak and pulled it over himself, stomach sinking. Was something wrong? Was one of them injured? Had they been hexed?
He hurried up the stairs and crossed to the classroom. The door was closed, and probably locked. "Alohomora," whispered Harry, casting the spell and opening the door in one fluid movement.
Dean and Seamus whipped around to look at the doorway, which to them looked empty.
Harry had planned to creep inside, but instead remained frozen. They had been snogging.
"That's odd," said Dean, voice unsteady. "You locked it, didn't you?"
"I—I must've forgot." Seamus unraveled himself from Dean's hold and the two went to investigate.
Harry stepped back into the corridor and decided to reveal himself. Surely the Slytherins had hexed them as a joke, and they would need his help, whether they knew it or not. He walked a few paces down the corridor and removed his cloak. A second later, Seamus peered around the corner.
"Harry! Er, what's going on? Did you open the door just now?"
"Someone's slipped you a love potion. Can you help me—have you seen any Slytherins around?"
"A love potion?" Seamus scratched his head. "Er, what do you mean?"
"Look, it's alright, you don't have to explain, I know why you were—er, why you're together right now."
Seamus flushed. "That's . . . actually . . ." He turned to look at Dean, who cleared his throat.
"Harry, why don't you come in the room?" Dean glanced at Harry's wand. Normally, his height didn't seem threatening, but something about the seriousness of his gaze made him seem seven feet tall.
Harry held his ground. "How can I tell if you've under the influence or not?"
"We haven't had any potions, Harry. Look, you've got to promise you won't tell anyone, or we'll have to . . . I dunno, try erasing your memory."
Harry felt weak with shock. "You haven't—?" He looked between their sheepish expressions. "But—but you—Dean, what about Ginny?" A small thrill rose up in the pit of his stomach, a hope that it had all been a lie, and Dean wouldn't stand in his way if he pursued her . . .
"Merlin's sake, keep your voice down! Fine, come in. I suppose you ought to know, seeing as we're roommates and all."
The awkwardness in the room was almost unbearable. Although Harry had generally found standing to be easy every other day of his life, all of a sudden he had forgotten how to do it normally. Should he lean against a desk? Cross his arms?
Seamus broke the silence. "Dean and I, we're not dating, but sometimes we . . ."
"Er, I understand." Harry didn't meet Seamus' eyes.
For some reason, he felt more comfortable looking at Dean, who said, "You have to promise not to tell anyone. No one knows, except Ginny, and she swore to keep it to herself. I don't want to force you to make an Unbreakable Vow—so can we trust you?"
"Yeah. Yes." More than anything, Harry wanted to get out of the conversation, but he knew he would kick himself later if he didn't ask at least one question. "How long has this been going on?"
The pair glanced at each other. "The beginning of the school year," said Seamus.
"Seriously, Dean? All year?" Apparently, his jealousy had been wasted on Dean.
"I was confused!" He did look genuinely sorry, at least. "Don't worry, Ginny's already gone off on me and I know it wasn't fair to her. Can we just move on?"
"Right, it's none of my business. I'm just going to head back to the dorm . . ."
Dean stepped forward. "Harry, you really can't tell anyone. Please. We could be expelled."
"What? You could?"
Seamus crossed his arms. "Well, we assume so."
"Has anyone been expelled for something like this before?"
"We haven't looked into it, but it's possible. I mean, we're not the first blokes here to be this way, I'm sure of it."
They looked at each other, and Dean started laughing. "There's a rather crude carving on my bedpost. It's quite funny, actually." He cleared his throat. "At least, we found it funny."
Desperate for an excuse to leave, Harry said, "Er, I'll go look for it, then," and started for the door.
"Hang on, Harry," said Dean, "One more thing—this won't affect our chances of making the team next year, will it?"
Harry turned. "Why would this affect your Quidditch abilities?"
"Not my abilities, of course, I meant—I dunno, if you'd be uncomfortable, or whatever. But I swear, there wouldn't be any problems. And don't tell Ron, I know he'd—just keep it to yourself."
Harry nodded. "You can trust me." He felt as though he should say something else before leaving. "It doesn't make a difference."
Back in the boys' dorm, Harry studied Dean's bedposts, which were marked by decades of etchings from past students. The carving in question was crude; there were two stick figures inappropriately placed next to each other, labeled with a term Harry didn't understand but recognized, referencing something about dogs. His gaze traveled down the post, over unintelligible words and scribbles. Close to where the mattress met the wood, there was a single word, topped with jagged antlers: PRONGS.
Harry sucked in a breath. This had been his father's bed. He looked between the handwriting of this and the other inscription—the letters shared between the words (O, G, and S) matched. It was clear from the anatomy that the two stick figures were men, but why on earth would his father draw something like that? Had he known someone who was interested in other boys that way?
Or he was reading too much into it. There were times when boys his age made inappropriate jokes with each other, or were prone to being more affectionate after drinking. No one ever took it seriously, though now he had more difficulty understanding why they joked like that.
A thought occurred to him. What if the regret that had caused the loop had something to do with someone revealing they fancied the same sex? Or being found out, like he found out about Dean and Seamus? Maybe afterwards they had told Myrtle about it in the girl's bathroom . . . If they couldn't use a memory charm because word got out, then the only solution would be to reverse the event. Regardless, if the time loop had worked before, it would be like the event never happened, and there would be no regret to discover. How would Harry even go about investigating something like that, then?
The next morning, he grabbed the glasses from the side of his book, put them on, and looked up—and his eyes happened to fall upon Dean sitting on his bed, shirtless, yawning with his arms stretched high. Embarrassment flooded in him, and he looked at Seamus to gauge his reaction. Sure enough, Seamus was openly ogling Dean, and looked away just before Dean noticed. Something stirred in Harry that he couldn't quite name.
At breakfast, Harry decided the best person to talk with that day was Luna, who had already helped with the first snogging incident. He nearly bailed when he saw her name drifting to the library on the Marauder's Map, knowing she would say something he didn't want to hear. Once he got over this, however, he went to the library, pulled her aside, and explained his situation up until the day before.
". . . And now, there's something I discovered—I can't believe I never noticed, and looking back, I suppose I should have. I don't know what to believe anymore. If I missed something like this, what else could I have overlooked, you know?"
Luna shrugged and smiled. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, but you have a lot on your mind, so it doesn't surprise me that you might have missed something."
"If I could tell you what it was, I would, but I promised to keep it a secret."
"That's alright, Harry, you should keep your promise. I had an idea, though, of how you could find out more, and stop me if I've already suggested this. Bill said that someone could have made the time loop curse due to regret, right? Well, the castle has many secrets, and perhaps if you looked for clues, you would find something."
"I don't know where else I can look."
"The library, student records, diaries—wherever people recorded their memories."
As soon as Luna said "memories," Harry thought of the Pensieve. But to his knowledge, only Dumbledore and Snape used it, so that wouldn't help. "Where could I find student records or diaries?"
"I'm sure the Headmaster has student records somewhere, and as for diaries . . . maybe they're hiding in a place people thought they wouldn't be found."
The Room of Requirement. Surely it must contain at least a few diaries among the stacks of books. Thanking Luna, Harry hurried out of the library, put on his cloak, and headed to the seventh floor corridor. After his third time passing the usual spot, a door appeared. Harry slipped inside, at once in awe of the the sheer size of the room and the number of objects it contained. He weaved through the pathways of chairs and broken furniture to the thousands of books teetering upwards, kept from falling with magic.
Harry took several steps back, unsure of what to expect. "Accio diaries!" The great pile of books came toppling down as dozens of thin volumes shot out toward Harry. He ducked out of the way just in time for them to whizz by, landing several meters behind him.
Ears ringing from the sound of the crash, Harry slowly approached the books. If he could find a diary about someone who regretted a choice they made . . .
The diary closest to Harry had been written from 1879 to 1881. At first, he read it diligently, scanning every page, then he resorted to skimming, before closing the book altogether.
Recalling the spell Luna used to search for specific words within a text, he waved his wand and said, "Astendo regret!"
Several of the books flopped weakly. He tried again. "ASTENDO REGRET!" This time, at least twenty of the diaries sprung open. He tore off some parchment from one of the unresponsive diaries to use as bookmarks, then read the first few pages of each one, half-expecting to find another book by the Half-Blood Prince.
Some of the diaries were anonymous, making it nearly impossible to discern an author. Additionally, the illegible handwriting of some gave him a headache after concentrating too hard, so he put them aside for later. One of the books caught his eye for the rough circular carving on its cover that reminded him of the carvings on Dean's bedpost. The inside cover contained the initials "ML." Had any of his father's friends had the initials ML? L for Lupin, but the M was—Moony. Was this . . . ? Harry slipped a bookmark in with the page that mentioned regret as he flipped through the beginning. Initially he couldn't tell if the Marauders were featured since Lupin used pseudonyms, but figured out after reading further that James was Pots, Sirius was Red, and Peter was Wanda for whatever reason. Closer to the end, after they had become Animagi, Lupin switched to their nicknames of Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail. Turning back to where he had bookmarked, Harry read the page that mentioned regret.
1 November, 1974
Last night, on Halloween, Pots had us stage an Auror training exercise using appearance-altering transfiguration and potions.
Harry's attention was piqued. So they knew they wanted to be Aurors that long?
I was a convincing girl, apparently. A bloke asked me to dance. We had fun for a bit, but then he kissed me. My first kiss, and it was with a bloke! The thing is, I actually liked it. I don't regret it at all. The Polyjuice Potion must have done something, made me attracted to him. At least, I assume that's the case. Red spotted us and after he and I talked, I could tell he doesn't believe me. Anyhow, since he and I had shared a bed last June, I've been considering things. I don't think I'm gay, I would know. I shouldn't have to wonder, because it's not like that with girls.
That's all, I think.
Shared a bed? What was that supposed to mean? Harry mentally reviewed possible signs that could've tipped him off to any such inclinations in Sirius and Lupin, except he didn't know what he should be looking for. No, this didn't change anything. Plenty of people have some strange memory of the sort from childhood—sudden inexplicable attraction, or curiosity due to hormones—but it didn't have to affect their adult lives. Heart pounding, Harry read the last entry in the diary, which took place over a year later.
28 March, 1976
This will be my final entry. The diary has become too much about the others, and I find myself constantly anxious they'll find it and I'll regret writing anything in the first place.
But I have to get this off my chest. The boys are truly kind, I don't deserve them. As Animagi, they were able to keep me from self-injury. Before all of this, I think part of me doubted how sincerely they liked me. This was supposed to make me certain, if it hadn't been for what Padfoot did. I can tell Prongs is using him, so how can I tell he's not using me? He's a bloody idiot, so I suppose if he hasn't figured out how I feel, I shouldn't be surprised.
How had Lupin felt? If this was how vague all of the diary entries would be, he may be out of luck. Putting the question aside, he began to sift through the other diaries, wishing he'd brought Hermione along for this, especially since the tedium wouldn't bother her.
The regret written in the other diaries ranged in gravity from accidentally jinxing close friends to skipping important papers. On the more serious end, one girl wrote that she wished she had visited her best friend while she was sick instead of putting it off to take her O.W.L.s, since the friend had nearly died. Another regretted telling her friend she fancied him. Love and regret seemed to go hand in hand. None of the stories mentioned anything about the girls' bathroom or a specific time-turning spell, though there were vague sentiments about wishing to turn back time. And none of the diaries belonged to current students, so the only way to follow up on the leads was to track them down and talk in person, assuming they were still alive.
Of the writers, Tristan Zimmer and Mercury Yu would likely be the easiest to find, since they had gone to school within the last fifty years and mentioned wishing there was some spell to change what they had done. Zimmer cursed the Quaffle before a Quidditch match, causing his team to be disqualified from the House Cup; Yu had let her naïve friend fall prey to a vampire. While Yu said nothing that suggested she actually tried to go back in time, Zimmer said he wished he had a Time-Turner. It wasn't much, but it was something.
The Marauder's Map, laid out beside the diaries, caught his attention. He stared at Seamus and Dean's dots as they headed to the third floor classroom. He realized he was tapping the page rather aggressively and stopped. The pairs of same-sex students jumped out at him, making him wonder how many were just friends, and how many were more.
Harry felt silly considering it, but there was no one around to judge what he was doing, so he went ahead and tapped the map. "Were any of you q—homosexual?"
The grounds on the parchment melted away and words spread across the page.
Homosexual. Adjective. As in "gay." Example: Sirius could have any girl he wants but prefers blokes; he wears leather and is often caught staring at Remus' arse. See fig. 1.
A small, smirking illustration of Sirius appeared.