Harry Potter and the Song of Time

Harry Potter and the Song of Time
by Crazy Ivan

Chapter Five: Se Rencontrer

Harry awoke late the following morning and, after a quick shower, made his way downstairs to the kitchen, where Siriol and Draco were competing to see who could finish the Daily Prophet's crossword first.
"Harry," Draco asked, "a four-letter word meaning fog or frost, beginning with H?"
"Hoar," Harry said groggily, reaching for the pot of coffee sitting on the round table.
"No, Harry, four letters and beginning with H."
"Not whore, hoar. H-O-A-R. It's a type of frost."
"He's right," Siriol said knowledgeably. "We get them in St A's every so often, especially after a haar."
"A what?" Draco sounded skeptical.
"Haar. H-A-A-R, a type of fog. It's like walking about in pea soup -- eerily quiet, like after a heavy snowfall. All the car headlights loom out of the greyness like lighthouse beams."
"H-O-A-R," Draco repeated, filling it into the grid.
"Okay, here's another one for you, Harry honey," Siriol said. "Three letters, and 'the sound made by a cow'. Third letter is W. I thought it was 'moo', but..." she trailed off.
"Low," Harry said, stirring three sugars into his coffee and picking up a pain au chocolat from the tray.
"Low?"
"Yes. Gray wrote about it, the lowing herd wends somethingly round the lea, to paraphrase."
"Low..." Siriol sounded amused. "Like a cow sounds like that."

Harry let the jibe slide and munched on his pain au chocolat, dipping it into the coffee. For the first time, he looked out the window and saw that the rain was coming down horizontally, the whitecaps on the grey sea crashing dramatically onto the beach. "Looks like an inside day today," Draco said, following Harry's gaze.
"Mmm-hmm," Harry said, sipping at his coffee.
With a triumphant "Yes!" Siriol slapped her crossword down onto the table. "Finished!"
"Damn," Draco said, peering over and looking at clue 14 Down. "Oh, that heraldic question was 'purpure'. Bollocks."
"Well, you'll never forget that word again, will you," Harry observed.
"Yes, thank you, Potter," Draco said, notably irritated.
Harry smiled at Siriol, who winked back. "Same time tomorrow?" she asked Draco.
"Certainly," he replied with a gleam in his eye.

Harry leaned back on his chair and folded his arms behind his head.
"Anyone seen Hermione this morning?" he asked.
"Mmm, she went out with Narcissa to get a few things. I think she forgot to bring a hat and coat with her. You'd think that yall didn't go to school only fifty miles from here."
"Well, you don't tend to leave the Hogwarts Castle unless you're flying or going to Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology," Harry countered defensively.
"I guess not," Siriol said, shrugging her shoulders and standing. "Well, I simply must go write to one of my colleagues back across the pond. He's come out with some wacky theory about temporal mechanics that simply won't wash."
"You're in temporal mechanics too?" Harry asked. "Isn't that what Sirius is doing up here?"
"Yeah," Siriol said. "Actually, I asked the Vach for him in particular."
"Vach?" Draco wondered.
"Sorry. Ludmilla Vladimirovna Vachova. We call her the Vach because she is."
"Is what?"
"Draco, honey, vache in French means 'cow'."
"Oh."
"Honestly, one would think you Hogwarts grads never went to France!"
"I haven't."
"You're kidding!" Siriol sounded genuinely shocked.
"No," Draco said.
"Well then, during Reading Week I'm going to drag you all off to the Loire Valley where we can get toasted on quality wine at ridiculously cheap prices."
"You're on," Harry said, eyes lighting up.
"Okay. Anyway, I have to go write to this silly man. Ta ta, darlings."

Siriol swept out of the room and squeezed down the narrow passageway, narrowly missing a hat stand from which were hanging a set of rather mouldy-looking green robes.
"Well," Harry said to Draco, "since the weather is so atrocious, I think I'm going to go off for a little explore. Coming?"
"Where're you going?"
"Just around the house. I want to see where all the corridors and staircases lead."
"Never mind. I've got to owl Severus anyway. I promised that we'd meet for drinks one weekend in Hogsmeade."
"Oh aye," Harry said, raising an eyebrow as he slipped his mug and plate into a bowl of hot soapy water in the sink. "Severus. On first name terms? I'm half surprised you're not calling him 'Sevvy', Draco."
"Shut up, Potter."

Harry walked out of the kitchen and continued along the passageway, away from the front door. At the end was a staircase which ascended in the opposite direction to the passageway, and Harry, looking at the pictures hanging along it, started to climb the stairs. He walked past Priscilla the Perfectly-Proportioned, Fandelle the Flatulent and Gunther the Grumpy, who looked particularly bad-tempered (possibly due to the ghastly picture frame he was in) and scowled at Harry as he passed.

At the top of the stairs, Harry continued along the corridor, taking a left and then a right. He reckoned that he should be fairly near the grand marble staircase, and congratulated himself as he turned a corner and emerged into the gleaming marble and gilt high-ceilinged room which housed the staircase. He turned right at the top, ignoring a sign directing him to the Penthouse, and followed a curving columned corridor, which emerged into a wide classical hallway with white marble statues spaced along both sides. He squeezed past Venus de Milo and David, as well as a rather gory-looking one of Ferdinand of Malfi and Isabella di Charalla entwined in a death masque.

A pair of glass doors with tarnished brass handles led into a covered atrium, where Harry could hear the rain falling on the glassed-over roof as he walked among the orchids, palmettoes, bougainvilleas and hydrangeas blooming in the warm, humid air of the atrium. A tiered terracotta fountain in the centre lent a quiet splishing noise, which was unfortunately overshadowed by the rain beating down on the roof. The room smelled absolutely divine, with the scent of the lilies mingling with the bougainvilleas, and beautiful butterflies flitted about from one flower to the next.

Harry crunched down a small gravel path leading to the other end of the arboretum and pushed open another glass door, finding himself in an altogether different corridor, this time looking very much like a Habsburg palace. The golden chandeliers, when added to the already overly-gilded mirrors, chairs, tables and wall-mounted candelabra lining the corridor, pushed "overly ornate" into "downright daft". Harry, shielding his eyes from the reflections of the gold, didn't see the house-elf that he tripped over, landing in a heap on the floor.

"Oh, Tiddy is very sorry, sir," the muffled voice came from underneath Harry's left arm.
"I'm so sorry," Harry said, hurriedly scrambling back from the elf. "I didn't see you down there."
"Tiddy doesn't mind, sir, Tiddy was just polishing the candlesticks," the small elf explained.
"Well, Tiddy, I'm very sorry to have knocked you over," Harry said.
"Really, sir, Tiddy is all right. Is--is you Harry Potter, sir?" Tiddy asked hesitantly.
"Yes, Tiddy, I is. Er, am."
"Tiddy is heard lots about Harry Potter. You is a friend to house-elves, Harry Potter, you and Hermione Granger is."
"Been talking to Dobby, Tiddy?"
"Yes, Harry Potter, Tiddy has. Dobby is a good friend of Tiddy's."
"How is he? I haven't seen him since I left Hogwarts."
"Dobby is well, Harry Potter. He and Winky is having a children, a little children named Linny."
"That's wonderful news! Please send him my congratulations when you talk to him next."
"Tiddy will, Harry Potter."
Smiling at Tiddy, Harry extended his hand. "Pleased to have met you, Tiddy. I'm sure we'll bump into each other again, but I'll try not to flatten you next time."
"Tiddy is honoured to have been flattened by the great Harry Potter, sir," Tiddy said, shaking Harry's hand and bowing deeply until Harry turned the corner. Harry heard him humming away as he polished the candlesticks until, curious, he came upon a door marked "Hall of Mirrors". Opening it, Harry peered inside.

The square hall which Harry entered was literally filled with mirrors. The entrance was raised a good three feet above the top of the mirrors, which were arranged like a maze, with a door on each side of the hall. He descended the short flight of stairs and started to follow the maze around, deciding that he would take every right turn until he arrived at a door. After walking into at least three mirrors, he withdrew his wand and held it out in front of him so that he would stop bashing his nose when a mirror tricked him into thinking it wasn't there. Eventually, he climbed one of the flights of stairs and opened the door. The sound of Tiddy's humming echoed down the corridor, making Harry frown. He was sure that he hadn't come back to the original door. Descending into the maze again, he continued his policy of taking every right until he climbed another flight of stairs. Sure enough, when he opened the door he could hear Tiddy humming. Harry snorted irritably and delved into his pockets for something to mark the stairs so he would know if he returned to them. He extracted a green paperclip and placed it on the third step from the bottom.

Setting off again, he turned right, right and right again until he emerged at another flight of stairs -- without the paperclip on the third one. Triumphantly, he opened the door...to the sound of Tiddy humming. He looked down the corridor and established that yes, it was indeed the corridor from which he had entered the Hall, snorted again and, dropping a Knut on the third step from the bottom, strode around the maze again. Reaching another flight (without paperclip or Knut), he flung open the door. The door to the same corridor. The same corridor, with the same humming echoing down it. In frustration, Harry took out his wand and cast a Marking Charm on the banister of the flight of stairs, suspecting that someone or something was removing his markers. He Enchanted it so that if any wand but his attempted to remove it, it would make a loud screeching noise. Holding his head high, he veritably raced around the room, emerging at a flight of steps which had neither a paperclip, Knut or Charm on them. He opened the door to the corridor...and could almost have screamed as he heard Tiddy's humming resounding down it. He cast a different Marking Charm on this staircase and once again headed down into the maze. He emerged at the staircase marked with the Knut, opened the door and, looking down the corridor, heard Tiddy's humming.

Setting his jaw, Harry frowned and resignedly closed the door to the Hall of Mirrors, walking away from the sound of Tiddy's humming. He resolved to ask Siriol what sort of Enchantment had been placed on the room to make it do that.

* * *

Harry returned to the drawing room to find Hermione and Narcissa back from shopping, warming themselves in front of the fire.
"H-h-hello, Harry," Hermione said, patting her hair with a towel. "It's absolutely d-d-dreadful outs-s-side. The wind just drives the rain up under umbrellas, hats, scarves, coats..." She shivered, and Harry went over and felt her cheeks. "You're freezing!" he yelped as he touched them. "Hermione, you must go have a steaming hot bath right now." Turning to Narcissa, he noticed her blue lips and nose. "You too, Narcissa."

"W-w-what a g-g-good id-dea, H-h-harry," Hermione said through chattering teeth. He picked up one of the towels and wrapped it around her soaking cold hair and draped another around her shoulders. Handing a towel to Narcissa, who smiled gratefully, he steered Hermione firmly down the corridor, through the heavy oak doors and downstairs. He pushed open the door to the bathroom she shared with Xanthe and started to run the bath as hot as the water would go. With his wand he filled the room with hot steam and sprayed some essence of lavender from a vapouriser on a shelf. Hermione, still shivering, shed the towels, her soaked jeans and shirt and stepped into the bath. Harry helped to stabilise her as she sat down into the hot water, grabbed a sponge and began to squeeze the hot water over her hair, shoulders and neck.
"Ahhh..." Hermione breathed as she began to warm up after several minutes. Harry, feeling rather warm by this time, had stripped down to his boxers and draped his clothes on the heated towel rail so they wouldn't get splashed. He rubbed Hermione's shoulders and neck, which still felt cold to the touch. "You're still chilly, aren't you?" he scolded. "What were you thinking, Hermione? I'm the one who's supposed to go off and do stupid things like that and you're supposed to tell me off for it!"
She giggled and murmured "Higher."
Harry grabbed a purple flannel from the sink. "I assume, since this is a variant on Lilac rather than Daffodil, that this is yours?"
"Mmm-hmm," Hermione said, leaning back into the hot water as Harry wet the flannel and draped it across her forehead and hair like a bandanna. The silence was broken only by the occasional splash or gurgle from the taps as she sat silently for a while, utterly relaxed. "I thought I'd never feel warm again," Hermione murmured quietly. "The cold got right into my bones." She paused. "Do I sound like an old granny?"
"Er...yes," Harry said after an instantaneous moment of thought.
"Wrong answer," she said, waggling a finger at him which he pushed back under the water.
"Keep it warm," he scolded.
"You're not supposed to answer yes to questions like that, Harry darling," she explained patiently.
"Sorry," he said unconvincingly.

She, realising that he held the moral upper hand, smiled lovingly at the worry that creased his brow. He did, she realised, look very cute wearing that expression. Something told her that telling him this would not exactly be a good move -- but she had, unfortunately, forgotten the mental link, which was carrying her every though to him.

"Cute, eh?" he asked, pursing his lips.

The door opened with a quiet snick and Xanthe Montrose walked in, wearing only a dressing-gown. A yellow fluffy dressing-gown which Harry thought looked rather like that large yellow bird from that American children's programme. A yellow fluffy dressing-gown which was only belted at the waist and was showing rather more of Xanthe Montrose than she would have liked to show. In a rather comic moment, Xanthe looked up to see Harry and Hermione looking at her, the former rather appreciatively, and whipped the dressing-gown closed, cursing loudly, and put her hands on her hips.

"This is a bathroom, not a bedroom, people!" she fumed.
"Sorry, did I miss something?" Harry said, turning to Hermione. "Was there a day at Hogwarts where they explained about the differences between rooms? Because I must have been playing Quidditch that day. A bathroom, you say?" he asked, turning back to Xanthe. "I must remember that."

"Shut it," Xanthe said bluntly. "Hermione, tell me when you're done in here." With that, she walked out and closed the door. "And remember to lock it next time!" she shouted through the door.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Sorry, that probably wasn't very diplomatic, was it?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know, compared with what? Compared with, hypothetically, making earmuffs out of her guinea-pig, it wasn't bad."
"Ah."
"Are you taking sarcasm lessons from Draco?" Hermione asked.
"Do I look like I'm taking sarcasm lessons from Draco?" Harry replied. "Wait. Don't answer that."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry dear, I love you as you are. You don't have to pretend to be Draco."
"I am not pretending to be Draco!" Harry protested, reaching out his mental tendrils and splashing Hermione with sudsy bathwater.
"I (splutter) know that, (cough) but it did (splutter) get a good (cough) rise out of you (splash)."
"Ha bloody ha."

* * *
The next few days passed quickly, and Monday rolled around in its inexorable style. As Harry sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast, Draco stomped in with an emotional thundercloud looming above his head.
"Morning, Draco. Morning, black cloud above Draco's head," Harry said over his coffee.
"Shut up, Potter," Draco snarled. "You'll have a black bloody cloud over your head when you try to go through the Registration process at this bloody Institute. I spent half an hour trying to convince a witch less intelligent than Crabbe that I wasn't, in fact, Amelia Sorbonne, their fifty-year-old Sabbatical lecturer in Underwater Basketweaving. I then had to spell 'Malfoy' for her three times. Three times!"
"It must have been a great trial."
"Yes, thank you, Potter. If you'd had to be there at 7 a.m. you wouldn't be quite so sodding cheerful."
"I know. But it's your own fault for having a name beginning with M. They time it alphabetically, you know."
"Oh, that's fucking helpful. Draco Palfoy would sound so much better. Or perhaps Balfoy. Calfoy? Ealfoy? Halfoy, perhaps." Draco reached for the pot of coffee and a piece of toast.
Harry nodded. "I was thinking Dalfoy myself, but there you go."
"Sod off," Draco muttered, spooning sugar into his coffee.
"Really, Draco, I feel for you. I really do."
"When you say something like that, Harry, you really should try to sound convincing, rather than reminding me of a smarmy little supercilious piece of--"
"Butter?"
"That wasn't precisely what I was thinking," Draco admitted as he took it from Harry, "but it'll do."

* * *

On reflection, Harry thought as he joined the queue marked "Queries" in the Lower College Hall of the Magid Institute, Draco had hit the nail squarely on the head. This was the fourth queue he had been directed to, since the people at the desk marked "First Year Magid Students" had no record of his application, acceptance or, in fact, existence. The fact that he was the most famous wizard in the world, however, had not prevented the mole-like wizard at the desk from asking him to spell "Potter". And, in what he was to realise was typical St Andrews bureaucracy, there were 30 people in the "Queries" queue, but none in any of the others. Looking at the clock on the wall, he realised that it was four o'clock.

"Hey, Harry." A voice jerked him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Kensington de Plume behind him. Harry smiled and rolled his eyes. "Isn't this fun?"
"Oh, yes. Very comparable with exciting recreational activities like, oh, eating sand," Kensington agreed, pausing for a moment before smiling and saying, "Well, at least I'm in the appropriate queue now."
"At least, that's what you think," Harry grinned.
"Oh, I am," Kensington said significantly, "Just ask Justin Finch-Fletchley." He pointed at the illuminated words hanging in midair which said 'Queries'. "Although they don't seem to be very good at spelling at this Institute."

The queue dwindled until the bookish witch at the desk called "next!" Harry walked up and sat in the folding wooden chair opposite her. Opening a thick file, she picked up a wand, waved it at Harry and tapped the file once. A picture of a rather surprised-looking Harry appeared on the page, scratching his head.

"Name." The witch sounded rather bored.
"Harry Potter. P-O-T-T-E-R."
"Date of birth."
"July thirty-first, 1980."
"Home address."
"Malfoy Manor."
"Just 'Malfoy Manor'?"
"Yes. Owls find it with just that address."
The witch gave him a sour look. "Intended degree."
"Er...Magid Powers."
"Next of kin."
"Sirius Black."

The witch continued to ask him one-line questions until the picture of Harry started to snore, at which point she closed the file and pulled a ten-inch-thick pile of papers and booklets from a pile next to the desk, placing it in front of Harry. "Your first class registration is at eleven tomorrow morning in room 28. Next!"

Harry, feeling rather burdened with the books, smiled at Kensington, who asked him to wait for him. Harry walked over to a large piece of parchment entitled "Reminder -- Muggle Precautions", which exhorted all students to remember that St Andrews also contained a Muggle University, and that none of the fifty-odd entrances to the Institute should be used by more than five people per minute. The exact locations of said entrances was, apparently, located in Institute Booklet 213A, "Entrances To The Institute".

Harry rifled through his armful of bumf until he found the turquoise booklet, the cover of which showed entrances superimposed on a map of St Andrews. It rather reminded him of the Marauders' Map, in that it showed the location of the reader, currently in "Lower College Hall". Inside, a comprehensive list of entrances to the Institute, ranging from Mrs Macgregor's Pie Shop, Haberdashery 'R' Us and the New World Wine section of Luvian's Bottleshop to the men's loos in the Silver Swan pub, Room 216 of the Muggle University's Buchanan Building and a small flat above the Balaka Bangladeshi Restaurant. Of course, the booklet went on to say, several buildings belonging to the Magid Powers and Astronomology departments on South Street were accessible from the street.

"Sorry," a voice at his elbow said, and Harry turned to find the voice attached to a tall redhaired witch with her hair tied back into a ponytail behind her head. She was wearing jeans, a thick, striped shirt, and a jumper that looked homemade enough to give even Molly Weasley second thoughts. "I'm completely lost. Is that a map?"

"Yep," Harry said. "Where are you trying to get to?"
"I have to register for Magid Powers in Room 34, apparently. Something to do with them losing part of my course choices." Her accent sounded as if it came from Devon or Cornwall.
"Oh, I'm doing MP as well," Harry said, sticking out his hand. "Harry Potter."
"Minty Hemberley," she said. "I guess you're the Harry Potter, eh?"
"Unless someone else has started calling himself the Harry Potter," Harry replied. "Interesting name you have, too."
Minty grinned widely. "It's Araminta really. My parents had just a bit too much of the 60s than was good for them."
"Ah," said Harry, smiling. "Did you go to Hogwarts?"
"No, Durmstrang. Long, complicated family story behind it."

"Okay. I know what that's like." Harry looked for Room 34, and found it between Room 87 and Room 101. "I reckon you turn left here, and then keep going down that corridor until you hit a cross corridor, and then it's first on the left."
"Okay, left then left. Cheers, Harry."
"No probs, Minty. See you in MP, then."
"Yep."

As she walked away, Kensington finally finished with the "bloody bureaucrats" and invited Harry to join him for a coffee in a cafe he'd found near the ruined Cathedral. They chatted as they walked, Kensington pointing out places of interest -- pubs, mostly -- on their way. He stopped at a small, pokey-looking cafe named "Tea and Scrumpets" and gestured for Harry to go in first. The interior couldn't have looked different from the exterior if it had tried. The first word that came to Harry's mind was "chic". A stainless-steel bar with sleek, shiny stools was illuminated by contemporary halogen spotlights hanging on thin wires from the ceiling. On the opposite side of the room, a group of fashionable studenty-types were gathered around a table, sipping cocktails from designer glasses. A very camp bartender stood behind the superbly-stocked bar. "Kensington, right?"

"Indeed," Kensington said, shaking hands. "Long vodka for me. Harry?"
"G and T, please," Harry said, looking at the many bottles of gin behind the bar. "Gordons gin."
"Friend of yours, Kensington?" the barman asked as he swilled the bitters around in the bottom of the glass for Kensington's long vodka.
"We live together," Kensington said with a sideways grin at Harry.
"Correction. We live in the same house," Harry said. "Separate rooms."
He pushed his hair back from his forehead, revealing his scar. "Besides, remember what happened to Hermione in fourth year when people thought she and I were going out. Just think of all those witches sending you hate mail, Kensington."
The barman looked up, not having recognised Harry. "Oh, you're--"
"Yes. But shh, don't tell everyone. I'm trying to keep a low profile."
"My lips are sealed. I'm Jim, by the way."
"Harry, but you knew that already."

Harry and Kensington retreated to a small table near the crackling modern fireplace as "Do You Believe in Magic" started playing from the speakers above them. They chatted and joked for a while, and Harry really began to warm to the tall, outgoing wizard.
"Oh, and did you hear the one about Severus Snape in heaven?" Kensington asked.
"No, shoot."
"Okay, so old ratface is at the Pearly Gates, and eventually St Peter comes out and says that Snape has to have done three good deeds in the last year to get into heaven. So, Snapey says "Well, I gave a Galleon to a homeless man the other day." St Pete asks for another good deed, and so he says "I donated two Galleons to Save the Wombats last month."
"And number three?" asks St Peter.
"Well, Snape has to rack his brains, but eventually remembers that he gave another two Galleons to Hogsfam in February. St Peter goes back into the pearly gates and has a chat with God, and eventually leans out of a window, throws a bag of coins to Snape and yells, "There's your five bloody galleons! Sod off!"

Harry shook with laughter. "I can so see that!"
Kensington grinned. "So what's it like, y'know, being The Boy Who Lived?"
Harry shrugged. "Depends on what mood I'm in, who I'm with...when I'm around Ron and Hermione, it's just like being a normal person -- they see past the scar to the real me. But when it's the whole Witch Weekly, Daily Prophet, Hi! Magazine business, it gets really boring really fast. That probably sounds awfully stuck-up, but it's true."
Kensington shrugged. "Not particularly. You going home for dinner?"
"Yep," Harry said, finishing off his gin and tonic.

They talked as they strolled back to the Castle, discussing Hogwarts, St Andrews, impressions of the Institute, and so on. They arrived with plenty of time to spare and chatted to Siriol for a while before Hermione, Ron and Draco emerged for dinner.

"Sirius and Narcissa are eating out tonight," Hermione explained, "and Xanthe's out with a friend."
The dinner, as usual for the Castle, was superb -- roast pork with apple and sage stuffing, with crispy roast potatoes and lashings of crackling.
"Oh, Draco, you were right about the delightful Registration process," Harry said in the middle of a mouthful. "About as much fun and as well-organised as a party thrown by Binnsy."
"I told you so."
"Yes, thank you Draco."

"Harry, are you in Magid Powers tomorrow at eleven?" Ron asked.
"If that's in room 28, yes," Harry said.
"Goodo, me too."
"I never knew you were a Magid, Weasley," Draco said. "What's the next surprise? You three really are in a menage a trois?"
"We're not, and I'm not a Magid. I'm doing Magid Studies, some of which parallels Magid Powers. The theory, anyway," Ron said.
"More delusions of adequacy, Weasley? So, you get to hang on to Potter for another three years. How...nice for him. And you."
"Be nice, ferret boy," Siriol said from the other side of the table. "I've heard Al Moody needs a vacation..."
Draco tried hard not to look worried, but failed miserably. "Oh goody."
"I thought you'd be pleased," the American witch smiled.
"You have no idea of the depth of my rapture," Draco said flatly.
"Oh, I dunno. I could make a fair guess..."
"I don't think that'll be necessary."

* * *

Muchos kudos to betareading Angels Cassie, Ebony and Penny. (Hello Angels...) Adoration to Calliope, my Muse. And you all know where the "smarmy, supercilious piece of butter" came from...and what it's going to be spread on. Toast, anyone?

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