It\'s So Difficult to be Mature

Chapter 12: A Bit of History

Harry slept for hours. When he woke he played with Lily, stopped in to check on James, and began to wander aimlessly around M.A.T.D.A. again. There wasn't much he could do and he felt rather helpless. He Apparated briefly to his department at the Ministry, to see if there was anything he could do there, but it was a slow morning for Aurors. For some reason, Harry was loathe to tell them the story of his children's kidnapping and his wife's death. He knew there was nothing they could do that M.A.T.D.A. wasn't already trying.

His head ached from all of the issues that he was trying to deal with. He had to destroy Lucretia, rescue Hermione, attempt to get his wife back, calm Ron down, have a long talk with Draco, and convince Ginny that none of this was her fault. It was a long list. There were things that he could begin on, however, like talking to Draco or Ron. He opted for Draco first, since he didn't want to risk Ron's temper just then. Finding Draco wasn't that difficult.

He was examining an old journal that supposedly some Follower wrote in. Harry had to cough a few times before Draco looked up. His characteristic sneer was firmly in place.

"Potter," he drawled. "What can I do for you?"

"Why didn't you become a Death Eater?" Harry clapped a hand to his mouth. Where had that come from? He hadn't intended to ask such an obviously personal question; it was as if someone was controlling his tongue. Draco turned paler and his eyes narrowed.

"What business is it of yours, Potter?" he practically spit.

Harry felt genuinely ashamed. "I apologize, Malfoy. I don't know what came over me."

Draco looked at him curiously. After a few moments of silence, he sighed and spoke. "I suppose, that of everyone, you ought to know. But you must promise that you won't speak of this to anyone."

Harry, eyes wide open, only nodded. Draco rubbed his eyes. What was he doing? He was going to have a genuine talk with some one who up until a week ago had been his enemy. He was definitely getting soft.

"If the ceremony had come up before the True Destiny Massacre, I probably would be one. But I thought my parents were dead, and I suddenly realized that the Dark side held nothing for me. My parents weren't there to push me forward, and I really was apathetic toward the whole issue. Quite frankly, good or bad, it doesn't matter to me. You see, Potter, good and bad have no meaning. What constitutes good? What constitutes bad? When I met Ginny, I chose good, for her, for the time being. However, I honestly believe, that if Lucretia wasn't after my wife and child, I would leave this place without a second thought and leave you to sort out your own mess."

Harry had been silent during all of this. Now, he nodded. "I never really had the choice, you know. To me, good was all there ever was. I'm the defender of the innocent, protector of the weak, general champion to everyone. Even if I wasn't directly involved, I couldn't turn my back on these people. Even if they weren't my best friends. It's just what I have to do. I have to help. In the war between Good and Evil, I can't let Evil even win one tiny scuffle."

Draco regarded him silently for one moment. "I suppose that's what makes us different, Potter. I only look out for what's in my own best interest. I always have. If I don't look out for me, no one else will. You, Potter, always have someone looking out for you, so you're free to help others."

"Oh, I don't know, Malfoy. I'd say you're learning to be more like me."

Draco made a face. "Oh, perish the thought."

Harry laughed. "Nice talking to you. I have to go speak to Ron now. By the way, have you spoken to Mrs. Weasley yet?"

Draco actually looked nervous and timid. "No. Why do you think I'm hiding in here? I can't face her, Potter. Facing her brothers and father was one thing. Arthur barely acknowledged me and I've met all the other Weasley's before. But what can I possibly say to her mother?"

Harry thought he recognized what was behind Draco's somewhat amusing fear. "She's nothing like your mother, you know," he said abruptly. "She's the real motherly type. Nearly cares about everyone. I'm sure she'll accept you."

Draco nodded forlornly and left the room. Harry picked up the book he had been looking at, which Meredith said she had found at the abandoned hotel two days before the children were taken. He leafed through it quickly and found an interesting reference that struck him as potentially important. He read:

Harry was very puzzled. He curiously turned the page to the next entry.

That's where it ended. The bottom of the page was torn off and Harry's stomach dropped. He was so close to finding out the answers to his most pressing questions. He slammed his fist down on the table in frustration. The door creaked open.

"That's why we put that in here. It was driving everyone up a wall," Meredith smiled at him. "But we've looked through that thing over a million times. There's nothing that can help us now."

Harry looked at the battered book in his hand. "Who wrote it?"

"Take a look for yourself. It's written on the inside cover."

Harry opened the faded cover and looked at the name imprinted there. C. Chang. His insides froze. He took a moment to convince himself that there were a million people named Chang in the world, the likelihood of it being the same Chang was slim. Yet...

Meredith noticed his reaction and showed concern. "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry forced himself to speak. "Wha-What happened to her? Maybe we can find her and talk to her."

"The Follower?" Meredith shook her head. "That would be difficult, Harry. She's dead."

"Dead?" Harry's mouth went dry.

"Yes. As she said herself, she knew too much. What's wrong? Did you know her?"

"I-I think so." Harry continued to stare at the book, the only thing left of a girl he had once dated. "How?"

"How did she die? How do all of Lucretia's victims die? She was poisoned. I'm sorry if you knew her. How?"

Harry found that the words came easily. It made sense, in a weird, twisted way. "I went to school with her. I dated her. She was my wife's best friend, a bridesmaid in our wedding. She was a good person."

Meredith was sympathetic. "I'm sorry if she was a friend, Harry. I wonder why she changed sides."

Harry already knew the answer and he hated himself for not noticing sooner. It was all there in her diary. That has been my life's ambition since the age of 15.

"Cedric Diggory," Harry said softly. "Voldemort murdered her boyfriend. Then her family. I never realized how it affected her. I should have. I should have seen the pain she was in. She wanted Voldemort dead so badly, she turned to Lucretia. She must have been part of the reason Lisa became one. In a way, it's all my fault."

"What? Harry, how is this C. Chang person becoming a Follower and dragging your wife down with her, your fault?" Meredith was aghast.

"It was my fault that Cedric died in the first place. I never understood how she forgave me for that. We didn't date very long, there was always that ghost between us, but we remained friends and she and Lisa were very close. I should have realized. When contact between us stopped, I thought nothing of it. What I don't understand is how Cho could have been part of the plot to take our children."

"She probably wasn't. Perhaps she even tried to prevent it. She died before it happened, Harry. We found her body in the hotel, with her diary nearby. I'm sorry."

Harry brushed her attempts to comfort him off. "It's nothing. I only wish she had given us a real clue as to why Lucretia wants Ginny's baby. This makes no sense." He pocketed the diary nonetheless. "Do you mind if I keep this?"

"No, go ahead. We have no use for it. We made copies of the important entries. Maybe you´ll have better luck. Who knows, something may show up."

"Thanks, I'm going to check on Ron. Perhaps Sirius will let him out of Detainment soon."

He left the room and Meredith sighed. She rooted through some papers, looking for the copies. Harry had reminded her of the journal's existence and now that she knew C. Chang had some connection to this whole mess, there might actually be something there. The only thing she was able to come up with was this:

Lucretia + Voldemort = Ginny + Draco

What on earth could those two pairs of people have in common? And how was a baby from Ginny and Draco supposed to destroy Voldemort?

* * *

Ron shook violently, the cot upon which he was curled up, pounded against the wall. This paroxysm was the worst yet. His eyes rolled and his hands clutched the sides of the bed so tightly that his hands had turned white. When it passed he felt as if he had the flu. He was sweating, his skin was pasty, and he continued to tremble.

"Good boy, Ron," Lily said gently. "The time is getting closer. You have to keep fighting."

If there was one thing Lily regretted about being a ghost it was the inability to hold objects. Ron really needed someone to press a cold cloth to his forehead. He was burning with a fever.

"How long is it between them?" Ron asked weakly.

"About five minutes," James replied worriedly. "Not nearly long enough."

"Describe what it feels like, Ron," Lily urged. "It could be helpful."

"It feels like I'm possessed, which I am," Ron said crossly. "Being Voldemort is terrifying, all the dark desires, the hatred, the fury, the need to kill. I don't like it."

Lily and James exchanged a worried glance. "Do you feel like killing anyone in particular?" Lily asked anxiously.

"Yes," Ron said, suddenly apprehensive. "Harry. We can't let him in here. I might try to kill him."

"When he finds out you're ill, he's going to want to be here," James said. "I know my son."

Ron laughed feebly. "After what I've said and done, he'd probably leave me here to die. I wouldn't blame him."

"Nonsense, Ron," Lily admonished. "Harry would never."

Ron started to convulse again and began to cry out in pain. His thoughts were a torrent of pain and frustration and a desire to rip his skin off. He started to scream at the top of his lungs and Lily and James backed away unintentionally. When the seizure subsided, they came closer.

"Ron, can you hear us? They're getting closer. When the time comes, will you be ready?"

"To-do-what?" he mumbled.

"To throw him out. Do you realize what Voldemort would do with your body? Don't let him, Ron. Don't let him destroy your world."

Harry chose that moment to visit. When he saw his best friend's condition, he cried out. Ron knew he looked like death warmed over and tried to comfort him, but could only make spluttering noises.

"Ron! Oh, no, have you been poisoned as well? Tell me you haven't!"

"No, Harry," Ron managed to say through clenched teeth. "Go away."

Harry was shocked. "Have you gone daft? You're seriously ill! We have to get you to the Hospital Ward."

"No!" Ron said, grimacing with pain. "I'm not sick; I'm possessed."

Lily and James had frozen in surprise. They realized that eventually Harry would come, but they hadn't prepared sufficiently. Their son was standing before them, fully grown and full of concern for his friend's condition and they longed to speak to him. Lily even moved forward and tried to place a hand on his shoulder. It went right though him and she smothered a sob.

Harry, meanwhile, was trying to comprehend what Ron had just said. "Possessed? How could you be possessed? By what?"

Ron laughed humorlessly. "What could be correct, I suppose, but I think it's by whom. And the answer is Voldemort."

Harry froze. His life was on a downward spiral which seemed to last forever. What more could possibly happen to him and his friends? Attempting to keep his tone light, Harry said, "I thought we agreed that Lucretia killed him."

"His body, yes, but his blood-sucking spirit, no." Ron seemed to be fading.

"You're possessed by Voldemort?" Harry repeated in disbelief.

"Yes, and that's why you have to leave." Ron then started muttering. "He's not listening."

"James, we have to get him out of here! Oh, why can't he see us?" Lily wrung her hands.

"You must be mistaken. How could you possibly have him inside of you?" Harry asked.

Ron could feel it coming and he was losing patience. He would dearly have loved to say, `You're dead parents told me´, but he didn't think that would be a good idea. "I think I'm the position to know, Harry," he said in barely more than a whisper. "Now go before I try to kill you."

"No," Harry said firmly. "You need me, I'm not going anywhere. I was there for Lisa, wasn't I? I'll be here for you. You need someone."

"Yes," Ron said, gritting his teeth, "but that person can't be you. Oh, no, here we go."

He started thrashing again. This time however, instead of screaming, he turned to look directly at Harry. Harry was taken aback by the feral look in his eyes and the gruesome leer. The person in front of him hardly resembled Ron Weasley at all.

"Harry Potter. How delightful. You came right into my hands." The voice was entirely different. It was high pitched and every word had evil connotations. Ron looked deranged and Harry made for the door, ashamed as he ran. "You aren't going anywhere, Potter."

Lily covered her eyes. "Oh, I can't watch! James, do something!" she shrieked shrilly.

James was indecisive. What could he do? He had to try to call Ron back. "Ron! Come out of it! Fight him, damn you! Think of Hermione! Think of your children!"

The struggle was painfully obvious. Harry watched in a stupor from the doorway. Ron threw himself off of the bed and started rolling on the floor. He had his own hands around his neck and seemed to be strangling himself. He heaved as if he was trying to dispel something from his body, which he was. His last meal came up instead of Voldemort. His shouts of pain, made Harry, Lily, and James wince in empathy. Finally he lay still, unconscious.

Harry started forward cautiously. "Ron?" he whispered. "Ron, wake up."

He bent forward to feel Ron's pulse which fortunately was still beating strong. After a minute in which Harry held his breath, Ron stirred and blinked dazedly. When the world came into focus, he looked up at Harry.

"I told you so," he said weakly.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore scratched his head, deep in thought. It was quite a powerful hypnosis spell and so far he had only managed to dent it. Hermione was sitting on a stool, unresponsive. She had been shut off, in a way, so that Dumbledore could try and remove the spell. He was mulling over the situation when a woman appeared in the room in a cloud of purple smoke. He barely glanced at her, but his words were directed at her.

"In some circles, it's considered polite to knock, you know."

Lucretia didn't have times for niceties. She stamped her foot childishly. "What are you doing, you old fool? Leave her alone. I knew this was a stupid idea."

Dumbledore regarded her sadly. "You know, I once considered Lord Voldemort my greatest mistake, but you are catching up."

Lucretia smiled brightly, momentarily forgetting her anger. "Really? How kind. Now come with me, Hermione dear."

Hermione stood up, ready to obey. Dumbledore saw her. "Sit down, Hermione." Hermione sat.

Lucretia's fury was back. "What have you done to her?"

"I haven't been able to remove your spell yet, so I enacted one of my own that would enable me to countermand your orders," Dumbledore said calmly.

"You always were a meddlesome old fool. Why can't you just stay out of this? I'm so close!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "What happened to you? You were never like this at Hogwarts. Of all of the boys for you to fancy, why did it have to be Tom Riddle?"

Lucretia clenched her fists. "You know nothing of it," she hissed. "How dare you?"

"I know that he stole one of the most promising witches I'd ever seen from her true purpose. And I will not let you do the same thing to Hermione."

He struck a nerve. Suddenly, Lucretia showed the tiniest fraction of remorse. She remembered what her life had been like before Voldemort, she'd had friends and people genuinely liked her. Then she roughly pushed this terrible thought away.

"I needed him. His ancestry was the attraction. That's all there was."

"No," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "You loved him once. I saw it. I tried to warn you." Dumbledore moved to Hermione's side and took a book down from a shelf. "I'm simply reminding you of who you once were, Gertrude."

She turned quickly. "What did you call me?" she said fiercely.

"I called you by name. I hope you haven't forgotten. I know I haven't. The day that I called you and tried to help."

All at once, Lucretia was pulled into a memory, one she had repressed for fifty years.

Gertrude McFadden walked fearfully down the hallway until she reached Professor Dumbledore's office, which was situated near his Transfiguration classroom. She stopped in front of the door.

She started out of the memory. "What is it?" she asked, almost fearfully. "What is this power you have over me, Dumbledore? You haven't said a single spell." She turned her back to him.

"Gertrude." She didn't look at him. "Have you been Lucretia so long that you've forgotten your real name? I knew it was you from the moment you came in, even with that blonde hair. I daresay I preferred you as a redhead. Only you would use such an old hypnosis spell. And I suppose it was you who wanted to have Hermione's Narinhah powers unlocked."

Lucretia was shocked. "I thought you didn't know."

"I don´t know what you want with her, or even how you came to have her. I'm just an old man who is too tired to be a part of the real world anymore. But while the world may not have noticed you, or ever knew you in the way they knew Voldemort, I have never forgotten you. I have never forgotten a single one of my students, no matter what they have become. To me you will always be Gertrude McFadden."

Lucretia struggled to regain her composure. "Don't call me that. Ever. I take it you haven't unlocked her powers, either."

"No," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Because I can't. They've been permanently locked by someone, and only that person can unlock them. It's for the best. I doubt even Hermione could master them, and un-mastered, Narinhah magic is dangerous."

"Fine," Lucretia spit. "Narinhah or not, she's valuable to me. We'll be leaving now."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You don't actually think I'm going to let you take her away do you?"

But Dumbledore sadly underestimated her fury and thought that he had talked her into mild complacency-for the time being anyway. He was quite mistaken.

"Now you've done it. I'm tired of being patient. The time has come to take action, and I will have that child!"

In a sudden movement, her hand connected with his chest and she pushed him down. In another second as quick as lightening, she grabbed Hermione by the wrist and they disappeared. Dumbledore hit his head on the edge of the table and felt quite dizzy. Swearing inventively, he cursed himself for his naiveté. He managed to make it to his bed. Then he blacked out.

* * *

Draco approached Mrs. Weasley nervously. He knew he had to get it over with eventually. Ginny had prodded him in the right direction and now here he was. He hadn't been afraid of her father, or even afraid when he had been surrounded by her older brothers, but he was terrified of approaching her mother. Her opinion of him actually did matter.

She heard his approach and turned. She was smiling, which Draco took as a good sign.

"You must be Draco, the man who stole away my little girl." She was still smiling, so Draco assumed she was joking. "I believe the last time I saw you was at my son's graduation. Please, sit down."

He sat down opposite her and began to twiddle his fingers. He was quite surprised when she reached across the table and placed a hand on his.

"No need to be nervous, Draco. I only want to find out more about you. If I may say so, reports of you through my sons were never very positive."

"Well, that's because I didn't get along with any of your sons, ma'am," Draco replied uneasily.

"And I and my husband didn't get along with your father, but that has no bearing on how I get along with you. I would like to establish a decent relationship with you, Draco, if you are open to the idea. I only need to ask you one question. Why did you fall in love with my daughter?"

Draco was surprised. The question didn't really bother him coming from her, and it wasn't the same as `Are you in love with Ginny?´. He wasn't sure how to respond to it.

"Why? Well, because she's beautiful, has a vibrant personality, she sees me for me-"

"And she's the mother of your child," Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "You're saying what you think I want to hear. That may be all true, but it's not the truth. Do you understand what I mean? I know my daughter's faults, Draco. I raised her. Not the least of which is her tendency to do things without thinking of the consequences. Such as running away with you. Now tell me the truth."

He didn't know what to say. "I don't know," he said helplessly. "I just do. It's the little things I suppose. The things that make her different from any other girl I've ever met!"

That answer seemed to satisfy her. "Good. Now, you are staying, aren't you? No more running?"

"Well..." He and Ginny hadn't discussed it yet. Her announcement about running away again had startled him. He was ready to settle somewhere. "I suppose so."

His mother-in-law nodded. "Good, I want to get to know my grandchild." She smiled at him again, and he began to feel more at ease. "Welcome to our family, Draco. Just give the others some time."

And Draco smiled back.

* * *

"Ron, we have to get Jeanette here. You need a doctor," Harry said frantically.

"What I need," Ron gasped, "is for you to leave. Please."

"Ron, you can't kill me, you don't have a wand," Harry said sensibly.

"You were scared of me, Harry," Ron said weakly. "I saw it. I won't need a wand. Just leave." When Harry showed no sign of moving, Ron spoke to the Potters. "He's not leaving. Can't you do something?"

"What would you have us do, Ron? He can't see or hear us. You have to get him out," James said fretfully, fearing for his stubborn son.

"But I can't!" Ron exclaimed.

"Who are you talking to?" Harry asked anxiously.

Ron was on the edge of delirium. "Ghosts," he muttered. "Here it comes. Go, Harry."

Harry took a step toward the door and halted, unsure about what to do. Lily and James were silently urging him to go out but at the last moment he stayed. He went to Ron's side and took his hand.

"For ten years, I had no family. You are my family, Ron. You and the other Weasleys. I will be here for you."

The spasms began. Ron threw himself from side to side and his limbs, except for the hand that Harry was holding, flailed. When he was finished moaning and screaming, Ron turned to Harry with the same wild look as before. His mouth was a twisted grin, and a part of Harry longed to run. But it was a question of whom was holding whom now. Ron had his hand in an agonizingly tight grip, which oddly reminded Harry of Lisa as she was giving birth.

"Potter, you have ruined my life. If it hadn't been for you and your mother," Ron/Voldemort spit viciously, "I would be ruling the world! And if you hadn't rescued that Malfoy brat, I would be unstoppable. Well, the meddling ends here!"

Ron's free hand reached out and grabbed Harry by the throat. Lily let out a scream no one but James could hear because Ron was too far gone. Harry squirmed and choked. His breath was coming out in rasps and he was turning blue.

"Ron, no!" Lily shrieked.

"Ron, fight him! That's Harry you're hurting, fight Voldemort!" James cried.

"Don't kill Harry, Ron, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you did!" Lily screamed.

The sound of snapping bones was like nails on a chalkboard to Lily and James, as Ron broke the bones in Harry's hand. Ron's eyes went wide with horror and he forced himself to loosen his grip on Harry's neck. As soon as Ron's hand pulled away, Harry fell and scrambled to the door where all he could do was watch in horror, clutching his painfully broken hand to his chest.

Ron's eyes bulged, he hacked and then stopped breathing. When he began to suck in air again, his body started thrashing and he cried out. His thoughts threatened to tear his skull apart.

Get to Harry. Kill Potter.

No! Won't...can´t!

Kill, kill, kill. I hate him! God damn perfect Potter! Kill him!

With another burst of energy and fury Ron stood up and rushed at Harry.

"Harry Potter, must kill!"

* * *

"Listen to me, Professor Snape," Jeanette said in a voice dripping with disdain. "We're making less progress than we were before you came."

"I have no idea why I am even here, Dr. Mills," he retorted in exactly the same tone. "You should be thanking me for lending my expertise to your hopeless project."

"Your expertise doesn't seem to be doing much good. Could you even try to be helpful?"

Snape sneered at her. "I'm doing my best. It isn't easy to raise the dead, you know. I've never done it before. Have you?"

Jeanette glared at him. "Of course not, that's why I asked you for your help. There's no need to be snotty."

They were surrounded by potion's ingredients, a large cauldron was heating over a blue flame, and consequently the room was sweltering. Jeanette had long ago removed her lab coat (a fresh one; she had changed after her adventure) and rolled up the sleeves of her robes. Snape on the other hand was sweating it out in his heavy black robes.

Jeanette glanced at him and noticed that he would soon be overheated unless he changed. Her medical instincts kicked in. "You ought to change or you'll get overheated. Why on earth are you wearing those robes in the middle of summer?"

Snape's lip curled. "My choice of wardrobe is none of your business."

Jeanette grew angry. "Why are you being so difficult? I'm not some poor little child for you to bully. I haven't done anything to you."

"Oh no?" He wore a sickening smile. "That's not the way I heard it. Perhaps you don't remember it, but I do. Perfectly."

And suddenly, Jeanette did too.

Jeanette Mills was running down the hall, tears streaming down her face, and desperate to reach the bathroom. Damn that Lucius Malfoy. Oh, how she hated him. He had just torn her brand new robes and hexed her. Well, she had given as good as she had gotten and she'd do it again in an instant. It wasn't often she got to see Malfoy in a dress with rabbit ears.

"Look, Severus," he glared at her, "I mean, Professor Snape, I'm sorry, but you caught me on a bad day and you can't possibly be holding a grudge for so long over that one silly little incident." But Jeanette remembered that Snape's hatred of James Potter hadn't abated any and James had been dead for twenty-five years.

Snape ignored what she said and continued to act as if nothing had happened, but there was an icy bite to his voice that hadn't been there before. "The page you swiped isn't much help. The instructions are far too general. Whomever wrote them must have been in a hurry."

Jeanette was about to retort with a nasty comment, when an idea struck her. "That's brilliant! We'll use the Clock!"

"The what?" Snape replied in honest bewilderment.

"The Time Clock. We have the only one in the world! It brings people back from the past. We'll simply bring Isis Jones into the present and ask her how she did it!"

Before Snape could protest to this hare-brained scheme, Jeanette was off and running. She stopped outside a closet and threw open the door. Housed inside was an antique grandfather clock with the words `Time Clock´ emblazoned in gold across the top.

"Let's see, she did it in 1854, so I'll set the hands for that date. Okay, Clock, bring us Isis Jones."

The clock chimed twelve times and she opened the door. Out stepped a middle-aged woman dressed in old-fashioned clothing. She was very confused.

"Pardon, miss, but could you by chance tell me where I be?"

Jeanette smiled brightly. "Are you Isis Jones?"

More confusion. "Aye, I be Isis. But where is this unfamiliar place?" Fear wreathed her features. "Be I deceased?"

"No, no," Jeanette reassured her. "You're not dead. You're in the future."

"The, the future?" she repeated hesitantly. "Oh, dear. First Cyrus, now this!"

Jeanette was taken aback. "Is Cyrus your husband?"

"Was. Oh, dear. How do I return?"

"Is he still dead?" Jeanette asked. Snape was smirking at her and she longed to stick her tongue out at him or slap his face.

"Dead? Why, yes, of course he is still deceased," Isis said bewildered. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"Oh no, she hasn't brought him back yet! She doesn't know how to do it," Jeanette said aside to Snape, who only continued to smirk.

"I knew there would be a problem with your brilliant plan," he said.

"Oh, stuff it," Jeanette retorted crossly. "Mrs. Jones?"

"Ye-yes?"

"Do you know how to bring people back from the dead?" Jeanette crossed her fingers.

"What? What are you speaking of?" Isis was clearly baffled.

"Oh, dear. You are a witch, correct?"

"Yes," she replied with a little more confidence. "Are you one as well?"

"Yes. Look, you have to go back to your own time and bring your husband back from the dead. Quickly, before it's too late."

"Excuse me? What you ask of me, it is impossible. It cannot be done. I think perhaps you are a tad eccentric."

Jeanette sighed and Snape snickered; he was clearly enjoying this too much. "Eccentric I may be, but you do it. You do do it. I have written proof! Which means, if you haven't done it yet, we have to send you back so that you can do it. Alright?"

"Alright," Isis said hesitantly. She stepped back into the clock and shut the door. Jeanette gave the hands a spin until they continued to whirl on their own. It chimed twelve times and when Jeanette opened the door again there was no one inside. She sat down heavily in a nearby chair and glared at Snape.

"Don't say one word. I admit that it was a mistake, but at least now we know where she got the idea."

Snape was shaking with silent laughter which only served to annoy Jeanette more. When he got himself under control he managed to speak. "While you were conversing with that woman, I think I discovered the solution to our problem. Come with me."

Extremely curious and semi-desperate, Jeanette followed him. When they reached the cauldron where the potion was brewing, Snape picked up the scrap of paper that Jeanette had pulled out of the book.

"Look, not only do we have to say and perform the spell while we mix the ingredients, take a look at this." He pointed to an ingredient on the page. Jeanette leaned closer.

"It's mulberry root. So? We put some of that in."

"Yes, but we only put in a pinch because mulberry root is powerful and dangerous if one uses too much. But this is a powerful potion. We're trying to raise the dead, so the more root the better. Are you willing to risk it?"

Jeanette was hesitant. "How much root are we talking about?"

"One whole root," was the response.

Jeanette's eyes widened. "Are you sure? That much mulberry root could cause the entire place to explode!"

Snape nodded pensively. "I think it's the solution. I'll mix the ingredients, you be ready with the spell."

"Wait." Jeanette reached out and grabbed his arm. "This spell needs more power than a single witch can provide and you're adding the ingredients."

Snape sighed impatiently. "Fine. Get someone in here. Just as long as it isn't Black."

"Alright," Jeanette replied calmly. She walked over to the giant map of M.A.T.D.A. and tapped the dot that was labeled R. Lupin. "Remus will be here in a moment."

"Lupin? Are you sure you want his help?" He saw the determined look in her eyes. "I've seen how you act around him. Are you in love with him?"

Remus appeared at that moment just in time to hear the question. Jeanette found that words failed her faced with Snape's impertinence. Remus coughed twice to alert her to his presence and she turned around.

"Remus!" she exclaimed, turning pink. "Good, you're here."

"What can I do for you?" he asked pleasantly.

"We need your help. Two people have to say the spell and Professor Snape's going to be stirring the potion."

"Alright, what do you need me to do?" Remus asked.

"First of all, we need Lisa's body. Can you have it sent up here?"

"Sure. Not a problem." Remus walked over to the Magical Office Announcement System (MAOS) and called Shirley. "Shirley, please have Lisa Potter's body sent up to the Potions Ward immediately."

A moment later it fell through the ceiling encased in a green bubble. Jeanette quickly checked to make sure nothing was wrong and found that everything was in order.

"Alright. Repeat these words with me, Remus and dip your wand in the potion. It won't harm your wand, I promise," she added, seeing the alarmed expression on his face. "Professor Snape will pour the rest of the potion on Lisa. If this goes right, she'll be back with us. Are we ready?"

Both men nodded. At the exact same time Remus and Jeanette began to recite the words of the spell. As they chanted, Snape added the ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir. The potion turned bright blue, then green, then red, then orange. It frothed and bubbled, and as the chanting grew louder, the potion grew thicker. Jeanette nodded at Remus, giving him the signal to dip his wand. They continued to chant as each dipped his or her wand into the thick orange goo. Snape dipped a spoon into the concoction and dribbled a few drops of it into Lisa's still mouth. He repeated this action while Jeanette and Remus continued to recite the spell.

The chanting grew louder and louder until a great loud bang shook the building. Clouds of golden smoke filled the room and the three adults coughed and hacked, trying to breathe. Smoke surrounded them and the building shook again and again like a giant earthquake had taken hold of the countryside. Had there been any muggles in the area, they might have wondered why a wide open field had suddenly started to pump yellow smoke or why the ground trembled. Luckily, there were no muggles in the area, although the one wizard passing by at the time was very concerned.

When the movement subsided, and the smoke began to clear, the three adults looked at each other.

"Somehow," Jeanette said, from her position on the floor, and still coughing, "I don't think it worked."

* * *

All around M.A.T.D.A., everyone had only one question.

"What was that?"

* * *

The world suddenly came back to her.

She knew who she was. She knew where she was. She was no longer a mindless drone. Everything was so clear, clearer than it had ever been before. She remembered what had happened, she remembered what Lucretia had tried to do.

She looked to the person next to her, who also seemed to be coming out of a spell, and she voiced the first words she had spoken in what had seemed like a hundred years.

"Who are you?"

The man seemed surprised to hear words; nothing was ever spoken in that place unless it was She who spoke. Now the man found that words came easily.

"I'm Terry Boot. Who are you?"

The woman looked at him and laughed, a real laugh full of happiness and joy.

"I'm Lisa," she said. Then she laughed again. "I'm Lisa Potter."

Terry joined her in her laughter. Only one who had experienced what they had, the total loss of self, could see the humor and the delight in the situation. Others joined them, coming from far away to bask in their new-found freedom. They were themselves again, they remembered. Their laughter seemed to fill the entire bleak world. The sun rose, and the grey was bathed in sunlight. Some people danced, others sang, grateful for the ability to speak, and others simply remembered. Lisa was one of the latter.

She remembered her husband. She remembered her children. She remembered her parents, her friends, her life. She remembered her mistakes, her faults, her crimes. She remembered what made her human. She laughed, cried, and screamed, for the sheer joy of having human emotions. She remembered that she was not just Lucretia's slave, she was Lisa.

And boy, was it good to be back.