Rise from the Ashes

Chapter 2: some kind of miracle

Teddy didn't know how long he stayed in that little room. It could have been an hour or even days for all he knew. Time had frozen, reversed, twisted inward on itself and left him reeling and dazed, and he had no idea how to cope or what to do.

It was nature that brought him back to himself when he realised that he badly needed to have a piss. Unwilling to disregard propriety or risk experimentation with vanishing spells in his current state - he was mindful enough to recognise the dangers of accidentally vanishing his bladder along with its contents - he cleaned himself up as best he could with a few spells, waited until the Entrance Hall was clear, and sought out the nearest empty bathroom.

As he stood relieving himself in a stall in the first floor boy's bathroom, he wrinkled his nose at an odour in the air, raised his arm and sniffed. Eugh! He stank something awful. He'd practically sweated through to his robes, and seeing as he didn't have a change of clothes, he was going to need another bath. Cleaning charms were effective on dirt and stains, but they didn't dissipate odours, and he could only do so much at a sink.

It was fairly late in the evening now, and although he couldn't be sure of the exact time, he knew from the events of the day that his watch was fairly close to the local time, give or take an hour. He checked the map again, saw the dots of two students leaving the prefect's bath, and realised with a start that the password had been the same here as it was in his own time. He left the bathroom, taking every shortcut and hidden passageway he could up to the fifth floor corridor.

He stripped off and was in the bath before it was even half full. He knew he couldn't hide here for long, and he wasn't about to march up to the current headmaster--Merlin! That would be Professor Dumbledore! Definitely not!--and announce his presence. He couldn't knock on his father's door either. What would he say? Hi, Dad? I've got a bit of a problem? Mind if I bunk with you for a bit?

Harry was practically a sprog, as were Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Professor Longbottom. He considered finding his 'Uncle' George and was once again shocked by the realisation that George's twin, Fred, would also be here. Again, what would he say to them? He didn't think their fifteen-year-old selves would be very discreet either.

Mucking about with time was a bad thing. Just his presence here could disrupt the future, and interacting with his family could cause a catastrophic paradox, possibly prevent him from being born. He ducked his head under the water to rinse off and swam over to the side. He had to think, had to be logical, and he needed to wash his soiled clothing.

Making sure his pockets were empty, he dunked them one by one into the soapy water, and gave them all a quick scrub. He had only the one set - a robe, jeans, a t-shirt, underpants and one pair of socks - and they were going to have to last unless he could manage to pilfer something else. He was going to have to go back to the Room of Requirement, too. There was no help for it. It was the only place he could hide safely; if it let him in this time.

It took him far too long to dry his clothing, and his jeans were still damp when he put them back on. Checking the map again, he considered detouring to the kitchens, but his stomach was still a bit queasy and he was far too exhausted to care about food. He crept from the bath until he was once again standing before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He was filled with apprehension; he knew he shouldn't be here, knew that every minute he remained was a risk, but what if the room sent him back home? He'd asked to see his father, that was why he was here, and the thought of leaving without having seen more of him than a dot on the map filled him with dread. But he couldn't stand out here all night.

I need a place to hide, a place to sleep, but please - I'm not ready to go back yet. Don't send me back, just give me a warm, quiet place to sleep and to think.

When the door appeared, the room inside held exactly what he'd asked for: a four-poster bed covered in yellow drapery beside a marble-mantled fireplace. It was a small room, but it was warm, the walls flickering orange and yellow with reflected firelight, a plush looking rug on the floor beside, and a small night table which held a tea tray, steam curling lazily from the spout of the teapot.

He stripped off his clothing, laying it carefully at the foot of the bed, ignored the tea and climbed under the blankets and, despite the anxieties of the day, was asleep within minutes.

o...o

The first few days were disorienting. His dreams were full of strange images where nothing made sense, and when he woke, he'd forget where - and when - he was, until he pulled back the hangings and found the unfamiliar room beyond. Then it would all come rushing back to him: his heartbeat intensified, his stomach rumbled with nausea, and he gasped as the air rushed from his lungs, leaving him dizzy.

Upon request, the room provided a place to wash, and a toilet, which was very accommodating, and he thanked it, feeling silly, but still wanting to appear gracious. It could manage tea, but if he wanted food, he was going to have to visit the kitchens: he couldn't very well stroll into the Great Hall and find an empty seat.

The map was a godsend, though he was reluctant to venture too far those first couple of days. Feeling emboldened on his second day, he had decided to walk past his father's classroom on the way back from the kitchens. He'd only just heard his voice when a sense of deep sadness and loss nearly overwhelmed him. He'd stumbled away, tears blinding him, and he'd run, somehow managing to get back to his room where he threw himself onto the bed, curled up into a ball, and cried like a little boy.

He'd berated himself afterward for being an unmanly, snivelling coward, but it turned out to be the catharsis that he'd needed. His fear and paralyzing shock seemed to have flowed out of him amidst the tears, and he felt himself returning to a semblance of normalcy. Well, as normal as one could be when they were stranded out of time.

Another roommate of his, Gordon, who was Muggleborn, had introduced Simon and himself to the joys of the Muggle cinema and telly; in particular, science fiction films and programs, and several of them had featured elements of time travel. Augmented by his own studies, he knew all about paradoxes and the dangers of time travel, and he kept this knowledge forefront in his mind as often as possible.

He'd returned the next day and stood once again outside in the hall, listening, while his father lectured - no, not lectured. Professor Binns lectured. His father taught, interacting with the students, challenging them and drawing them out, his manner easy-going and cheerful. He still felt that wrench of loss deep in his belly, but he did not cry. He listened, closing his eyes when he dared, and letting his father's voice flow over him, drawing strength and courage.

This was what he had asked for, and while he was aware of the old proverb that said "be careful what you wish for", he also wasn't going to let opportunity pass him by. For good or ill, the room had granted his wish, and he wasn't going to waste it. He didn't know how he would get home, but he wasn't quite ready to explore that avenue just yet. He was here, and that's what mattered. No regrets, he promised himself, whatever happens.

o...o

Teddy shivered beneath the blanket strewn about his shoulders, his eyes on the bright glow on the southeastern horizon as the ascending full moon peeked over a low ridge. A thin wash of silver light dusted the stark treetops of the Forbidden Forest, not yet reaching the castle grounds. An owl hooted off in the distance, and there was the sound of soft-feathered wings in response, beating against the chill night air.

Thin wisps of cloud scudded across the sky, partially obscuring Virgo, but Jupiter was easily visible. He turned his gaze skyward, Leo and bright Regulus, Gemini with Castor and Pollux lying on their sides, and Mars, bright red between them. To the west, Orion was setting and Sirius, in the southwest, along with it.

He thought about the other Sirius, somewhere out there in the night, wondering if he, too was looking at the moon, and what he was thinking, remembering. Something screeched in the forest, a sharp, piercing cry, and he thought of the Dementors. He shuddered, huddling into the blanket and turned his attention back to the southeast. He'd have preferred the familiar comfort of the Astronomy Tower to this narrow embrasure off this smaller, disused tower, but the Professor - Sinistra, according to the map - was in the classroom below, so there must be a class scheduled at midnight.

All his life - well, from the time that he was old enough to understand - he'd waited for and watched the full moon rising. It was his own way of paying homage to his father, despite the inherent morbidity and irony. It was the one thing his father hadn't been able to do, not with human eyes, so he did it for him. The curse had not been passed down, but he still felt as if the moon called to him, a mournful dirge that sang of anguish and loss, and so he watched, month after month with solemn eyes, neither friend nor foe.

He'd kept a close eye on the map, waiting for the dot labelled 'Remus Lupin' to make its way to the Whomping Willow and down the narrow passage to Hogsmeade, and had been surprised to see instead that he remained in his office. A bit risky, no matter how many charms were placed on the door and walls, but he knew the potion was more than adequate, even in this time. Severus Snape had been, among other things, an excellent potions master. Or so he'd been told. He had no interest in actually meeting the man.

It was still surreal, being here. The moon and night sky looked exactly the same as it always did, yet somehow everything was different this time. His father was here; he'd seen him, striding down the corridor, clean but threadbare robes swaying about his feet; heard him speak, his voice soft and almost gravelly at times, but not harsh.

He'd been here a few weeks, hiding, slinking about like a criminal, listening at doors, watching from niches, sneaking food from the unquestioning and always-helpful house-elves in the kitchens, biding his time and still hesitant - not quite afraid, but cautious. Maybe too cautious. He avoided anyone he knew, which was silly as there was no possibility of being recognized. He was more worried about slipping up himself, really, calling out a name by mistake, smiling or laughing at the wrong moment, seeming too interested or too familiar.

The moon swelled, round and greyish-white, rising over the last of the high peaks, and he turned his full attention back to it, a familiar face in this strange yet familiar place.

o...o

He liked coming to the library. He could be both visible and invisible here in a way he couldn't anywhere else in the school. The stern librarian - Madame Pince, he'd overheard - obviously brooked no inappropriate behaviour, and would have no qualms evicting anyone, from Headmaster to Head Boy if she felt warranted, so the students generally kept to themselves and their studies. Most of the student body were in classes during the day, so it was easy to hide at his favourite, partially-concealed table behind huge stacks of dusty tomes that probably hadn't been read in over a century.

The students of this era were little different from his own, with the exception of certain hairstyles, musical tastes, and a wary look in their eyes when they happened to glance out a window. The effects of the Dementors couldn't be felt within the stone walls of the castle, not physically anyway, but the mere awareness of their close proximity was enough, coupled with the wildly exaggerated and persistent rumours about Sirius Black's break-in a month ago.

Teddy bit his lip and frowned. He'd skimmed through several recent and back-issues of the Prophet, and it had been strange indeed to know more about the present situation than anyone else. Harry's godfather, who was innocent and searching desperately for the rat, Pettigrew. The temptation to go running to his father, or even to the forest or the Shrieking Shack in search of Black himself was overwhelming at times. Even now he found himself glancing out the window, searching the grounds and the periphery of the forest for a big black dog.

Sirius had died years before Teddy had been born, but Teddy had grown up thinking of the man as family even beyond his blood kinship to his mother and grandmother. It was Sirius' importance to his father and Harry that made him important to Teddy, and fed his helpless frustrations. It would be so easy, he thought. I could save him, I could save them all. It's still early enough, and war hasn't yet come. The temptation was a palpable thing, he could feel it thrumming in his bones, pulsing behind his temples, whispering to him just beyond his range of hearing, awake and asleep.

He glanced at one of the more useful books he'd managed to filch from the restricted section two nights ago - "Time Travel Travesties: tempest in a teapot or tempting fate too far?" - and sighed. He could do nothing, certainly nothing as overt as blatantly changing history. The Muggle theories weren't all that different from wizarding theories, except that wizards had found a way to manipulate the time stream with magic, and had gone beyond theoretical musings into experimental facts. Of a sort. After all, if someone went back in time and did manage to kill their grandfather, ensuring they were never born, how would anyone be able to observe it? Logic demanded that a person in that position would cease to exist immediately.

The book, however, had indicated that it was indeed possible, logic be damned, and there were several accounts written by wizard time travellers themselves, claiming that they remained alive in the past even after disposing of their ancestor. There were further written accounts stating said persons would stay alive as long as they didn't return to the future where they no longer existed.

This made no sense to Teddy, and his mind twisted in circles trying to follow the logic. If a person didn't exist, even in the future, how would he then travel to the past in the first place to commit the murder? And if they didn't immediately pop out of existence, what happened when time eventually caught up to that future on its own? It was a paradox no matter how one viewed it, and even factoring magic into the equation, it still made no sense at all. Not to mention that he simply couldn't imagine anybody doing something so daft on purpose in the first place. The whole thing gave him a headache.

There were a number of passages in the book which emphasised the probabilities of erasing ones own existence, though he was sceptical about the chances of doing so by the act of swatting a single fly or disturbing a single blade of grass or pebble. Still, he watched where he walked and in deference, had refrained from stepping on any insects if he could help it. And he promised himself that he wouldn't kill his parents or his grandparents under any circumstances.

A low chuckle from somewhere nearby pulled him from his musings, and he looked up slowly to see a tall brown-haired boy and a shorter blond sit down at the next table where they were soon joined by two other boys. He watched them as surreptitiously as he could for a short while, and was about to go back to his various musings, when the brown-haired boy pushed back his chair with a scrape, turned and murmured something to the boy next to him. Teddy gasped and froze.

Cedric Diggory turned his head sharply in Teddy's direction and saw him watching. Teddy knew he should look away, look anywhere else, but his body seemed bent on ignoring his thoughts. Seconds ticked by until finally Cedric winked, a crooked grin on his face, then stood up and stretched before walking off towards one of the numerous rows of bookshelves.

Teddy exhaled slowly once their eye contact was broken. He was wearing a different face again today, and once again, nobody had seemed to pay him much mind. In fact, this was the first time he'd allowed himself to make eye contact with anyone. His heart was beating a staccato in his chest, and every crease and crevice on his body was sweating as he continued to watch Cedric until he disappeared down a narrow aisle. He'd seen Cedric's dot on the map that first day, and many days since, and felt a start of surprise every time, but seeing him in person, real, flesh and blood and three-dimensional, was a terrific shock.

In some ways, it was more shocking than seeing either his father or Harry. He'd listened to dozens of his father's classes, standing outside the door, and he'd only seen him very briefly or at a distance. In his mind, Remus Lupin was still something of a mystical figure, and he was still biding his time for an opportunity to have a real conversation with him. The conversation would be easy enough if he posed as a student; it was his inner turmoil that stayed his hand. This was his father, and the thought that their only encounter would be a lie troubled him. He could lie to his friends and teachers when he had to, he could even lie to Harry about small, unimportant things. This was neither small nor unimportant, and he did not want to lie to his father.

Harry was a child here, and nothing like the godfather he knew. He'd watched Harry and his friends on several occasions, but it was with a sense of fond amusement. It was difficult to reconcile child-Harry with his Harry. Time was a barrier, and in this case, a welcome one as it helped him keep his distance and perspective.

Cedric, however, looked very similar to his portrait, though less stiff and formal, and much more at ease. In those few seconds when Cedric had looked right at him, his eyes were alive and friendly, and filled with a liveliness that no amount of artistry and magic could convey on canvas.

He wiped sweaty hands on his robes and quickly looked down when he saw Cedric returning, book in hand. He turned his body slowly to the right, inching his chair closer to the edge of the table, and angling himself towards Cedric's table. He shook his head so his long black fringe fell across his eyes. He could still see clearly through the strands, but anyone watching him wouldn't be able to tell, or so he hoped.

Cedric was whispering animatedly to his friends, flipping through pages and pointing excitedly, his hands moving in an intricate dance as he spoke with expansive gestures, explaining something to do with Itchington's Third Law of Human Transfiguration, which Teddy remembered from his O.W.L. exams almost two years earlier.

He rested his chin on his fist and stared at Cedric's hands, so expressive, long fingers giving shape and emphasis to his words. The portrait's hands were flat and dulled in comparison, paint pigments dulling colour, canvas altering texture, depth a mere expression of the artist's skill, not a true representation of the real boy.

A drop of perspiration was angling its way along Cedric's hairline, and he watched, fascinated, as it moved, sliding along his lightly-stubbled cheek, beading along his jaw before Cedric's hand carelessly swiped at it, too engrossed in conversation to pay it more mind. Cedric's portrait didn't--couldn't--sweat and always appeared clean-shaven. It was a real life tale of Pinocchio.

It was warm in the library, and he squirmed in his seat, feeling at once exhilarated and uncomfortable, and wishing he'd worn his jeans under his robes today. He looked at his watch and realised that he needed to leave. He'd been here for nearly an hour and a half, and he couldn't afford to attract too much attention. He'd have to find a bathroom or cupboard, or even an unused classroom, and change his appearance again. Quietly gathering his books together, he reluctantly stood up and walked away just as another boy, handsome and fit, and wearing a Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain's badge, called out to Cedric.

"Oi! Diggory! A word with you."

Teddy turned towards the exit and saw Madame Pince striding towards him, a steely expression on her face. He ducked out of her way, quickly exiting the library to escape her tirade.

"Out! Mr Davies! You too, Mr Diggory! I'm surprised at you! This is not--"

Teddy grinned as the doors closed behind him.