A Romance in Time

Chapter two

The Appointment

That day was one of the longest days that Harry had in Hogwarts. His first class was Double Potions (as usual, with the Slytherins), once again taught by Slughorn. This meant two lessons of hell and boredom. As usual, the three of them (Ron, Hermione and Harry) were sitting next to each other. And as usual, Hermione answered all of the questions, which made the Slytherins embarrassed, Slughorn beam, and Ron blush.

"So, Harry, are you going to do anything this afternoon? Because I thought maybe we could play Quidditch a little bit? Since we wouldn't actually be on the team any more so I was thinking it would be good to play for fun and not actually competing." Ron said, as they were leaving for the last lesson of the morning, Charms.

"Ron, I don't think that you know why exactly we are here," Hermione said, trying to hold all her books in one hand, while using her other to fix her bag.

"Of course I know why we're here. We're here to ogle at all the hot girls in our school, since now we're the top dogs," Ron said glibly.

Hermione didn't get the joke.

"God damn it. Not again," Harry mumbled to himself.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! Will you please stop playing around? We are going to be present in the biggest war in the Wizarding world. We do not have any time for 'ogling hot girls' or joking around," Hermione shouted at Ron, as though he just said he was about to kill somebody.

Hermione always yelled at Ron and Harry for not doing their homework or not doing something properly. But since the war started, and since Harry told her that he was the only person that could kill Voldemort, Hermione had started to shout even more, especially at Ron.

"HARRY! WAIT!" Harry heard a person shouting behind him, so he stopped walking and he quickly whirled around. Ron and Hermione argued in the background, ignorant that he had stopped. Harry saw Ginny running toward him, with her bag and some books looking as though if the bag were to rip and the books fall out. As soon as Harry noticed Ginny, he started to rush toward her to her with the potential overwhelming crisis.

"Hey Ginny," Harry greeted as he got to her.

"I was yelling at you for ages, why didn't you turn around?" Ginny said in an annoyed voice. Harry shrank back from her in intimidation.

"Sorry, I was listening to Ron and Hermione's argument," Harry excused.

"They're arguing again?" Ginny asked wryly. "What is it this time?"

"Ron made a stupid joke about girls and Hermione got mad," Harry explained, standing and walking toward the Great Hall for lunch.

"I'm telling you, they love each other... He's always reminding her that he's a player, while she always gets jealous. It's too clear that they're made for each other," Ginny informed Harry. Ever since they got back together, she was always telling him how much Ron and Hermione were 'meant for each other.' At the beginning it was fine to hear, but lately, she began to remind him constantly, which was constantly an irritation.

"Now how do you know that they are meant for each other? What do you know about love? What do you know about how they feel?" Harry exploded. Ginny's theory had finally severed his last nerve.

"Harry, are you feeling all right? Why are you yelling?" Ginny asked, looking confused and slightly hurt.

Harry knew that Ginny hated it when people 'exploded' around her. Well, who actually did like it when people 'exploded' on them?

"I'm sorry Ginny, I'm tired, and I couldn't sleep last night," Harry apologized as they arrived at the Great Hall.

He looked at his watch, and said quickly, "Ginny, I'm sorry, but I really have to go. See you later." He sprinted off in the direction of Mrs. Yoople's office.

"Good luck. Love you!" Ginny called from behind him, while remaining at the entrance of the Great Hall, watching her boyfriend's retreating back.

Mrs. Yoople's room was located in west room of the south side of the fifth floor. This allowed a lot of time for individual thought, which Harry took full advantage of.

What on earth am I going to tell that Yoople person? How am I going to start talking? How am I going to lead to my problem? What if she thinks that the 'Boy Who Lived' is the 'Boy Who's Weird?' Is she going to tell anyone? What is my problem? What could she possibly do about it? I'm seventeen years old and I'm famous for something that I don't even remember. How is it when I ask myself one of my stupid questions, I usually fall asleep? But why is it when I asked myself a REALLY stupid question, I end up going to a psychologist? And why exactly I'm asking myself these questions?

Harry arrived at the right room and it was unusually quiet. Usually in the winter, people liked to hang around there in cold or rainy days, since it was one of the only placed that was not cold. However, since it was September and the sun was still out, no one wanted to be there. They were all lazing beside the lake.

When Harry arrived at the door, he read 'Dr. Yoople' on the plaque, and the door swung open on its own accord with a click.

"Come in, Mr. Potter," a voice came from the opened door. The voice was soft and warm, but yet demanding. It made Harry feel like nothing bad was ever going to happen to him but it didn't made the fears go away.

Harry entered the room. He had never been here before, as it had always been locked and there had been no prior need to enter. It was small but comfortable, with three long windows at the front near the entrance. The furniture was light and brownish. The windows allowed the light to flood the room, so it was very bright. The room had many colorful pictures lining the wall which didn't really seem to show any particular picture. Hermione told him once that these paintings were called abstract paintings.

"Come, sit down, dear," the woman said, who was sitting on an armchair behind the desk. Harry sat on a smaller chair in front of the desk very nervously. He was jumpy, as if someone was holding a gun to his head. "There is no need to be anxious. I can see this is the first time you've talked to someone like me," she continued.

Harry nodded.

"Mr. Potter, there are a couple of things that you need to know. The first is that whatever you say in this room does not walk out that door. The second is if you won't talk to me, I am of no help to you. The third thing is to talk to me like you are talking to one of your friends, or the Daily Prophet, in your case," Dr. Yoople said monotonously. Harry hated when people reminded him that he was famous.

"Er--" Once again, Harry hadn't the slightest idea what to say.

"You know Mr. Potter; you are exactly like your father--" Mrs. Yoople began, but stopped.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I look exactly like my father, except my eyes, which are my mother's," Harry cut in with a rather bored tone.

"That's not what I was going to say. However, now that you mention it, I can see what you're talking about," Mrs. Yoople said, standing.

Harry was baffled. Usually when people told him that he was like his father, they meant that he looked exactly like him.

If she didn't mean that I look like him, then what on earth does she mean?

When Mrs. Yoople stood, Harry was able to see her whole body. She was old, and her medium size body showed it. She wore a light brown jacket and black slacks. On her white hair, a red hat rested on her head.

"I was just wondering, how do you know my parents?" Harry inquired, still confused.

Mrs. Yoople let out a laugh, shaking her head as she straightened her hat. She went to the bookcase on the right side of the room and said, while seeming to search for something, "Mr. Potter, I can see that you haven't heart much about your parent's history." She found the book that she was looking for and brought it back to her chair, continuing, "Right now, it's not important how I know your parents. The only thing that is important at this moment is you, and the reason you're here."

Mrs. Yoople opened the book and began to scrawl notes in the blank pages.

Harry tried to glance at what Mrs Yoople was writing, but she quickly noticed and covered her hands over the script.

Harry hurried to say something. "Well, actually the reason that I'm here is..." Harry didn't know how to tell her. How can I tell her the real reason? Surely she'll laugh.

"You can tell me everything, I won't laugh at you," Mrs. Yoople said, still keeping the book hidden from Harry yet looking at him.

Why did she tell me that? Can she read minds? Harry thought. Mrs. Yoople just smiled at him. There was an awkward silence.

"Well you know how I never grew up with people who love me?" Harry said uncomfortably, after a couple of minutes of silence.

Mrs. Yoople nodded with a smile. "Well, your Parents loved you a lot"

"But they died. I mean, I never actually experienced their loved and remember it. So, Well, I was just wondering maybe..." Harry trailed off, not knowing how to tell her.

"Maybe you don't know what love is?" Mrs. Yoople interrupted him, her voice sounding unsurprised.

Harry was surprised. How did she know what I was going to say? "Yeah," he agreed, nodding. "How did you know?"

"Never mind that. I'm aware that you have a girlfriend. And I'm guessing that you haven't exactly expressed this to her."

Harry nodded. Mrs. Yoople got up again, and went to a small cupboard on the left side of the room. The cupboard was very unusual; it was built with dark-coloured old wood. The cupboard looked ancient and it had about six pairs of doors. A pair of the doors was at the top of the cupboard, devoid of decoration. It was clear whoever built the cabinet did not care about how it looked. The middle part of the cupboard was divided into four pairs of thin doors. Each pair had different patterns imprinted on it: the first pair had an imprint of birds on it, the second pair of doors had flowers on it, the third pair had butterflies, and the fourth pair had the most unusual print: skeletons. The last part of the cupboard, at the bottom, was the smallest part, and it had all the patterns that were adorned the middle doors of the cupboard.

Mrs. Yoople went to the bottom part of the cupboard and opened it. Harry appraised the cupboard for all its alien strangeness. When Mrs. Yoople closed the small cupboard door, she was carrying a bowl and a bag, which sounded as though there was something made of glass in it. Harry was baffled and nervous.

I know that she can read minds, but what is she going to do to me with these things?

"Mrs. Yoople, I don't know what you are doing now, but I though you were a psychologist," Harry said with a very confused voice.

"Mr. Potter, you told me that you don't know what love is. So I am going to teach you. Now the best way of teaching something to someone is by exemplifying it. Of course, if you don't like the idea of me showing you what love is, I can always send you back where you came from, so you could find your own example," she explained coolly, while taking the bottles that were in the bag and pouring them all into the bowl.

Harry simply nodded and watched as Mrs. Yoople mixed all the liquids that were in the bottles.

She's very spry for her age. Who knew that a person who looks like she could be over a hundred years old could mix things so quickly.

While Mrs. Yoople was busy mixing the bottles, Harry took one of the empty bottles and read what was written on it:

The First Kiss

Then he took another empty bottle, which read:

Mixed With Flowers

Harry was very confused. Before he looked at another bottle, Mrs. Yoople said without looking at him, "If you will read more, it will only perplex you further."

How did she know that I was reading? She had her back to me. What is she? What were in the bottles? And how do the two titles that were on the bottle connect with each other?

"So this is how it's going to work..."

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