Grindelwald

Chapter One: Mishaps and Mayhem

"Today," Snape proclaimed over the heads of the fifth year Hogwarts students, "we shall be concocting a new potion, which owing to its extremely complicated and intricate procedure, is liable to result in a display of ineptitude surpassing even your typically abysmal performance."

At this, he sneered down his long hooked nose at his three most detested Gryffindor students, seated in the second row. Harry Potter shot a dark glance at Hermione, who was looking particularly apprehensive at this announcement, despite the fact that she had never failed to produce a satisfactory potion in Snape's class (much to Snape's disappointment).

It was the start of the term, and their first three-hour Double Potions class every Friday afternoon. Harry often wondered darkly whether Snape engineered their schedules every year to make sure that they shared the class with the Slytherins; whenever he was too busy to bait Harry properly he could always rely on Malfoy to take over for him.

Snape was looking even sourer than usual lately. The frown-lines on either side of his nose had deepened and his hair-if possible-looked even greasier than before, as though he never had the time or the inclination to take a bath. He'd also taken to wearing a bandage wrapped around his left forearm covering the Dark Mark branded into his skin, though sometimes he paused and clutched at it, grimacing. Harry supposed it burned the way his scar did. Snape appeared perpetually exhausted ever since the night of the Triwizard Tournament, and this definitely did not improve his temperament.

"Its effects are similar to that of the Draught of Living Death, the constituents and purpose of which should be familiar to you by this time. Weasley!"

Ron started, his head slipping out of his hand; he'd been falling asleep.

"What is the Draught of Living Death?"

Harry thought, for once, that it was a pity Snape hadn't decided to call on him, he still remembered being drilled about that particular concoction during his first ever Potions class.

"Er..." Ron's eyes flicked frantically over at Hermione, who had sneaked her wand under the table. A long blue ribbon snaked out from the tip and looped to form words against the floor in Hermione's neat script: A powerful sleeping potion, the basic constituents of which are an infusion of asphodel...

"... and powdered wormwood," Ron finished, his eyes lowered respectfully; Harry could see he was actually reading the ribbon-words Hermione had scribbled out of the corner of his eye. In order to help Neville escape some of his routine humiliation in Double Potions, she had worked out a coaching system, which Harry and Ron also made frequent use of. Hermione hadn't been too pleased about their wanting in on the arrangement, but Ron had reasoned that it saved Gryffindor from undeservedly losing a huge amount of house points.

"Very well," Snape snapped, looking extremely put out at Ron's ability to answer the question. Ron gave Hermione's wand hand a grateful squeeze. It was a good thing, Harry realized, that Draco was in the front row; if he'd been sitting behind them and noticed what was going on, they would have spent the week toothbrushing toilets in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"The Mortuusera has the same basic ingredients as the Draught, wormwood and asphodel, although with alterations to their preparation as well as other additional components. Also, it does not need to be imbibed, even the mere application on the skin will suffice," Snape continued impatiently.

"But, unlike the Draught, the Mortuusera does not merely cause the victim to fall asleep. The victim is carried to the brink of death, and *left* there.

"The victim is placed in a state of suspended animation, he neither moves nor breathes, and his heart beats only once every ninety seconds. If the potion is made to leave his bloodstream through physical means, then the victim revives. However, if the potion remains in his body for longer than twenty-four hours, the victim will pass from false death into true death and after that, revival is impossible. This makes the production and use of this potion highly dangerous and fit only for the most skilled and advanced of wizards. Which places students such as Longbottom here in great jeopardy for the duration of this class."

Draco sniggered very audibly, and Harry, who was right behind him, longed to chuck a flask at the back of his blond head.

"Break into groups," Snape barked, and the students clattered over to the front table to collect their shares of the rarer ingredients. Piles of dried African toad skins, powdered bear claws and-oddly-chrysanthemums, lay on the table, as well as the sheets of parchment with the specific instructions for the procedure.

"Why would anyone want to make a potion that'll almost kill you?" Ron muttered as he picked up sprigs of nightshade. "Being in Snape's class'll do that any day."

"Well, we've used it before," Hermione said.

Ron looked at her in surprise.

She gave an impatient snort. "Remember, last year? When we were hostages for the second task? Dumbledore met us in McGonagall's office and gave us something to drink, and the next thing I know I'm being dragged out of the lake by-"

"Viktor," Harry supplied cheerily. Ron shot him a dirty look over Hermione's shoulder, which she failed to see.

"I wonder if this serum has been used before, like in Italy or something," Hermione mused. "Maybe it's the same thing the apothecary gave Juliet. You know," she prodded at the blank look on Ron's face. "*Romeo and Juliet*? Shakespeare?"

Ron shrugged and tipped a handful of dried toad skins into Hermione's arms.

"I should've known he'd be absolutely lost about anything remotely romantic," she muttered in exasperation, and headed back to their table. Harry grinned; there was an edge of impatient resignation in her voice that had been there whenever she spoke about Ron ever since their fight at the Yule Ball last year.

~~~~

Well into the third hour of their Potions class, the room had filled with noxious fumes from the cauldrons. Instead of rising to the ceiling, the dark purple smoke crept along the floor like heavy fog and seemed to cling to their shoes and the hems of their robes. If treacle could evaporate, Harry thought in disgust, it'd turn out something like this. The soles of his sneakers stuck to the floor and made ripping sounds whenever he tried to take a step. At their cauldron, Ron and Hermione were quietly sniping over something.

"You promised you'd be there after Divinations, you said you were going to keep me company. You can just sit there and read Martin Miggs comics or something."

"Herm," Ron whined, "the library isn't going to disappear if we stay outside for one afternoon. It's Friday for gods' sakes, we have the whole weekend. Sun shining, wind blowing... I can watch you do your Arithmancy homework tomorrow."

"It's very important that I get this done today, Professor Vector said-"

"Who cares what Professor Vector says?" Ron whispered furiously, in increasing volume. "You're always going on and on about what Professor Vector says, about how fan-fucking- ("Ron!" whispered Hermione, scandalized) -tastic Professor Vector is. Got another crush on a teacher, have you? I'd expected you to get over things like that after Lockhart."

"You have no idea-" Hermione shrilled, then stopped in horror as Snape bore down on them with the air of an executioner.

"Talking in class. Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape purred. "And, as I remember once saying before, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, join Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy, come over here and bring your ingredients with you."

Draco turned, smirking, and lifted his bear claws and narwhal horn over to their table. Ron crawled under the table and emerged next to Malfoy on the other side.

"What's wrong, mudblood?" Draco hissed at Hermione, who was shredding her toad skins crossly and studiously trying to ignore him. "Relying on the Weasel now for a little romance? That's an all-time low, even for you."

He leaned in closer, looked her up and down appraisingly. "If you're that hard up, I might be able to give you a little... satisfaction, since Weasley seems to be utterly incapable of it."

Hermione gasped, but before she could collect enough herself to slap Malfoy--or hex him--Ron, with a furious roar, had picked up the cauldron full of simmering Mortuusera and launched it at Draco, drenching him from head to foot.

Draco wiped the steaming purple liquid and dripping blond hair out of his eyes and spun around fiercely at Ron. But before he could say or do anything, he suddenly stiffened, then paled.

"Professor...?" he croaked. Draco clutched at the table, then crumpled to the floor in a puddle of black robes and purple potion. His hands and face were very white against the stone floor; his eyes were glazed and sightless, and he wasn't breathing.

"Draco!" Pansy Parkinson shrieked.

"WEASLEY! Do you have any idea what you've done?!" Snape screamed, then bent to pick up the still form. "An overdose of Mortuusera can cause immediate death-quickly, get him out of the puddle. And use dragon hide gloves."

Snape pulled out his wand. "Mobilicorpus," he said, and Draco's body lifted out of Crabbe's arms and into the air, the hem of his robes still dripping gently. "Class dismissed, I shall bring Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing, if it's not too late to save him." Snape drifted Malfoy to the door, then turned back at the threshold to glare venomously at Ron, who at the table, stunned.

"I assure you, Weasley, that I will do all that is within my power to ensure that you will be expelled for this."

As soon as Snape had gone, the class exploded into noise. The Slytherins surrounded a hysterical Pansy Parkinson, who was sobbing "Draco! You've killed Draco!" at Ron and fighting tooth and nail to get over and claw him. Even the Gryffindors were horrified at the turn of events. None of them had any reason to be fond of Malfoy, but none of them wanted him dead either.

"Ron," Hermione whispered tremulously, "getting Malfoy killed, or almost killed, you'll be expelled for sure. There's no way out of this."

"Yes there is," Harry said. He grabbed Ron's (he still looked as though he had been hit by a thousand Stunners) and Hermione's hands, then pulled them out of the classroom and ran them down the corridor.

"We have to get to Dumbledore before Snape does."

~~~

The three of them raced up the marble staircase toward the second floor, and down the corridor to the gargoyle that guarded the moving staircase that led to Dumbledore's office. Harry skidded to a halt, then stood, wildly trying to remember all the sweets ever sold at Honeydukes.

"Cockroach Cluster! Fizzing Whizbees! Lemon drop! Sherbet lemon! Drooble's Best Blowing Gum! Blood lollies..."

Behind him, Hermione was trying to make Ron snap out of the paralyzing panic that had engulfed him.

"It'll be all right Ron, once we tell Dumbledore it was an accident... you just lost your head... Malfoy was being a pig... Besides, he's tried to kill us loads of times and he hasn't been kicked out yet..."

"I've killed him," Ron gibbered, tottering unsteadily and paper-white under his shock of red hair. "I've killed him, I've killed him.."

"The Double Chocolate Pistachio Ripple at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour!" Harry yelled. He'd run out of all the usual sweets sold at Hogsmeade and was now naming food from Diagon Alley, no matter how improbable they would have sounded as a password.

"Orange Coconut Swirl! Vanilla Mint Delight! Canary Creams?"

To Harry's amazement and relief, the gargoyle hopped to one side, revealing the moving staircase that wound up to the office.

"C'mon," he said, and the three of them slipped behind the gargoyle and rose up slowly to the polished oak door with the griffin-shaped brass knocker that led to Dumbledore's rooms.

Chapter Two: Apologies and an Accident

The Headmaster's Office was empty.

Hermione, who was slightly less preoccupied than Ron, looked about the room with great interest--Harry was the only one who'd had a chance to see Dumbledore's office before. Fawkes, his gleaming feathers throwing off points of gold light off the walls, greeted them from his perch behind the door with a silvery flute note. Harry went over to pet the glittering phoenix, who nibbled at his fingers affectionately.

"Fawkes, we need to talk to the Professor, do you know where he is?"

Fawkes tipped his head, studying Harry with first one eye then the other--like a goose--then fluttered off his perch, circled the room twice and flapped out of one of the mullioned windows near the ceiling.

"I suppose he's gone to get Dumbledore."

Harry turned to Ron, who had begun to calm down.

"Hermione's right," he said. "Malfoy's tried to do us in a dozen times; remember when he dressed up as a dementor? The important thing's we're here to explain to Dumbledore before Snape blows it all out of proportion. If we plead your case well enough, you'll probably get fifty detentions, but it's better than getting expelled."

Ron gave a sickly grin.

"Look Harry, the Sorting Hat!" Hermione said eagerly, pointing behind the desk, a bit distracted by all the magical artifacts in the office. "And is that a Pensieve in the cabinet?"

She roamed about the room, staring at the portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts, who were snoozing gently against their frames.

Ron's curiosity had faintly overcome his shock and he'd begun looking around the room as well. He ambled over to Dumbledore's desk.

"Harry! Cool, Godric Gryffindor's sword!"

Looking over the glass case, Ron spotted a loop of fine gold chain hanging from the edge of the shelf above him. Ron reached up and tugged at it, catching the silver hourglass that toppled off the shelf with it. He studied curiously it for a moment, then laughed and held it up.

"Hey Hermione, in't this yours?"

Hermione looked over at him from beneath a portrait of Drusilla Wimbletreck (Headmistress, 1234-1327) and smiled in recognition. "It's my old Time Turner," she said fondly, then frowned. "Be careful, if you turn it over, we might leap back to an hour or so before this."

Ron hooked the gold chain around his neck, leaving the hourglass to dangle over his robes. Hermione abandoned her study of former School Heads, walked over to him and picked the Time Turner up off Ron's chest, leaning with her other hand against Dumbledore's desk. "I remember taking about fifty different subjects with this thing a couple of years ago."

Ron cupped the Time Turner and Hermione's hand in his own palms. "I remember, too. You were always so tired then."

Harry covered his mouth to hide the wide, goofy grin that had broken out. Lately Ron had been touching Hermione's hands, shoulders and face a great deal, and not always consciously. If they start going out on dates in Hogsmeade, he wondered, am I supposed to chaperone? Strolling by the lake hand in hand, feeding the giant squid together... then snorted to muffle a laugh.

Ron's eyes lit up, although not entirely from getting to hold Hermione's hand. "Say," he said excitedly, "what if we use this thing to go back in time to the dungeons? Then we can prevent me from throwing the cauldron at Malfoy!"

"No Ron," Hermione said, scandalized, "you can't go around playing with time! You'll probably just make things worse.

"Besides," she added smugly "since you know we didn't see you go into the dungeons and stop you from throwing the cauldron in the first place, we know you're not going to do it."

While Ron and Harry were trying to digest this very ambiguous sentence, they all jumped as the oak door suddenly burst open. Snape stood at the threshold, with Draco Malfoy leaning heavily against his arm. Draco's normally pale skin looked almost blue, and his hand where it clutched at Snape's greasy robes trembled visibly.

"Potter. Weasley," Snape snarled. "What are you doing here? Attempting to assassinate other inhabitants of this school?" He half-led, half-carried Draco over to the high armchair before the claw-footed desk. Draco slipped into the seat, then leant against the backrest. He was breathing heavily, and his hands lay limp in his lap; his eyes were at half-mast although he shot a hate-filled look at Ron. Harry had seen Draco malingering before; he had once faked a terrible arm injury for weeks just to get Hagrid in trouble and to get Harry and Ron to fix his potions ingredients for him. But this terrible lassitude, this weakness, Harry realized, was the real thing. Draco had nearly died.

"The four of you stay here," Snape ordered. "I am going to find Professor Dumbledore. Be very, very glad that Draco has a strong constitution, Weasley. It would be tragic for you to be sent to Azkaban at such a tender age."

Snape slammed the door so hard that it bounced off the frame without the catch locking and swung open again, causing the silver instruments on the spindly tables in the room to vibrate. He stamped down the staircase without bothering to wait for it to convey him downwards automatically. They were silent for several seconds before Hermione managed to speak.

"Malfoy... what happened? Why aren't you at the hospital wing?"

Draco's eyes, which had closed when Snape left, half-opened slowly, looking at Hermione with deep disgust. "I was," he said slowly. "Pomfrey and Professor Snape had to get the Mortuusera out of my bloodstream, so they-" his eyelids flickered for a moment. "They cut my wrists open, then Pomfrey magicked all my blood out of one vein, filtered out the Mortuusera, then pumped it into my other wrist. That's what Snape told me. Then, I came to."

Draco rolled his hands lying in his lap to show his wrists; huge, livid gashes throbbed out against the pale skin.

"Malfoy," Ron began hesitantly, clutching the Time Turner nervously between his palms, "I really, really hate you and I think you're a slimy git, but I never meant to try and kill you. I, I didn't mean it." His face flooded with color.

Draco lifted his hands onto the armrests of the chair and pushed himself upward, grimacing. When he had managed to stand upright, he looked Ron squarely in the eye.

"What a touching apology," he sneered. "One would almost think you meant it. Your thespian skills are astonishing, Weasley, but I assure you they won't prevent my father from doing everything in his power to squeeze every last compensatory Knut from your impoverished family."

"I hardly think it's a good idea for you to go talking about your father, Malfoy," Ron said heatedly, his temper getting the better of his guilt. "Death Eaters haven't been very popular lately, or don't you know there's a war on? I'm surprised they let you back on the train to school, they should've handed you over to the Aurors as soon as they caught sight of your slimy little face."

"Fuck you," Draco spat and raised his arm to backhand Ron.

Harry reached over the desk to knock Draco's arm out of the way, which only succeeded in spoiling his aim and made him hit the hourglass in Ron's hands instead. The chain snapped--he heard Hermione cry "No!"--and the Time Turner hit the floor and rolled over the stone towards...

"The stairs!" Harry yelled; he scrambled over the desk and leapt after the hourglass. If the Time Turner fell down the stairs in just the wrong way, there was no telling what would happen.

Harry chased the rolling hourglass, trying to catch it like a Snitch at a Quidditch match; but this was no Snitch and he didn't have his Firebolt. At the door, the Time Turner knocked against the doorframe and balanced upright on the edge of the topmost step for a fraction of a second.

Then the magic of the stairs kicked in and the staircase started spiraling downward. The Time Turner toppled off-balance and clattered, end over end, down the stairs.

Harry, still running after it, was just in time to see the Time Turner disappear behind the bend in the spiral staircase. As the others skidded to a stop behind him (Draco clutching at his chest and heaving) Harry, sick with horror, heard the unmistakable crash of the Time Turner smashing against the back of the wall behind the gargoyle.

"Oh no," Hermione cried, then a wave of hot blue light and golden sand rushed up the staircase and into the room, and the world shivered. Harry felt like he was flying backward at blinding speed, the room rushed away from him. He heard Hermione's scream and Ron's gasp; Draco rammed into him, then everything came to a screeching halt.