Tempus, Chapter Ten

[ravenna_c_tan]

Title:Tempus, Chapter Ten
Author: Ravenna C. Tan ravenna_c_tan
House: Ravenclaw
Word Count: 4770 (just this chapter)
Written For: The "Old Cliches, New Tricks" Fest at hp_cliche
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, specifically homosexual sex acts, corporal punishment, and Slytherins being Slytherins.
Pairing:H/D
Beta Reader Thanks To: miraba
Cliche: Time-travel, but that isn't Snarry.
Disclaimer: Harry, Draco, Hogwarts, and the rest all belong to JK Rowling. I'm just having fun, doing it for the love, not any money.
Summary: Students at Hogwarts have always been warned about corridors that appear and disappear. Did you ever wonder where they go? Or when? Harry thinks he is late to his seventh year potions class, but he turns out to be more than seventy years early.

Previous Chapters are right here



Thursday morning, Harry opened the door to the bedroom and nearly tripped over a pile of small packages there, then nearly fell as Draco ran into him.

"Ah, here you go, Potter," Draco said, helping Harry to bring the gifts in. "From your admirers."

"Admirers?"

"Yes. It's your first match as a Slytherin on Saturday, remember?"

"Oh." Harry had never received gifts from Gryffindors for playing Quidditch, and he felt fairly sure that if he ever did, it would have been after a match--a winning match--not before. Did the Slytherins in his day do this? He didn't know.

"Well, come on, take a look. If any of them have cards you'll want to know who to nod to in the Great Hall or in class today." Draco settled into a chair. "Let's skip breakfast so you can have a look at all these."

"Er, right. Not all of us are accustomed to being treated like royalty, you know," Harry said with a smile.

"Naturally," Draco said, setting a few of the packages upright.

Harry began unwrapping the packages. The first few were all sweets of various kinds, none with cards. One was a velvet-lined box which contained four chocolates formed in the shape of the Snitch, dusted with gold. When Harry picked one out of the box to get a better look at it, two tiny, spun sugar wings sprouted and the sweet fluttered into the air, hovering in front of his face.

"Open your mouth," Draco said.

Harry did, and the little snitch flew onto Harry's tongue and settled. Harry bit down on it to find it was filled with something liquidy and tart. "That's brilliant," he said, after swallowing. He offered the box to Malfoy, who declined, so Harry put the lid back on the box to save the rest for later.

Next was something in a beautifully faceted crystal bottle, which did have a card explaining it was for post-match sore muscles. "It's from Whittington," Harry said, handing the card to Draco.

"She's not very subtle, is she?" Draco looked at Harry over the top of the card.

"What do you ... oh, you think she wants to be the one to, um, rub me down with it?"

Draco merely arched an eyebrow.

Harry picked up the last of the packages, the largest, about the size of one of his shoes, wrapped in green silk and tied with an ornate bow. He slid the knot out of the bow and the silk slid flat on the table--perhaps it was charmed to do so--revealing a pair of fingerless gloves in black with a stripe of green trim at the wrist. Harry picked them up. The hide was supple to the touch, the palms subtly padded without being bulky, and they fit his hands perfectly as he slipped them on. Harry looked for a card, but did not find one.

"Who could have sent these?" he wondered aloud. "It feels sort of like leather, but..."

Draco ran his fingers over Harry's gloved palm. "Bicorn hide, maybe," he said, then examined the ribbon, the cloth. "Hmmm." He snapped the cloth as if shaking dust from it then, and a glittering script appeared.

"'Welcome to our house,'" Draco read aloud. "'G.L.' They're from LeStrange, Harry." He turned the cloth so Harry could see it, just as the glittering words faded. "So, Whittington, and LeStrange."

"What am I going to say to Heather?"

"It's probably best if you acknowledge her in a hallway, when one of you is going one way and the other, the other. But since you're incredibly good at seeming oblivious, if you have to speak, 'thank you' is probably plenty. If she presses the issue, well..." Draco winced, as Harry punched him in the upper arm. "Fine! Deal with her on your own!" But he laughed and then levitated all Harry's gifts from the table to Harry's bed with one fluid waft of his wand. "Now, let's eat."

Harry still did not know if Draco had a secret arrangement with the house elves, or if in-room service was something one could arrange with enough money or influence, but he didn't much care when croissants still hot from the oven, crocks of fresh butter, and soft-boiled eggs appeared on the table.

He didn't see Heather until lunch in the Great Hall, and he tried Draco's suggestion that he nod to her. She was across the table and several seats over, which Harry felt was a safe distance. He caught her eye, gave her what he considered his best Queen of England nod, and was somewhat taken aback when in return she winked and gave him an anticipatory, knowing smile. Jeez, Harry thought. I didn't even speak to her and I gave her the wrong idea. Bloody Slytherins.

But the bloody Slytherins were making him feel like king of the world, wishing him luck, wearing ribbons with his name on them (as well as those of the other players), and pouring his pumpkin juice for him. He hadn't even played yet, but they made him feel confident, accomplished, like he was the best. Deep down he knew that if he failed, they would treat him quite differently, but Harry had never been one to fear failure. A part of him wondered, would the strategies be different enough in 1926 that he might make a fatal mistake? Doubtful. Something to think about, but not fret over.

If Harry fretted about anything, it was that tonight would be his detention with the headmaster. If I could survive Occlumency lessons with Snape and the blood quill with Umbridge, surely I can survive this, he thought. He was due at Black's office at 7pm sharp. With the six o'clock dinner hour, Harry figured he had plenty of time to eat and get to the spiral staircase that lead to the headmaster's office. At 6:45, he was picking up his book bag and preparing to say goodbye to Draco, when he saw Whittington striding toward them from the front of the room.

"Oh, no, not tonight," he said under his breath, but Draco made no sign if he heard him.

"LeStrange wants to see you," she said, predictably, to Draco, as she passed.

Draco flicked a glance at Harry. "You had better go to your detention, Potter," he said, standing up.

"But ..."

Draco shot him a warning glance. There was no time to talk about it, no time to argue. He strode off toward the doors of the hall, and Harry, a few moments later followed. Draco was just reaching the stairs down as Harry came into the entrance hall, turning reluctantly toward the stairs up and the headmaster's office.

When he reached Black's office, he was, to say the least, surprised that the first thing Phineas Nigellus Black did was invite him to sit in a wing-backed chair in his office. Harry even did a double take as the man offered him something from the candy dish--though it looked like all he had were tiny pills of black licorice, proving that he was by no means Dumbledore in disguise. Harry declined, feeling a pang as he thought about the headmaster he had known best.

"A little business first, Mr. Potter," Black said, taking his seat behind his desk and pausing to clear his throat noisily. "I had a message from the Ministry today."

"Yes, sir?" Harry felt a surge of conflicting emotions. If only there were a way for the Ministry to send him back before he had to serve this detention... but then he would miss Quidditch.

And Draco.

"They are still working on your problem, and they wanted me to tell you that an official will be visiting here on Tuesday next to renew the geas. Apparently the spell tends to fade over time, so they will be sending someone to bolster it." Black popped a licorice into his mouth and pursed his lips as though he disliked the flavor as well.

"I haven't noticed it diminishing, sir," Harry said.

"You've been testing it?" Black exclaimed. "Trying to defy it against all logic and good sense? I knew from the moment I saw you, Potter, that you would be a troublemaker--and it would seem I was right."

"No, sir," Harry sputtered. "I haven't been trying at all. It just sometimes activates..."

"Silence your drivel! It is clear to me, Mr. Potter, that you need to learn a lesson."

Not the newt in the mouth, Harry silently pleaded, as Black picked up his wand and stalked around the desk.

"Mr. Potter. It would seem that tonight we had best work on your obedience. You will follow my instructions to the letter, or you will suffer the consequences."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, frozen in his chair.

"Now, follow me. We'll Floo to the Room of Correction. Leave your bag here." He held out the tin of floo powder and scrutinized Harry as he took a handful and stepped to the fireplace. "Room of Correction," Black prompted, with rather more relish in his voice than Harry would have liked to hear.

Harry found himself stumbling out of the hearth into a pitch black room. He felt for his wand in his robes, but then the headmaster followed and a dozen torches in sconces flared to life as he stepped into the room.

It was a square room about the size of a classroom, entirely dungeon stone with no windows, and as far as Harry could tell, no doors either. Two walls were lined with dark wooden shelves and cabinets, and in the middle of the floor he could see what looked like various medieval torture devices, including a rack and an Iron Maiden.

They're there for show, Harry told himself. They're there to freak you out. He can't be serious...

"Mr. Potter. If you would kindly stand over here." Black indicated a black stretch of wall between two sconces. Harry swallowed when he saw there were actually two manacles hanging from chains driven into the stone. But they remained still and Harry merely stood, about a foot from the wall, facing Black.

"Now, if you would, hold your hands out at your sides, arms straight. Turn your palms down, please."

Harry reached out his arms.

"Hold that pose, please," said Black. "You are not to move until I say so. Now, I am sure you would like to know what the penalty for failure is."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying not to grit his teeth.

"I would like to think that Slytherins in particular would be sensitive to the exigencies which make necessary the structure under which our system of discipline must operate," Black intoned, his wand held behind his back in his habitual lecturing pose. "For the first infraction tonight, you will receive ten lashes to the back of your hand. The second, when it comes, will be ten strokes across the inside of your thigh."

Harry felt himself blush and hoped that he was already red enough from anger that it didn't show or that the torchlight hid it.

"The third infraction--and you must understand that if it comes to that point your penalty must be exponentially increased--let's see, hmmm. What could be suitable?" He pursed his lips as if thinking long and hard, yet Harry was sure he had decided well in advance what the penalties would be. "Ah yes, I have it. You shall be barred from Quidditch for a month."

Harry twitched, but held his composure. This threat, unlike the Iron Maiden, was wholly believable.

"Yes, Potter," Black said, his voice dropping to a vicious growl. "I know you've got a tough hide. Who knows, you might even enjoy a little switching."

Harry swallowed, trying hard to keep his facial expression impassive. Could the Headmaster know about Draco spanking him?

"Yes, I know what you're thinking," the headmaster said, but Harry relaxed slightly when it was clear he didn't actually know what Harry was thinking when he said, "You're thinking that I really know how to hurt you. Missing Quidditch will be much more painful than a mere switching, won't it?"

He talks like I've already lost, like he knows I'm going to Harry thought. He told himself that was part of the mind game, though. Of course it was. His arms were beginning to get tired and he wondered what Black was going to order him to do.

Black watched him for several long moments. "Very well." He then took what looked like two marbles from the interior pocket of his robes, set one on the back of Harry's right hand, in the hollow between the knuckle of his index finger and second finger, then did the same with the left. "I'll know when you drop one of those. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some other matters to attend to." With that, Black returned to the floo and left.

So this was the test. He had ordered Harry not to move and it was up to Harry to obey. Harry's arms were already feeling tired, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as an ache began to build. What little Harry had learned in Black's class mostly had to do with the way a wizard's will shaped and projected his magic. And this was a battle of wills.

Only this was a battle between Harry's will and himself. Was it possible for him to reach a point where physically he actually could not hold his arms up any longer? He supposed after a few days he would have to collapse from hunger or lack of sleep, but the detention was to last only the evening. How many hours could he hold his arms up before the muscles would fail?

After twenty minutes he began to appreciate how devious Black was. The pain in his shoulders was starting to spread down his arms toward his elbows. The longer he stood that way, the worse it was going to get. The longer Harry held out, the more he would suffer. And yet, if he let a ball drop, he would suffer, too, but in a different way.

Harry clenched his jaw. The worst suffering of all would be confirming for Black that he was right, that Harry would certainly give in. He's going to make me suffer no matter what, Harry thought. If I pass this test, win this round, he'll just come up with something else, won't he?

But that's no reason to give in, he argued with himself. He flexed his shoulders slightly, keeping his hands perfectly still but moving one shoulder forward, then the other. His nerves were screaming now and he knew not even an hour had gone by.

He tried to distract himself by thinking about other things. What was Draco doing right now? He suppressed a shudder. Would Draco return in the wee hours, his brain addled again? Harry felt his anger rising. He should be there for Draco. Suspicion nagged at him. Did the Headmaster know something? No, of course not. He had assigned this detention days ago, and Draco only just got the summons tonight...

What if he and Regulus Black really were meeting clandestinely, and Black was removing Draco's memories to protect him, as Draco supposed? Did it even make sense for Harry to interfere with that? Was Regulus Black in love with Draco Malfoy?

Harry suddenly swallowed. And if he was? What was Harry? He pressed his eyes closed, grimacing against the pain in his arms, emitting a wordless sound of frustration. His arms shook, but the balls did not fall, and Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Think about something else! He thought about Hogwarts: A History, which was in his bag upstairs in the headmaster's office. If only he could be reading it right now. What secrets of Hogwarts Castle might it tell him that might explain his situation? And even if it didn't, it would be better than standing here in agony because the headmaster wanted to be a right prick.

Think it through, Harry, he said to himself, and the thought sounded even in his mind a little like Hermione's voice. He had been in the corridor outside the potions classroom, the same potions classroom that was still in use in his day as it had been decades, maybe centuries earlier. He was sure Crabbe hadn't done anything but shove him. There was no feeling of a spell or hex, and Crabbe wasn't likely to be subtle anyway. There had been that painting, a painting with no one in it.

Harry straightened slightly. Was that painting there now? He hadn't noticed and he hadn't ever gone to check. In fact, was that alcove even there now? He hadn't been down that hallway since being changed from Potions to Theory of Magic, and it occurred to him now how stupid he had been not to have looked.

Hogwarts: A History mentioned there were some corridors that appeared and disappeared, but Harry had been under the impression that most of those were not in areas that students frequented. Otherwise you'd have students going missing all the time. The only student he knew who did in his time had been Montague, into the vanishing cabinet.

The cabinet that Draco--the other Draco--had used to allow the Death Eaters into the school. That thought sent Harry on a spiraling stream of consciousness, about Dumbledore, the Horcruxes, Snape, and back to Malfoy. Where was he now? Harry supposed that Snape and he were with Voldemort, terrorizing Muggles, brewing poisons, wreaking general havoc...

The pain was shooting down his sides, now. He wished he knew how much time had passed. He wondered if, when the time came, he could kill Snape. Well, to get that chance, he would need to return to his own time, and get on with it. Harry resolved to go and have a look at the corridor outside the potions classroom as soon as he could. If the painting were a portrait, he might even be able to ask the occupant of the frame about things.

Now that he had decided on an action, the time spent standing perfectly still was even more agonizing. Harry guessed that about two hours had gone by, and he was beginning to sweat, his arms starting to tremble of their own accord. He moved his shoulders again, then tensed and relaxed the muscles in his arms, over and over, to get some circulation going.

Black was never coming back. He was going to leave Harry there to rot forever.

Harry shook his head. Where did that thought come from? He looked at the small glass balls. Were they spelled to make him despair, too? Or was it just that the pain was getting so bad, it was starting to become difficult to think straight?

Battle of wills, Harry reminded himself. And if there was one thing he always was, it was strong-willed. His recent feats of wandless magic proved that.

Wandless magic... Harry knew wizards could not fly, not without broomsticks or another charmed object like a carpet, but they could levitate up to about five feet off the ground. He'd learned that not from Black's textbook but from "Quidditch Through the Ages." Still, applying a little Theory of Magic... could he levitate his arms, without his wand and without overdoing it so that he floated upward, just enough to relieve the pressure? Black had just said not to move, he didn't say not to use magic. Would wingardium leviosa work? Harry wondered. That charm seemed more aimed at objects than at one's own self. What about levitating the marbles and letting his arms down? No, he might move the marbles too much, and it pleased him to think he might be able to beat Black at his own game--if he could magically levitate his arms, technically he would still be following the instructions not to move.

Now if only he could figure out a way to do it. Harry wracked his brain. He had read half the Theory of Magic text now, and knew, in principle, that he should be able to create a suitable incantation. Was there a common word used in spells aimed at a wizard's own self? Ipsum, that certainly came up a lot. And ego, too, but ipsum seemed the more common... Would ipsum leviosa work? Leviosa ipsum? And why were spells in Latin anyway? He remembered Tonks once packing his trunk, albeit haphazardly, with the simple command "pack!" Thinking over how mangled the results had been gave him reservations about trying something in English now.

So, Latin. If ipsum leviosa would levitate him, what would it take just to levitate his arms? How the hell did you say arms in Latin? Hermione probably knew. He wracked his brains once more. Well, hand was something like manu or mano, right? Like manual labor.

So, ipsum manus leviosa. He licked his lips, and said aloud "Here goes nothing." He closed his eyes and concentrated on the weight and length of his arms, making the pain worse. "Ipsum manus leviosa," he intoned, then snapped his eyes open.

It worked. It actually worked. He found himself breathing hard, both from the effort of making the spell work and the fact that his chest muscles were suddenly free to move. His arms were weightless, yet he could hold them still, the glass balls never moving appreciably.

Harry barked out a laugh. In Black's detention he had probably just learned more about Theory of Magic than he ever had before. He wondered if he could do it without an incantation next time. It made sense, didn't it? Everyone Apparated without speaking an incantation, wasn't this similar? The difference was that Apparition was a singular event, you did it and then it was over. This was a charm that required him to keep some attention on it, a little bit of his concentration, all the while. Then again, so did holding still.

Now if only he could scratch his nose. But try as he might, Harry could not construct an itch-banishing spell.

He ran through Quidditch strategies in his head, tried to remember the name of every Slytherin seventh year (and failed), and composed a letter to Hermione in his head. He didn't know how much longer he stood there, but when he heard the whoosh of the floo, he muttered a quick finite incantatum and his arms were suddenly as heavy as lead. The trembling and pain returned instantly, and he yawned to make his eyes water a little, to make his suffering look worse.

Black strode over from the hearth, brushing soot from his robes. He stared at Harry for long moments, while Harry stared back. "You must be in considerable pain, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, which was the truth.

"You will not be impertinent in my class any longer."

"No, sir."

"You will act with all propriety as a product of Hogwarts and a shining example to all Wizarding Britain."

"Yes, sir."

Black plucked the two glass balls from Harry's hands and thrust them into his pocket. His eyes were drawn suspiciously, but he said grudgingly, "You may lower your arms."

"Thank you, sir," Harry added, for propriety's sake, and then lowered his arms. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming. He hadn't been expecting that to hurt, but apparently Black had, as his eyes twinkled with malice.

"Come along, Mr. Potter. It is nearly midnight and it would not do for you to be caught in the corridors, for I am not the only one with the authority to use this room."

Back in the headmaster's office, Harry found he could barely lift his bag of books. He managed to get it slung over his shoulder, but the muscles in his arms screamed in protest. He was sure he could hear actual creaking from his bones and tendons. Once outside the office, he went as quickly as he could to the dungeons.

As he descended the stairs, the urge to pull out his Invisibility Cloak and examine the corridor by the potions classroom was very strong. But it would be dark and the headmaster was right, it wouldn't do to be caught sneaking about. That and Harry was anxious to see if Draco had returned.

As he neared the stretch of corridor that was the Slytherin entrance, he saw a figure huddled in robes against the wall. At first he thought it must be Draco, but as he drew closer he saw he was wrong. It was Anisette Fogg.

"Are you all right?"

The girl startled; she had been asleep. "Oh, Harry!" She rubbed her eyes. "I don't know what's wrong! I can’t get the door to open."

"What? That can't be right." Harry tried the password himself, then took a step forward. The stone wall remained a stone wall, and it hurt a little where he bumped his shoulder against it. He tried to raise his arm to take his wand out of his robe pocket, then groaned. He took a deep breath, then tried again, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Lumos."

They were definitely in the correct section of the corridor, and Harry had a sudden worry that maybe the whole Slytherin dormitory had disappeared into another time the way that he had. But that seemed ridiculous.

"What should we do?" Anisette squeaked. "We can't stay out here all night."

Harry thought it over. The correct person to see would be LeStrange, of course. His office and quarters were nearest, and he was their Head of House... But would they get Draco into trouble if he were discovered there?

Harry was standing there, trying to decide whether to try LeStrange or not, when he heard footsteps echoing off the stone. Well, if it was a teacher making night rounds, they could hardly be blamed for being locked out of their dormitory. Harry, after all, had a firm alibi, assuming the headmaster wouldn't lie about such a thing.

But it wasn't a teacher. It was Draco, plodding along with heavy footfalls and sometimes reaching out to steady himself against the stone walls.

"Draco!" Harry rushed to him as he looked on the verge of collapse.

"Oh, hello Harry," Draco said, a vapid smile on his face. "Oh, and Anisette." His smile got forcibly wider.

Anisette hovered nearby, and Harry could not tell what she thought.

"Er, he's drunk," Harry said. He wanted to sling one of Draco's arms over his shoulders, but he wasn't sure his own arms would let him do that without one of them breaking off. He managed to get his shoulder into Draco's armpit and Draco draped his arm across Harry's shoulders of his own accord. Harry crossed his arm over his chest to hold Draco's hand in place, and they hobbled toward the doorway.

But when they got there, the password still wasn't working. Harry tried it again, and Anisette, too. They looked at each other and shrugged.

"What's wrong?" Draco said, trying to stand on his feet. "Did the password change?"

"We don’t know," Harry said.

"Let me try it." Draco leaned a hand against the wall and spoke the incantation. He fell forward suddenly as the doorway appeared. "Well, it worked that time." He stumbled through.

Harry and Anisette exchanged glances, again, but the mystery would have to wait until morning. He held out a hand to let her go first through the charmed doorway, and then after a last look down the corridor just to see what could be seen, he stepped through himself.


Continue to Chapter Eleven