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Childish Things by artchick
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Childish Things

artchick

Chapter 22

The Power of the Spell

It was a week after the attack and things had slowed down to normal. They still hadn't found a spell to send them back. Hermione had forced Harry to actually read some of his Magic Design text and he was beginning to believe his eyeballs could really just roll up into his skull in boredom. The writing was dry and difficult and he felt he had read the same words over and over again. Hermione was working diligently on her Healing essay. She had titled it, "Why Healing Never Works on Muggles, and the effects of conventional Muggle Medicine on Wizards". Apparently she had put forth the concept of Wizard Magic interfering with Muggle Medicine and the opposite being true as well. It showed in how seldom Wizards, even Muggle-born were almost never ill except from Wizard-borne hexes or spells. It also theorized that Muggle medicine was useless to wizards since their bodies would reject anything that wasn't magically based.

Her professor was delighted of course, which only made Harry shake his head. Even in the past, Hermione was the teacher's pet. The concept in her paper was actually a new idea in the future as well, and he wondered what changes her new ideas would have on the future. Probably not much being just an essay in school, but it got him to thinking pretty seriously about all the repercussions that would be had by their actions in the past. Headmaster Nigellus hadn't approached him about the information on the future and Harry didn't know quite what to think of that. Nigellus wasn't quite the horror Harry had imagined of a Slytherin Headmaster. Yes, he seemed much more into Filch's way of punishment, but it was still the Eighteen fifties and probably accepted by more than he would have imagined.

He stretched and re-wrote the last few sentences of his own essay. "In the creation of magical spells, it is the thought, focus and desire that powers the enchantment. An increase in any of these characteristics increases the power of the spell. The connection between words, feelings, and the focusing control of a wand or even wandless magic creates the initial spark that drives all magic."

This actually started to make sense to him. The fight with Grindlewald and what Dumbledore had told him had made a huge impression on him. The few times that he was forced to face Voldemort he had succeeded because somewhere inside him he knew he had to win. His focus would narrow to that razor-thin point and all he would be able to think about was his friends and how he was the only barrier between them and the Evil that Voldemort would do. It felt like an epiphany to him. He finally understood that the feeling or the indescribable need inside himself to `do' these seemingly impossible tasks was his creative ability coming through his magic. He felt like jumping out of his seat and running fifty laps around the school shouting, `I get it! I really get it!" which would be a stupid thing to do as Filch would of course tie him up by his fingernails and make him eat bugs or something. Even so, the grin on his face wasn't unnoticed by his girlfriend across the table. She glanced at his essay and smiled while rolling her eyes at the paragraph. She understood that, of course. She'd been taking Arithmancy for years already. Even so, she re-read the statement and it got her thinking.

"Do you think that's really all there is to it, Harry? Is all the things we learn like the words and the `swish and flick' really unimportant? Is it just like Tinker bell and all we have to do is just clap and believe?" She looked at him seriously and put her hand underneath her chin in bemusement.

"Oh, I don't know. I do know that when I blew away the Dementors at the lake I really knew I could do it. Everything just stopped and I could center my mind completely on my Patronus. Maybe all a spell can be is just the accumulated movements and words that help you focus your mind to do that task. Have you ever seen a Neville work on a spell in the D.A.? At first he's all klutzy and gangly legs because he's afraid we're all looking at him and it takes him forever to get the spell to work. But he was fantastic when he could focus when he was at the Ministry that night or at least until he broke his nose…" Harry paused. He hadn't thought about that night in weeks. He hadn't thought about Sirius or anything about that terrible night in ages. The guilt swamped him for a moment until Hermione reached over and took his hand.

"Thanks, `Mione." He smiled softly back at the concern on her face.

She rubbed an ink-stained finger across her face and wrinkled her nose at him.

"Well! This is crazy. I don't think we're going to find this spell we are looking for so I think we're going to have to be creative and make one." Harry knew he was a goner when he thought that insane look of determination on her face was cute. He grinned and merely raised his shoulders in agreement like any good boyfriend should. She laughed lightly at his resigned expression and gave him a little kiss on his nose.

"Ha! You can do better than that!" He waggled his eyebrows at her leering comically.

"Harry!" she hissed. "Not in the library! Remember how mad the Historian was…"

He grabbed her hand and shoved their books and parchments quickly into her bag in one swoop.

"You're right." He grinned and pulled her out the door.

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Several days had passed and the two had settled into a routine of sorts. Attend classes, eat in the tower, study and homework then off to a secluded room to work on the time travel problem.

They sat down together on the floor with their knees touching. Hermione was relaxed but with good posture, while Harry's forehead had wrinkled with concentration and he had slumped over resting his arms slackly across his legs. He had shoved his sleeves up to his elbows and in his frustration had completely set his tie in disarray. Dust motes filtered down dancing among the feeble sunbeams that somehow had survived the early snow. It was crisp and clear outside and the windows revealed students of all ages taking advantage of the velvety snow and bright sunshine all rolled into one. Harry grimaced when a solitary rider flew past the window with a loud whoop. What he wouldn't give to be back on his broom. Maybe later he could borrow one out of the shed…it won't be like the racing broom he left behind but at least he'll be flying! Maybe later if the sun lasts he could… Hermione interrupted that train of thought with a not-so-subtle throat clearing that indicated he should be meditating.

How she could talk him into such things he couldn't quite figure out. Last year if she had mentioned extra spell homework he and Ron would've laughed her right out of the room. But last night she was so close on the couch and her soft, silky hair smelled so nice and she kissed just under his ear where it tickled but it felt so goodreallyreallygood…and he was a goner. Harry realized he might have a chance if Ron was here, but alone with Hermione?...he'd always lose. Well, he'd lose but he'd be snogging his girlfriend, so that's not much of a loss, really. All in all, except for a few pangs for missing out on a pick-up Quidditch match, he'd rather be here with her than anywhere.

"Alright, Harry. Are you ready to begin? First we imagine the first layer spell-we want transport so think `anteeo' with a raised wand. Then we think `peragro' with a swish and a flick…

Harry snorted completely breaking Hermione's train of thought. "Harry! You are being no help whatsoever!" She crossed her arms in front of her and scowled.

He leaned back against the wall to relieve the tension in his shoulders.

"Look, Hermione. All the Latin words in the dictionary aren't going to help us get home. Besides, you sounded just like Ron imitating you in first year Charms. "Swish and Flick!" He grinned as he imitated Ron mimicking her.

"Fine. Whatever. We're never getting home this way." Her tone was icy and she stood up to flounce away making Harry scramble up and try to salvage the situation.

"Look, Sweetheart. The creation of a spell can't just be figuring out the words and how we should gesture. We have to build this from the standpoint of what it is we really want. What is the desire and power behind it? If it was just words and wand anyone could do magic. And right now, I don't really think I'm ready to go back. It's nice here. No one is trying to kill me and I have you all to myself."

Harry pulled the girl into a close hug wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind. She didn't give way in her expression at all, but he could feel by her bearing that she was softening.

"You called me Sweetheart." Her mouth tugged up into a whisper of a smile turning her head to meet his eyes brightly.

"Yeah, I did. It kinda fits, doesn't it?" He snuggled closer and tried to hide his reddening cheeks.

"I like it."

"I'll continue to use it."

"Good."

They stood there watching the swirls of dust rise and fall and listened to the sounds of laughter of children at play.

"You do realize you're hiding, don't you?" Hermione whispered softly.

Harry's grip loosened, but he didn't let go of her completely. He knew it. She knew it. But it didn't hide the fact that here they were both safe. Here they could live for a hundred years before ever hearing the name of Voldemort. Hell, they could stop the git from ever coming to power! Everything could be perfect…

"No, Harry. We can't stay."

"To everything there is a season…That was what Dumbledore told me just before we left. A time to live and a time to die. " He paused for a moment then pulled back. She could feel his tension rise as he started to pace the floor.

"I never told you about the prophecy. I didn't want to believe it myself but it is real. I know I have to go back. Time or fate or God has decided I have to kill a man. I am going to become a murderer." Harry's eyes burned harshly and he released her shoving his hands in his pockets as his expression slowly shuttered closed.

"But I thought the prophecy was lost! How could you know what it said? What do you mean you will have to kill a man? Voldemort? Well, of course you're going to have to kill him. Let's not beat around the bush here, Harry. It's not like we can politely send him off to Askaban or say, `Sorry, but you're going to have to quit all that bad behavior and start acting nice-nice... This is a real fight! The only one who doesn't seem to realize the severity of the situation is you! You're going to have to kill him and I will be right there with you and so will Ron! And don't forget the D.A.! You may have been in a prophecy but that doesn't mean we won't be there to help." Hermione had on her doggedly intense face and he could tell she meant every word.

"Well, actually the prophecy said `…And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…' I've got it memorized," Harry mumbled.

She stared at him silently for a moment. She slowly took in how young he looked, no matter how much height he had gained over the summer. His shoulders were wider, but he still lacked filling out, and his eyes were still large like a child's and he was standing gawkily as if unsure what to do with his hands, either pocket them or run them through his already messy hair. It touched her heart to know someone she cared so much for was going to have to do something so terrible. She didn't know if she wanted to kiss him or mother hen him. In the end she merely turned away so he wouldn't see the tear try to roll down her cheek. She stopped it, and breathed deeply to keep her emotions in check.

"Harry. We have to go. And we have to want to go if this spell is ever going to work. I know you're no coward. You have always helped me no matter the danger. Look at that stupid troll incident and you were only eleven! If we don't go back who else will have to die? Ron? Neville? Maybe all of Ron's family `cause you know they'll all be in the thick of it…"

Harry's face contorted in pain as he thought of losing Molly and Arthur or any of the family. He could imagine every red headed boy in that family, not to mention Ginny, with faces of absolute resolution to fight to the death. His breath nearly left him as the enormity of the situation hit so close.

"You're right! What was I thinking? How could I be so selfish?" Harry started pacing again rushing his hands up and down his arms and pulling his robes tightly across his body.

"Calm down, Harry! You were just enjoying the first experience of freedom and safety you've ever known. I don't think anyone would fault you for that."

The boy sat back down hard on the floor and positioned his body for absolute concentration. He was mumbling to himself and unconsciously rocking back in forth as if he were listening to music and keeping the beat.

"What do we need? What is the most important thing? We need…we require…"

His eyes shot open and he nearly fell over since his legs were folded underneath him.
"Hermione! I've got it! We NEED the Room of Requirement! It always gets us exactly what we need! Why didn't we think of this before? I know once we walk through that door, we'll find a book or a parchment or some odd magical gizmo that will do the trick or at least lead us to it!" He finally detangled himself and whooped while forcing the girl to jump around with him in a circle.

"That's great, Harry!" She grinned then rushed to the door causing him to chase after her. They both ran out the door and up the staircases to the familiar corridor on the seventh floor. The found the odd tapestry showing Barnabas the Balmy trying to teach trolls to dance the ballet, and they walked past three times thinking hard about needing a way back home to their own time. Expectantly, and panting, the two giggled and grabbed onto each other's arms. Nothing happened.

Harry stared hard at the wall hoping to find some indication of the door that he remembered. Hermione was fingering the tapestry and looking underneath thinking maybe the ugly needlework had been moved at some time. Nothing.

"What's the word in Latin for requirement, `Mione?" Harry said a bit sarcastically.

"Expeto, indigeo or postulo." She said automatically.

"Great."

He sat down hard onto the floor in defeat.

Hermione started pacing back and forth in front of the space where the door should have been. She was thinking hard and stopped every few seconds ticking off ideas soundlessly on her hands. She would shake her head and then start walking again. Harry merely watched her thinking to himself that she had finally tipped off the end.

Bending onto her knees right in front of the boy, she rubbed her hands together then placed them on her hips.

"Harry! It's never that easy. But think about it! You were right. We need the Room of Requirement. It's perfect. To think we did it is amazing! Just think, Harry! We know it worked because it was there! Just like how you brought your powerful Patronus to save us-you knew because you had already seen it!"

Harry stared at her with her wildly billowing hair falling out of her carefully set plaits. Her expression was so familiar and dear to him he couldn't help but smile. Intensely biting her lip and waiting for Harry to react, she nearly fell over when he hopped back up and grasped her in a big hug.

"You're right! I do give up too easy. Let's think about this. We really need the room, but more than that we need the castle to KNOW it needs to help us."

"I've always felt the castle knew me…is that crazy?" Hermione looked a little embarrassed to admit such an idea.

"Think about it, `Mione. How do the stairs know we need to get to the fourth floor and line up just in time? There is intelligence here. Maybe all the magicks over the years have bled off to infuse this old place with a personality of its own. Or maybe the Founders built it that way. Who knows? But haven't you often felt that it somehow is alive?" Harry was serious and peered into her eyes to see if she believed him.

"Yesss…I guess. If we made the room, and the castle is sentient, then I assume we have it's approval. It will be an odd and powerful spell, Harry. Do you think we can do it?"

"Well, we have to try." Harry cleared his throat and pursed his lips in contemplation.

"What do we know about the Room? You have to pass three times. You have to think really hard about what you want. It sometimes gives you what you need and not exactly what you think you need. That's a spell that requires the castle to know what you're thinking. Hmm. Any ideas?" Hermione ticked off what they knew in her best Professor McGonagall manner.

He hid his smile and rubbed his forehead looking up and squinting at the ceiling. It didn't help.

"Desire, Power, Focus and Control." He chanted softly under his breath repeating it over and over. She watched him intently then grabbed his hand and raised her wand to point at the wall where the door should have been.

"Desire, Power, Focus and Control… Desire, Power, Focus and Control… Desire, Power, Focus and Control… Desire, Power, Focus and Control…" They continued to chant as their voices once discordant started to harmonize. His voice a rich baritone with hers a soft alto mixing and expanding and causing the air to shimmer. They closed their eyes to concentrate holding both wands slightly touching together.

They could feel the walls start to warm and pulse behind them like a living body. They scrambled up and held onto the vibrating wall, never breaking their chain of words and concentration. A swell of power throbbed around them and their harmony suddenly included a low pounding note that seemed to charge the air with a strong burst of energy.

Everything started to become bright, the air around them glittered unnaturally and the sound from their mouths was suddenly overpowered by the pounding throb around them. Their mouths opened and their eyes widened as they stared at each other and everything become silent and still.

With an enormous explosion of sound and light they were thrown up against the wall with a scream. Harry reached for Hermione's hand and held on as tightly as he could. The light dimmed and they could see again. He grabbed her against himself and shaded his eyes until the light appeared natural again. They were in a room, stark white and pristine. The walls barely had definition from the floor and ceiling, and the lack of color was both startling and surreal.


"It could be the Room of Requirement." She whispered softly. Hermione gasped out the breath she had been holding and stared around herself.

"It could be… The only problem I can see…is we have no door." Harry growled and sat down hard in the middle of the room.


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