The Ghost of Hermione Granger
Author's Note: My apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. The first part of the chapter has been finished for quite a while but the second half kept wandering off course into (hopefully) interesting ideas that will turn up later in the story but weren't appropriate here. This chapter is longer than the previous chapters.
Part Three
In the Waiting Room
"To be or not to be...life or death? You're offering me the chance to live, sir?" asked Hermione. Albus Dumbledore peered at her over his half-spectacles, his expression serious but kindly, without the usual whimsical twinkle in his eyes. "Not yet, Miss Granger, but you may need to make that choice presently." Hermione leaned forward, perched anxiously on the edge of the couch, unconsciously she had begun to twist her hands in her lap, "But if I were to live what would happen back there in the the battle? Would Bellatrix kill Ginny? Would the Killing Curse she intended for me hit someone else? Would it affect the battle? Could I make things worse?" Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall her flood of worried questions, "No, Miss Granger. You saved Miss Weasley. Her life is in no further danger. Mrs. Lestrange's life, on the other hand, is at an end-Ronald and Molly Weasley will see to that momentarily. And the battle will be won, the war will end whatever you choose." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed back a bit into her seat. Her many questions were still evident in the expression on her face.
"Allow me to digress for a moment, Miss Granger," Dumbledore continued.
" Are you familiar with the concept of alternate realities?" he asked. When Hermione nodded he smiled and continued, "In literature and the cinema you have probably encountered the convention of a character's fate being symbolized by railroad tracks. Imagine our reality and all the alternate realities as many railroad tracks all running from the same point A to the same point B but with each track following a different path. Sometimes the paths run parallel and quite close together, sometimes they veer far apart, often they cross. We human beings with our limited ability to comprehend are only able to experience one train on one track-one reality. In life, most of us can see little ahead on our own track and nothing of the other tracks. Those with the gift of the Sight can see a little further ahead, can see a bit of the other tracks and most importantly can sense where the tracks will cross, where different fates may be realized. But, those of us who have passed from the world of the living can see the "road not taken" as the poet put it, or more precisely the many "roads not taken".
"Each of those tracks are not created equal. Some stretches of track are terrible with the majority of humanity mired in hatred, fear and ignorance while other stretches are golden ages of peace and prosperity, most tracks are something in-between. This moment in time is a crossing. It leads to the reality, the track, which the world has taken for the last twelve years since your life ended at the Battle of Hogwarts. It is not one of those bleak, hopeless eras but neither is it the golden age that might have ensued if only different choices had been made at the previous crossing. We would never have reached this point if a better choice had been made then." Dumbledore paused a moment, peering shrewdly at Hermione, "The world would have been a far better place with you in it."
Hermione said nothing, trying to absorb this information.
Snape's voice broke the momentary silence. "Mr Potter, with his usual blithe disregard for rules, has conceived of a plan to travel back in time to see you again, Miss Granger. If he does this he will, to use the Headmaster's analogy, double back to the last crossing. He will create a time anomaly, a track attached to, but separate from the main track, lasting these twelve years and not resolving itself until the next crossing. He has the means to do this at his disposal and has expressed the desire to do so. Only his fears that doing so might harm those closest to him has held him back so far. But given his careless, rash nature..."
Lily Potter broke in, in a softly reproving tone, "Severus, he's not rash or careless. Harry is bold and," she smiled a conciliatory smile at Snape who softened his expression in return and made a gesture of acquiescence, "a little impulsive, that's true. That's his nature. He's right to be concerned but he's also right to grasp this chance. He doesn't know it yet, but he'll create a better future for everyone." Lily turned towards Hermione and laid a gentle hand on the younger woman's arm, "It has to be your choice though, Hermione. We believe that your fate would lie in that time anomaly for the next twelve years. We can't tell, we can't see, what would lie ahead for you there. But we believe that you would emerge from that anomaly into a better reality." "Twelve years..." Hermione muttered to herself. What kind of existence would she have? Would she have to spend twelve years all alone? Or would she be surrounded by strangers but without friends or family? Without Harry? How would she survive?
Severus Snape spoke up again, locking eyes with Hermione, "We know you have Gryffindor courage, the courage to make the quick dash through the flames, the bold gesture-but do you have Slytherin courage? The courage to endure whatever must be endured, for however long it must be endured to achieve a goal? To do whatever it takes to survive, to win, no matter how difficult or distasteful?" Hermione suppressed the shiver of fear that her former teacher's words conjured up for her. She sat up a little straighter and answered him in the bravest voice she could manage, "I think I do, sir."
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke up in a soft but commanding tone, "you know now that there is nothing for you to fear in death. You have lived a nearly blameless life and if you choose it, will die a noble death. There is only eternal peace and happiness for you beyond the veil. But, if you choose to live, you may have the chance to do great deal of good in the world and know great happiness yourself. I believe that it is the best choice for you and for the greater good-but I will not tell you what to do." Dumbledore sighed and seemed to gaze off at a sad sight that only he could see, "I know now that in life I didn't always have the humility to trust others to make the right choices, that I tried to take on more responsibility for the greater good than was rightfully mine. I sometimes stooped to manipulation..." He added quietly, gently, "You must follow your heart in this, Hermione."
" Hermione," her grandmother said urgently. Hermione turned to face the silver haired woman who then tenderly took her granddaughter's face in her hands, "Professor Dumbledore is right. If you choose to stay here with us you will be happy. There is a library that I want to show you someday. All the books that have ever been, from every culture, in every language, every book that was censored, suppressed or destroyed exists again-all the wisdom," she chuckled, "and all the folly of humanity is there. I can picture you there in some sunny alcove, curled up in a comfortable chair surrounded by piles of books." Olivia smiled wistfully at her granddaughter, softly caressing her cheek, "But Hermione, if you choose to go back to die you will forever be just as you are now. You are a wonderful girl. But you'll always be a girl on the brink of womanhood. You'll never become the woman you were meant to be. If you choose to live no one can guarantee you perfect peace and happiness. There'll be pain, and fear and sorrow but there will also be joy. That's life, Hermione. There is so much of life that you've never experienced. You have the chance to change that."
****
Harry rose to his feet from his spot beneath the tree intending to make his way to the path up to Hogwarts castle but he paused a for moment when he sensed that he was no longer alone. He could see no one near, could only hear the sounds of nature around him but he could sense another's magic nearby. While he had never plunged to Alistair Moody's paranoid depths, Harry lived Moody's maxim of "constant vigilance". Voldemort was dead and gone, the Death Eaters organization no longer existed and those who clung to old bigotries mostly kept it to themselves, but Harry knew that there were still many in the Wizarding world who would not mourn at the news that Harry Potter had met his end. He had fought too long and hard to stay alive to lose that battle now. There was always a small part of his mind alert to possible danger.
Harry stretched out with with his mind to see if he could sense anything about the person or creature approaching. Not to invade their mind and learn their thoughts but a more gentle approach to sense their mood. During his Auror training he had discovered, much to his surprise and amusement, that he was actually quite good at Legilimancy. He was as hopeless at Occlumancy as Snape had supposed, but if Snape had been able to master his own emotions he would have realized the meaning of the fact that Harry had been able to push his way into Snape's own mind. Even Voldemort had been unable to do that. Harry, either due to his nature or due to the fact that the Horcrux within had rendered a part of his mind an ever-open door, was unable to block out intrusions.
But Harry had a true gift for Legilimancy. He had gentle, respectful way of entering into a subject's mind, he never tried to force his way in, and was far more successful than those with a ham-handed approach. If Snape had been able to put aside his negative feelings towards Harry and his own preference for Occlumency he would have realized, as Harry's Auror trainer later did, how to teach Harry how to protect himself. Harry was able not only able to reach out to others' minds but able to push forward his own thoughts and memories to show an intruder what he wanted them to see.
Sensing nothing threatening in the stranger's mood Harry began moving towards the castle. The sight of the beautiful, massive structure in the distance still had the ability to fill Harry with a little of the sense of wonder he had felt the first time he saw it when he was eleven. Lights were beginning to come on in many of the windows like golden eyes winking into life. A wistful smile spread across his face at the sight. From somewhere behind him he heard the "skritch-skritch" of footsteps on the gravel of the path as the stranger caught up with Harry. "Lumos," he said softly, turning back towards the newcomer, holding aloft his wand to light their way.
"Good evening Mr Potter," came a low, pleasant woman's voice. "Good evening, Professor," Harry replied, falling in step with the witch. She was a tall, solidly-built woman with a fine figure, the sort of woman often described as handsome rather than pretty. With her olive complexion and and the thick black hair she wore coiled at the nape of her neck she was often mistaken for a native of a Mediterranean country but she was, in fact, thoroughly English. Her manner was polite, but no-nonsense. " Are you here working on a case?" the Professor asked. "No," Harry replied, "I just needed to get away for a bit of peace and quiet and thought I'd take a walk on the grounds." After that, they walked on in a comfortable silence allowing Harry to be alone with his thoughts.
The woman beside him was yet another reminder to Harry of that pivotal moment six years earlier when his world had been turned upside down. Anna Welles was the third Potions Instructor and Head of Slytherin House that Harry had known since coming to Hogwarts all those years ago and was definitely the most agreeable. Harry now had a certain respect for the long dead Severus Snape though even if, as he later realized, most (though not all) of Snape's ill-treatment of him had been an act-a part of the double game he was playing, he just couldn't have any fondness for the man. His feelings for the recently deceased Horace Slughorn were in many ways the reverse of his feelings for Snape. He did feel some fondness for the old man, he had always been kind enough to Harry and his affection for Lily Potter meant something to Harry, but he found it hard to have much respect for him. Slughorn wasn't bad person and in fact had shown courage in the final battle against Voldemort, but there was a weakness and a shallowness about him that cost him much respect in Harry's eyes.
He had come to Hogwarts that day six years ago to take the testimony of Vela Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had kept his word and arranged for Harry to interview the girl about her sister Capella's involvement with the man who might be the Muggle Lover. Along with Headmistress McGonagall he had questioned her and shown her how to extract a wispy, silvery memory strand to be examined in a Pensieve. Vela was as dark as her sister was fair, and unlike her sister, of whom the Headmistress spoke highly, Vela was every inch the typical snooty, arrogant Slytherin girl.
There was one moment though when Harry saw another side to the girl. He could see her regarding him with a look at once sullen, frightened and expectant. Harry had tried to suppress his feelings of annoyance with her attitude and met her eyes with the kindest look he could manage. Vela fidgeted for a moment as she seemed to wage an internal battle then she looked down and reached deep into the pocket of her robes and extracted something small and hard which she thrust into Harry's hand. "I took it from Capella's room, I thought it might help," she mumbled, her face reddening, " take it." She turned towards the Headmistress and demanded with a touch of her former haughty attitude, "May I go?" McGonagall briefly nodded her assent. Vela disappeared so quickly from the Headmistress' office that Harry half-believed that she had Apparated.
Journeying through the Pensieve with Headmistress McGonagall, Harry was quite thankful that they only had to endure a few minutes of following around a gaggle of teenaged Slytherin girls with their high-pitched chattering and squealing before Capella broke away from the group saying she had some shopping to do, and promising to meet them later at the Three Broomsticks. It was rather amusing to note Professor McGonagall's occasional clucking and muttering under her breath at the girls' language and manners.
While the other girls continued down the street, Capella turned back the in the direction that they had come from walking slowly, casually glancing in shop windows until her friends were out of sight. Then she quickly broke into a trot causing Harry to have to jog to keep up with her. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Vela emerge from the shop she had been hiding in and begin running to catch up with her sister. Harry had the presence of mind to cast the spell, "Perpetuus lux lucis" which caused his wand to leave behind it a glowing trail of light for the Professor to follow.
Capella's path followed several twists and turns-clearly she knew exactly where she was going. He almost missed the last turn when she abruptly turned into an alley and broke into a full-out run, throwing herself into the arms of handsome man. Their passionate greeting left no doubt about the nature of the relationship between Capella and the man. After a brief, and unfortunately mostly inaudible conversation punctuated by kisses, the man took Capella by the arm and side-along Apparated her away ending the memory.
Harry had been astonished to discover that he recognized the man. He had seen his face on the cover of a Muggle magazine just the week before. Beside him Professor McGonagall was sadly shaking her head, "I'm sorry Harry, I don't recognize him. He's not a former student." Harry ran his hand through his hair, slightly shaking his head, " I do recognize him-but I don't see how it's possible. He looks like a Muggle actor. An American movie star. I'm certain of it. I've seen several of his films. I saw him on the cover of a magazine last week. But the way he looked..." Harry trailed off as he tried to work out in his mind the thing that didn't add up. Harry's face lit up as he found the answer, bringing a small smile to Minerva McGonagall's face as well. "The way he looked in the Pensieve memory isn't the way he looks now, today, it's the way he looked years ago in his most famous movie role. He was dressed as the character in that film. It's a perfect disguise. He looks like someone that millions of young girls have adored-" "And, someone that Miss Malfoy, and the other victims, would never recognize because girls from families like that don't attend the cinema," the Headmistress finished his thought.
The Headmistress took her seat behind her desk an regarded her old student pensively, "Clearly he is not a Muggle, and not this 'movie star'." (Harry had to suppress a smile at the sound of that unfamiliar phrase coming from Minerva McGonagall's mouth) "He cannot be under a glamor because a glamor would not hold up in such intimate proximity," she continued, "Polyjuice potion would seem to be the most likely means." Harry nodded in agreement, "Every girl has given a different description. I didn't recognize any of them as Muggle cinema stars," he mentally ran through the list of names and faces of the Muggle Lover's various personae, "but they certainly could have been. We've been assuming that he's using Polyjuice potion-but how could he be making himself look like famous actors? People like that are surrounded by entourages, security. How could he get close enough to get the necessary lock of hair to copy them? I don't see how it could be Polyjuice. The only other possibility would be that he's a Metamorphmagus, but I've never heard of a Muggleborn one."
The witch closed he eyes a moment considering, "You're familiar with the fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes, I presume. He said something wise for a detective to consider- "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." The Headmistress rose from her chair and motioned to Harry to follow her, " I believe it is time for you to meet our new potions instructor, Professor Welles. Perhaps she will be able to help you"
Harry had found it strange to be in Snape's old classroom and have it feel so very different. The room was neater, filled with light, the more bizarre potions ingredients hidden away behind cupboard doors leaving only herbs and other benign-looking substances openly on display. The odor filling the room was slightly medicinal, but hardly unpleasant. An attractive woman of indeterminate age, plainly dressed in a black robe with white collar and cuffs was working at the front of the room neatly and efficiently chopping up ingredients which she then swept up in her hand and gracefully sprinkled into the slowly bubbling cauldron in front of her. She seemed to be speaking in a low voice, dictating to a Quick Quotes Quill, the long white feather dancing across the parchment beside her.
The Headmistress made the introductions and briefly explained Harry's mission to the witch, then excused herself leaving Harry and the Professor alone. Harry watched her with interest as she calmly said, "One moment, Mr Potter." Then, addressing her quill, " Pause. " The quill stopped its dance and laid itself down next to the parchment. She picked up a wooden spoon, stirred the mixture in the cauldron neatly three times clockwise and once counter-clockwise, then conjured up an hourglass and instructed it, " Twelve and one half minutes, precisely." Part of the sand in the hourglass disappeared and then it flipped over and began its timing task. " How may I be of assistance, Mr Potter?" Professor Welles looked towards Harry and politely inquired.
"This man that we're looking for appears to be able to copy the appearance of famous people, famous people that he is unlikely to have physical access to." Harry paused a moment to gather his thoughts and the Professor motioned for him to go on. "We had assumed that he was using Polyjuice, but it doesn't seem possible." Professor Welles frowned, and then nodded in agreement, "I agree Mr Potter. I know that the Aurors have developed a longer lasting and somewhat better tasting formula than the traditional formulation-" The slightly sour face that Harry had unconsciously made when the taste of the revised formula was mentioned confirmed that it was only marginally better. "But," she continued, " the physical sample-the lock of hair, drop of blood, fingernail clipping is the heart of what makes the Polyjuice potion work. I suspect that if we ever troubled ourselves to study why our potions work we would discover that we're somehow replicating the subject's DNA..." she stopped her incipient rant, took a deep breath and continued in a calmer, more even tone, "Well, either this man has an unsuspected way of gaining access to these famous people or he's using something other than Polyjuice."
The Professor's little rant had increased Harry's regard for the woman. He shared her frustration with the Wizarding world's smugly incurious attitude about the "whys" of magical life. Only the studies of the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries seemed to be condoned by the Ministry, and as an adult Harry had discovered that their studies more closely resembled the debates of Medieval theologians about angels dancing upon the head of a pin than modern scientific research. Those individuals who tried to do real research were generally punished as troublemakers or shunned as cranks and crazies.
"It can't be a glamor because he has to sustain the illusion up close up, for hours at a time and in intimate circumstances. The only other thing that I can think of is that this man is a Metamorphmagus-but I've never heard of a Muggleborn Metamorphmagus. Is there a potion that could give a wizard such an ability temporarily?"
Professor Welles was quiet with a thoughtful look on her face for an uncomfortably long moment, long enough that Harry almost started to ask the question again. "You didn't attend Hogwarts for your seventh year did you?" Harry was puzzled by this question, but shook his head and waited for her to continue. "In seventh year all students are tested for Animagus and Metamorphmagus ability. All witches and wizards have these capabilities to one degree or another, though it's rare to have it in sufficient strength to be able to fully make much use of either ability. A few very rare individuals manifest these abilities in childhood without any sort of training, they're considered "Natural" Animagi or Metamorphmagi. Those who are not "Naturals" but have above-average Animagus possibilities can be trained or train themselves-I believe your father and Sirius Black both fell into that category-but no one has ever devised a way to train those with Metamorphmagus abilities-at least no one has revealed such a possibility ."
She saw the look on Harry's face and answered his unasked questions, "Yes, I knew your parents, or at least I knew of them-I was two years behind them in school. And yes, a few of the students knew or suspected that your father's group of friends had become Animagi-you know how hard it is to keep a secret at Hogwarts. I've always had my suspicions about how that came about."
" To answer your earlier question there is no potion that can create magical ability where none exists but there is a type of potion, an Amplio potion, that boosts, or amplifies abilities. Much as Muggle athletes take performance enhancing drugs. Severus Snape was working on such a potion at school. I wouldn't say we were friends, but we were in the same House and had a shared interest in potions, so I knew him better than most. I have reason to believe that he succeeded. And I am certain other potions masters have secretly succeeded as well-even though these potions have been outlawed because the conservative factions are afraid that somehow they could be used to give magic to Muggles."
"Why do you believe Snape succeeded?" Harry asked, curious despite himself. "Peter Pettigrew," she said shortly, "The entire Black family is known for Animagus and Metamorphmagus abilities and your father was unusually powerful. Those two would have just needed to train themselves, though a potion might have made the process easier. But Peter wasn't an outstanding wizard, certainly he would never have succeeded without artificial help."
Harry was astonished by this response, "But Snape would never have helped my father with a potion!" he exclaimed. The Professor smiled pensively, "Not voluntarily, but I suspect that it wasn't voluntary. My guess is that Regulus Black let it slip to his brother about the potion. Severus was his friend, a friend of sorts anyway. Severus had been assigned by Professor Slughorn to tutor Regulus in potions and Regulus latched on to Severus. He followed him everywhere and Severus endured it. Not that Severus had many other friends himself-they were both unpopular in our House. Regulus didn't have the most winning personality, and having a brother in Gryffindor didn't help either. Severus, well you knew him, so you understand part of the reason. But it was also prejudice, I never cared about that "blood purity" nonsense but when the whispers started that Severus' father was a Muggle that ruined any chance he had to be really popular in Slytherin.
I think that once Regulus' brother found out about the potion, he found a way to blackmail Severus into giving it to him, or bullied Regulus into stealing it." Harry bristled a little at the implications about Sirius' character, but having seen first hand the animosity between Snape and Sirius, he couldn't deny that something like this could have been at the root of it.
Harry's mind was reeling with the implications of Snape possibly being the source of Peter's Animagus abilities, could the incident in which his father saved Snape's life have occurred because Snape wanted to know what they were doing with his potion? Harry mentally shook off these thoughts. He needed to focus on his case.
"And then there's this," he said, pulling from his pocket the thing that Vela had given him earlier and setting it in front of Professor Welles. It was a small heart-shaped wooden box, carved all over with roses and magical symbols. Harry did a bit of a double take now that he was taking a good look at it. It seemed very familiar. Ginny had a box exactly like this, he could picture it on her dressing table. He gave a mental shrug, it was probably a common sort of box for perfumes. " I believe this contains the Betrothal potion that Capella's mother gave her-that this Muggle Lover has been able to defeat."
The Professor picked up the little box and regarded it thoughtfully , running her finger over the carvings. Harry continued, "I'm confused about this Betrothal potion. In school we learned that Amortentia was the strongest love potion of all, and the most dangerous. I had never even heard of this potion until recently." Professor Welles pressed her index finger against the rose carved in the center of the box and the lid popped open. Nestled in red velvet was a strangely shaped crystal bottle with a stopper engraved with an ornate letter "M". She was murmuring to herself, "The traditional box, the traditional bottle, the right color..." she removed the little bottle from the box and held it up to the light examining the reddish-amber liquid within.
"Amortentia is powerful, Mr Potter, in that it takes only a few drops added to food or drink to create a strong effect which takes effect almost immediately. Any competent NEWT-level student can make it and the ingredients are easily obtainable so it's widely available. It's generally safe, though overdoses are possible. On the other hand, it wears off quickly, the effects aren't particularly subtle unless the dosage is quite low, and it can only be "keyed" in one direction." Professor Welles chuckled softly, "For some reason Dumbledore has led a fifty year campaign against it, though most people in the Wizarding world think of it as harmless fun. A part of growing up a witch or wizard. Most young people have played around with it."
"Now this," she said, giving the bottle a slight shake,"this is serious business. The private province of the ancient pureblood families or the very wealthy lesser families. The Potters are an ancient family so you may have received your own bottle in your seventh year if your parents had lived-though perhaps not, since many of the more progressive families, the ones unconcerned with blood purity have moved away from arranged marriages. It's not surprising that you've never heard of it though, it's not spoken of. Even those who have used it don't really know much about it."
"What can you tell me about it?" Harry prompted. The Professor unconsciously adopted her lecture voice as she began," It must be made by a potions master. The ingredients are expensive and very difficult to work with. Quite volatile. It's worn as a perfume or cologne. There is only one formulation but males perceive the scent one way, as a flowery perfume, and females as a woody, forest scent. The effect builds slowly, subtly over the course of three to six months, occasionally longer, depending on how much the two people are in each other's presence and whether there are any feelings that need to be overcome. It's "keyed" in both directions-it will only work for two particular people. Generally it is given about six to nine months before the marriage bonding ceremony is planned. Once the betrothal-and usually physical consummation-have taken place, use is stopped for three months, since a marriage made under the influence of love potion is invalid. Once the full dosage has been received it can be reactivated by a single exposure up to year later."
She opened the bottle and moved the stopper back and forth beneath her nose. She nodded to herself, "This," she said holding the stopper out to Harry, " is Amortia." Harry made the mistake of inhaling deeply of the flowery scent. From somewhere, very far away, he could hear the Professor continuing to explain the properties of Amortia and explaining that no doubt this sample was not "keyed" to the young man the Malfoys intended for Capella since Amortia could not be defeated. She would be able to analyze it and...
Harry hoped he was making the proper responses, but he was very far away-lost in a hundred memories. Memories in which this distinctive flowery scent-this scent that spelled desire, spelled Ginny, was intimately entwined; amorous dreams, the feeling of a monster in his chest, a kiss in the common room, fumbling explorations made beneath the trees of the lake at Hogwarts, the night of the final battle, his wedding day, the sensual haze of the first three years of his marriage. The remembered pleasures were mingling with feelings of anger, shame and disillusionment-followed by a cold dread as the Professor's words echoed in his head, " A marriage made under the influence of love potion is invalid."
A soft chime sounded, and Professor Welles murmured, "Ah, twelve and one half minutes." She pointed her wand at the flame beneath the cauldron and the flames disappeared. Harry could hear a voice that sounded like his own thanking her for all her information and asking her to contact him at the Ministry when she had analyzed the Amortia. Harry stepped out into the hallway and found himself sagging against the wall, the weight of his emotions pulling him down. A million questions swirled through his mind. Where had she gotten the Amortia? Had someone helped her ? Who and why? More importantly, how could she have betrayed his trust like this? They hadn't had many real conversations in those hours spent down by the lake but in one their few they had discussed love potion. It was on his mind because of Ron's poisoning and because of what he had learned about Tom Riddle's parents. She had sat there smiling calmly when he told her how wrong he thought it was to use love potion, how dishonest, how manipulative. She smiled! " Ginny, what have you done?" he thought.
Remembering that moment six years later was still painful for Harry. He was brought back to earth, though, by a woman's voice, "This is where we must part, Mr Potter," Professor Welles said pleasantly. They had reached the entrance hallway of the castle. Harry smiled at her and said, "Good night, Professor." He watched briefly as she turned to make her way towards the Slytherin common room and then mounted the stairs to make his way to the Headmistress' office. He reflected on the thought that it was strange that a person's life could be completely turned upside down in twelve and one half minutes, precisely.