The Hours Forgotten

I was shrouded in darkness. I felt like puking. My body–limbs, torso, face and all the internal organs–felt like jelly… did I even have a body? I didn't know. The last thing I remember was… green… emerald green… dozens of it… what was it? I couldn't remember… My mind felt… like a feather… light… and almost free from darkness that has always surrounded me… and then suddenly… suddenly…

With a jerk I felt myself land into a consciousness. A fleeting, weak consciousness. I could feel my body, my blood and everything in me. I felt ugly. It felt as if a poison was in my mind, my magical core even. And my body also felt weak, almost skinny and bony. I looked around as a light headache inducing dizziness faded and my eyes widened as I looked around.

I was in a forest… that was a surprising thing since I was mostly sure that I was dead. But the thing that was more surprising was that I was with Ron and Hermione. And they looked young… I felt a sense of deja vu as a distant memory played in my mind. The Quidditch World Cup. Or more accurately… the incident after it.

"Harry, you okay?" Hermione asked, a light concern marring her soft feature, "You look dazed." Meanwhile Ron looked at her and then me, a little confused by her observation as he was more focused on walking and leading the way, being the one in the lead,

"Fine 'Mione, just thinking," I said, speaking as normally as I could muster. This was all weird. What was I doing in my fourteen year old body? Was this a nightmare? No… this was too vivid. Too real. I was somehow… back in time… in the dark time… well not the darkest for me, i suppose. We kept walking, away from the tents area.

"I hope the others are okay," said Hermione after a while.

"They'll be fine," said Ron.

Ron's words consoled her a little, but Hermione was still nervous, I could feel it. I had learnt how to read emotions pretty well in the later part of my life–post battle of Hogwarts. I looked up for a second. Through the sparsely dense canopy, I could see the starry sky. 'No rest for the wicked,' I thought morosely. Well, perhaps I would go with the flow then.

After a while, we stopped at a small clearing, near a tall, aged oak tree with many low hanging branches. I felt awkward, not knowing what to say. I had become more used to being the one in charge, the one who hunts the darkness… not the one running and hiding. And the fact that Hermione and Ron were so young put me on an edge.

"Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy," I said, trying to humor Ron, sitting down next to him and watching the small figure of Krum slouching over the fallen leaves. "He's always said he'd like to get something on him."

Ron grinned, picking the figurine and tinkering with it. "That'd wipe the smirk off old Draco's face, all right." He said.

"Those poor Muggles, though," said Hermione nervously. "What if they can't get them down?"

And suddenly I remembered how the death eaters had been torturing those muggles. A past, but imprinted memory. Not past anymore, I suppose. This is my present now. My life, however weird it may be.

"They will," said Ron reassuringly. "They'll find a way."

"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Min istry of Magic's out here tonight!" said Hermione. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drink ing, or are they just —"

Suddenly, with a jerk I turned my head. There was a movement. Hermione looked at me, confused, and then she also felt. And a second later, so did Ron. My past memory of last life came back to the forefront as I remembered who it was, and with that came a startling realization–I didn't have my wand. It was stolen by Crouch junior. I winced and looked towards Ron.

"Guys, be on alert, take out your wands," I said and to sell that i didn't have my wand, reached for my pocket, "Where did my wand go?"

Hermione looked at me, concerned. "What do you–where would your wand have gone?"

"No time for this, both of you, take your wands out." I hastily said as I felt footsteps coming towards us. Both of them followed my instruction, their wands ready for any attack.

"MORSMORDRE!"

The words were loud and clear, unlike any other voice in the forest, and with a guttural quality. The memory brought chills down my spine as I looked at the skull, the symbol of Voldemort, for the first time in years. I wasn't scared, but hollow. This all was true… I had truly gone back in time somehow… I should be dead.

Suddenly, I felt the collar of my jacket being pulled, as Hermione grabbed both me and Ron in panic, wanting to get away from the place. "HArry, Ron, let's go–that is the mark of—" She hyperventilated and I finished her words.

"Voldemort."

"Yes…" Hermione said. Both of my friends shivered at the name.

A series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

"Duck" I exclaimed and pulled both of them down as dozens of spells were hurled towards us. Green, white, orange, red, plethora of spells, and an ugly realization came–we would be struck. With a bubbling angle, I pulled the wands of my two trembling friends and with a wand on each hand, started casting.

First, an orange spell dissipated mid air, then with a slash of my left hand, a red curse was deflected back, while my right hand intercepted four spells, manipulating their trajectory to collide with each other. Realizing, I was going to be overpowered, I grimaced. I would haven't been overpowered normally, but young me was weak, both physically and magically, due to the cursed horcrux's influence.

Spells upon spells kept raining and with a wide arc, I summoned the strongest shield I could muster. A translucent, thin, dome with a bluish hue erupted all around me, Hermione and Ron. Spells rained on it, hitting it ferociously. The shield cracked, but didn't fall.

"Hey STOP!" I heard a voice that I could never forget. The voice of one of the most important adult in my life. Artur Weasly. "That's my son! Stop. STOP!"

It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Harry got to his feet to face them. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

My rage intensified, eyes burning with hatred. A couple people flinched among the crowd, and Mr. Weasly looked at me with surprise, having never witnessed me in such anger. I didn't know, but my eyes were glowing emerald. I angrily pushed my magical shield apart and walked towards Crouch and pressed both of my wands against him, one at his neck and other at his chest.

"Listen," I said coldly, eliciting a few gasps at my action, "Firstly, we didn't and secondly, who casted the freaking blood boiler at me and my friends?"

"Remove your wand, you insolent boy!" Crouch said, but I could see the nervousness in his eyes.

"Harry." Mr. Weasly said, "Remove your wand from Mr. Crouch."

I relented, but continued glaring at him, "Listen, Mister, Don't ever hurl accusations at me."

"You casted it!" He exclaimed.

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to —" Though, she seemed wary, as she looked at me.

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" said Mr. Weasley quickly, trying to do damage control on my behalf. My temper lessened as I felt guilty for putting him in this situation.

"Th-there—" Hermione muttered shakily as she pointed towards some bushes and a tree. Beside her, Ron was not faring much better. "There was someone behind the trees . . . they shouted words — an incantation —"

"Something, morse–mor, something," Ron said. The effect of his word, even though the incantation he said was barely right, was immediate. Many people flinched, memories of old blood war still fresh in there mind.

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" said Mr. Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione and Ron now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how Mark is summoned, missy —" None of the other witches and wizards though seemed too convinced with his words.

I continued glaring at Crouch, though i stayed quiet, not wishing to make everything worse for Mr. Weasley. If he wasn't here, I would have used some choice words indeed.

"We're too late," said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, while looking towards the trees, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees. . . . There's a good chance we got them. . . ."

"Amos, be careful!" said a few of the wizards warningly as Mr. Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth. A few seconds later, they heard Mr. Diggory shout. "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's — but — blimey . . ."

"You've got someone?" shouted Mr. Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?" They heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry recognized the tea towel at once. It was Winky.

"This — cannot — be," he said jerkily.

"No —" He moved quickly around Mr. Diggory, and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky.

I felt a sense of vindictive satisfaction. 'Good,' I thought, 'Let him face the brunt of the ministry.' He had not only accused me, but also Ron and Hermione. And no one threatens my friend.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf . . . I mean to say . . ."

"Come off it, Amos," said Mr. Weasley quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," said Mr. Diggory, "and she had a wand."

"What?" said Mr. Weasley.

The wizards and witches muttered amongst each other, talking and speculating. Some argued and some accused each other. But there was one thing evident in everyone, Panic.

Just then there was another pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald-green skull.

"The Dark Mark!" he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly to his colleagues. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

"Where have you been, Barty?" said Bagman. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too — gulping gargoyles!" Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. "What happened to her?"

Quickly, Bagman was filled in with everything that had transpired. He was shocked and confused. He was flabbergasted.

Crouch raised his wand and hovered it over winky. He murmured "Rennervate."

"Hey, that's my wand." I exclaimed.

Everyone in the clearing looked at him. "Excuse me?" said Mr. Diggory, incredulously.

"That's my wand!" I said. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" repeated Mr. Diggory in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" said Mr. Weasley, very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

I wasn't much affected by Mr. Diggory's words. I understood that he was just impulsive and panicked. He was no Crouch.

"Er — of course not," mumbled Mr. Diggory. "Sorry . . . car-ried away . . ."

"So," said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. "I is . . . I is . . . I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" said Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looked around at me and Ron, appealing for their support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"Yes, the voice was much deeper." I said.

After a bit of talking and hurling accusations at each others, including some thrown my way, Mr. Diggory casted the 'Priori Incantatem'.

Black smoke appeared from my wand and many gasped. My wand had indeed casted the spell. But unlike most, my eyes were somewhere else, near a bush. I raised one of the wand, Hermione's, that i was holding and pointed it there.

"Harry?" "Potter" "Mr. Potter" "Harry!" And many voices came, confused and startled by what i was doing.

I twisted the wand and casted, "Revelio," and a white light escaped the wand, hurling towards the direction. It struck something and immediately a figure became visible. A pale man with sharp features and an uncanny resemblance to…

On que, many gasps came, but before anyone could stun him, he disappeared with a cracking sound. "Crouch junior…" Someone muttered and a sweat dropped from Crouch senior's face.

"I think," the witch from earlier, who was in a woolen dressing gown. "I will take over this now," Her voice was authoritative, leaving no room for arguments. " Amos, hand Mr. Potter his wand," She said looking at Mr. Diggory and then turned to Mr. Weasley, "Arthur, I presume the kids were accompanying you?"

"Yes Amelia," Mr. Weasley answered.

"Take them from here, this is now a DMLE case."

I took my wand from Mr. Diggory and was ushered away along with Ron and Hermione by Mr. Weasley.

For a split second I turned my head, "I would appreciate it if you also find who had hurled the blood boiler at me and my friends," I said and turned back, continuing following Mr. Weasley.

I looked up as I walked. The sky was dark, but small dots of lights—stars—still illuminated it. It was a new moon. A journey of hardships was about to begin for me. A second chance at life. Weather a blessing or a curse, I didn't know.