So, here it is, the finale to Changes. I hope you enjoy, everything was planned up to this moment. Review if you're enjoying it please: last chapter you'll get the chance to!
I will be having nightmares about Weeping Angels for weeks... but if you're enjoying it, then I'm happy!
Harry Potter sprinted through the corridors, Philosopher's Stone in hand. With Gryffindor bravery, but Slytherin care, he shot stunning curse after stunning curse back, hoping one would hit Draco, as well as a few spells to web up a path. Also from Lucius' book.
After one stretch, he was running backwards, not caring how much noise he made. This was bigger than the rules. The Angel could only run five metres per blink, generally, especially with all the webs Harry was throwing back. That was a good thing; harry could run ten or so, unblinking.
And Draco lay stunned, somewhere far back.
He felt a pang of guilt at that, but tried to focus. Where could he put the Stone?
In a fit of carelessness, he didn't care. On the route he'd taken from the dungeons, he was heading more towards the Great Lake than anywhere. He stood on the huge path, above a great drop to fields below; the path held up by crosses of wood, below it was a huge valley.
With a shout, he threw the Philosopher's Stone over the edge, watching the little red gem fall away. It was soon too low, too far way to be seen; and a blink later, the Angel was moving away from the student.
Now to go to the Slytherin rooms, to find the object the Sorting Hat had given him. That flat little thing had to be of some relevance, especially now. The Doctor was the only one who seemed to know what was going on: and he had gone. Harry had seen, with a glance back at the Angel as he fled from the room, the Doctor was no longer there.
He ran again to the common room. The Angel was fast; it would be on its way to the Stone, wherever it was in the valley below. And it would probably have trouble finding it in the dark, then again, maybe not. He knew nothing about those statues, except that they ran quickly when you didn't watch them.
And….it wasn't chasing him. That was good. Actually, that was great. It was so absorbed in its quest to save the other stone being, it only attacked those it had to; Harry apparently wasn't as much of a threat, and the Angel wanted to waste no time in finding the Stone. So, he was left alone. For now at least.
Panting, Harry Potter returned to the Slytherin Dormitories, surprising himself by feeling a pang of revulsion at the portrait. Ever since his journey into the blue box, he'd felt more and more as if this wasn't his House.
The small, damp corridor seemed strangely forbidding as he ran down it. You don't belong here. Still, the black haired boy pushed through the small trek, eventually reaching the silver and emerald dormitories where the Slytherin boys slept.
Walking quietly now, so as not to wake any of the slumbering students, Harry paced over to his bed.
It took a little effort to duck in under the green drape silently. A little more effort to close the curtain again, and a bit more to lift his small schoolbag up on top of the duvet.
Trying to mute his heavy breathing, Harry sat there for a minute or so, recovering. He felt isolated from the outside world in here; curtains blocking out noise, and some sound, probably via enchantment. Even Goyle's snoring was reduced to little more than a whisper.
Harry rummaged around his bag, before trying his robe pockets, trying to recall where he'd left the Sorting Hat's gift.
He found it eventually. Relieved, panting, he ran his fingers over it, in the dark. It was very flat; as he knew already, thin, round. And…was that a scrap of parchment, stuck to the side? It felt like it.
He needed to know more. Which meant a small risk.
In scarcely a whisper, Harry raised his wand to just above the disc, and spoke a spell: "Lumos."
The resultant light was dim, yet made Harry uncomfortable. He didn't want people to see him. But it was necessary; he sighed, resigned, before peering again at the now-lit gift.
It was a disc.
A Muggle would probably call it a CD, and raised by Muggles as he was, CD was Harry's first thought. Still confused, Harry moved the wand closer to the parchment, taped to the top of the disc.
Take to blue box.
The note was hastily scrawled in blue ink. Harry frowned; there again?
Resigned, but tentative, Harry slowly, once again, slipped out of the dormitory.
There was light. Good start, always a good start. The Doctor quickly bounced up, patting himself down, while simultaneously looking around.
He was in a room, bright, dulled yellow bricks for walls; roughly circular. Kind of like where he'd been when- when-
"Angel!" he shouted, jumping in the air and giving a small whoop.
He survived then. No complaints.
The Weeping Angel thought he was just another human! Any other time he'd have been insulted. But for then, he wasn't complaining, the Angel had just sent him back in time, to try and feed of his temporal energy. And to get him out the way.
But he was still stuck. He didn't fancy waiting a few hundred years.
Presumably, the Angel was also responsible for 'The Lost', the children in the early years of Hogwarts. Students stolen from the future, displaced all the way back there. To-
The time of the Founders!
The Doctor grinned giddily again, before running out of the dungeons. He needed to go to…
Headmaster's Office! Always a good place to start. Take me to your leader.
Panting, the Doctor quickly arrived at the gargoyle.
"Ah," he swayed on the spot, "Now, this isn't good. I don't know the password…at least, not the current one."
"An old one will do," the statue croaked. The Doctor jumped
"Never had a good experience with talking statues," he mumbled, "Um," he spoke up, looking at the gargoyle, "How about a future one?"
"Future?" a jolly, booming voice sounded beside him. The Doctor looked around, to see a proud looking man, with a long, curly red beard, and similarly long red hair. He was wearing a striking crimson robe, and kept a silver sword to his side.
Behind him, eight scared looking students, First years, stood. One was recognizable: the Doctor nodded to himself, having a theory confirmed. That was Ron Weasley.
"Blimey, you do look like Rupert huh," the Doctor muttered to himself, watching the boy, before turning back to the crimson man in front of them, "And you must be Godric Gryffindor," he grinned, shaking the giant man's hand energetically.
"And you are?" Gryffindor spoke, forceful yet respectful
"Oh, I'm the Doctor, don't mind me, I'm from the future," his voice trailed off, frowning, "Actually, do mind me, that's kind of important isn't it?"
"Today, Doctor, it would not surprise me. All these youths have been found today with tales of the future of this School. Thought I must say, you are the first adult to be encountered."
"The Angel only goes after weak prey," the Doctor mumbled, hating the words, "But enough about me! This is Hogwarts huh? The early years- no, wait, not important right now," he blinked, "Rather…" the Doctor paused, "Can I borrow your hat?"
"You are a most peculiar man," Gryffindor commented,
"I try," the Doctor said modestly, acting embarrassed.
Godric Gryffindor walked past the Time Lord, speaking an unheard password and making the gargoyle allow the access. The Doctor, the Founder, and the eight students entered together, ascending to the ancient Headmaster's Office.
With a wave of an imposing wand, a sleek, black hat was summoned from the other side of the Office.
"My hat, Doctor," Gryffindor spoke, keeping it hovering with his wand. "In exchange, could you tell me the what and why and where and when?"
"In a sec, I just need to…" the Doctor let his voice trail away, reaching into his pocket. He took out just one thing; a TARDIS Emergency Control disc, like the one he had given to Sally Sparrow in another adventure involving Weeping Angels.
Rushing, his eyes darted around the Office, before he ran over to one desk, ripped a bit of parchment off it and, using a borrowed quill, wrote a quick note on it. He taped the parchment to the disc.
"Thank you," the Doctor nodded, voice little more than a breath. He scooped the hat away and turned away from the amused Founder, and the eight, lost children.
"Now, I need you to listen," the Doctor whispered urgently to the Sorting Hat of so long ago.
This much he had read in the book; to Sort after the Founders had gone, Gryffindor whipped off his hat, and cast a spell on it. Gryffindor's Hat would Sort: and so, this Hat was the one real constant to Hogwarts. The way to get a message from here to there. In the future, the Hat had told him as much; to ignore the tick of time. As it had sang, to watch from end to start to middle.
Things had started at the end; the Angels at Hogwarts. Now, he was at the start; the Founding. Next, he should go to some point during that.
Actually, the best way to do it would probably be to neutralize any interference from the Angel. Blank out the anomaly completely. It would require a little more thought, but that was neither here nor there, right now.
"Speak," the Hat spoke in the jolly tones of Godric Gryffindor. Odd. Maybe the voice decayed over time; the Doctor shrugged.
"I need you to do something," the Doctor whispered, "Years from now, you'll be Sorting everyone. There'll be a boy you won't be sure about; his name is Harry Potter. Sort him into Slytherin. And do that the second time they ask you to Sort him, it will happen, trust me. And that second time, give him this." The Doctor finished whispering, and raised the disc up and inside the Hat.
It was the easiest thing to do; the mistaken Sorting would keep his younger self at Hogwarts, a sign something was wrong. And in theory, it would create a friendship with Draco, which would lead to them finding the Stone, and alerting himself of the Angel.
Things were not done though; with that message delivered, Harry would receive the disc at some point in the future, which he'd just telepathically programmed to take the TARDIS to this office, in about a minute. But something was still wrong with Harry.
The incorrect Sorting, according to the Hat, was only purposefully done the second time. The student had changed, unsurprising with the temporal flux. But something had to be wrong the first time; something had to give him the tendency for Slytherin.
I can make them hurt.
Harry's words, heard so long ago, carried into the Doctor's mind. He'd heard the same words, with the same tone, but only in books, in films…
Tom Riddle. The words, the actions of Lord Voldemort himself.
The Doctor shook as he handed the Hat back to Gryffindor. His mind was whirling; the Angel could have easily done it, with their habit of feeding on energy. Interference yet again. They'd amplified the fragment of Voldemort forced into Harry's mind upon the fabled, failed killing curse.
It scared him to think how long the plan had been in motion: back when Harry was just a baby, an Angel had been there. Had witnessed the green flash, unmoved and glaring. And, as it backfired, fed off the energy, taking in the echo of the dying Voldemort, and forcing it into Harry. More of it at least. It explained the Slytherin tendencies oh so well; rectified only by the TARDIS, in her ever-faithful attempt to preserve the timelines.
He left those dismal thoughts as the groaning of the TARDIS engines filled the room.
Within the impossible blue box, Harry Potter held on tightly, grinning and screaming and laughing, as the disc shone ever-brighter in his pocket.
All the students had been returned to their rightful location. The TARDIS scanners registered a decrease in the temporal anomaly.
Luna Lovegood had simply vanished, and the students could never recall her. Put back in her rightful place in time.
Harry had been left just outside the Slytherin dormitories, though the Doctor didn't think that would be necessary now. With any luck, the whole fiasco involving the Hogwarts Angel would be removed from history, never having happened. That was the best way to fix the anomaly. Indeed, it was the only real way to fix an anomaly in such a place as Hogwarts.
But still, there were things to do…
It was a snowy night.
Two things, both at home in the darkness, glided through. One was a feared Dark Lord, skin sallow and pale, robes streaming behind his skeletal frame as he moved in for murder.
The other was stone, yet no less menacing. He had one he cared for deeply; and would kill to help her. And he had done.
He knew of the Philosopher's Stone, and how years would pass until it would be accessible. He had read it, a book carried with a temporal exile, possibly one he had sent to himself.
It did not matter. All that mattered was her, and the future in which he would save her, by means of that magical Stone. And to do that, allies were needed. And who better, than the Boy Who Lived, turned to darkness. Breaking the rules; finding the Stone that much faster.
He did not want to wait a second more. And yet he had to wait years.
The Dark Lord drew closer to the dwelling, which housed the baby wizard. And soon-
Stone. The Angel felt the unblinking eyes, the unblinking gaze of a distant figure. The Weeping Angel was beheld; the Weeping Angel was stone. No more, and no less.
He watched. A green flash flared out from the house, yet the Angel could do nothing. He watched the curses, and heard a man's shout, a woman's scream, and then a bestial screech of agony, by one who could scarcely be called a man.
The gaze left him. But, as the Angel turned, the watcher had gone. All he saw instead, was the outline of a fading, wheezing box.
Time was being fixed. A word more to the Hat, and the Doctor was assured Harry would instead go to Gryffindor. All the temporal mucking about was hurting his head; and yet, for once, he was doing good with it, preventing the anomaly.
But still, while the castle was the same as ever on the surface, the Doctor knew there was still one irregularity, one thing disrupting the timeline. And it was for that, the Doctor had asked to borrow one, exceedingly rare, artefact from Godric Gryffindor.
The Weeping Angel resided still, deep within the belly of the castle.
Right now, the Doctor was no longer considered a teacher; that had been fixed, and Quirrell had taken his place. So no wandering around above.
The TARDIS materialized straight into the chamber, within which the Mirror of Erised stood. In front of the reflective glass, the imageless wreck rested. Further in front, now facing the Doctor, the fully formed, adult Weeping Angel glared.
Confident, the Doctor strode out of the TARDIS, watching the two, unblinking, and being sure to keep his glare away from their eyes.
"Now, you two," he began, "I know hat you're planning, and I know what you'll end up doing. But I can't let you do that here, Hogwarts is crucial to Planet Earth. So I'm asking you, stop this, go somewhere else. I can even help if I have to."
"But if you don't, I'll have to stop you," he eventually concluded, swinging up a long, silver gift from Godric Gryffindor. One he'd probably have to return at some point.
The Sword of Godric Gryffindor.
Goblin made; it took in that which made it stronger. That fact seemed to be of little relevance, but for an Angel, it was anything but.
"What do you say?" the Doctor asked, smiling a little, as if at a casino. As if it was all one big game.
He closed his eyes.
Tick tock. The seconds moved by. And then he opened his eyes.
The Angel snarled, teeth bared, soulless eyes contorted to a face of fury. One hand, with all of its talons sharpened to a point, pressed against the Doctor's chest.
It was trying to move him through time; an exile, especially if he went a long way back, completely out of the way. But right now, that wouldn't work. The temporal energy needed to transport him was all being redirected, and absorbed by the one thing there which wanted it the most, hungrily taken in. The Sword. The energy would make it stronger; a simple concept. And so, it stole it.
The Doctor released the Sword, moving back one careful step. Blink. The Angel was still: the Sword had continued to drain the energy, now it knew the source, and had drained it from the stone statue itself. But the Weeping Angel needed that energy; it was its lifeblood. Hence why it fed on echoes in time, taking in that energy.
Now the Sword had it all, and the stone, was just that; a stone. Lifeless.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor whispered, genuinely meaning it, before snatching the sword away, and moving back to the TARDIS.
The Weeping Angel crumbled.
The dying, ruined Angel continued to lie in front of the mirror.
Albus Dumbledore looked up, surprised to hear a new noise start up in his office. As the old wizard watched, a blue box materialized, sending the papers around it blowing everywhere.
The box stood there, almost imposing, before it slowly creaked open.
"Hiya!" a man, with tousled brown hair and a broad grin, stepped out.
"Who are you?" Dumbledore said slowly, putting down his quill and looking up.
"Oh, well," the stranger stopped, abashed, and scratched the back of his head, "That could take a while to explain. Do you mind just stepping in here? TARDIS has a memory you see, give you back the memories of the other timeline. For a bit at least. You know, never mind, come on," the man gestured hurriedly, before a smile gently lit up his face, "Plus, I've got a friend who really wants to meet you.
Amy put her phone down, irritated. The Doctor had better not leave her waiting two years again, she wasn't even sure what planet she was on! It looked like Earth to begin with, but then the Sun reached its peak, and the sky turned green.
"How long's he gonna be?" Rory groaned, stretching back, sunbathing
"No idea," Amy shrugged, plonking herself down beside her husband.
She was about to say something else, when a familiar groaning filled the air. She and Rory both stood up quickly, looking towards the slowly appearing TARDIS.
The door opened, and the Doctor softly walked out. "Look, I know you wanted to come with me, and I know you couldn't. So I thought I'd make up for it," he grinned like a child.
Amazed, Albus Dumbledore slowly moved out of the TARDIS, confused, before his expression settled down upon seeing the two humans.
"Hello," the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry spoke, "I believe you've heard of me?"
That which holds the image of an Angle becomes itself an Angel.
The eternal law held true. And so, seconds after the time machine had departed, a figure appeared within the Mirror of Erised. An Angel's reflection.
He looked down upon his dying wife, the ruined stone.
He had died; irredeemably. His image would be erased from the Mirror as soon as his wife was no longer in front of it; for then she would no longer be seeing him.
The Angel would help; for he was, for these few seconds, the mirror itself.
A tarnished representation of the Weeping Angel, a shadow, was cast into the air, smiling.
In one hand, an echo of the Philosopher's Stone rested.
A trickle of the precious Elixir of Life trickled over the translucent stone, splashing onto his wife.
The injured Weeping Angel gradually eroded, excess stone simply melting away. And soon, a new, pristine, winged Weeping Angel of perfect stone stood in its place.
She looked at her husband, immeasurable sadness in her blank eyes.
The reflection in the Mirror vanished.
Alone, the healed Weeping Angel stood still for brief seconds.