Disclaimer: Harry Potter? Yeah, don't own. All you lovely people who are reaping the profits of your labor, please continue. I'll just sit here… penniless….
Pairings: Harry/Draco, James/Lily. Any others will be noted in later chapters.
Summary: Following an escaped Death Eater brings Harry 20 years into the past. As Harry searches for him inside Hogwarts, Harry learns just how the world he lives in came to be- and what it still has left for him.
Like any uncharted territory
I must seem greatly intriguing
You speak of my love like
You have experienced love like mine before
But this is not allowed
You're uninvited
An unfortunate slight
Alanis Morissette, Uninvited
"What makes the Dark Arts dangerous?"
There was a consensus of fidgeting, chorused by snickering in the far right of the dimly lit room. It was the first class of the day, double Defense Against the Dark Arts with the sixth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Harry resisted the itch to make a fuss- he really didn't like people not paying attention. But it wouldn't do to get upset on the first day, even if the transgressors were Slytherins.
After waiting for a response, and not receiving any, he continued, "You become dizzy, your breathing becomes shallow and it takes all the blood in your body to keep your heart moving. You become pale. Hands sweat. Your body shakes. Your tongue becomes cotton in your mouth as your lips become dry and cracked. Your voice sticks in your throat. Why?"
He paced the room slowly as he spoke, connecting gazes with any student who didn't have their head hanging towards the floor. The snickers in the back became snorts, along with one laugh reminisce of a dog barking. Harry ignored them with effort.
Timidly, a red haired Gryffindor girl with entrancing, and familiar, green eyes raised a pale hand. Harry noticed a delicate silver bracelet on her thin wrist. He tried not to stare too longingly at the petite girl who had spoken up, internally proud that she was the one to break the awkwardness.
"Hate. The caster must be able to dehumanize the person they are casting the spell on." Her voice was clear, with a hint of apprehension. She fidgeted with the silver bracelet, unsure if the answer was correct but hoping to please the new professor.
Harry smiled sincerely, something he hadn't been prone to do in a while. Something blossomed in his chest at her voice. He hoped his expression didn't give him away.
"Very well said, Miss Evans. Five points to Gryffindor. However, it is not the answer I was looking for. Yes, the caster must use hate to dehumanize the victim of the spell, but what makes the Dark Arts so dangerous to the victim?"
Silence. Harry stopped in the middle of the classroom, black robes settling before his voice rang through the room like cracking ice. His face became unreadable.
"Fear," he started, "It burrows deep in your chest, larvae becoming a sickening twist in your bowels, clenching your throat in your lungs as it pulls your mind with it. Even the most powerful of wizards are no match for her once she takes a hold. And that is why the Dark Arts are a force to be reckoned with. They ally themselves with fear." Many students couldn't contain the slight shiver at the new professors voice- it was cold. It had taken Harry years to get people to take him seriously. He found the right tone of voice with the right choice of words always did the trick. The snickering in the back had stopped. He finally had everyone's attention. Harry did his best to stop the smirk threatening to take over- Draco would never let him live it down.
Causing several students to jump, Harry made his way back to the front of the room, the back of his robes flickering behind him like a flame.
Once in the front of the classroom, he continued with what Harry hoped would be an enlightening lesson. "On that note, this year you will learn how to restrain it, use it. Controlling your inner demons is the basis of Defense Against the Dark Arts. In order to fully utilize any practical spells we learn in here, you must be able to contain your fear. Anything I teach you will otherwise be useless."
Internally, Harry was terrified himself, though he didn't care to admit it. Though he was posing as a tall, mouse-haired teacher in his twenties, thanks to a well-planned glamour charm, he still felt apprehension about making a fool of himself. Maybe it was that little need to be accepted that fluttered around his subconscious surfacing. By all means, up to his first real class he had felt confident in his new disguise, ready to make a name for himself- one that had no connections to one Harry Potter.
Especially because he wasn't born yet.
At the thought, Harry glanced to the left side of the room, where four familiar young men sat huddled over a small piece of parchment. He suppressed a chocked swallow as he stared at the almost exact replica of the face he found in the mirror every morning. He'd been trying not to relish the chance of seeing the Marauders live and well for the first time in years (and in some cases, ever) but the emotion seemed to have burrowed itself in his lungs.
Breaking from his reverie- quite literally as he shook his head, earning him questioning looks from the students- Harry returned his mind to the lesson at hand.
With a severe wave of his wand, the room went dark. Students yelped in surprise, shivering as the room suddenly dropped several degrees until they could feel their breath smoking in the air- though none of them could see it. The room now plunged into darkness, Harry muttered a quick spell in a breath, so quietly, only the students in the front heard it.
Something tingled at the back of Harry's mind, like cold fingers crawling through his thoughts, sifting through little nuances and uncertainties and pulling them into his consciousness. Stifling bile from rising in his throat, Harry battled with the imp, quelling it with slow meditation until it had calmed completely. That done Harry focused on the state of the classroom.
Spreading his aura over the room, Harry took in the emotions of each of his students. The spell was meant to bring fear and uncertainty bubbling to the forefront of the mind. It was a minor dark spell, used mostly for confusion and distraction for other things. The unfortunate side effect was that the caster themselves were also subjugated to the same state. Fortunately, Harry had used and been under the curse enough to know how to relieve it.
Some students had begun to panic- the harsh, fast beating of their hearts pounded in Harry's senses. He could hear some begin to hyperventilate. Others were containing the panic, with effort. A few seemed to have completely thrown off the curse- Harry hoped it was more due to skill than actual experience. With a little twinge of pride, Harry noticed Lily was one of the students containing the panic. Peter was one of the ones hyperventilating, Sirius containing it as best he could. James and Remus had overcome the effects completely.
Deciding the students were well enough acquainted with the spell now, Harry muttered the counter-curse and the room was washed with light. He blinked, the sudden light jerking him awake- he wasn't even aware he had begun to get sleepy. Harry blamed it on the anticipation of classes. He hadn't slept much the night before.
The room became a sea of conversation, some students glaring at him, put out by the lack of warning. A group of Slytherins in the back were smirking, finding the uproar amusing. Harry tried not to delve too much in the thought that they had all thrown off the curse. On the right, the Marauders were blinking back into reality, exchanging enigmatic glances Harry longed to understand. A few students sported a grey complexion, others were flushed. Clearing his throat, drawing attention back to himself, Harry began.
"As you can see, fear can be a great weapon. What you just experienced was only a minor dark spell, the metus excito. It's considered the basest form of mind control, as it doesn't influence any part of the mind, only drawing fourth already existing emotions."
Noticing the uncertain looks exchanged between some students, Harry continued, "I will be using many dark spells in this class, though nothing I feel you cannot handle. I alone will be using dark spells, as I have been forbidden from teaching you any." He grimaced at that, showing his "respect" for the decision, "I felt it was the nature of Defense Against the Dark Arts to obtain practical experience, and so despite much disapproval from many of the staff and parents, you will gain familiarity blocking them, in addition to your bookwork, of course."
Harry glanced at the time. Class wasn't over for another hour, but by the look of the students, it didn't seem like it would be of any use keeping them any longer. He smiled apologetically at the class, hoping he hadn't done too much too soon.
"In order to control it, you must first understand your fear. That is where we will start in our next lesson. For homework, write three feet on one dark spell of your choosing, it's theory, uses, and how it relates to fear. Due next class, no excuses. I do not take late work."
Slightly baffled at the sudden end of the lesson- and groaning from such a large assignment on the first day- students slowly packed up quills and parchment, neither of which had been touched. The crowd slowly leaked out the door, sounds of conversation and laughter following.
Once most of the students had filed out, Harry was surprised to see the young Marauders lag behind. After a quick conversation and several nudges, it was Remus who slowly approached the new professor.
"Professor Cutter? May I have a word?"
Harry had been just about to sit down to relax in his seat for a few minutes before the 1st years lesson- he was dreading that particular one most of all. Slightly miffed at being interrupted from what he deemed a well earned rest- but more than a little excited to speak to the young werewolf- he turned what he hoped was a friendly smile to the young Remus.
"Is there anything I can help you with Lupin?"
Remus looked back at the now snickering boys before turning back to the DADA professor. Harry suddenly had a bad feeling.
Marauders snickering was probably not a good sign.
"Professor, I was curious where you learned the Dark Arts."
Surprised by the answer- and lack of the infamous Marauder pranks- Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Is there any particular reason you ask?"
Remus shook his head quickly, a slight brush crawling up his neck.
"No sir, I was just curious. Most professors won't dare touch the Dark Arts in Hogwarts. I know they teach some in other schools, but I've never heard of it being used here. That is to say, I'm not disapproving of your methods, but I found it unusual to have a teacher using them, especially on the first day and all…"
It took a second to realize Remus was babbling incoherently, and a few more to realize it was borne of nervousness. If he'd had a few more seconds, he would have realized it was probably a distraction for other activities, but by then, he was already colored purple and holding tightly to his chair, which had decided to start dancing.
Note to self: Marauders snickering is never a good sign.
Despite the situation, Harry couldn't hold back a heartfelt laugh. This would definitely be a good year.
Zane Lynton Cutter. That was the face he glimpsed throughout the day- in his reflection in the mirror, in his drink, in the windows. It was a handsome face, yes, but a hardened face. The gifts of youth still fresh, but growing old and stale.
It had taken Harry two weeks to respond to the name. The sound always seemed foreign, even on his own lips. But if the name was exotic, the face was disturbing. The glamour charm made him truly feel like another person. The hard nose cut through deep set unremarkable brown eyes. His hair was stringy, falling in waves along his cheeks.
He found it both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, he felt invincible. Professor Cutter was clever, easygoing, and powerful. Harry was young, nostalgic, and fragile. On the other hand, his words felt strange, even to him. The days spent planning for the mission ensured him a response for every question concerning his past, meticulously planned down to the rougher accent than he was used to. He felt out of his own skin, something Harry feared might drain him within the next year.
A year spent in another man's body was something both intimidating and welcoming for Harry, though he didn't care to admit the latter. Telling himself he needed to stay true to Harry, at least in private, he tried his best to remain as just Harry for as many hours as possible daily. Sleeping, eating, grading papers, making lesson plans, anything that could be done in his private quarters was done as himself. He couldn't afford to live the life of Professor Cutter and neglect Harry Potter. He couldn't afford to forget his own face.
It wasn't until the first night of his stay he couldn't lie to himself anymore.
Standing in front of the mirror in his private quarters, Harry felt like he'd hit a brick wall. The face staring back at him wasn't Zane Lynton Cutter, or Harry Potter. It was a face of a man who was growing old. Looking back, Harry slowly realized how much he had been avoiding mirrors since the end of the war. Somehow, he didn't want to recognize what he had become- standing in front of the oblong mirror in it's foreboding black frame, he suddenly wished he had left Harry Potter behind.
It was a strange notion to look at your own face and realize so much had changed since you'd seen yourself last. He was shocked to realize the face was unfamiliar and cold. His face was gaunter than he thought. Not in an ugly way, but it added strength to his otherwise feminine face. His cheekbones were high, his green eyes like emeralds set in gold. His complexion was fairer than he remembered- it used to seem so ruddy, especially in comparison to his pale haired lover. His face was as tan as his arms, except around his eyes, most likely from squinting in the sun. His raven hair fell like feathers on his forehead and against his cheeks. It had grown long, reaching to about his collar. It was as messy as ever, though the length made it look more like a mane than a bird's nest. He hadn't had a haircut in months, and had no intention to. His lips were full, more like a woman's than he cared to admit. Thin wrinkles had appeared at the corners of his mouth- whether from previous smiling or more recent frowning he wasn't sure.
And there, peeking from beneath the black of his mane, was what he wanted to avoid seeing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know if his scar had changed. It wasn't something he was willing to investigate just yet.
He furthered his exploration, fingers tracing the lines of his nose. It was delicate. As he grew older, he was told less and less of how much he resembled his father. Instead, he often heard how much his mother's blood was showing through. His mind wandered to the day when Molly Weasley had commented on this, and how Draco had referred to him as his wife shortly afterwards. The prick was lucky he was in love with him, or else he'd have had a shiner.
He didn't want to think of his lover. He sorely missed him, even after such a short time. The fact that his lover wouldn't miss him only made him envious. While Harry would be without Draco for a year, Draco wouldn't even have a chance to realize he was gone before he would reappear. He would come back at the exact second he had left the future.
The thought made his intestines lurch. After all they'd been through, he was reluctant to leave the newly formed relationship for any amount of time. It was fragile between the two. They had just gotten settled after the war when Dumbledore offered this mission to Harry. He was reluctant to accept. There was still so much more they had yet to do and learn about each other. The fact that he would have aged a year while Draco stayed the same only added to his uncertainty. But Draco would have none of it. He accepted the mission for him- something that had earned the Slytherin a week on the sofa (though Harry was secretly grateful for his audacity.)
He remembered voicing his fears to his lover the night before he left. They were lying on the forest green sheets in Draco's room, minds still lost in afterglow. Harry had suddenly felt overwhelmed, and grabbed Draco's hand in a vice-like grip. His voice had constricted, and he could barely whisper as tears stung in his eyes- he blamed it on the physical exhaustion.
"I don't want to leave. I don't want to change. What if I come back and I'm a different person? I don't want to become anything else when I'm not next to you."
The Slytherin had snorted at that, eyes still closed, but his thumb gently rubbed the top of his hand. Harry chuckled, which came out more as a sob. He loved the man's antics.
He smirked. Harry couldn't see it with his face nestled under Draco's chin, but he could feel it. The smirk was soon accompanied by a playful drawl- something Harry would have found offensive before their relationship. "Really, Harry, you haven't changed one bit since I met you first year. What makes you think one year will change anything?"
They both knew it was a lie. Harry had changed in the past few years. They both had. With the war approaching, it was time to grow up. In the midst of it, they had grown old.
Harry had let it go, nipping at the pale neck before him, and Draco had rolled on top of him in response. They had kissed, slowly, not intending to arouse, but caress. Sooth. Love. Something neither of them had much experience with, and enjoyed every moment of.
After a few minutes, it was Draco's turn to rest his head on Harry's' chest. Harry slowly drew his fingers up and down his lovers back, feather touches that sent shivers up Draco's spine. Harry's chest rose and fell, lulling him into pseudo sleep. He almost jumped when his lover inhaled deeply (but didn't, Malfoys don't jump) before speaking.
"What if I come back and you don't like who I've become?"
He knew it was a childish thing to say. But the fear was real. He didn't want to think about what could happen when he came back. They had been apart on missions before, but this was different. Such close contact with his future parents was bound to be the catalyst for change- to what, Harry didn't know.
Draco blinked awake, lashes tickling Harry's chest. Internally, he was afraid that Harry would change, though not because he was afraid he wouldn't like what Harry would become. He was afraid Harry would realize what a mistake he'd made and leave him. The thought of it made his heart skip a beat. He looked up at his lover.
"You will always be Harry to me."
At the time, he had wished he were sure of that. Looking into the cold mirror, Harry suddenly wished he knew who exactly Harry was.
I'm so glad to have you
And I'm getting worse
I'm so mad to love you
And your evil curse
I've a plan to save you
From my misery
I'm a man too brave
To follow history
Blindfold, Morcheeba
A/N: Everyone hates these author's notes, I know. But bear with me; I'll make it short. This is my contribution to both the Harry/Draco fandom as well as my rendition of the Harry-Goes-Back-To-The-Past fics- though hopefully it's done fairly realistically (or at least semi-realistically.) If you like, please review, even if it's just a "Hi." It's great to know that people are actually reading!
Revised Version: Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, Beth, aka bandgeek2006. You're such a lifesaver!