Date written: Sat 1 Sep 2018
Author: Starway Man
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Greywizard and Bill Haden for beta'ing this fanfic. And thanks to both friends and family who gifted me the seven Harry Potter books authored by the one and only J. K. Rowling, which were consulted in the writing of this story!
Category: Alternate Universe, Angst, Family, Tragedy
Symbols: "word" indicates speech, and { word } indicates a character's thoughts
Feedback: Doesn't every fanfic writer want this? So please don't be shy, and tell me what you thought of it!
Disclaimer: Anything and everything to do with the Harry Potter universe belongs to Joanne Rowling, and whoever else can lay proper claim to the books and films. Those parts of the text taken directly from the novels/cinematic productions definitely do not belong to me! Anything else you recognize, it belongs to whichever legal entity owns it. This is a work of fanfiction, and no remuneration is expected or will be received.
Rating: Overall R, most parts PG-13
Warnings: Proceed at own risk! In this story, there's some bad language, bad humor, and my beta readers have warned me that the characters say and do things that are just mean and non-PC. Simply warning you all ahead of time, folks; kids, it's probably best for you to avoid this one!
Bashing: I don't think so, but then, I'm not the best judge of such things. Hey – I actually like all of the various characters in this story, even the bad guys and the good guys that I can't stand in the books: I try my best to ignore the movies, but there's some stuff in there that's just so good I can't help but want to use it! Okay, maybe there's a couple of people that don't come off looking too good in this fic, but you could argue they were pricks in canon, too. On the other hand, there's a few characters I portray in a better light than their canon depictions: so, just gotta hope it all evens out okay in the wash!
Author's Note 1: I've been away from the ff dot net site for a long time now, as just like 2017... 2018 has been a very busy year, both personally and professionally. But I've finally gotten some spare time and put this together – and it's the first pure Harry Potter fanfic I've ever written, so please be gentle! :)
Author's Note 2: The majority of this story originally appeared as individual chapters of Greywizard's short fanfic series "Variations On A Scene", published over at Twisting the Hellmouth. But there's new, extra stuff here to tie it all together into a cohesive overarching story, rather than just a series of unconnected scenes.
Author's Note 3: I wish to pay homage to the reviewers of "Variations On A Scene" by incorporating some of the ideas they came up with into this story. My thanks to all of you for your contributions – if you're reading this, you know who you are!
Summary: The Ministry has fallen, and the Golden Trio are hiding at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place – when they discover the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities. But how will using it help them win the second wizarding war?
Title: Splinters of the Mind's Eye
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."
(Albus Dumbledore, HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER'S STONE)
"For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"
(John Greenleaf Whittier, 1856)
"No matter where you go, there you are."
(Buckaroo Banzai, 1984)
"Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully."
(Samuel Johnson, 1777)
Chapter One: Destiny's Left Turn
12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London
August 4th, 1997
Looking at it in retrospect, everything could be summarized with the last stanza of that old poem written by George Herbert in 1651: 'so it is a kingdom was lost. All for the want of a nail'.
Of course, in this case there wasn't any nail to speak of, and the kingdom had already been lost, given away really, to the forces of darkness: but it wouldn't have been wrong to say that everything would have turned out very differently, if Remus Lupin hadn't semi-accidentally kicked over the troll-leg umbrella stand after hexing Harry Potter for calling him a coward.
"Blasted thing!" the werewolf cursed, on his way to the front door.
Unfortunately, Remus had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: the curtains hiding the magical painting flew open and she began to scream, "Filthy werewolf, worthless scum, dishonoring my house with your presence-!"
"Oh, shut up, you old bat!" Lupin roared back at her, cutting off Walburga Black's rant as the portrait gasped and stared at him in surprise. "I've been looking into how to overcome that house elf magic which has been keeping you up on that wall for years now, you should know – so let's see if I've figured it out! Finite maxima! Diffindo!" He pointed his wand at the wall, and then, the shrieking portrait collapsed to the ground.
"CONFRINGO!" Remus then shouted, unleashing his most powerful Blasting curse on the portrait – and subsequently erasing the last traces of his best friend's mother, as the semi-sapient recording of Walburga Black exploded into little pieces. Somewhere on the other side of the Veil of Death, Lupin imagined Sirius was now yelling and jumping for joy –
But, to be honest, the former Marauder wasn't interested in focusing on that right now. Because despite his recent protests to the contrary, Remus knew that Harry's accusations of cowardice – of wanting to abandon his wife and unborn child, because he couldn't cope with the idea of being a father – would continue to plague him, until he and Nymphadora sat down and hashed out their problems.
So ignoring Hermione Granger's cries of "Remus, Remus, come back!" he walked out the front door and disapparated, leaving the chaos he'd created behind without a second thought.
The Black Family kitchen
A moment later
"Harry!" Hermione wailed, after hearing the front door slam shut. "How could you say all that to Remus?"
"It was easy," Harry replied. He stood up; he could feel a lump swelling where his head had hit the wall, after Remus had cursed him. But he was still so full of anger he was shaking. "For one thing, the bloke had it coming, and for another – parents shouldn't leave their kids, unless they've got absolutely no other choice."
"Bloody hell. You really reckon this'll make him go back to Tonks?" Ron Weasley asked, the ginger shaking his head doubtfully.
"I dunno. But if it does, the name-calling and all will have been worth it, won't it?" Harry asked, not sure if he was just indulging in wishful thinking.
"Bugger me if I know the answer to that. Sometimes, I wonder whether Tonks would have been better off with my brother Charlie – they dated at Hogwarts, you know, and then he left for that dragon preserve in Romania," Ron sighed, before he turned and walked out of the room. "Best go clean up the mess from that blasting curse, I suppose. Be back soon!"
Ron left the kitchen, and Harry stared at Hermione curiously. "You aren't going with him?"
"I wanted to talk to you first," Hermione replied grimly. "You said some things to Remus that – well, quite honestly, Harry, I don't know where your head is currently at, but your lack of respect just shows –"
"Spare me that old 'teachers are supposed to be respected' speech, will you?" Harry snapped, cutting her off impatiently. "For one thing, Remus hasn't been our DADA professor in years, and for another –"
"MERLIN'S BEARD!" Ron's voice was suddenly heard shouting from not far away. "Harry! Hermione! Come and have a look at this!"
The Boy-Who-Lived and the brightest witch of her age instantly abandoned their conversation/argument, and raced out to join the third member of the Golden Trio. They quickly arrived in the hallway, and saw how Ron was pointing at the wall where Walburga's portrait had hung.
"Look!" the youngest Weasley son said, pushing aside the moth-eaten velvet curtains that had previously concealed Walburga's portrait. "Look what I found!"
It was a mirror, one just as tall as the life-sized portrait had been, with an ornate gold frame, embedded into the wall of the house and concealed from view until now. But what truly caught Harry's attention was the inscription at the bottom of the mirror, written on the wooden caption screwed into the frame: Nee bev ahth gim tahwt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
At once, Harry was reminded of his adventures back during the trio's first year at Hogwarts, and the Mirror of Erised – which showed everyone their true heart's desire. "Mate, that's –"
"I know! It's written backwards, 'I show not your face but what might have been,' I already figured it out," Hermione interrupted excitedly. "And yet – it's not showing us anything?"
It was true; the mirror showed nothing but dark, inky blackness. Harry frowned. "Maybe it's been locked to prevent people from using it? Sounds like something Sirius's family would do, anyway. But – 'what might have been'? This isn't like the Mirror of Erised, it's – Ron? What are you doing?"
"I don't believe it," Ron breathed in sheer incredulity, ignoring Harry's question and examining the left-hand corner of the mirror's golden frame. "It can't be..."
"What?" Hermione demanded, bustling him aside to examine the mirror herself. "What are you – oh! That's unusual..."
"What is it?" Harry demanded, coming over to see for himself.
"I've never seen a pair of lemniscates intertwined like that before," Hermione mused, just as Harry spotted the tiny pair of interlocked infinity symbols at the edge of the mirror frame. "In arithmancy, and even muggle mathematics, you don't –"
"This is the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities," Ron interrupted her, a look of awe on his face.
"What?" Harry ignored the annoyed look on Hermione's face, not wanting to listen to a lecture on something he wasn't even remotely interested in right now. "Ron – you know what this thing actually is? And if you do, how do you know that?"
"Yes, Ronald, how exactly did you know that?" Hermione echoed his demand, and rather irritably to Harry's ear.
"It's an old family legend..." Ron said vaguely, still examining the Mirror carefully. "I heard about it from my Grand-dad Weasley, actually, back when I was just a little nipper – all of us Weasley kids did, as a matter of fact. I thought it was just something he made up as a bedtime story, so did Ginny and the others – but I guess it was true all along..."
"What was true? And again, how do you know the name of this mirror?" Hermione demanded stridently, looking far more annoyed with Harry's best friend than could be reasonably expected.
{ What's wrong with her? } Harry asked himself, frowning. { She can't still be upset over what happened just now with Remus, can she? No, or else Hermione wouldn't be looking at Ron that way, like he was snogging Lavender Brown right in front of her or something... }
"My grandfather, his name was Septimus Weasley," Ron replied, taking a step back and still not looking at the witch – ah, right, that explained it; Hermione always hated it whenever Ron wouldn't fully pay attention to her, during one of their conversations – and then the ginger added, "And his wife, my grandmother, she was named Cedrella. Cedrella Black Weasley."
"What?" Harry gasped. "What are you – you mean, you and Sirius were related?"
"I've told you before, Harry, just about every pureblood and halfblood in the wizarding world are related somehow – because there simply aren't that many of us around," Ron replied rather impatiently. "And yeah, technically; Granny Cedrella was Sirius' great-aunt, so that means him and me were... second cousins twice removed, or third cousins once removed, or something like that? But that's not the point –"
"Then what is your point?" Hermione interrupted, still looking annoyed.
"My point is, my gran married into the Weasley family, and I'm pretty sure – that mirror was part of her bride price," Ron explained, gesturing to the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities. "Despite the fact that she was later disowned and the marriage considered null and void by the Blacks, they still kept the Mirror. I mean, why wouldn't they? If this thing can do even half of what my grand-dad said it could, 'course they kept it..."
"I think you've just lost me and Hermione both, mate," Harry said cautiously, shooting a look at his female best friend – who was indeed looking confused, and angry because of it. "Start again, from the beginning?"
"Right, sorry. Okay..." Ron paused to collect his thoughts. "My dad's dad was born eighty years ago, and he started at Hogwarts when he was eleven, just like us; just like every other British witch and wizard. Grand-dad Septimus was in the same year as my gran, and even though he was a Gryffindor and she was a Slytherin – they still fell in love and got married, after leaving Hogwarts –"
"You had a Slytherin grandmother?" Hermione interrupted, looking confused. "And yet, Ronald... how many times have I heard you say that all Snakes are evil, or words to that effect?"
"That was before Grindelwald,You-Know-Who, Slughorn and all the rest of them, and my gran wasn't evil!" Ron shot back, looking insulted.
"Go on," Harry interjected, sending Hermione a warning look not to pursue this any further. "You were saying, they got married – and this mirror was part of her bride price?"
"Bride price! That's an utterly barbaric practice, if you ask me – treating a woman as if she's merely chattel of some sort! Ron, I can't believe your family of all people took part in that sort of thing!" Hermione said crossly, folding her arms below her bosom.
Harry could tell his best mate was rapidly losing all patience with the bushy-haired muggleborn, as Ron glared at Hermione and said, "It's what people in the wizarding world did back then, all right? I'm not condoning it, and besides, nobody forced my gran to do anything she didn't want to – she was disowned for marrying into my family, remember?"
"Can we possibly get to the part about the mirror, please?" Harry sighed wearily, wondering if these two would ever be able to have a conversation without it devolving into a fight of some sort. { It's like they actually enjoy arguing with one another that way, or something. Ugh! }
"Right. Yeah. Well, my great-grandfather, Frugoldus Weasley –" Ron started to say.
"Frugoldus?" Hermione interrupted. "What kind of a name is that?"
"Don't answer that, Ron – just keep going!" Harry ordered, knowing that allowing the conversation to go there would lead to nothing but a loud screaming match – and the subject of the Mirror completely forgotten.
Luckily, Ron simply glared at Hermione for a moment before he nodded and said, "Well, a long time ago, he was the head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Weasley – the family eventually lost the title, although that's neither here nor there right now. Thing is, Frugoldus was a Charms master and he created the Mirror as a wedding gift for his son. And my grandfather gave it to his in-laws, in exchange for the Head of House Black – I think his name was Phineas Nigellus, or something like that – giving his blessing to the marriage."
{ Phineas – hang on, I know that name! } Harry thought to himself, frowning. { Oh, that's right, that portrait back in my O.W.L.s year – he was Sirius' great-great-grandfather, and the least popular headmaster in Hogwarts' history! I wonder... }
"And yet, your grandmother was still disowned for marrying your grandfather? Despite both families being purebloods, and the heads' prior approval of the match?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing.
Ron's face and ears started to turn red. "Er, well... that part doesn't exactly show my family in the best possible light, actually. Any chance that you two...?" Ron trailed off, taking in their expressions. "Yeah, I guess not."
"Well?" Hermione wanted to know, tapping her right foot impatiently.
Ron exhaled loudly, the redness increasing somewhat. "This mirror was supposed to be something really powerful, you know? My great-grandfather was worried that the Blacks would abuse it, once they got their hands on it. So... apparently he rigged it, before he gave it to my grandfather."
"Rigged it, how?" Harry wanted to know. The story was definitely starting to intrigue him, and Hermione too, from the look on her face.
"From what my grand-dad told me, the Mirror could only be used by someone with Weasley blood," Ron confessed, starting to look embarrassed. "Which, considering how many of us there were back then – the Weasleys had more heirs than just about any other Noble and Ancient House – well, that wouldn't have mattered to the Blacks. The right amount of gold can buy you a lot of things, even a Weasley willing to go against their Head of House. But there was more to it than just being part of the family..."
"Like what?" Harry asked eagerly, leaning forward.
"Yes, what?" Hermione echoed, just as eagerly.
"You know how the British wizarding world is a pretty small place, right? Just about everyone knows everyone else – and back then, it was even smaller than it was before the first war," Ron sighed again. "Anyway, Grand-dad Septimus told me that in order to get the Mirror to work after it had been switched off, you needed to do it using parseltongue –"
"WHAT?!" Harry shouted in surprise.
"Yeah. Why do you think I knew about parselmouths, back in our second year? Not like I'd forgotten my grandfather's stories 'bout them," Ron shrugged. "I reckon my great-grandfather must have gotten one of the Gaunts – probably the Head of House – to do it. The Blacks wouldn't have known you had to speak snake in order to get the Mirror to wake up, and so they got right pissed over being cheated out of Granny Cedrella's bride price..."
"But what exactly does the Mirror do, Ron? You still haven't answered my question about that," Hermione said urgently. "I mean, is this thing going to be of help to us in hunting for Voldemort's horcruxes?"
"I don't know," Ron said, after noticeably wincing – Harry scowled at that, when was his best mate ever going to be able to hear or say that name without flinching? Anyway, the ginger added, "And whenever I asked my grandfather what the Mirror really did, he'd just smile and say, "You'll find out one day, Ronnie." Only thing is, that 'one day' never came –"
"Until now," Harry interrupted, looking excited. "All right, then, let's find out. Work!" he hissed at the Mirror, speaking the language of snakes – but nothing happened.
"Half a mo', something I've got to do first," Ron said, somewhat apologetically. He turned around and headed off in the direction of the kitchen. A few moments later, the Weasley returned with a knife in hand.
"What are you going to do with that?" Hermione demanded, eyeing the knife in alarm.
But Harry, who had seen this sort of thing before during the night Dumbledore had died, had already guessed the answer. "Blood sacrifice..." He turned to Ron and said, "You need the blood of a Weasley to get the Mirror to work, don't you?"
"Yeah," Ron shrugged. He then pressed the knife into his left palm, enough to draw blood – and then he pressed his hand against the gold frame of the Mirror.
Straightaway, the black surface of the Mirror vanished, and the room was reflected normally. Harry took that as his cue and hissed in the serpentine language again, "Work!"
Straightaway, the Mirror grew frosted all over and there was an odd humming noise. Then the Mirror cleared up, and Harry saw –
"Malfoy?!"
Harry couldn't believe it. His former classmate and nemesis, Draco Malfoy – Slytherin, pureblood bigot, and the one who'd let his fellow Death Eaters into Hogwarts, which had led to Dumbledore's death – what was that git doing here, looking back at him and his friends from the other side of that mirror?
"Not exactly," Mirror Draco responded to Harry's question, with that blasted Malfoy smirk quickly appearing on his face. "Been a long time – ah, right. It's like that, is it? Then permit me to introduce myself; I'm the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities, at your reluctant service."
"You're not the real Draco Malfoy, then? So why are you looking like him, of all people?" Hermione wanted to know, a scowl appearing on her face.
"Do you want to tell her, Weasel? Or shall I do it?" Mirror Draco smirked at Ron, who clenched his hands into fists upon hearing that detested nickname. "Because it'd just be so much more fun that way!"
{ I don't like this, } Harry thought to himself worriedly, as the Mirror's behavior was almost making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. { This thing doesn't talk like a normal magical mirror; in fact, it reminds me a lot of a certain book I encountered at Hogwarts... }
"According to my grandfather, part of the price you have to pay for using the Mirror – it's being forced to see the face of the person who annoys you the most," Ron semi-growled.
"Precisely!" Mirror Draco nodded. "I could look like this..." The image in the mirror morphed into that of Luna Lovegood, yet still with that annoying smirk that just looked so utterly wrong on the female Ravenclaw's face.
"Or, like this," Mirror Luna said, before changing into the Gryffindor known as Colin Creevey, who was an excitable young chap a year below the three of them. Even worse than Luna Lovegood, though, did that smug expression fit upon his face.
"But since neither you nor Granger are a Weasley, Potter, I'm forced to look like this," Mirror Colin vanished and Mirror Draco returned, smug look and all. "It's rather fitting, actually – all three of you find this face equally annoying. Well, not so much the Gryffindor princess, perhaps."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione immediately demanded, and rather heatedly.
"I already told you – I'm the Mirror of Infinite Possibilities, you dumb bint," Mirror Draco looked down his nose at her. "Like the name implies, I know everything about nearly every possible occurrence. That's how I know you don't get that angry about whatever Draco Malfoy says, not like the Weasel and the Scarhead here. In fact, if things had happened differently in the past, there's a possibility you'd be shagging Malfoy right now –"
"THAT'S RIDICULOUS!" Ron instantly bellowed, the tips of his ears flaming crimson.
"He's right, I would never –" Hermione started to say, looking sick.
"Shows what you know, princess. Just an example – if it had been you that had found Malfoy sobbing in that toilet a few months back, instead of Pot-head here? Let's just say it might have been an encounter that would have really changed your outlook on things," Mirror Draco grinned malevolently. "Once you try on platinum-blond, you can't ever go back – if you know what I mean?"
"OH! How dare you even imply that Draco and I, that we, that – whatever, I'm not that kind of girl!" Hermione shouted, looking insulted and annoyed.
"You heard her. Shut yer filthy gob about that, and never so much as even hint at it again – that's an order, understand?" Ron glared at Mirror Draco, who just pouted and then nodded silently.
"You know, I'm beginning to think that all this was a mistake," Harry spoke up, eyeing Mirror Draco carefully. "I mean, this thing is almost acting like Voldemort's Diary Horcrux..."
"Hey! My great-grandfather wouldn't have ever made something like that!" Ron shouted, looking insulted and annoyed.
"Wait a minute...where exactly did the instructions for making you come from, I wonder? Secrets of the Darkest Art, perhaps?" Hermione speculated, eyeing the Mirror carefully.
"I'm not obligated to answer that, princess," Mirror Draco replied, in a sulky tone of voice. "And I'm insulted that you even need to ask that question! What exactly has the Weasel told you about me, anyway?"
"Not much, because I don't actually know anything – other than what my grand-dad told me," Ron replied icily.
"Ah, you mean Sep? Fairly good specimen for a Weasley, him and Ceddie should have turned their family's fortunes around long ago – well, if he'd been sorted into Slytherin where he belonged, anyway," Mirror Draco sniffed. "But oh no, he was all, "Not Slytherin! Not Slytherin!" at eleven years old. Waste of potential – just like you, Scarhead."
"Stop calling us those offensive nicknames!" Hermione yelled indignantly, as Harry unconsciously flinched. "Ron, can't you order this thing to –"
"Sorry, princess, but the Weasel can't order me to do that. Everything else, yes, but being polite and subservient? No. I was designed this way by my creator, may Master Frugoldus' memory last forever," Mirror Draco interrupted, looking gleeful. "And you can't force me to act like what you want without destroying me, so there!"
"OOOH!" Hermione's eyes were almost blazing with ire and fury, and all of a sudden, Harry was worried that he and Ron might not be able to stop her if she decided to do something violent –
"How much do you know about what's currently happening in the wizarding world?" Ron suddenly spoke up, looking at Mirror Draco intensely.
"Enough," the image of the platinum-blond youth within the mirror replied. "Well, enough to know that you and these two are in way over your heads, and the odds are the Dark Lord and his thugs are eventually going to find you all, and kill you. Well, you and your princess might survive, Weasel – but then, you two don't have that bloody prophecy hanging over your necks like your best mate does, do you?"
"You know about that?" Harry almost whispered, looking shocked.
"What, that either you or the Dark Wanker will eventually stand over the other's corpse? Don't be daft, Pot-head, of course I know about that!" Mirror Draco scoffed. "And even though I can show you the various possibilities of how things could have ended up, if events had been different in the past –"
"What do you mean?" Hermione interrupted, looking confused.
Mirror Draco grinned. "Be easier if I simply showed you all, wouldn't it?"
The Mirror of Infinite Possibilities then started glowing, and an intense white light appeared out of nowhere and engulfed the Golden Trio, momentarily blinding them.
But then they saw and heard –
Hut-On-The-Rock, the Sea, not far off the English Midlands coastline
July 30th, 1991
Harry looked around at the filthy hut that his uncle, Vernon Dursley, had brought him and Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley to. The hut smelled strongly of seaweed and rat droppings, had only two rooms, a damp and empty fireplace, and little else – in fact, there was only two pieces of furniture present: a moth-eaten sofa, and a lumpy bed. The hut was a rather rickety wooden structure, which had filthy sagging windows, and wind blew through the many cracks in the walls with a slight whistling sound.
To be honest, there was nothing for Harry to do here but curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket on the floor and wait for the midnight hour to come, when he would finally turn eleven years old. It had certainly been an unusual week –
A week filled with aggressively multiplying letters addressed to him, from some mysterious writer.
Harry didn't know what exactly was going on, how it was the letters kept following him and the Dursleys everywhere they went; all he knew was that all this couldn't possibly keep on going forever. At some point, his uncle would regain his sanity and return them all to Number 4 Privet Drive – who knew, maybe the house would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow, and finally read its contents?
{ I'm hungry, } Harry thought to himself, as his stomach rumbled angrily. There wasn't any food here at the hut, at least not anymore – the bananas and chips Uncle Vernon had brought had all been consumed earlier, and not by Harry himself, or anyone other than Dudley. { Couldn't Uncle Vernon have brought more food? Dudley's going to start complaining in the morning, if nothing else – I bet he'll throw a tantrum, especially if I remind that pig in a wig that it's my birthday! }
One minute to go and he'd be eleven, according to the lighted dial of Dudley's watch. Thirty seconds... twenty... ten... nine – maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him – three... two... one...
And just as he turned eleven years old, there was a sharp knock on the door of the hut. It was a simple three-tap cadence, and not especially loud – but one which nonetheless woke up his cousin instantly.
"What's going on?" Dudley asked stupidly, blinking awake.
"There's someone knocking on the door," Harry replied, wondering who it could be.
"Mum! Dad! There's someone at the front door!" Dudley immediately yelled for his parents, at the top of his lungs.
There was a loud crash of the bedroom door slamming open behind them, and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding an old hunting rifle in his hands – and Harry now knew what had been in the long, thin package the man had brought along for this trip.
"Who's there?" Vernon shouted. "I warn you – I'm armed!"
"Good for you," a loud, contemptuous male voice came from outside. "Now open this door at once, or else I'll open it myself."
At that moment, Aunt Petunia came running into the room – Harry couldn't help noticing she'd taken the time to brush her hair, which was rather typical of her obsessive-compulsive behavior – and she immediately demanded to know what was going on. "Vernon, who is that? And at this ungodly hour of the night?"
"Don't know, Pet," Harry's uncle replied. Then he shouted to the man outside, "I'll not open the door until you identify yourself! Y'hear me?"
"You can't say I didn't warn you what I'd do if you didn't cooperate, Dursley. Alohomora," the male voice said, and to Harry's shock – the lock clicked open and the door swung aside to allow the mysterious visitor in.
Harry had a brief glimpse of a man in his early thirties wearing black robes like the Emperor from Star Wars, someone with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin – when Aunt Petunia suddenly erupted, "YOU!"
"Yes, me. Hello, Petunia. It's been a very long time, hasn't it?" the stranger openly sneered at his aunt, before shutting the door behind him.
"You know this bloke, love?" Uncle Vernon lowered the rifle slightly, looking confused.
"Yes, Vernon. He's one of them," Harry's aunt spat in disgust. "His name is Severus Snape."
{ Severus? What kind of name is that? I mean, who basically names their son 'cutter'? And I still don't know – what's he doing here? } Harry thought to himself. He looked around at his uncle and cousin, but neither of them seemed to have any idea who this strange man was...
"Is he a friend of yours, mum?" Dudley suddenly asked, drawing everyone's attention to himself.
"Hardly," Snape sneered at his cousin, something Harry had never witnessed anyone do before. "I was friends with your mother's sister – your Aunt Lily – but Petunia never liked me, boy. And the feeling was quite mutual, I assure you."
"What are you doing here?!" Uncle Vernon suddenly demanded, raising the rifle again. "Start talking, man, and don't you insult my wife again –"
To Harry's shocked surprise, Snape instantly withdrew a stick that was roughly 14 inches long and pointed it at Uncle Vernon, before hissing venomously, "Expelliarmus!"
There erupted a red jet of light, almost blinding to Harry's eyes, and the rifle was instantly plucked from Uncle Vernon's grasp and hurled away to the other side of the hut, where it loudly discharged itself into the fireplace. The obese walrus of a man started gasping, "What – how-?"
"A basic Disarming Charm, you muggle simpleton," Snape said mockingly after they'd mostly gotten their hearing back, and then putting away his stick. "Didn't Petunia teach you anything about our world?"
"No, because I want nothing to do with you and your world!" Aunt Petunia screeched, startling almost everyone in the room. "Your world killed my sister, as well as her useless, layabout husband! Not to mention how you saddled my family with their unholy spawn!"
Harry was fairly sure that Snape looked shocked for a moment – but it was only for a moment. Then the strange man turned his head to look in Harry's direction.
Not entirely to his surprise, Harry saw no trace of kindness or warmth in Snape's gaze – only disgust and contempt that something as low as Harry Potter dared stand in front of him.
"Ah, yes. Our – famous celebrity," Snape practically growled, his black eyes almost glowing with malice. "You look very much like your father did, at that age."
"You knew my dad?" Harry asked, as his brain finally started to process everything he'd heard for the last couple of minutes, that rifle had been really loud. He didn't get the whole 'celebrity' thing, but there were more important things on his mind right now. "As well as my mum? What were they like? And d'you have any pictures? I've always wanted to know what they looked like..."
Snape went very still for a moment, before he whirled around to face Aunt Petunia. "What in Merlin's name is he talking about? How can Potter not know what his own parents looked like?!"
"I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you, Snape," the horse-faced woman stuck her nose up in the air disdainfully. "Now, what do you want here? Either explain yourself, or leave. I still remember enough of your world to register an official complaint with the Ministry, you should know!"
{ Ministry? What ministry? } Harry didn't get it – as far as he knew, his aunt had never before spoken of any connections to the government. { Is Aunt Petunia some sort of spy, like a female version of James Bond? No, that's ridiculous! She wouldn't even qualify for the role of Miss Moneypenny... }
"And here I thought you preferred to believe the wizarding world didn't exist," Snape scoffed.
"The what?" Harry and Dudley said at the same time, before turning to look at each other in confusion.
"Mum, dad. What's he talking about?" Dudley subsequently demanded.
"Be quiet, boy. This doesn't concern you – or even your father, technically speaking," Snape snapped at Harry's cousin, before his aunt and uncle could say anything.
"Here now, don't you talk to my son like that, you greasy lump!" Uncle Vernon shouted immediately.
Snape immediately brought his stick out and quickly crossed the distance separating him from Uncle Vernon. "You know what this is, don't you, Dursley?" the strange man purred, as he jabbed the stick into the other man's neck. "However much denial you might want to indulge in, I know for a fact that you've been read into the Statute of Secrecy – you know what a wizard's wand is, and you know what it can do. Just like you know what I can do to a pathetic muggle like yourself, if I was of a mind to. So, do you really think it's a good idea to antagonize me?"
"Err, what's a muggle?" Harry asked timidly, not wanting to draw Snape's ire but not wanting to remain completely confused anymore either.
"A non-magical person, Potter," Snape informed him, after stepping away from Uncle Vernon and lowering his wand. The black-eyed man – wizard? – then added, "Someone like your relatives, but not you and I."
"Stop!" Uncle Vernon abruptly commanded. "Stop right there! I forbid you to tell the boy anything more!"
"You? Forbid me?" Snape suddenly looked genuinely amazed. "And you plan to enforce that edict, how? Dursley, have you taken leave of your senses completely?" He then turned back to Harry and said, "Am I to understand, Potter, that you didn't know that your mother was a witch? That your father was a wizard? That you yourself are a magical child?"
"I said stop!" Uncle Vernon thundered madly. "We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish, swore we'd stamp it out of him! Told that Dimbledoor codger himself what we'd do, if he left the brat in our care!"
Snape's facial expression was absolutely murderous, and Uncle Vernon's courage failed him as he took several steps backwards. Harry didn't know what to say for several seconds, before he stammered, "You mean, you and Aunt Petunia knew that I'm a – a wizard?"
"Of course we knew!" Aunt Petunia suddenly shouted. "How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? I was the only one who saw her for what she was – a freak! But my mother and father – oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were so proud of having a witch in the family!"
Snape had gone completely still again, Harry noticed. And it also seemed to Harry that Aunt Petunia had wanted to say all this for a long time, years perhaps, and now she was finally giving voice to her repressed bitterness and anger...
"Then she met that Potter boy at school and they got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as, as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up, and we got landed with you!"
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But – you told me my parents died in a car crash. Didn't they?"
"A car crash, Petunia? Really? That's pathetic, even for you! Does your jealousy of Lily's abilities truly possess no limits?" Snape demanded with his characteristic sneer. "I wonder, who was it who came up with that story? Not you, I'm sure. Dumbledore? No, not him either. Most likely it was Dursley, here –"
"Who's this, er... person you're talking about?" Dudley suddenly spoke up, and Harry almost started in surprise – his overweight cousin had been so quiet lately, he'd almost forgotten the other boy was present and listening to everything being said, just like himself.
"Albus Dumbledore – not Dimbledoor," He briefly gave Vernon the stink-eye. "The Headmaster of Hogwarts," Snape added brusquely, barely glancing at Dudley. He then turned to face Harry and said, "Am I correct in assuming you don't know what Hogwarts is, Potter?"
"Um, yes, sir," Harry said meekly.
"Here." Snape tossed him one of the letters that Uncle Vernon had been trying to keep away from him for days, now. "Read that – and unless you want me to turn you into a pig or a goat or some such thing, Dursley, you will stand still and remain quiet while the boy does so. Understood?"
Harry paid no attention to the threat – he was too busy ripping open his letter and finally reading what it had to say. He barely even noticed Dudley reading it as well, as the blond boy peeked over his shoulder:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
{ Am I dreaming? } Harry couldn't help asking himself. { Witchcraft and wizardry? I mean, this can't actually be happening – can it? }
"What does it mean, they await Harry's owl?" Dudley asked in confusion.
"Load of freaky tosh, son, that's what it is!" Uncle Vernon suddenly exploded. "I remember, when that grotesque old codger forced us to take the boy in – I actually asked that question myself. Then we had those blasted owls coming to the house at all hours of the night, didn't they, pecking away at the windows, didn't let us have a moment's peace – or a decent night's sleep! What's wrong with using the Royal Mail, I'd like to know? Turns out those freaks don't even use phones –"
"Some of us actually know what a phone is, Dursley," Snape interrupted, a scowl appearing on his face. "Now, mind your tongue – or perhaps something terrible will happen."
"Like what?" Uncle Vernon demanded.
"Unlike most wizards, I can navigate the muggle world with ease," Snape smiled, and Harry didn't like that smile – it was evil, and promised great cruelty to those it was aimed at. "It would be the simplest thing in the world for me to show up at your workplace, and manufacture enough evidence to prove you guilty of embezzlement and fraud, if not worse. I wouldn't even need any advanced magic, you know, a simple Confundus or two should suffice -"
"You, you can't do that! It's against the law! YOUR law!" Aunt Petunia shrieked.
Snape smiled lazily. "Do you really think anyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement actually cares what happens to muggles like you and your husband, Petunia? I remember how Lily once said that the Wizengamot's laws were only as good as the people in charge of enforcing them... so just how much attention will the Aurors pay to your accusations against me? The only reason they'll even acknowledge your existence is the nephew you obviously loathe, have you forgotten that?"
"That's it, I've heard enough – get out, Mr. Snape, and take that blasted letter with you," Uncle Vernon interjected. "The boy's not going to that freak school, and that's that."
"Oh, really? You think you can prevent it, Dursley?" Snape smiled that evil and malevolent smile again. "How, pray tell?"
"Simple. I'm not paying for some crackpot fools to teach the boy magic tricks," Uncle Vernon said stoutly. "He'll go to Stonewall High, and be grateful for it!"
Snape's smile turned into a sinister smirk. "Oddly enough, I would actually love to see that happen – but alas, that happy power does not rest with either me or you. The sad fact is Potter's parents had him enrolled since the day he was born, and Dumbledore has doubtless ensured that the boy's trust vault at Gringotts has enough gold to last him all seven years at Hogwarts. So, get used to the fact that Potter will be attending school there and spending his summers with you and your family, until he comes of age –"
"I said no!" Uncle Vernon shouted, and Harry had the oddest feeling that the man was trying to deny the inevitable, just like he'd been trying to deny Harry his Hogwarts letter for nearly a week now. "The brat's not going to that useless bloody school for freaks and weirdos, and that's final!"
"Dumbledore, you truly owe me for this. And Hagrid, you clumsy oaf, why'd you have to break your blasted leg like that..." Snape muttered to himself, but Harry still managed to hear the words. He had no idea who this 'Hagrid' was, but then the wizard withdrew his stick – wand – again and said angrily, "I have been very patient with you up until now, Dursley – but enough is enough. No more! Potter and I will be leaving this wretched place immediately – though, personally, I doubt he even wants anything to do with you and your family –"
"That's kidnapping," Aunt Petunia interjected, looking at Snape hatefully. "A crime in both worlds, and you know it! And don't you dare try to threaten us with a, a – what did Lily call it – a Memory Charm, you'd botch it completely!"
"Is that what you think?" Snape snarled at her.
"Yes, and – Dudley? What are you-?"
Harry suddenly noticed that his cousin was tugging on his aunt's sleeve and pointing at his uncle, who had gone to retrieve the long-ignored rifle on the other side of the room.
"Vernon, no!" Aunt Petunia screamed, but it was too late. Her husband had already taken aim, and was starting to pull the trigger –
Ka-BOOM!
Harry flinched at the weapon's loud roar (he'd just barely gotten the ringing to stop from the first gunshot), and then he flinched again when he saw Snape's smiling face. The wizard lowered his wand and said, "Protego. The Shield Charm – something so simple, a child could do it. Did you really think you could harm me, Dursley?"
Then the smile vanished. "I, on the other hand, can definitely harm you. It's too bad I'm not allowed to inflict any lasting damage, so a simple Stunner will have to do. Stupefy!"
A scarlet jet of light burst out from the wand, and Uncle Vernon keeled over, his weight such that the hut floor actually trembled from the huge impact of flesh meeting wood.
"VERNON!" "DAD!" Both Dursleys shouted at the same time, and rushed over towards the fallen man in question.
"Come along, Potter, time for us to go," Snape gestured impatiently.
For one timeless moment, Harry didn't move. And even though he didn't know it – two possible paths lay before him...
In one path, he obediently went with the Hogwarts professor and learned everything he needed to know from the school's Potions master – from a certain point of view, anyway – before eventually being sorted into Slytherin, growing up and slaying the murderer of his parents... before marrying the heiress known as Daphne Greengrass (and charming her best friend Tracy Davis into becoming his mistress, because (a) dogfather influence and (b) she was just that fanciable), and taking his place in pureblood wizarding society.
In the other path, he refused to accompany Snape anywhere, which infuriated the man to the point where he aimed his wand at the Boy-Who-Lived – and then, one burst of accidental magic later, Severus was engulfed in flames, and collapsed screaming before the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad showed up, who then immediately summoned the Aurors.
In the ensuing scandal, Dumbledore lost a lot of political capital when it became known he'd sent a marked Death Eater to meet with the British wizarding world's hero – and thus, Albus was unable to prevent the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, from personally stepping in and removing Harry from the home of his muggle relatives. Vague pleas about blood wards were ignored, since the old man refused to explain details and his credibility had plunged to an all-time low.
That was, in fact, partly why Dumbledore couldn't prevent Amelia Bones, the head of the DMLE, from making Harry a ward of the Ministry, which later resulted in the Chosen One being sorted into Hufflepuff, growing up and slaying the murderer of his parents... before marrying Amelia's niece Susan (and taking Hannah Abbott as their mistress, because (a) the two women shared everything together and (b) Neville Longbottom somehow ended up the owner of a highly popular pureblood sex dungeon), and rising to the rank of Head Auror in the DMLE.
Either way, the future didn't exactly look good for the Weasley family, and Hermione Jean Granger...
A/N: 1) This 'might have been' initially begins at the end of chapter 3 (p. 45) of JKR's 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone', and all the text from therein does not belong to me!
2) The name Frugoldus Weasley (Ron's great-grandfather) is used courtesy of RHGroeninga and his fanfic "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Weasley", thanks to that author for allowing me to use it!
3) As I was about to publish this story, I suddenly realized – it's been twenty freaking years (to the day!) since I became a member of this site, and posted my first fanfic here. Not sure how to feel about that, except old!