Part Two
"…up, you prat."
Something firm nudged his side. Alfred got the feeling that the something was a foot.
"Are you listening to me? Get up. What sort of idiot takes naps on a Quidditch pitch in the middle of the day?!"
Alfred opened his eyes only to be greeted by utter darkness. For a second, he thought he been blinded and panic scrambled his brain until he rolled over and his sight was swallowed by the translucent grey sky above him. He'd never been so happy to see that miserable British sky.
He was shivering with the cold, the corners of his glasses had bit into the skin above his eyes and there was a persistent person kicking him.
"Wha–?" was all he managed to say.
"Well? Are you going to move? Or would you rather be concussed by the Quaffle?"
"Quaffle? Like a waffle?"
The person peering down at him, hands at his hips, was rendered speechless at Alfred's response. His eyes scanned over Alfred and his (crazy massive) eyebrows scrunched when they landed on Alfred's legs.
"You're bleeding," the stranger pointed out.
"Woah. Am I going to die?"
The stranger knelt to Alfred's level and into a ray of pallid sunlight that illuminated his face.
"Professor Kirkland?!"
Alfred sat up so quickly he sent himself into a state of sickly vertigo and had to flop back on to the thistly grass, his stomach squirming with protest.
"The bloody hell are you doing?!"
There was no mistaking it, the boy crouched beside him was undoubtedly his Herbology teacher. But that was impossible. Unless he had used an aging charm on himself for some unknown reason. That must be it, that had to be it, Alfred couldn't think of any other explanation. Professor Kirkland was a weird guy; he'd do weird stuff like that, right?
"Sorry, I didn't realise it was you, Professor."
"Do I look like a Professor to you?" the Professor said, gesturing to himself. The skin at the bridge of his nose creased in puzzlement and impatience.
At this age, the answer was no, he didn't look like a Professor. Seeing his teacher like this, Alfred guessed he could be no older than himself, was disorientating and plain bizarre. Teachers were inhuman beings, as far as students were concerned, people who ceased to exist outside of their classrooms and they certainly didn't have normal experiences such as childhoods.
Professor Kirkland didn't appear all that different as a teenager. There were less crinkles around his eyes and forehead and there was something distinctly different about his presence. It took Alfred a minute to put his finger on it but he realised that his teacher didn't hold the same gravitas at this age; he didn't have that unapproachable quality that scared the pants off a lot of students. His eyes, the same diamond-clear green, were animated and readable.
Taking in the fluffy, wheat-blond hair, the lily-pale lips and constellation of freckles on his pixie-like nose and across his high cheekbones, an alarming thought about his teacher invaded Alfred's mind.
He's… pretty.
WHAT– NO–!
Alfred almost bolted into an upright position again. A hand pressed on his chest and pushed him down before he could move.
"Idiotic Gryffindors. Stay still." With that, Alfred was left alone, his head reeling so fast he worried he might be giving himself brain damage.
What's happening?
Professor Kirkland reappeared in his eye-line and he was accompanied by someone else. Alfred was too queasy to keep up with their conversation but he heard slivers of it, namely that he was going to be taken to the infirmary by Professor Kirkland. He was propelled on to his feet and his arm was wrapped around Kirkland's shoulders.
"Make sure you come straight back, Arthur."
"Yes, sir."
Why did Professor Kirkland call that man 'sir'?
"A little help would be nice," Kirkland ground out. "You're bloody heavy."
Alfred picked up his feet and as he did so, something rattled against his chest.
Everything made sense.
"What year is it?"
"You must be joking, you're not that badly concussed."
"Seriously, what year is it?" Alfred spluttered, tongue-tied with urgency.
Kirkland paused. "2006. December 1st 2006."
Alfred's heart upturned and he wheezed, his eyes going wide and unseeing.
Nine years? He'd travelled back nine whole years?!
"Oh my god. Oh my holy fucking shit on a stick."
"I'm assuming that wasn't the answer you were looking for?"
If Professor Kirkland showing concern in connection to his least favourite student wasn't a testament to the world having gone topsy-turvy, Alfred didn't know what was.
"Who's the headmaster?"
"Professor Wang, of course. Surely you know that? I don't see how–"
"I need to see him, please." Alfred stopped and turned to his teacher. "It's really important that I see him, please. Tell him I know he was born in a village called Cuandixia. He'll understand, I promise."
He really hoped he'd pronounced that right.
Professor Kirkland blinked at Alfred, his lips parted with astonishment. "You're in no shape to reach his office. How about I take you to the infirmary and I'll see if Professor Wang can visit you? I'll tell him it's a matter of urgency, if you want?"
Alfred's first instinct was to reject the idea but the sharp sting in his legs quietened those instincts. He found himself nodding. "Yeah, okay, that sounds like a good idea." He surprised himself with the next thing that fell out of his mouth. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. I don't know what on earth has happened to you but I have a feeling you were experimenting with magic you shouldn't have been. Perhaps this will teach you a lesson," Kirkland said accusatorially with the tone he had often used on Alfred as a teacher. To Alfred's amusement, it wasn't nearly as intimidating on a teenage boy.
He laughed. "Yeah, maybe."
Kirkland huffed at his cheekiness but, to Alfred's utter amazement, there was a hint of a smile ghosting at the corner of his lips.
"Hey," Alfred said, noting the rough fabric of the Quidditch uniform his Professor was wearing. "You were a Seeker?"
"I am a Seeker."
"I never knew that."
Kirkland looked at Alfred strangely. "Of course you never knew that, we've only just met. Which it in itself is very odd; you must be a new student. What year are you in?"
Alfred mentally kicked himself for his faux pas and passed it off with an easy grin. "Yeah, sorry, I am a new student. And I'm a seventh year." Do I tell him my real name…? "Alfred F. Jones at your service. Nice to meet ya." Too late.
"Arthur Kirkland, but you already knew that, didn't you?"
They reached the infirmary before Alfred had to answer, thankfully, and the school nurse was bustling about him in no time. He was mummified in a squeaky, metal-frame bed, mellowed out on a cocktail of healing potions, when Professor Wang billowed in, his purple robes gliding around him. Kirkland flittered in after him with an air of awkwardness, of all things.
This is one weird day.
"Mr. Kirkland, I think it's time for you to get back to your lesson," the Headmaster instructed.
"Yes, sir."
Alfred watched his sort-of-Professor left and, feeling a swell of gratefulness, he shouted, "Thank you!" The Slytherin jumped and swerved around to face Alfred. He graced Alfred with another nearly-smile.
"You certainly are a mystery, Mr. Jones. I don't share personal information carelessly yet it seems that you, and now Mr. Kirkland, know the name of my birthplace."
Heat bloomed in Alfred's cheeks. He hadn't stopped to consider that he wasn't at liberty to share that information with Kirkland. "Oops, sorry about that."
"Not to worry. Nevertheless, I do need you to answer my question, Mr. Jones."
"Right, yeah, um, you told me where you born."
"Did I?" He arched a thin, black eyebrow.
"Well, I should have said you'll tell me. In nine years' time."
"I fear I already know what you're going to say but how is it you know this almost a decade in advance?"
Professor Wang's eyes followed Alfred's motions as he dipped a hand underneath his shirt and pulled out the broken time-turner. His face didn't react and Alfred didn't know whether that was a good or a bad sign.
"Have you told anyone else that you have travelled?" he queried, as calm as an unbroken surface of water.
"No, you told me to come straight to you if I was ever in trouble. No one else knows."
The Headmaster nodded and pressed his lips together. He made no move to speak again and as the silence stretched on, something began to bud inside Alfred, something that, throughout the chaos, he hadn't taken into account before.
How was he going to get back?
"Sir," Alfred croaked, throat dry. "Am I stuck here?"
"I'm afraid I don't know." Alfred didn't think his stomach could take much more of this turbulence. "However, you are no longer in your own timeframe which means you are an inconsistency. There is an underlying logic in the disorder of time and that logic will certainly strive to correct inconsistencies."
Alfred had no idea what to say to that but the thought of 'being corrected' didn't sit well with him.
"For now, it is best not to worry. You are here and there's not a great deal we can do at this point. I am assuming you are in your final year at Hogwarts?" Alfred nodded. "I will enrol you into the school as a new student, assign you a dorm in Gryffindor and have a new uniform and supplies arranged for you. It seems you have warmed to Mr. Kirkland so, for the time being, you will follow his timetable. He has an aptitude for Herbology, I am told he is very talented."
Alfred's gears grinded to a halt internally. Kirkland had been helpful, sure, but that didn't mean he wanted to share every waking moment with the guy. Younger or not, he was still Alfred's nasty Herbology teacher.
"But, sir–"
"Before you continue, Mr. Jones," the Ravenclaw interjected. "I must caution you that it would be dangerous to reveal anything you know from the future."
"It's just… Professor K– um, Arthur…." Alfred grimaced. It was creepy to call a teacher by their first name, especially Professor Kirkland but he didn't exactly have a choice. "He's in my future and I wouldn't want compromise his future or mine."
"You have already told him your name," Professor Wang stated. "As long as you don't reveal any more incriminating information, neither of your futures should be compromised. Now, if I could take this…" His willowy fingers reached for the time-turner. Alfred handed it to him. "Thank you. I'll keep you updated as frequently as possible. You've had an eventful day; I don't think some rest would go amiss."
"Yeah," Alfred agreed sleepily, as if the Headmaster's observation had cast sleeping enchantment over him. He was out cold before Professor Wang had even left.
-/-
Alfred woke up confused. His limbs were heavy and sluggish, like he'd slept for hours and hours. He remembered what had happened but it all seemed so far away in the light of a new day. His memories were distorted by exhaustion and fear and he hoped beyond hope that it had all been a nightmare, a nightmare he could turn into kick-ass thriller fiction.
The pair of green eyes pretending not to watch him, however, obliterated Alfred's prospects of becoming filthy rich from time-travel blockbusters in the wizarding world.
It hadn't been a nightmare.
"How long have you been there?" Alfred asked, his voice roughened with sleep.
"Not very long, you can be sure of that," the Slytherin retorted, as defensive as a wild rabbit facing a predator. The smaller boy's cheeks had pinked.
"What time is it?"
"Lunchtime. The Headmaster asked me to check in on you and see if you felt up to having lunch in the great hall." Kirkland refused to meet Alfred's eyes and focused on plucking at the arm of the chair he was sat on instead.
"Yeah, I'm up for that. Man, I'm starving!" Alfred shimmied out the cocoon of starchy blankets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was in a paper-thin nightgown.
"Here." Kirkland rose to his feet, offering Alfred a pile of neatly folded school robes and essentials that had been resting on his lap. "I'll pull the curtain."
"Nah, its fine. I'm not shy and we're both guys." The Gryffindor untangled himself from the nightwear then reached for the waistband of his boxers.
"No, stop!" It wasn't a shout, it was a squawk. The shorter boy was glowing brilliant red and covering his face with his hands. "It's undignified, someone could… someone could walk in." He peeked between his fingers and zipped the curtain in front of Alfred, muttering something about Gryffindor shamelessness.
Alfred's lips tugged at the corners, thoroughly amused by Professor Kirkland's apparent prudishness. It wasn't unexpected, he'd just never thought about it.
"Okay, okay," Alfred chuckled.
He was wriggling into his trousers when a timid question reached his ears.
"Are you American or Canadian?"
"Whatcha think?"
There was a snort followed by a grumbled, "Bloody arrogant American."
"Guilty as charged, redcoat!"
He could practically feel the frown. "That's Muggle slang. Are you… Muggleborn?"
Alfred's straightened his back, heckles flaring as he stepped into dangerous territory where a Syltherin was concerned. "And what if I was?"
There was a long pause, too long, and disappointment frothed inside Alfred.
"Then we'd have something in common."
That stopped him in his tracks and he jerked the curtain aside. Kirkland was standing tall, stiff, not unlike Alfred moments ago, challenging those who opposed him for a battle he must have fought many times before.
"You're Muggleborn?"
"Yes." The single word was veined with ice, daring Alfred to speak against him.
Alfred raised his hands. "Good for you," he said sincerely. "Wow, I never even thought… there aren't many Muggleborn Slytherins. That must be tough."
He was eyed suspiciously, scrutinised for any falsehoods, until Kirkland realised Alfred wasn't picking a fight and he visibly unwound.
"I don't know what you're talking about," the Slytherin boy said, tactically avoiding besmirching his House's reputation. Very Slytherin of him.
"I'm Pureblood, actually, but I love Muggles!" Alfred announced with enthusiasm. "They have so many cool things like these touch-screen phones and machines that you can heat your food in and loads of awesome movies and TV shows like Captain America and Doctor Who. I kind of always wanted to be Muggleborn because you get to see both worlds, must be pretty amazing."
He could tell he robbed Kirkland's ability of speech once more because the boy was looking at Alfred like he'd grown a Hippogriff head.
"Microwaves," the smaller boy said quietly.
"Huh?"
"The machines that heat your food in, they're called microwaves."
"Hey, thanks! I'll remember that."
Alfred slipped his shoes on and walked with Kirkland out of the infirmary. He didn't hear a peep out of his old Professor for a long time and Alfred fretted that he'd actually offended him.
"Who's your favourite doctor?"
Of all the crazy scenarios Alfred had imagined himself, and there had been a lot, he wasn't renowned for his impressive imagination for nothing, Alfred had never, never, envisioned himself being dislocated in time, sitting at the Slytherin table, arguing with a younger version of his most hated Professor about Matt Smith's clear superiority as the Doctor over David Tennant.
Time really was a fickle thing.
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