A History of Violence
Harry raised his hands in a pacifying gesture as he tried to talk down the (obviously completely deranged) house elf.
Shortly after appearing in the middle or his room, it had bowed to him in worship, foretold his certain doom and severely injured itself in rapid succession. This would have been fine if it had stopped there. Harry's life, locked in his room, was completely devoid of any good diversion. Dobby the house elf was not exactly what he had in mind, but being the first friendly face Harry had seen since the start of the summer, he decided the little fellow was quite welcome to pop into his room and have a hissy fit as long as he had to stay at Privet Drive.
Harry was, however, quickly revising his initial assessment as Dobby stood on the kitchen table carefully levitating the four layer chocolate supreme cake that Aunt Petunia had prepared for the fancy dinner party currently taking place in the dining room. The cake hung in the air like the sword of Damocles, balanced perfectly, waiting for the slightest wrong move to be made.
Harry froze; Dobby stared.
"Harry Potter cannot go back to Hogwarts."
Harry had a choice. He knew that his family and Uncle Vernon's important clients, the Masons who were chatting in the next room would hear the noise of a seven pound layer cake going 'splat' against the kitchen table and come running immediately to investigate. He knew that they would find freaky Harry Potter, escaped from his room, trying to contain an elf that seemed to have no concept of common sense. No concept of mercy either, apparently; Dobby had to know what he was doing (and what the Dursleys would do to Harry).
To fix this, to save the cake and his one chance at getting that permission slip for Hogsmeade signed, all he had to do was tell Dobby that he would not go to Hogwarts. Such a small white lie; it would not be hard. Harry was a good liar. It was an unfortunate legacy from growing up in this house. Just two little words and his life would go back to normal.
Harry never had been very good at normal.
Twelve years spent oppressed under the iron fist of Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley had only forged his stubborn streak into an iron will. And there was no way he'd lie to appease a blackmailing house elf just to save a fancy dinner party. There were times when you had to bend rather than break, but this was not one of them. He summoned up his reckless courage and braced himself for the fallout.
It was what he did; he was a Gryffindor after all.
"I can and I will. Do your worse."
"Dobby is very sorry, Harry Potter."
With a crack and a bright flash of light the house elf disappeared, the magic previously holding up the cake leaving with him. Harry watched as the cake, as if in slow motion, hung in the air for a single moment before accelerating down . . . right onto top of Severus Snape's head.
"Professor Snape! When did you get here?! And why?" blurted Harry, too shocked to be politic. His questions stuttered to a stop as he realized that Severus Snape, dreaded Hogwarts Potions Professor, was covered head to toe in a heavy layer of chocolate frosting.
He didn't know whether to burst out laughing or run screaming in terror.
Snape slowly and very deliberately raised his hands to his face, wiping the larger chunks of cake off his eyes before opening them. His patented death glare was as potent as ever.
"Professor," said an impossibly familiar voice to Harry's right. "I think we're back at the Dursleys."
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"I'm sorry, but could you point me in the direction of the Department of Information?"
The clerk looked up from his filing, annoyed at the interruption, and glared at the woman in front of him. Without a word he pointed over her shoulder.
"Thank you," Lakhesis said, though her polite smile failed to reach her eyes. Then she turned and marched off in the indicated direction.
Lakhesis was having a bit of trouble finding any information relevant to her search. So far there was no sign of any dimensional travelers and no reports about any doubles popping out of the woodwork. This could mean anything though. It turned out that in this world, standard procedure in the event of an extra-dimensional encounter was to obliviate all witnesses and cart off the subjects to the nearest holding facility for monitoring. Her quarries could be in a cell at this very moment and she wouldn't know it. Time to get some help.
The Department of Information was essentially a giant government propaganda machine, but it did have its uses. For example: it kept complete and detailed records on every single magical artifact ever recovered, which would include object #35-41-11/b or, as it was more commonly known, 'that little whirly-gig thing that Acies used to play around with'.
Acies Evans had been a brilliant inventor and one of the rare 'true' seers; able to know incredibly specific details about events in the far future, but absolutely nothing about what was going on around her. If she had, she might have been able to stop her ex-boyfriend before he stuck a basilisk in a hidden chamber underneath her school. As the first Headmistress of Hogwarts, she was duty bound to prevent that kind of silly nonsense from happening.
Among her many creations was the 'universal adapter'. It was originally designed as a sort of magical remote control to use as a teaching aid in classes. She was tired of listening to the teachers complain about students using practice as an excuse to hurl hexes and jinxes at each other (with their full power behind them).
Unfortunately, the experiment didn't quite work out as planned. Instead of creating something that could remotely control the intensity of magic, she got a small multi-colored sphere that could track dimensional anomalies through space-time.
Go figure.
It wasn't a particularly useful item, so when the three fates came along and politely requested that she store it somewhere safe in case anyone ever needed it, Acies complied. Hundreds of years later Lakhesis was thankful for her foresight. Sitting on the shelf in front her was object #35-41-11/b, keyed to the sister's use alone.
"Can I help you?" asked an annoying nasal voice. She turned.
Percy Weasley had been destined for a Ministry job since the age of five, when he had asked his mother to fill out a series of request forms (in triplicate) if she really wanted him to clean his room. His presence in the stuffiest, most bureaucratic department in this world was not a big surprise.
"Just retrieving an item."
"May I see your B1-11/12 check out form?"
She had seen that one coming a mile away, and had prepared accordingly.
"Why yes, here it is," she said, wearing the same rigid smile as she handed over the stack of papers.
He inspected them carefully.
"Well, everything seems to be in order."
Lakhesis was about to let out a small sign of relief, but then he continued, "Now all you have to do is fill out the C21-11 check out procedural certification."
He dropped a ream of paper into her arms. Her legs buckled with the effort to support the extra weight.
"I'll be in my office if you need any assistance." He smiled politely, but his eyes clearly stated 'if-you-have-questions-figure-it-out-on-your-own-I-have-much-more-important-things-to-do-than-help-you-write-your-name-you-ignorant-halfwit'. (Percy's eyes were very expressive)
Lakhesis, fed up, dropped the huge stack of paper on his foot, grabbed the sphere and disappeared in a swirl of light.
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"Was that really necessary, sir?" asked Harry.
"By all means Potter, feel free to join them."
"No thank you, Professor; I'm fine where I am."
Snape smirked in amusement.
Hearing strange noises emanating from the kitchen, the Dursleys had immediately investigated. Snape, a naturally angry man who was still in a foul temper over the whole cake incident, was in no mood to deal with them on top of everything else. They were quickly stunned and left for the two Harrys to deal with as Snape went out to greet the Masons.
Harry and his older counterpart made quick work of their relatives. After all three were bound to the kitchen chairs with duct tape, the boys crept out into the living room to see how Snape was doing with the guests. They arrived just in time to see Mr. and Mrs. Mason walking calmly out the front door, eyes glazed over like zombies. The professor was walking behind them, waving his wand back and forth like a conductor and humming Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata under his breath. By all appearances, he was having the time of his life.
As soon as the drones stepped out onto the stoop, he cut the spell and slammed the door closed, turning and walking back into the kitchen. The two Harrys followed.
They now sat around the kitchen table in a strange sort of domestic scene.
The Harry from this world was gaping alternately at his unconscious relatives, still taped to chairs arranged next to each other on the far end, and the dimensional travelers in complete shock. Snape occupied himself with wiping the chocolate out of his already greasy hair since there were apparently messes that even a rigorously applied 'scorgify' couldn't clean. Demension-hopping Harry was over near the stove preparing some tea for the conversation that was about to take place. He had a feeling at least one of them would be needing it.
"Tea anyone?"
Snape motioned for a cup.
"Cream? Sugar?"
"Dollop of milk."
"Right." Harry reached into the fridge, grabbed the milk jug, and poured a small bit into the cup.
The other boy looked on, eyes wide. Snape took a fortifying sip of the tea before pointing at him.
"From now on, you're Potter. It will help cut down on the confusion."
"Does that mean I'm Harry?" Harry asked as he slid into a chair.
"No. You will continue to be referred to as 'brat' or 'boy' until further notice."
"Joy."
Snape gave him a stern look.
"I mean 'Joy, sir'."
The professor gave him an approving nod before taking another sip of tea. The slight quirk of his lips was hidden by the cup.
Harry's counterpart – Potter – piped up.
"Um, sir? What's going on?"
Snape shot Harry a look.
"Your fault; you explain."
Harry complied, giving a quick summary of the last two days, skimming over the information about Hogwarts since it looked like Potter was already a student there. He finished about the same time that the professor finished his tea.
"Wow. And I thought my life was weird," Potter said.
"Normal is overrated anyway," Harry smiled.
"I hate to interrupt Harry Potter bonding time," Snape said, "but is there any way to contact the Headmaster? Perhaps an owl?"
"There's Hedwig, but Aunt Petunia padlocked her cage. I haven't been able to break her out."
"Lead the way."
Harry busied himself with the dishes while the other two broke the lock on the owl cage and came back down the stairs.
"You live upstairs?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised.
Snape looked at him oddly and Potter glanced at the professor nervously before turning away.
"Yeah. I was moved after I got my first Hogwarts letter. It was addressed to specific rooms in the house and when Uncle Vernon saw the 'cupboard under the stairs' written on the front, he flipped out." Potter smiled softly in remembrance.
"I got moved to Dudley's second bedroom, but the address just changed. When he saw that it didn't work, we left the house. Took a week for Hagrid to track us down; by that point he'd dragged us all out to a miserable little island shack in the middle of nowhere. Watching him flip out over a period of seven days; it was the most fun I'd ever had."
"Hagrid. Isn't he the groundskeeper?"
"Yes. Apparently he helps deliver the acceptance letters in the off season."
Snape cut in, handing the finished letter requesting help from Dumbledore to Potter.
"Tell her to be quick about it," he said as the boy took the roll of parchment. Potter dutifully tied the letter around Hedwig's leg and the beautiful white owl flapped her wings, sailing gracefully into the night.
"With any luck he'll be here within the hour."
Snape motioned for the two boys to take a seat then reclaimed his own chair. Folding his hands carefully in front of him, he stared down at them and began speaking calmly.
"If you will recall, the first time we met I informed you that you would be answering a series of questions. I also warned you to answer truthfully, for I have several very effective methods for detecting lies."
Harry assumed that he was the one being addressed despite the fact that the professor was still staring down at his hands.
"Yes sir."
"It was therefore somewhat remiss of me that I failed to ask the correct questions."
"Professor?"
"The question I asked was 'are you currently suffering from physical abuse' when it would have been much more prudent to ask 'have you ever suffered abuse'. A simple but important grammatical error."
Harry wasn't sure what to say to that and his counterpart across the table looked equally stumped.
Snape raised his eyes to look directly into Harry's. Green met a deep and endless black as the professor gazed into his soul. It was rather disconcerting.
"So now I am left intensely curious as to the extent of your relative's hate for you. Tell me Mr. Potter, why was your letter addressed to the cupboard under the stairs?"
The older boy, feeling a strange need to stick up for his younger self, answered the question so the other wouldn't have to.
"We - I lived there. The Dursleys set up a cot and, well, I've always been small so I fit pretty well. It's cozy but not claustrophobic. And no one bothers you in there," he added, trying to make it sound like his old 'room' had at least one redeeming quality.
"I wasn't asking you."
"You said, 'Potter'".
Snape took the opportunity to shift his penetrating gaze towards the older boy.
"You're one of those smartass students that I absolutely hate, aren't you?"
"Yep."
The more things change, the more things stay the same.
There was once a time when a skinny little black haired boy sat at a kitchen table just like this one. The man who had interrogated him, asking a few of the same questions, had been the muggle father of a brilliant green eyed witch. He had been ashamed of his weakness and resented the fact that anyone would try to pry into his life in such a way.
That anyone should care.
That it was him now caring for this green eyed, black haired child was absurd. The son of his enemy! And also, as Severus was beginning to realize, the son of the only person he had well and truly loved. He managed to push past the suspiciously familiar tightening of his chest when he looked upon the boy, scared and alone and as lost as he had been so long ago. But for once he could not control his eyes as they softened minutely.
Fate has a twisted sense of humor.
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Atropos was encountering a different problem than Lakhesis – though one not wholly unrelated.
"Look, I don't give a crap if I'm a minor. If you don't hand over object #35-41-11/b this instant I'm going to go medieval on your ass."
"Object #35-what?"
"The sphere, you ponce!"
"Ah, no."
The Ministry was reduced to a small hut manned by three clerical interns, paperwork was virtually outlawed, and Percy Weasley was still a pain in the ass.
"Look, I'm on a mission to save the universe. I need that sphere!"
"On whose authority?"
"By the Divine Authority of Destiny, the Purview of the Daughters of Necessity, The Three Fates that Hold Dominion Over All Within the Natural Order!"
The dramatic effect of Atropos's words was somewhat ruined by the fact that she was half the man's height and was wearing a pink sundress and pigtails. It was very difficult to take anyone wearing pigtails seriously.
"Yes, but are you a certified member of the British Ministry?"
"The Ministry is three guys and a filing cabinet!"
"Four, if you count Irwin," he stated proudly.
Atropos leaned to the side and looked around Percy into the small cluttered room. Apparently Irwin was the molting owl that was glaring balefully from its perch next to the window. She turned back to the red-head.
"Irwin?"
"Yes. We've almost managed to convince him to deliver our mail!" he said in an impossibly upbeat tone.
Atropos decided to give up and make due without help. There was no use bargaining with crazy people.
"If you apply for a job, you would have access to Ministry resources."
. . . unless the crazy people bargained with you.
"Would you like to see my resume?"
"You're hired."
Wow, that was easier than she thought.
"You're going to head up our P.R. campaign for the Minister."
"Minister?"
"Yes. We need one. We would have one too, if anyone voted."
"What about you?"
"Sub-chapter 2634, part J, prohibits current Ministry employees from voting or running for office, to prevent corruption."
A perfectly understandable law, unless said Ministry was a joke.
"You're going to target the younger generation, using an aggressive marketing campaign to convince people that voting is 'cool'."
"English?"
"Join a band, become a hit, say 'voting is awesome' before and after each performance. I call it 'Rock the Vote'. What do you think?"
Atropos was thinking about backing away again; this man was clearly off the reservation (and over the mountains as well). But hey, it was only a week and then she could grab the sphere and get out of this world.
Besides, she had always wanted to learn how to play the guitar.
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"Ha. Teach you to disrespect you elders."
Percy let out an inarticulate grunt from his place on the floor.
"Honestly," she huffed in righteous indignation, "telling an old lady like me where she can and cannot go. As if an idiot like you could boss me around."
The muffled groans grew louder as Koltho stepped on Percy's stomach on her way out of the Department of Information. He recoiled into a ball after her passing, covering his head with his arms.
"Youngsters these days," she said to herself as she tossed the sphere in her right hand. "No manners to speak of. Really, what is the world coming to?"
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Snape, Harry and Potter traveled back up to Potter's room and began packing everything the older boy owned into a beat up magical trunk in preparation for Dumbledore's arrival.
The Dursleys still hadn't woken up, but when they did, no one wanted to stick around for the ensuing rants and yelling and general unpleasantness. Since the headmaster was coming, Snape had decided to argue Potter's case in a rare gesture of kindness. Blood wards or no, the boy was probably better off at Hogwarts. Besides, after hearing a bit more about life with the Dursleys, Snape couldn't leave the boy here in good conscience.
If he had one of those, that is.
Professor Snape wasn't so bad really, Harry decided. You just had to get past the glares and the insults and the swearing and the impenetrable icy disdain he held for everyone and everything around him. Not hard at all.
In fact, out of all the things that had happened since meeting the man, Harry still felt that Professor Snape was actually the biggest mystery of all. He was simultaneously nastier, meaner, and infinitely nicer than Harry's own flesh and blood had ever been. He was obviously smart, brilliant even, but he seemed to have no idea how to interact with other people. Or maybe he did and just didn't care. Harry was also pretty sure that the professor had a sense of humor rattling around in there somewhere (if the smirks were anything to go by), but never voiced his jokes. And definitely freaky, just like him.
Speaking of which, the professor had just stopped using his wand to help pack and now wore a curious expression.
"Mr. Potter, are you by any chance acquainted with a member of the Weasley clan?
"Yes. Why?"
"Because there are three of them hanging out of a flying, sea-foam green Ford Anglia right outside your window."
Both boys turned to look. Their gaze was met by two very confused identical faces staring back at them through the bars.
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Down in the kitchen, The Book of Three appeared in a brilliant flash of light.
Unfortunately for Snape and Harry, it appeared inside a microwave.
There was a reason magic and technology didn't mix. This was one of them. The electronics, frazzled by the output from the most magical book in the multi-verse, clicked on automatically, counting down from ten.
The fact that the power cord was not plugged into the wall was of no consequence.
10, 9, 8 . . .
The Black&Decker 3000 Deluxe Model Microwave was first put into production three years prior.
. . . 7, 6, 5 . . .
It had since been retired from operation due to a massive civil suit over the disproportionate number of freak accidents it was involved in.
. . . 4, 3, 2 . . .
Some of the more superstitious factory workers thought it might be cursed.
. . . 1. Ding – ZZZAAPP!
Ten o'clock, London time, the Dursley's microwave became self-aware.
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The fact that the Harry on this world knows about house elves before third year is a deviation from the norm, not a mistake. Believe it or not, both Acies Evans and the microwave will play small, but pivotal roles in the plot, hence the mention of battling 'kitchen appliances' in the summary.