Updated: May 22nd, 2014
I left the author's note at the end of this one, as it is a response to a few questions that were brought up.
The entire month of January and the better part of February could be boiled down to two events.
Pranking and Dueling.
It all started inadvertently; Harry and Tonks retaliated against a couple of older Slytherins - seventh years if Harry wasn't mistaken - after the idiots made some passing remark over their abilities and the 'pedigree' of their respective mother and father.
So, in true Marauder fashion, they got even.
First, Tonks decided the entire Slytherin upper years would look best with bright red hair using the same combustible powder she had used on him during the holidays - Harry made sure that Malfoy was 'accidentally' in the line of fire as well. Of course, the fact that the entire Quidditch team was affected the day before their match against Ravenclaw was purely coincidental.
Second, Harry reset the password to the Slytherin Common Room the day of the match - again, completely coincidental - to 'Lion's Pride'. In Parseltongue. Did you know that ol' Sal installed a ward wide fail safe in the dungeons utilizing the ancient snake language?
Harry did.
Dumbledore ended up having to use his position as Headmaster to bring the ward down and reset the password to sugar quill or something equally absurd so the players could retrieve their brooms and gear.
Poor Slytherin ended up losing 230-190 after the Ravenclaw Seeker caught the snitch right from underneath the nose of their own.
Lastly, Harry and Tonks combined their efforts to orchestrate a series of events that served as their finale and to celebrate Slytherin's loss.
Well, they would have if their plans hadn't have been interrupted.
They didn't anticipate the Twins taking their onslaught as a personal challenge, and instead of attacking them - it was no secret that they were behind the pranks despite the lack of evidence - they too focused their diabolical attention on the Slytherins.
It was three days of utter hell for the poor snakes.
It all came to an abrupt end with the duo deciding to target Snape. They figured since he was the Head Slytherin they would one-up them. Unfortunately, they were caught before they could complete their transfiguration - Really? Attempting any sort of prank with McGonagall nearby is crazy. One that involves transfiguration is just suicide. Though, someone had managed to snap a picture of Snape in half completed frilly, pink robes and tie-dye-ish yellow hair - Harry had multiple copies made into flyers to post around the school.
After that, Harry and Tonks were warned - by Sprout no less - that 'recent questionable actions should cease before the Headmaster was forced to get involved'. They got the message: stop your shit before you found yourselves swimming in it.
It was near the beginning of February - a Thursday if Harry wasn't mistaken - when Flitwick had held him after class.
He had waited patiently, giving a brief nod to Ron and Hermione to go on without him, Harry had made a conscious effort to improve things on that front and was glad that it seemed to be paying off.
The tiny Charms Professor kindly asked him to shut the door to ensure their privacy once they were alone.
Harry complied, standing and closing the door with a soft click before turning to address his professor.
Only for a bright, red beam of magic to already be baring down on him.
Harry ducked swiftly, rolling to his left and drawing his wand in one deft, fluid motion, ready to defend himself from further attacks.
The half-goblin professor was standing there - a faint flicker of surprise on his face before he schooled it back into a neutral expression - wand held before him with a confidence Harry had never seen from the small statured man, perched atop his pile of books and looking every bit the cold and calculating master dueler Harry knew him to be.
"Professor, what are..." He began, only to cut himself off as Flitwick assaulted him again.
Harry spun away from the initial barrage, erecting a simple protego - the diminutive Professor was at least keeping it PG with the minor curses, jinxes, and charms he was throwing his way - before side stepping neatly as the shield shattered from four rapid-fire stunners.
That was Flitwick's style. The little man didn't posses very potent magic, but his reserves were world class and he put that to great use in all his duels. Harry had - in his future - viewed several of the man's championship matches - to say they were impressive would be an understatement. Harry was sure Flitwick didn't mean to, but in the end the half-goblin almost always humiliated his opponent.
The shear number of spells he put out was unmatched - he still held the record for the most spells cast in a duel lasting under ten minutes. 361. And the match only lasted six minutes and thirty-seven seconds. That's nearly a spell per second! Though, he was hospitalized with severe magical exhaustion for nearly two months afterwards.
Still an impressive feat, nonetheless.
Harry retaliated with his own stunner, hiding it between an over powered tripping jinx and tickling charm trying to surprise the professor and end this quickly - Flitwick expected a first year with a first year repertoire and Harry wasn't too keen to give much of anything away.
It worked - sorta.
His eyes widened momentarily - spinning to avoid the first as he did - before they narrowed. He flicked his wand, intending to throw the stunner off course, but only slowing it down.
It was a trick Moody had taught him.
By manipulating the magic during the casting you were able to keep a connection of sorts with your spells, able to make minor differences in their direction and speed. It was similar to muggle tracking technology, just not as accurate. Unfortunately, it was also a magical drain - Harry already felt a slight weight settle on his chest from the casting.
Flitwick kneeled, thrusting his wand before him and erecting a perfect dueler's shield - show off - and the stunner and tickling charm splashed harmlessly against it, but the damage was done.
Seizing his moment of weakness - one couldn't shift positions while maintaining a duelers shield - Harry sent a banishment charm and mild blasting curse at the makeshift ladder the professor had constructed for his perch - the weight constricting his chest nearly doubled.
The books went flying and Flitwick fell.
Instead of falling on his face - as Harry had intended - Flitwick slashed his wand through the air, righting himself and landing, albeit awkwardly, on his feet.
Harry brought his wand up, an incantation on his lips, but paused as Flitwick held up his non-wand hand.
"That will be enough, Mister Potter." He squeaked, looking quite pleased with himself over something. "Well done. Well done, indeed."
Had... had he just been PRANKED?
Judging by the mirth in the professors eyes, yes. Yes he had.
Harry's shoulders slumped - a look of complete bemusement washing over his features. "Professor?" He questioned with an exasperated sigh.
Flitwick chuckled.
The little demented bastard.
"I have decided to accept your proposal for additional tutelage, Mister Potter." He said very officiously after his laughter subsided.
Oh, well... in THAT case...
"That's great!" Harry exclaimed excitedly. "When do we start?" He asked enthusiastically.
Flitwick chuckled again, absentmindedly waving his wand and righting his podium of books. "Hmm..." He hummed thoughtfully.
Harry was nearly bouncing on his feet. He couldn't help it, he was excited - the opportunity to study under a Master of Flitwick's caliber was just too much for him.
"I'm thinking Wednesday evenings, as your schedule should be free due to the nighttime Astronomy lesson, if you are agreeable?" He spoke assuredly.
Harry couldn't even force himself to verbally answer, settling for enthusiastically nodding his head like an idiot.
Flitwick clapped his hands together. "Splendid. I will inform you later when I have chosen a more resolute time." Harry just stood still, continuing to grin like a jackal. "Run along now Mister Potter." Flitwick shooed when it became apparent that he wasn't going to move on his own.
His cheeks heated in embarrassment.
"Oh... um... thanks." He grinned again for good measure and skipped out of the room.
Before turning back and collecting his things.
He continued grinning - making every student he met eye him warily and looking around for his usual partner in crime - as he made his way down to the Great Hall.
As soon as he had sat down beside Ron - opposite Hermione - Tonks sidled up next to him. She softly nudged his shoulder - one of the few times she wasn't trying to injure him in some way - and leaned in to whisper.
Shuffling from across the table keyed him into Hermione listening in. Ron remained blissfully ignorant as he tackled one tricky chicken leg.
"So, who'd yah get?" She asked, discreetly peering around, and causing him to shiver when her breath inadvertently washed over his neck, sending pleasant tingles along his spine and warmth to his cheeks.
Harry wasn't sure if she did it on purpose or what, but everything Tonks did was... well, not sexual but most definitely physical. It played hell with his poor underdeveloped hormones and drove his adult mind crazy.
He looked at her completely dumbfounded. "Huh?" He asked eloquently, equally confused and distracted by her proximity.
Tonks rolled her eyes - obviously not impressed with his 'ignorance is innocence' act - and clarified. "I've seen that grin before. So... who'd yah prank?" Hermione narrowed her eyes and frowned, no longer trying to hide the fact that she was eavesdropping.
Oh, that!
Guess he did need to stop walking around smiling like a loon. People might get the wrong idea.
He cleared his throat - taking the lull in conversation to adopt a mostly neutral face. "I haven't pranked anyone-" His brow scrunched in thought. "-unless Quirrell's opened that desk drawer already." Tonks smirked at that. Hermione's frown deepened. It was one of their more discrete pranks - though, Tonks couldn't for the life of her understand why Harry insisted on 'attacking' the BACK of the stuttering professor's head.
"Anyways," he began again, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "Remember how I told you about asking Flitwick for extra tutoring?" Getting a nod from Tonks and Hermione - who had stopped pretending she wasn't listening in by now.
"He accepted."
Hermione squealed.
"Oh, Harry that's great." She gushed. "You're going to be learning so much new material." Harry was surprised she didn't ask for him to pass his lessons on to her. Though, it WAS still early and - Yep, there was that calculating gleam he knew all too well.
Tonks threw an arm around his shoulders, hugging him to her side in congratulations. "Congrats, lil' minion." She fake sniffed. "You do me proud."
"Hey, what's goin' on?" It seemed Ron had finally noticed there was something happening.
"Flitwick agreed to teach me." Best to keep your sentences short and to the point when around Ron and food or he loses interest quickly.
"Oh, that's cool, mate. Still don't know why you would want more homework though." Ah, classic Ron.
"Really Ronald..." Hermione started in on him but Harry paid them no mind, turning to his own lunch.
Tonks nodded toward them and shook her head in exasperation.
Training sessions - or 'educational periods' as Flitwick insisted on calling them - turned out to be brutal. And there had only been two so far.
Harry learned very quickly to always have his guard up, as the tiny professor delighted in 'educating' - attacking - him at random moments to keep him on his toes. Despite this the weekly meetings were extremely informative even though they had yet to tackle any charms that Harry hadn't previously known. The professor had even worked in a few advanced - for a first year - transfiguration assignments.
No, the real benefit from Flitwick's teachings was the reason Harry had sought him out in the first place - dueling.
Despite having waged and fought in a war, Harry had never received any formal dueling lessons - Sirius had planned on teaching him before his death, but - obviously - they never got around to it. Harry relied on his own physical superiority - most wizards shunned exercise - Quidditch honed reflexes, and above-average magical aptitude. He was fast, brutal, and most often efficient. Though, he had come up short on several occasions when faced with an inferior opponent with superior dueling skills - Lucius Malfoy, to his shame, had managed to best him on more than one occasion.
And, quite the opposite to his in-class demeanor, Flitwick NEVER looked upon him with approval, but something between indifference and disappointment.
It was infuriating, but it did make him work that much harder.
Even now, as he stood panting, his clothing clinging to him uncomfortably and sweat dripping down his nose, having just been put through evasive maneuvers - Flitwick didn't want Harry to become too dependent on shields - the professor stared at him with an unimpressed air, silently expressing his belief that Harry could do more.
"That will be all for today's lesson, Mister Potter." Flitwick dismissed him. "We will meet the same time next week."
Harry huffed, glared at nothing, then swept out of the room and headed for Gryffindor Tower and a hot, relaxing shower.
Behind him, Flitwick chuckled, pleased with Mister Potter's progress as the first year continued to perform beyond belief. Little did Harry know, that Flitwick was meeting in realative secrecy with McGonagall and he was already being groomed for an apprenticeship.
An hour and much needed shower later, Harry sat at the end of the Gryffindor Table, absentmindedly gnawing his way through a substantial portion of tonight's roast beef - the house elves had truly outdone themselves this time - while his mind wandered over his most recent schemes. He was, surprisingly, by himself for once; Ron and Hermione were oddly absent and Tonks was refusing to fraternize with the enemy for now - the annual Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match was this weekend and with Tonks serving as a reserve beater she had allied herself against him for the week leading up to the match.
Harry's peaceful meal was rudely interrupted when Ron came blaring into the Great Hall, his face pale and his expression frantic, panting as if he was fleeing from a cluster of Acromantula - Harry discretely slid his wand into his hand, eyes casually sweeping behind his friend in search of the obvious threat. Ron clutched the end of the table, trying to catch his breath as he slipped into the seat opposite and his mouth worked soundlessly - obviously trying to inform Harry of some certain dire situation.
A moment later a much more sedate Hermione enter the hall, though she was walking at a brisk pace and her expression was worried.
Harry frowned.
Ron had finally found his voice by the time Hermione sat down beside him. Though, Harry wasn't able to discern any useful information from 'Harry, can't, no, horrible'. At least he thought that last word had been horrible, it could have very well been humble.
Ron waved his arm for Hermione to articulate for him.
She grasped his arm - a tick of hers when she was distressed. "Harry-" she was whispering for some reason. "-Professor Snape's going to be refereeing your next match."
OH...
Harry slid his wand back into its holster.
He hadn't informed them this time around that Snape would be refereeing Gryffindor's next match since it wasn't a cause to worry, but obviously they had both found out somehow in spite of this.
He shrugged. Hermione fixed him with one of her 'stern' looks - the effect fell flat as Harry found it cute on her twelve-year-old-self. Now, a decade older Hermione - THAT was a completely different story. Harry swore she must have taken lessons from McGonagall.
"Harry," she began slowly, as if to a small child. "You HAVE to get out of playing. It's not safe." Ron nodded his head in agreement.
Harry gave them both an unimpressed look. "And how exactly," he drawled. "Should I do that?"
"Don't play." Said Hermione at once.
"Say you're ill." Provided Ron.
"Pretend to break your leg." Hermione suggested.
"Really break your leg." Ron supplied.
"I can't." Harry interjected before Ron decided to enact said leg breaking. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out now, Gryffindor forfeits the match."
Ron went quiet at that, but Hermione looked indignant.
"Harry," she hissed. "There are more important things than Quidditch." Ron looked ready to argue that point.
Seeing the genuine worry in her chocolate-brown eyes, Harry decided to throw her a bone.
"It'll be OK." Definitely the wrong thing to say. He hastened to add, "After what happened last time, there's no way that Dumbledore's NOT going to go to the game. I'll be fine." Harry conveniently failed to mention that the old man was at the last game as well.
Thankfully, that seemed to mull her over - this Hermione still revered Dumbledore above all else.
With that out of the way he returned to his food and thoughts, casually scanning the Great Hall and pinning his most recent acquaintances.
Unlike last time, he had endeavored to not be limited by house boundaries and had approached each of the other houses - the division and distrust between the houses had caused too many problems during the war.
The only house that had proved difficult was, naturally, Slytherin. Gryffindor was easy for obvious reasons, Tonks - with her carefree attitude and buoyant personality - was looked up to by the younger years, providing a great 'in', and his Ravenclaw year mates had actually approached him. He suspected it had to do with their Head of House giving him extra tutelage.
The Snakes, however, had been distrustful of him from the start - Hell, they still were.
Then he had happened upon Millicent Bulstrode.
She was logically the easiest target; somewhat shunned due to her weight and heritage - she was a Half-Blood like him. It was still bloody difficult though, but being a constant pest had worked to his advantage.
He had dogged her for the better part of two months; seeking her out when he found her alone studying in the library - which was quite often - and always offering kind smiles and pleasant words, softening her up. In the end, it was Tonks who proved to be the difference.
Harry wasn't sure what had happened - Tonks wouldn't tell him anything and neither would Millicent - but the gist of it was; Tonks had stood up for her. Since then she hadn't told him to 'bugger off' or fled from his presence. They weren't friends, but she no longer attempted to eviscerate him with her eyes - and her wand on more than one occasion - and actually acknowledged his presence when the mood suited her.
Overall, things were looking up.
Harry closed his eyes and sighed in satisfaction - only partly from his fullness.
There wouldn't be the massive amount of needless loss or pain this time around. No, this time Harry would protect them all, drag them kicking and screaming behind him if he had to.
This time would be different.
Author's Note:
Recently, someone posted a review for chapter three that brought up several interesting questions. I replied personally, but I also decided to post their review and my response here, for everyone to see:
The rambling way you tried to justify not changing ANYTHING about the timeline fell kind of flat. He's supposedly an adult... who planned a break-in of Gringotts. Finding a way to reveal Pettigrew's continued existence and bring to light that Sirius Black never had a trial should be easy. Why does he think HE needs to be the one who brings this to light as well? Why not work through anonymous sources? He has access to an entire Owlery's worth of potential methods to send Rita Skeeter something to start her on her merry way.
{And the Blackmail material on said reporter as well}
You talked about Sirius being "off-his-rocker". That is exactly how I would describe the thought-process of wee little Harry.
That is exactly what I was trying to point out without actually pointing it out. I have read several Time-Travel fics where Harry 'takes over' his younger self's body and in each and every one of them, his younger, malnourished body plays no hindrance to the magical and mental skills he had acquired before he was sent back. It was the main reasoning behind writing this fic.
Also, you are assuming that the previous years happened according to canon. Obviously, this cannot be as I stated that Harry is at least a decade older than his actual physical age (and the war was still ongoing when he left), meaning somewhere along the way the timeline skewered. I also purposefully left out just what happened in his 5th, 6th, and 7th years; I can assure you that things will be different, possibly beginning at the end of his first year.
As for Harry's so-called planning; that too was intentional. The summary of this story states that planning is not Harry's forte as he charges ahead 'with little to no regard of consequences or plans of any sort', and I'm not saying things will go exactly how I listed them as with any plan that involves Harry Potter, something always goes wrong.
Perhaps I had been a little too subtle in pointing out the impediment to Harry's thought process. I hadn't wanted to blatantly state the fact and instead express it though his actions and reactions to the events he encountered. I will correct this if it becomes a significant issue.
