Posted: 10 May, 2012

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story that is recognisable from the Harry Potter books, movies, etc. Everything else however (eg. story plot, original characters, etc.) stems from my own imagination and belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended and I am not profiting financially from this story in any way.

Summary: An unexpected find in the attic of Grimmauld Place changes the course of Harry's life. Except not, because it's not this Harry who'll be affected. Rather, everything is about to change for another Harry, from long ago and far away.

04: Starting Hogwarts

"—packed with Muggles of course. What was the platform number again?" a woman's voice asked loudly.

"Nine and three-quarters!" a little girl piped up.

"That's right Ginny."

That clearly being the talk of magical folk, what with the Muggles comment and mention of the platform he himself was heading for, Harry turned his head in the direction the voices had come from. As he approached the platform barrier and the heavy crowd inexplicably thinned—he wondered if there was magic at work there, keeping the entrance somewhat clear—a family of redheads appeared from the other direction. He quickly came to a stop before his trolley could crash into that of a taller, older boy who strode a little ahead of the group.

"Sorry," Harry quickly apologised. "Almost ran into you there. Hogwarts too, I take it?"

"Quite alright," the boy said in a pompous sort of tone, as if granting Harry some great boon with his forgiveness, and pointedly straightened an already straight badge on his shirt that showed a silver P. "And yes, Hogwarts, naturally. I don't recognise you though, so you must be a first year. I happen to be a prefect, you know, and—"

"Oh, are you really Percy?" a slightly shorter, stockier redhead asked with feigned shock. "George me lad, did you know our Percy was a prefect?"

"Surely not!" cried another boy dramatically, who looked so precisely identical to the one who had just spoken that Harry momentarily wondered if he was seeing double, before mentally smacking himself for not realising they must be twins. "How could I? It's not like—oh wait, he might have mentioned it."

"Once?" the first twin asked with a playful smirk.

"Or twice—" the second twin said, nodding solemnly, though there was laughter in his eyes.

"—a minute—" the first tacked on.

"—all summer!" the second finished triumphantly, and both laughed.

"Boys, stop teasing your brother," a plump red-haired woman chided with a glare, as a little girl, probably the Ginny mentioned before, peeked out from behind her skirt looking amused. The woman then turned a doting smile on her offended eldest. "We're all very proud of Percy. To think, yet another prefect in the family!" Then her gaze fell on Harry. "Oh, hello dear, and who are you?"

"He's a first year," Percy stepped up to explain, visibly puffing himself up as if to regain his lost pride. "And as I was trying to tell him, if he needs help getting onto the platform, then as a prefect, I would be more than able to assist."

"Oh, that's fine. I already know how to get through," Harry said, his parents having told him.

"Oh." Percy seemed to deflate, before straightening again and nodding perfunctorily. "Of course, very good. Mother, I'm going to head through now." And then he was gone.

Harry felt a bit bad for a moment, like he'd stolen a sweet from a baby or kicked a puppy. Maybe he should have pretended to need directions, just to let the Percy fellow do his prefect thing and help him out and feel important? Then again, if the boy had been bragging as much as those twins claimed then Harry probably shouldn't encourage him. Although—he looked speculatively at the pair, who were whispering in a rather conspiratorial fashion—they seemed the trouble-making sort, so maybe he shouldn't take them at their word. He shook his head as the mother spoke up again, politely taking a step back so the large family could all go through before him.

"Fred, you next," she said with a gesture at the twin of the left, who looked suddenly offended.

"Fred? I'm George! Honestly, and you call yourself our mother." And in a huff he turned and ran for the barrier, pausing just before he hit to look over his shoulder and grin at the apologising woman. "Just kidding, I am Fred!"

"Oh, those two," the mother said with exasperation as the second twin quickly followed the first. "Now dear, why don't you go on through before Ron here does?"

It took Harry a moment to realise she was talking to him, which meant Ron must be the younger boy, the gangly one who looked about his age. He nodded and thanked her, before heading for the barrier. His breath caught and his eyes instinctively slammed shut as he reached the brickwork, and he gave a sigh of relief as no collision occurred and he passed right through. Opening his eyes, he grinned at the sight of all the magic folk hanging about, with owls hooting and cats slinking between legs. A white cloud of steam from the train hung over the platform, making it seem even more magical. After a moment's pause to appreciate the sight, Harry decided to go find himself a spot on the train.

..ooOOoo..

"Mind if I sit in here? Everywhere else is full."

"Really?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Well, not full full," the boy admitted with a sheepish shrug, "but a lot more crowded than your compartment. I'd have more room here."

"Oh. Then sure, have a seat."

"Thanks! I'm Ron by the way. Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," he replied and received a wide-eyes stare.

"Are you really?" the boy breathed, then seemed to realise he was acting a bit silly and flushed, looking down. "Sorry, it's just—" Ron's restraint quickly abandoned him as he blurted out, "Do you really have the scar?"

"Ah, yeah, I do." And Harry brushed his fringe back, smiling with a bit of amusement as the other boy stared enraptured at his forehead. "See," he said, then brushed his fringe back down, causing Ron to jump and look embarrassed once more. Taking pity, Harry decided to change the subject. "So, looking forward to Hogwarts? Hoping for any particular house?"

"Gryffindor of course," Ron replied firmly, then wavered. "Or, at least I hope so. All my family's been there. Don't know what they'll say if I'm not."

"My parents were Gryffindors too. I hope I get in there as well, though I don't think they'd mind if I got sorted somewhere else. Well, that's not entirely true—from what I've learned of my dad, he might have a bit of a fit if I was put in Slytherin."

"Well yeah," Ron said, as if it that was only to be expected. "Because who wants to be with the slimy snakes?"

Harry gave a snort of laughter. That was almost exactly the same reasoning as his dad had used before his mother had set him straight, reminding James that his own mother, Dorea Potter née Black, had herself been a Slytherin, and threatening to tell the woman what he'd said. Apparently, Harry's father was just as cowed by his mother as he was his wife.

..ooOOoo..

"—and I'm supposed to be just as good," said a morose Ron some time later, having had just listed all of his brothers and their many achievements. "And at the same time, if I am, it's not a big deal because it's been done before."

"I know exactly how you feel," Harry admitted quietly.

Ron looked surprised. "Really? I thought you were an only child."

"Oh, I am, but—well, I know they're gone and all, but I still want make my parents proud, you know? Live up to their example and all that. But the thing is, mum was a prefect and dad was Quidditch Captain, and both of them were Head Boy and Girl in their seventh year. Added to that they were both brilliant students—mum was really good at Charms, top of her class, and quite handy at Potions as well, while dad was ace at Transfiguration and pretty decent at Defence too. And then, added to that, they were both really popular and well liked." Harry heaved a sigh. "It's an awful lot to live up to, but I really don't want to let them down."

It wasn't something Harry had yet admitted aloud, even to himself. His parents had high expectations of him, or perhaps just a lot of faith in his ability to excel. The reason they'd not joined him on the train ride was that they'd thoroughly exhausted their tolerance for the living world in the time since his trip to Diagon Alley. First there was the trip itself, which lasted longer than they normally lingered, and then in the weeks following they'd both made it their mission to help him study as much as he could before school started, so as to be prepared. Admittedly, it was his mother whose tutoring was most academically-minded. James, while he covered the Transfigurations study and Defence, mostly lectured Harry on practical things like the layout of the castle itself, and which trick steps to avoid, and the house and points systems, and how to get around Peeves or sneak into the restricted section—things like that.

They'd spent so much time trying to prepare Harry though, that the living world had become too much for them. Though a bit disappointed at not having them with him to at least see him off on his first trip, Harry had insisted they should take some rest back in heaven—or wherever it was the dead went to—for a few days before he called them again. The last thing he wanted was them hurting themselves on his behalf. They'd looked positively ragged by the time he insisted on sending them away. Also, though he hadn't said it, he had worried that if they accompanied him they might make him spend the whole trip on more studying. As much as he appreciated how prepared they'd made him, and how pleased he was that they thought he'd do well, it was a bit much sometimes, and he was quite worried he'd disappoint them. He'd kept mum on that thought though, up until now. In fact, it was a relief to finally express his fears aloud. And as Ron nodded, and the two of them shared a moment of perfect understanding, Harry thought maybe by the time they reached Hogwarts, he'd have made his first friend.

..ooOOoo..

"Excuse me, have either of you seen a toad, Neville here's lost—oh, you're doing magic! Well, let's see it."

Harry and Ron shared a look as the girl, without so much as a by-your-leave, plopped herself down and stared expectantly. The girl's bossy, supercilious tone rather reminded Harry of the little he'd seen of Percy Weasley, though her wildly bushy hair was completely at odds with Percy's impeccable grooming. Ron was suddenly looking nervous at the now three person audience—Harry, the girl, and a chubby boy who must be Neville, hovering uncertainly in the doorway—and swallowed hard before gathering his courage, pointing his wand at his pet rat Scabbers.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"

They all stared as—nothing happened. The bushy-haired girl gave a disdainful sniff and Harry felt a bit angry at her as Ron started looking embarrassed and awkward. The feeling only doubled as she spoke.

"Are you sure that's a real spell, because if it is, it's not a very good one, is it?" she asked, slightly scathingly. "I've tried a few spells myself, only simple ones, but they've all worked for me," she bragged. "I'm Hermione Granger by the way, and you are?"

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" she said with fascination. "I've read all about you, you know—"

"That's nice, but weren't you looking for a toad?" Harry interrupted, wanting the rude girl gone.

"Oh, yes I suppose I was," she said, though she seemed a bit put out at having been interrupted. She stood and brushed imaginary dust from her robes, before turning to leave. "Come on Neville, let's go. And it was a pleasure to meet you two."

As the door closed behind them, the Neville boy following after the girl, though not before throwing the other two boys an apologetic sort of look, Ron and Harry turned to face one another with identical looks of relief.

"Glad she's gone," Ron said, and then adopted a falsetto voice, saying, "I'm Hermione Granger and I'm so clever and better than you that all the spells work for me, la di dah." He looked down at his pet then, and glumly added in his normal tone, "Got the spell from Fred and George you know. They probably knew all along it wouldn't work. Their idea of a joke."

"Forget about them," Harry said. "Tell you what, when we get to Hogwarts I'll find you a proper spell so you can change his colour. Maybe even one that'll turn him Gryffindor red and gold, so he'll match you when you get in."

"Yeah?" Ron asked, looking a bit brighter.

"Promise," Harry said, pleased to see the other boy looked cheerful once more.

..ooOOoo..

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called.

A tide of whispers swept across the room. Harry felt a bit self-conscious as he stepped forward, but not quite so much as he would have a year ago, before he met his parents again, and they began working on building his self-esteem. He sat on the stool and had a moment to look out on the great hall—not quite as magnificent as the view as they crossed the lake, but impressive and magical nonetheless—before the sorting hat was lowered onto his head.

"Hmm, let's here," the scratchy voice of the sorting hat whispered in Harry's ear. "Not a bad mind and I can see you've been using it, if with a little prompting. Not a stranger to hard work either. And there's courage, goodness yes, in spades. Oh, but also a thirst to prove yourself, and make your parents proud. Now, where to put you?"

"Anywhere is fine," Harry thought at the hat.

"Anywhere? Well, that sort of acceptance is Hufflepuff talk no doubt. But I don't think you'd be quite right there."

"Gryffindor would be good," Harry admitted. "Like my parents were."

"Ah yes, that's a common request. And, hmm, why not? Yes, I think you'd do well in—" and the hat shouted aloud, "GRYFFINDOR!"

..ooOOoo..

How dare he, Harry seethed as he stormed from the Potions classroom, Ron hot on his heels. How dare that—that—that greasy git, insult his father. Was lack of professionalism a universal problem in the wizarding world? Like with the snarky goblin teller that had surprised him so at Gringotts, were school professors also allowed to verbally attack their students and insult their families with false accusations, as if such behaviour was normal and acceptable?

James had told him about Severus Snape of course, the nasty kid in his year in Slytherin that never washed his hair, who always stuck his nose into things that weren't his business, and was fascinated by the Dark Arts. His mum told him about the man as well, from a different perspective, of a childhood friend who went down a questionable path, of a terrible slur that was the final straw, and her regrets that they had never reconciled.

Harry had never expected to see the man here of all places, at Hogwarts, as one of his professors. That in itself was awkward enough, given his parents' histories with the man. But then, from the moment he entered the classroom the man glared and sneered at him, and asked a million different difficult questions Harry couldn't possibly answer, and did his best to humiliate him in front of his year mates. And then—then—he had dared to say what he said.

"All show and no skill, more arrogance than talent, just like your father," Snape had spat as he looked down into Harry's cauldron, despite that the potion was only slightly off-colour.

Oh, Harry was under no delusions that his dad was perfect, or always modest and humble and without flaw. No, his mother had made clear that James had been a troublesome, often-arrogant 'toe rag' in his earlier Hogwarts years, much to his dad's dismay. But—and this was an important but—James Potter had, eventually, matured and shaped up. If he hadn't, Lily said, she'd never have fallen for his long-standing efforts to catch her attention. It was clear to Harry though that unlike James, Snape had never bothered to mature and grown up. No, Severus Snape was still as petty and nasty as in his Hogwarts days.

"You alright Harry?" Ron asked cautiously. "Snape was a bit out of line there, huh?"

"More than a bit," Harry said shortly. Then he sighed, trying to let go of his anger. "Look, never mind that. Let's just forget the whole horrible lesson for now, and go get lunch."

..ooOOoo..

Harry waited till his roommates were all ensconced in their beds before closing his own hangings.

"Muffliato," he murmured, a spell his dad had taught him, and then "Coloro," which was the spell he'd looked up for Ron for his pet.

Looking around, he was satisfied with his work. A smirk twitched his lips before he wiped it clean, and instead did his best to seem gloomy and nervous. He rubbed the ring that, these days, never left his finger, and waited for the reaction.

"Harry, it's so good to see you again, how—James, what's wrong with you?"

"G—g—green," James croaked out, looking around at the emerald bed hangings in horror. Harry ducked his head and tried to make it seem more a gesture of shame than an action to hide the smile creeping over him. "B-but that must mean—Slytherin?" his father whispered querulously, sounding very lost.

"James Charlus Potter, there is absolutely nothing wrong with Slytherin. Or do I need to have that talk with your mother after all?"

"No, no, no, that won't be necessary," James hurriedly assured.

"More importantly," Lily added in a hiss, "how many times must I remind you, about the effects of the behaviour of those despicable Muggles, on our baby boy's sense of self-worth?"

"Bambi!" James cried. His head whipped towards Harry's dejected looking form, his expression stricken with guilt. "I—I—" He paused and took a bracing breath. "If Slytherin is the house for you, then—well, then Slytherin has gained a fine addition."

"Exactly," Lily said, sending her husband and approving look.

"Really?" Harry asked, voice odd and tight with the effort not to laugh.

"Really."

"In that case—" His head popped up to fix his parents, especially his dad, with a wide grin. "Finite Incantatem!" he cast and the bed hangings returned to crimson. "I got into Gryffindor!"

"You tricked me!" James cried in shock. A pause. "You tricked me!" James cried in offence. Another pause. "You tricked me!" James cried in proud delight. "Ah, the Marauders may yet continue on."

Lily just laughed. "Gosh, I hope not. I'm sure the professors would agree that one generation of the Marauders was more than enough. And are you happy with your house then?"

"I am," Harry confirmed. "I made a friend on the train as well, and he's in Gryffindor with me. Ron is his name, Ron Weasley."

"Weasley?" James asked. "Generally good sorts they are. What branch is he from?"

"Branch?"

"The Weasley family is—" Lily paused in her explanation, before finishing diplomatically, "prolific."

"They breed like Puffskein," James said more bluntly. "So saying he's a Weasley is like saying he's a Gryffindor—gives a bit of an idea, but doesn't really narrow it down."

"Oh, right. Yeah, he's the last of six brothers and has a younger sister too. His parents' names are Arthur and Molly I think."

"Oh, we know them," Lily said.

"You do?" Harry asked.

"We weren't really close friends, but we got on well enough. Molly and Arthur were part of the Order of the Phoenix—a group Dumbledore started to fight Voldemort—as were your father and I, and most of our friends. So were Molly's brothers before they died actually, and a lot of others who were prominent Light fighters in the war."

"And this is very depressing," James said. "Onto more cheery topics, tell us how your first week of classes was."

Harry proceeded to tell of his week. He spoke of the attention and whispers and stares he got, but was doing his best to ignore. He told about his meeting the Weasleys at the station, and the trip on the train. He happily related getting to know Ron, and not so happily explained about the snobby Granger girl. He told them about his other roommates who seemed alright so far. His classes, the professors and coursework were described too, with varying enthusiasm. And then he got to potions.

"Snivellus is your potions professor!" James yelled aghast.

At the same time Lily lit up, asking, "Severus is here?"

"Yeah, and—sorry to have it say it mum—dad, you're absolutely right about him. He's horrible."

"Hah! I knew it."

"But—" Lily was frowning at her husband, before she turned an earnest expression on her son. "Perhaps he was having a bad day?

"I think it was more than that," Harry said awkwardly, not wanting to disappoint his mother, but unwilling to lie to her about the situation either. "He was mean and nasty in general, but he seemed to have it out for me in particular."

"Severus was such a dear friend to me growing up. I can't imagine you two not getting along at least a little," Lily insisted.

"Mum, his exact words were, 'all show and no skill, more arrogance than talent, just like your father'. I don't think that's promising."

"God, I'm dead and still Snivellus is a giant arse," James said.

"Alright, I can see him saying that about your dad, but they never did get along. But Harry, Severus is—he's a difficult man to understand. And he's had a hard life. Still, even with our falling out, I can't imagine that he would treat my son too poorly. We were so close." She looked pleadingly at her son. "Can't you give him a chance? For me?"

Harry's heart sunk. She didn't believe him. She thought he was lying. Worse, she wanted him to give Snape a chance, which really, would mean letting him keep being a 'giant arse' and not fighting back. It didn't make sense. Hadn't his mother been the one to always tell him at the Dursleys that he'd done nothing wrong and, while he had to be careful, he shouldn't give in to their treatment? What made the situation with Snape so different? Did she—he hesitated to think it—did she care more about Snape than about him?

"Lily, that's not fair," James was quick to object, noting his son's crestfallen expression. He scooted up the bed and attempted to ruffle Harry's hair and put an arm around him. It didn't work of course, but the warmth that spread across his back was comforting. "Don't mind your mum Harry—Lily's always been unreasonable where Snape was concerned, and she can be ridiculously stubborn." Then he turned a surprisingly stern look on Lily as she opened her mouth to object. "Yes, you have Lily, and yes you are. While I can't say I was at all disappointed about your split from Snape, it still says a lot that after literally years of friendship, once he blew it, you held the grudge until the day you died. Stubborn. So before you go dismissing everything bambi said, why don't we pop in for one of his potions classes and see the situation first hand?"

Harry perked up. "Will you?" he asked, sure that if she saw things herself, his mother couldn't deny it all.

"Alright," Lily said, with a sigh, as though she thought it was all a waste of time but was willing to humour them. "We'll visit one of your potions classes then. But I'm sure you're both overreacting. Severus is a good man underneath the prickliness."

James sighed then. "Lily, I love you and all, but you do have your blind spots, and you can be stubborn to the point of blood-mindedness sometimes."

"I do not!"

"Well, we'll see soon enough. You'll call us your next class with him Harry?"

"Yeah, promise."

..ooOOoo..

"Are you coming?" Ron asked, hovering in the door of the potions classroom, and looking back at where Harry had halted.

Harry bit his lip and subtly rubbed at his ring, turning it on his finger thrice, murmuring the names. His parents appeared and he flickered his eyes towards them, but did no more to acknowledge their presence. It wouldn't do to get a reputation for seemingly talking to himself, after all.

"Alright Ron, let's go in."

..ooOOoo..

"That—that complete—that utter—" James spluttered, apparently too angry to form proper sentences.

"I'll catch up with you in the Great Hall," Harry told Ron. "I just need to do something first."

"Alright," Ron said, clearly confused, but the call of food too much to distract him.

"Come on," Harry hissed, and led the way to an empty classroom, his parents trailing behind. Once inside he cast, "Muffliato."

"I can't believe—didn't think even Snivellus could be so—" James was still rambling. He stopped suddenly and whipped towards Harry. "I don't want you in his classes. You shouldn't have to expose yourself to that sort of—of—

"Vitriol," Lily finished, earning surprised glances. Her voice was odd—quiet and sad, but almost as though there was a hidden fury beneath that. "I'm sorry Harry. You were absolutely right. He was completely and unforgivably out of line, and he did target you specifically," she said with dignity. "It was clearly foolish of me to hope for more, as obviously he's turned out no better than Petunia. Now, let's work out how to get you away from him. I think our first step should be a formal complaint. We'll need to compile some reasonable evidence. And in the meantime, I'll start tutoring you in Potions, because you're not going to learn anything from that man."

Harry smiled, pleased with the results of his latest potions class. Apparently, blinded and stubborn though his mother could be, when she realised that she'd been wrong, she was quick to take action to correct her mistakes.

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