Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: None.

Reviews: Once again, thank you. You guys are so awesome, I ended up writing out this chapter even though I didn't expect to be able to this month. [Then again, rl has me currently writing a lot academic stuff, so fiction is a nice break from that.]

I'm going to do individual replies in the next chapter – my apologies here. If there are any pressing questions, feel free to pm me. On that note, concerning potential couplings in this fic: not for several chapters. And then, I'd prefer to focus on general relationships rather than romantic ones. Thus, no couples for the time being; after that I haven't quite decided on how much I will stick to canon.


7. Relative Positions in Politics and Time

James retreated to the Room of Requirement at the first possible opportunity. He was too upset to console Lily, calm Sirius or see to a denouement of the swelling Slytherin-Gryffindor conflict. The ground felt shaky, as if the very reality was threatening to shatter.

And in a way it was: the pace he remembered was unraveling, piece by piece. While he still hadn't really figured out a plan, until now he had been taking it on a day by day basis. He had thought it might be enough.

Perhaps it wasn't.

Especially if there were others around that had the same knowledge he did.

He took a deep breath and dropped into an armchair. The room was bare safe for comfortable furniture, a tea set with cookies and a large painting of the Scottish Highlands opposite of the chairs. Nothing moved on the painting, and for that James was grateful – too many things were in motion in his head already.

Traitor. Sectumsempra.

The attack on Snape had not happened due to his parentage. If James guessed right, and no insane blood-purist had accidentally invented the same spell Snape had in the future right now, then the word traitor did not much refer to his muggle father either, but to Snape's spying activities for the Order. And his role in bringing down Voldemort.

Which meant the attacker was not an insane blood-purist. But somebody very dangerous. With knowledge of the future.

James hid his face in his hands. This was turning into a disaster. Even if the attacker only had second-hand or limited knowledge, whatever they knew about Snape was already too much. And they were probably a fanatical blood-purist, too. If to them Snape was a traitor then they were on Voldemort's side.

Diametrically opposed to James.

And magically he lot more advanced. It may very well be a clever adult, hiding at Hogwarts, coolly and callously playing their hand to bring about Voldemort's victory.

James felt like curling up in a ball and never getting back up again. Or escaping to the muggle world – Sirius would probably join him.

He didn't stand a chance against an opponent of that caliber. However was he supposed to win this? What- or whoever had provided him with those memories… had there been any aim to it at all? Was his struggle against the outcome he remembered actually of any relevance?

With a sigh he raised his head to stare at the painting. He'd never been the type to just hide and wait for it all to pass – even if it may have been a better choice at certain junctions in his life. So what to do… he didn't even stand a chance at figuring out who the attacker could be.

All he took notice of where those elements that were out of place.

Like the attack on Snape.

And Professor Parker.


Harry had just left the Great Hall in search of a quiet spot to think. Preferably outside – and out of sight of the castle. The attack on Snape and the missing Horcrux had left him shaken; and he needed to figure out a plan of action.

Relief flooded him already when he stepped out into outside passage, leading alongside the castle up to the lake. The sky was overcast, the wind cold – and maybe he could grab a broom somewhere.

Flying always helped him clear his mind.

"… you sure?" he heard McGonagall's voice before he rounded a corner.

"We wouldn't be helping anybody by panicking," replied Dumbledore gravely, "In the current political climate closing Hogwarts would cause a major disturbance, and further weaken our position."

McGonagall mumbled something, and Harry automatically stopped. Once more he felt like a student overhearing a conversation between his teachers – even though this time he could guess Dumbledore was referring to Voldemort's rise to power.

"Is Hogwarts really so important? Even if the press goes into an uproar about this attack, will it have so far-reaching implications, Albus? To be honest, as much as this does indeed appear to have been an incident between students, I would feel better if we had an official investigation to clear it up," said McGonagall.

Harry bit his lip. He was rather interested in hearing the answer to this himself. However Dumbledore remained silent, prompting McGonagall to add: "I'd especially feel a lot of safer if we could get an official clear-up on this spell. You saw what it did – and we were really lucky Parker did know how to undo it. How do you think the Board of Governors would react should they find out?"

"Badly," replied Dumbledore with a heavy sigh, "Very badly I fear. However, for the time being I would like to try and keep the situation calm – don't worry, Minerva, I shall take full responsibility should the press or the Board become involved."

"Why can't we just get that official investigation, Albus? It would be much easier, and we all would be sleeping a lot of better," protested McGonagall.

Their voices were coming closer, and Harry suddenly became aware of how he had just frozen right in the middle of the passage. A short look around revealed an abundance of hiding spots – but he'd look rather stupid should some student catch him climbing down from a tree or crawling out from a bush.

"Currently there is a fraction within the ministry that would like nothing better than use such an incident at Hogwarts to accuse the current administration as incompetent and the security measures at school as too lax – they would like to do background screening for all potential students and staff," replied Dumbledore, "As well as install a number of measures of their own design; among them certain adjustments concerning the curriculum."

"You mean to say there are fractions in the government that are siding with those Death Eaters?" asked McGonagall, though even she was trying to sound skeptical, Harry could tell she had little doubt about it.

"You know it's true, Minerva," replied Dumbledore, "And they would love nothing better than to start practicing their ideas at Hogwarts."

"Could they do that should they find out about this incident?" asked McGonagall.

They were close; and Harry had yet to decide whether he was going to hide in the shed on the other side of the Courtyard or just make use of the door three steps behind him.

"Since we're suspecting the attacker to be a student ourselves, implementing background checks on the students doesn't seem out of question," replied Dumbledore evenly, while Harry decided to head for the door, "Also a number of security measures may be…"

The rest was lost, since they were too close, and Harry had to slip behind the door. Being from thick oak, he did not hear a word of the conversation after that.

But what he had heard did not bide well. Dumbledore was playing the chess master – and while he had been victorious in the end, too many lives had been sacrificed in the process. If he could prevent this, Harry would do it.

First, however, he really needed to find a broom and get his mind sorted out.


Shortly after Harry had snuck off in search of a broom, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin dared to breathe again. They had been hiding in the shed, ever since they had first heard the voices of McGonagall and Dumbledore – luckily they had already been in at that time, inspecting the dust-covered collection of gardening tools. After the failed visit to the hospital wing, Remus had decided that Sirius needed fresh air to clear his head, while Sirius had decided they could go and explore – he had also harbored hopes of finding a broom in said shed.

They had not seen their professors, but the conversation they had overheard was enough to leave Sirius upset and Remus pale and worried.

"They'd screw over the whole school if they could," said Sirius once he had made certain they were alone in the courtyard.

Remus swallowed, glancing uneasily from side to side. That he did not see anybody looking out from the windows did not mean nobody was presently listening to them.

"That's exactly what my parents are always talking about – how they'd like to redo Hogwarts, kick out all the Gryffindors and muggleborns, and teach them, y'know, their proper place," Sirius spat, "It'd be totally screwed."

"Yeah," agreed Remus, but he was visibly preoccupied.

Sirius kicked a stone, then turned to his friend with an unhappy grimace on his face. "What is it?"

"What they said…," said Remus, "You know, how only Professor Parker knew that spell… Madame Pomfrey said she didn't know it either, and I couldn't find it in any of the books either."

"Couldn't it just be in a book that's not here?" asked Sirius, thinking about the very selected variety of books occupying a special place on his parents' bookshelves, "Especially is it's a nasty one; I doubt it'd be in any of the books at school."

"Yeah, but still its kinda weird, isn't it? How only one of the professors coincidentally know a spell that is news even to McGonagall?" asked Remus.

Sirius shrugged. "I dunno. But I really hope this doesn't blow up – if the headmaster's right, it could end up being a real nightmare."


The moment Harry's feet had left the ground he could breathe a little easier.

It had been too long since he had been in the air. Too long since his brain had done anything but turn and turn in circles. It felt like an enormous weight was being lifted from his chest, and he skillfully directed the broom along the tree line of the forbidden forest, making certain he would not be seen easily.

A cold wind was blowing sideways, challenging his skills, tearing at his robe and high above him dark, grey clouds flew by. Not much more than two hours of daylight could be left – yet the rolling hills surrounding Hogwarts had never looked better to Harry than they did today.

In a way it was odd, he thought as he made his way to the far shores of the Great Lake, from here nothing, nothing looked different than it would twenty years in the future. Maybe if he'd come back to see Rom and Hermione waiting for him. And when they'd go back to Gryffindor tower, McGonagall would sternly frown at them, Fred and George tease, and Ginny would shyly smile at him from behind her brothers.

He shook his head, took a deep breath and left the trees for the water. It was far away enough from the castle, here, to remain unseen, even out in the open like this. For thirty minutes or so he just concentrated on flying – bringing the broom close enough to the lake's surface to scare the fishes underneath, pulling up sharply and descending at an ankle that was hardly any different from falling.

Only when he was out of breath and the cold wind felt refreshing rather than icy he slowed down, and let his mind work again.

Dumbledore was trying to keep things quiet – his reasoning was sound, though Harry had to admit he had kept no tabs on Death Eater activity ever since he'd found the diadem missing. He would need to read the Prophet – even though they were no reliable source, it was better than no news.

The diadem was still missing, and he had no idea who had taken it. If it was a time traveler – and perhaps the same who had attacked Snape – he ought to see that he got hold of the other Horcruxes before his mysterious opponent got to them too.

Also, Snape's attacker was most likely a time traveler as well. All evidence pointed it to be a supporter of Voldemort's – however, there was a possibility they were not on Voldemort's side and had only incomplete knowledge of the future. Maybe they had overheard or seen a vision like Trelawney's – something that was veiled, ambiguous. Maybe a vision of Snape killing Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower.

In that case he might have an ally. Still, Harry thought it unlikely – and furthermore he wasn't certain if he actually wanted an ally that attacked eleven-year olds with vicious spells.


James had turned the situation over in his head and felt like pulling out his hair. Instead of figuring out a solution, he was developing a headache.

And a very, very intense suspicion of Professor Parker. Certainly, the man had never made a conspicuous move, and neither his rhetoric nor his teachings appeared suspicious – hell, Parker was completely inconsequential next to such glorious teaching personalities like Umbridge.

Yet he was the one not supposed to be here according to James' memories. And whoever had attacked Snape did have knowledge of the future.

If now Parker was a time-traveler as well, he could have been the attacker.

But there were so many other possibilities. There was no proof that Parker was a time-traveler. Hadn't James observed quite some other changes already taking place when comparing current events to what he recalled? Maybe the alterations in history had begun earlier, and Parker was just one of the ripples caused by a harmless action at another time?

He didn't know, had no idea of how to find out a reliable answer, and felt like going insane.

And that did not change after darkness had fallen, and it was time for dinner.


"How's the patient?" asked Flitwick over dinner.

Harry made certain to concentrate on his food, so that nobody would notice him listening.

Madame Pomfrey made a sound that was not entirely unhappy. "On the mend. He was starting to come around earlier, but I decided to keep under until tomorrow. It's still going to be quite painful then."

"Right, that odd spell really did a thing on him, didn't it," replied Flitwick.

"Actually those injuries are healing fairly well," corrected Pomfrey, "It's the amount of dark magic that renders most healing draughts largely ineffective. And of course the boy is underweight, so his body's immune system is not helping much either."

Harry swallowed hard, and the fragrant chicken breast tasted like ash in his mouth. There was just so much wrong…

How had he ever believed he could just go back in time and fix it?


"Actually," said Sirius in a very low voice, so only James, Remus and Peter could hear, "Earlier on Remus and me overheard the headmaster and McGonagall talk. They were saying only Parker recognized the curse. Isn't that … well, awfully convenient."

James' heart dropped. But while he hadn't wanted to hear Sirius suspect Parker – it wasn't as if those news came as a surprise. He nodded, not trusting his voice to form a sentence.

Peter had paled. "But he's a teacher," he protested.

"That doesn't mean anything," said Sirius darkly and James had to agree.

"I don't think Dumbledore would hire anybody dangerous," said Remus, seeing Peter swaying on his feet.

James bit his lip. Quirrel, Umbridge – Dumbledore was perfectly capable of hiring somebody dangerous. But he had been aware – was the headmaster playing the same game right now? Had so much changed from that future James remembered?

If Parker was dangerous, and the headmaster allowed him here – didn't he care about who could possibly die?

"Well, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to sleep," said Remus, and Peter turned to follow him. James glanced at Remus and found no trace of fatigue in his face. Instead there was a grim determination mirroring his own.

"What are you thinking, James?" asked Sirius.

How much could he reveal?

"I think Parker might be dangerous. If he really was the only one who knew the spell, then that's suspicious," said James, knowing that if Parker had really recognized the spell for what it was he had to be a time traveler. And had probably cast it himself, "What do we do?"

"Ask Snape," said Sirius.

James felt a grin spread over his face. He'd thought along the lines of warning Snape to stay clear of Parker himself. "Tonight?" he asked.

"It's not as if we want any of the professors to overhear that?" said Sirius with one raised eyebrow, "And I always wanted to explore the castle at night."


There was another staff meeting after dinner.

Harry dropped in the armchair in the left corner of the room again – he started to think of it as his. Besides being comfortable, and hidden away from the room's large chandelier, it was also close to the exit, and, during daytime, offered a good view over the grounds descending to the lake shore on through the window opposite.

Now it was dark, and all he could see in the window were the reflections of the milling staff.

Dumbledore entered shortly afterwards, followed by a grim faced McGonagall. Silence fell immediately – from their expressions, Harry could tell his colleagues felt exhausted, too. He leaned back, and wrapped his hands around a warm tea mug.

"Anything new?" asked Slughorn.

Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Mr. Snape woke up earlier this evening. At this time it appears he is not suffering from any mental effects of the spells used on him, and will probably make a full recovery."

Harry felt like sighing in relief. He wasn't the only one – on the other side of room, Xylanti actually did, and Flitwick also relaxed in his seat.

"Did he remember who attacked him, Poppy?" asked McGonagall.

The nurse shook her head. "He claims he had been knocked out by a spell on his way down to breakfast. After that he doesn't remember a thing."

"I doubt it. Casting cruciatus on an unconscious person just doesn't make sense," said Sprout abruptly, and Harry almost choked on his tea. Muttering took up, and McGonagall's grim face only relaxed when Madame Pomfrey turned to the assembled staff.

"I thought the same. It is much more probable the memories have been suppressed," she said, using the same factual tone Sprout had, "And I would strongly advise against attempting to restore them magically at this point."

"I don't think such a risky procedure will be necessary," said Dumbledore, "However I wonder – Mr. Snape was on his own when he was attacked?"

"Yes," replied Slughorn, and Harry almost got a crick in his neck trying to catch sight of the potion's teacher, "His dorm mates informed me Mr. Snape habitually visits the library before breakfast, and as such usually arrives on his own."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. Then he nodded toward McGonagall.

"A student of mine came by my office earlier to inform me, that it was her who had inadvertently passed on the information that Mr. Snape's father is a muggle to other members of Gryffindor house," McGonagall did not look very happy.

Harry realized with a jolt that she had to be speaking about Lily. No other student could have possibly known about Snape's parents – and something in his stomach churned unpleasantly, while McGonagall carried on. "It seems then, that during a confrontation Mr. Black revealed this before a group of students from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Silence descended – and this time it felt heavy rather than exhausted. Harry however was lost in his own head – with everything happening he had paid little attention to his own mother. After the initial joy of seeing her in his class, he had focused on other things.

And now he couldn't help feeling guilty. Because Lily was one of the keys to changing history – and one of the persons he wanted alive and happy before all others.

"So we can assume that the information passed through the grapevine until one student, how do you say it nowadays, snapped," summed Dumbledore up, "At this time we still do not know who the culprit was, but I believe we can narrow the list down."

He looked at everyone, and those blue eyes, twinkling over the rim of his glasses, regained confidence. "Since it is late, I would suggest we adjourn until Friday. For the time being, Horace, Minerva, would you stay behind for a moment?"


Sneaking out at night was more difficult than James had expected. First Peter was unable to fall asleep, tossing and turning for almost an hour – and then Sirius had almost dozed off, and James really couldn't be too loud as Remus was a very light sleeper. Especially now that the moon was waxing.

Eventually they made it, throwing their robes on over their pajamas. The trip to the hospital wing was fairly easy – James had more than seven years of memories mapping Hogwarts with all her corridors and secret passages, and the habits of caretaker Wiston.

He also knew where and how Madame Pomfrey set her alarms – only Sirius' impressed expression made James uncomfortable. And he made certain to glance about from time to time, and use no spells they had not learned yet – though in the end, they made it to Snape's bedside without casting any spells.

The Slytherin boy was deathly white, and for a moment James' conviction faltered. He hadn't really thought about how seriously Snape had been injured – now, seeing bruises on his throat and face, a bandage wrapped around his head and more peeking out under his pajama sleeves, made him reconsider if waking him up was a good idea.

Sirius had no such qualms. He dropped down on the bed, and first called out quietly, then shook Snape's shoulder. Snape, however, didn't stir.

"I can't wake him," said Sirius in frustration.

James frowned. "Let's get him out of the bed."

Sirius looked at him as if he was insane. James hurried to explain: "Sometimes they do something to the pillows to make people fall asleep. So maybe…"

Sirius shrugged. "Well, let's try."

James swallowed. In the first war mediwizards and nurses had cast sleeping charms on the pillows of those too injured to be spelled to sleep directly. He hadn't seen many of these – but a good friend of his had passed away under a charm like that, with half of his body gone and his body damaged beyond repair by Death Eaters.

He had to close his eyes, and fight back the memories, while Sirius glanced at him with impatience written all over his face.

When James glanced up Sirius was trying to pull Snape off of the hospital bed by his shoulders, and gesturing for James to help out. He trotted over obediently and grabbed Snape's legs.

"Where to?" hissed Sirius.

"Madame Pomfrey's office," replied James.

It turned out one of them could have easily carried Snape alone – he may have only been a head smaller than James, but seemed to be made up only of bones. Not that the hospital pajamas did much to hide that fact.

When Sirius opened the office door with his elbow James noticed Snape shudder. Hospital Pajamas, he recalled, weren't warm either.

And Snape was actually coming around. His eyelids fluttered, as James kicked the door shut behind him, and he and Sirius barely managed to deposit Snape in a plush armchair, before he started twitching and finally opened his eyes.

For a moment Snape stared at them in a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment. James exchanged a glance with Sirius. Then the reality of the situation registered.

"Potter," Snape tried to spit, but his voice was hoarse, barely there, "Black."

Snape's hand shot up to his throat, but the movement couldn't have been good – he flinched in pain, and let the hand sink back, eyes squeezed shut. For a moment James felt guilty – he could see bandages peak out from underneath Snape's pajamas and there was nasty bruises discoloring the skin on his throat. Carrying him over here had probably done nothing good for him.

But they had to warn him. Lest he got really killed the next time.

James swallowed, but Sirius leaned forward. "Snape," he said, displeasure written all over his face, "What do you remember?"

Snape's eyes widened, and his breath caught. For a moment he just sat there; pajamas hanging off his thin frame and huge dark eyes staring sightlessly into space, as a myriad of emotions passed over his face. Then they all vanished and Snape's eyes focused on Sirius.

"Nothing," said Snape.

James didn't like the calculating look on Snape's face – but Sirius didn't notice.

"Doesn't matter," said Sirius and leaned forward, "Listen, the professors think some student did it. I dunno about that, but make sure nobody kicks up a fuss. There are people outside Hogwarts who'd love this – they'd either shut it, or turn it into a nightmare. You don't want that, Snape, do you?"

Snape wordlessly shook his head. There was a hint of fear in his expression – but then, to him James and Sirius must appear completely mad.

"Good," said Sirius, "Make sure nothing happens."

"And," James heard himself add, "Stay away from Parker."

"What?" asked Snape. He gazed from Sirius to James and back, obviously uncertain what to make of them.

"There's something not right about him," said James, and Sirius joined in: "Nobody knew what curse'd been used on you. Along comes Parker who incidentally knows."

"But why would…" Whatever Snape was trying to say was lost as his voice dropped away, and he grimaced.

James shrugged, leaning back against Pomfrey's desk. "I don't know. Maybe he didn't cast it – but it's still suspicious. So just stay clear of him."

Because, James thought, the next time a curse like that might very well kill Snape.

tbc


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