The swell of old stones chipped by age flooded the room, adorned with sets of armor, weapons or antiquity, and majestic silvery scones that doused the room in a lively green flame. The entire dungeon was filled with objects of dangerous allure, peerless in both majesty and madness. The entire room felt cold to the touch, and even as Harry looked around him, he noticed his hands.
In a world of witchcraft and wizardry, it was a set of hands that nearly sent Harry into a frenzy. He tried to scream, but he was caught off guard by the shrillness in his tone. He was young again? But why here? This looked like the Slytherin rooms. Harry got up, wondering why on earth he was sleeping with his glasses on, when he noticed that he had his wand in his hand and wearing his uniform to bed. But even this was out of place. The wand wasn't the warm holly, but a prominent yew wand. It was the same length, but far more rigid, and he could feel a powerful surge through its wood. A foreign yet elegant grip followed his hand as he casted a wordless Lumos spell, as a bright light transfixed itself to the top of his wand.
He was glad the wand worked, but it wasn't his wand. He was confused at all of this, but glad that he was still alive. He needed his friends. Hermoine might know something about all of this in her notes. If not, Ron would at least level him with the situation, but as he began moving through the emptied commons, his wand light found less than familiar faces. He wondered if this was some kind of illusion,or a fever dream before he truly passed. He could see a large evergreen in the center of the common room, with various wrapped boxes with a forest green color with a sterling finish.
It was Christmas, but he was itching to go back to his home. As many regrets as he harbored, this wasn't the do over he imagined in his mind. He should be waking up to the roaring fire in the Gryffindor commons, probably watching Ron complain about another pair of socks. But instead, a very familiar, upsetting sounding voice came from out of the darkness.
"Could you point that wand somewhere else? I get you're trying to find the Heir, but that isn't your cue to start waving wands at people's faces." A boy walked up to Harry, illuminated by the waning torchlight.
He was about his height, but the stark blonde hair was a dead giveaway to who this was. The boy rubbed his dull blue eyes, showing the sleepy droop in them as he recovered from the light. The slight upturned lip on his face made Harry want to cringe. Though in his older years he might have matured, the young boy before him was thorn at his side for all of his years at Hogwarts.
"Draco, why am I here?" Harry cut to the chase, not wasting a second of time like he once did.
"That's obvious, you're the Silver Prince of Slytherin. Headmaster's second favorite, of course." Malfoy flaunted himself, trying his best not to laugh at the title.
But Harry wasn't a fool, and he had the knowledge of an entire lifetime on his side. He couldn't possibly trust Malfoy with anything, but he could trust him to run his mouth. It was a long time ago, but he can still remember the basics. "Has there been a recent attack?"
"Yeah, it was Ron Weasley and the ghost with his head lopped off. Why are you asking?" frowning a bit at the question, Draco took one step forward.
Harry was lamenting letting the conversation go too far. He knew all of his prior knowledge of spells; he could have easily read Malfoy's mind instead of talking, but he wasn't about to assault the mind of a young boy for the sake of his own personal gain. But he'd be lying if the thought didn't cross his mind.
And in that moment, Harry shook himself from the thought. He would never do such a thing.
It wasn't long before Harry took his own step backward. "Where is Ron right now?"
"Probably with Madam Pomfrey's at the moment, but what's wrong with you, Harry. We've known each other for two years, and act like I caught some horrible flu. I'll stop calling you 'The Silver Prince' if it upsets you so much."
Harry blinked. Everything was wrong, very wrong. Fletchley was the one who was petrified before Christmas along with Nearly Headless Nick. Ron was never petrified, and soon the pieces began to fall into place, though Harry dreaded the truth. This was some kind of other world. A world so close to his own, but so vastly different in the small but important ways. He knew he couldn't keep anything more from Draco, as much as he despised him last time around, he was the only familiar face in Slytherin House up to this point.
With an exasperated sigh, Harry relented, "Alright, what I'm about to say makes no sense, but I need you to pay attention."
"I'm listening, it can't be any stranger than a monster that doesn't eat wizards." Draco looked on, appearing intrigued.
Harry steeled himself from that response: Malfoy was listening to anyone other than himself was bizarre. One part of him was relieved to have some help in this bizarre situation, but his clever side figured this was the best news he would be hearing in a while.
"I was an old man last night, and I swear up and down I was a Gryffindor, and I was friends with Ron Weasley and Hermoine Granger. Lived my whole life that way, but I just woke up as a 12 year old last night. I need to see Hermoine Granger, she's also looking into the monster attacks, and might be able to prove my innocence."
"Harry, we were already going to do that. I think you got hit by some kind of charm in your sleep. Probably because you keep sleeping with that wand in your hand. I can walk you to the Hospital Wing after presents, but I've got a book report to ransom from Goyle due in a few days, so make it quick." Draco quickly pressed on to the large boxes.
Draco's greedy digits found their way to the box, and began tearing apart the box, before giving a light chuckle. From out of the box, he fished out some glassware from the large box. It was some kind of alchemy set, but since when did Draco like that? Harry skipped over his presents, opting instead to head out and find Ron. He had to have some clue regarding the Basilisk this time around. It was a lie to himself, of course, he wanted to make sure his best friend was alive. Then a curious thought ran past him.
Harry was so busy trying to save his friends, but he knew the Mandrake Draught would cure them of petrification, it was only a matter of time before they were safe. He knew how the story ends. Ginny was out and about, still compelled by the Diary. Harry could just stop her by the last place she spilled the blood. He remembered the last hall where she marked the bloody messages. Or at least, he thought he knew. There was no telling how different this Next Time would be.
There was a massive hit of nostalgia as Harry retraced the old halls of Hogwarts again. Hogwarts had been a home to him when he needed it most. Even now, in all of this confusion Harry was glad to be in a familiar place at the very least.
Even as he walked through the doors of the Hospital Wing, he wondered if Ron would even recognize him. What if this version of him didn't befriended Ron or Hermoine in 1991, how did he manage to get the Philosopher's Stone? Questions bubbled in Harry's mind, as he came across the first familiar face .
Ron was lying in the exact same position Hermoine had, hand gestured up as if holding a mirror, just like Hermoine had before last time. Ron's face was locked mid scream. Harry did what he tried last time: he searched Ron for a paper, and he found it. He unfurled the aged parchment and…
It was shoddily written book report on a Cockatrice.
"I… '' Harry wanted to say he was sorry, but he was cut off by a distinct voice from across the room.
"Going somewhere, Potter?"
Harry sighed heavily, it was Snape.
"Uh, I got hit by a funny spell. They told me to. The beds here are really nice." Harry stumbled over each word, doing his best to replicate a Confundus charm.
"Do not sleight me Potter: I have reason to believe you're sending a monster through the school. I should return to the dungeons, as a prisoner rather than a student. But, the Headmaster wishes to speak with you. It would be best not to keep him waiting." Snape looked down from his hooked nose at the Harry.
"Why?" Harry questioned hurriedly.
Snape shot a glance back at him before returning his gaze to the shifting staircases in the hall ahead, "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, Potter."