Back at Hogwarts

___

When they reached the Hogwarts entrance Dumbledore left to celebrate his own holidays in parts unknown, and the older Harry decided to take the younger boy to the kitchen to get something substantial to eat.  He didn't remember specifics, but he was sure he hadn't been fed before he'd been locked in the cupboard. As they walked hand in hand through the halls of Hogwarts, Harry finally had a chance to examine his younger self at length. 

There was a lot of messy black hair hanging over the little boy's dirty face, and of course the clothes from Dudley were just as oversized at age five as they were in later years.  Even so, there was something endearing about the wide green eyes staring in wonderment and pointing at the moving pictures on the walls.

Hey, I was a cute kid, after all, Harry thought with surprise.  No one had ever told him so.

 He gave his age-five self a grin as he explained about the people in the portraits. 

"What should I call you?"  The little boy asked suddenly.  "Uncle Harry?  Mr. Harry?"

"Well…"  Older Harry floundered at the question.  He hadn't really thought about it. "I suppose just Harry would be…"

"Mr. Potter," A familiar voice sneered.  "I see you have company.  Would you care to explain why it is that you are…Great Merlin!"

Harry turned to his left to see a person in billowing black robes striding forward.  Snape, of course.  The Potions professor was slightly less intimidating than usual.  Probably that had something to do with the fact that it was difficult for him to sneer with his mouth hanging open. 

Harry followed the direction of the stunned black eyes and saw that Younger Harry's scar was clearly showing.  The boy was waving to one of the paintings in an adorable fashion, either oblivious to the fact that Snape had used the name "Potter" or assuming Snape knew who he was.

"Why don't you go talk to the knight and the lady in the purple dress," Suggested the elder Harry to the younger, gesturing to the portrait the little boy seemed so interested in.  "They know a lot of good jokes."  Younger Harry went off to hear about the dragon who crossed the road, and Snape came to stand before Older Harry. 

"Mr. Potter…,"  said Snape slowly.  "Is…that …who…I …think it is?"

"Dumbledore loaned me a Time Turner," Harry said briefly, hoping against hope the potion master would be satisfied with that and go away. 

Snape opened and closed his mouth several times.  Finally he spluttered, "The use of Time Turners is very strictly controlled by the Ministry of Magic.  The headmaster should never have done such a thing."  He glared at the little boy near the wall, who was talking animatedly to the knight on horseback.

Harry was tempted to tell Snape that if he didn't like it he could go complain to Dumbledore himself, but instead settled on an explanation of a sort.  "I didn't want him," the teenager nodded at younger Harry, "to spend Christmas alone."

Little Harry was in a pause between punch lines and overheard the last part of the conversation. He turned around to yell to Snape all about it.  "Uncle Vernon put me in the cupboard again, but Mr. Harry came and got me!  I get to have Christmas here!  With presents!"  He turned back to the portrait, this time focusing his attention on the lady.

Snape looked thoughtfully for a long time at the little boy, then turned back to Harry.  "The Time Turner, if you please," he said, holding out his hand.

Reluctantly, Harry took the bulky hourglass out of his pocket and handed it to Snape.  What he expected Snape to do, he didn't know, but he certainly didn't expect Snape to simply stare for several minutes at the thing in his hand. 

When Snape finally spoke again he sounded very unlike himself.  "And is Albus also planning to share this miracle with Draco Malfoy?  Or Mr. Longbottom?  Or with m-" He flushed.  "With every person at Hogwarts who has had an miserable upbringing?"    He looked at the Time Turner a few more seconds before offering it back to Harry, accompanied by the usual sneer.  "Your position as the headmaster's favorite is most enviable, Mr. Potter.  Do have a Happy Christmas."

But Harry had heard something in Snape's voice that he hadn't heard before, and he didn't immediately take back the Time Turner.  "Would you like to borrow it, professor?  I won't need it till tomorrow.  Maybe little Harry would like a playmate for a while…"

Snape inhaled sharply and his posture became, if possible, even stiffer than normal.  "No, Mister Potter, I would not," he replied icily.  "Unlike some people, I know the value of letting the past alone."  He pushed the magical hourglass at Harry again, and this time Harry took it back.  Snape turned on his heel to leave.

"Professor?"

Snape stopped, scowling at Harry over his shoulder.  "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"You reckon Draco would really want to use it?   Maybe I could get Dumbledore to…"

Snape cut him off.  "Mr. Potter, I have no doubt at all that Mr. Malfoy would dearly love to get his hands on the Time Turner, but I would highly recommend you never allow him to touch it.  I can't begin to imagine what sort of muddle he would make of his life if he kidnapped himself at the age of two and then refused to give himself back."  And with that, the potions master stalked away. 

"He is not very nice," Small Harry announced decidedly as he returned to his older friend.  Harry grinned down at himself.

"No, he's not, is he?  Come on, let's get something to eat - oh, wait.  Maybe there's something we should do first."   Harry reached for his wand and pointed it at the little boy, who looked fearful. "Nothing to worry about," Older Harry assured, and cast a simple cosmetic spell to cover up the scar on the younger boy's forehead.  The spell was really meant for spots, but it seemed to do just as well with scars.  Hopefully, anyone looking at the younger boy would assume that he was some sort of relation, and not Harry himself.  No need for unnecessary questions.

They reached the kitchens, and the older boy lifted the younger one and held him up to the fruit bowl painting, instructing him to tickle the pear.  It was hard to tell who giggled louder, the painted fruit or the little boy. 

The picture swung open.  Harry made sure to explain the best he could about the house-elves before stepping into the kitchen, but his younger self still squealed as he caught sight of Dobby and the others.  A painting was one thing, but house-elves moving around freely were something else again.

"Sir has come to visit Dobby again!"  Dobby said delightedly.  "And he has brought a friend!  Er - Sir has not brought his -older- friends with him again?" The house-elf asked suspiciously.  Harry shook his head, chuckling. 

The kitchen smelled like gingerbread and peppermint - exactly right for Christmas, Older Harry thought, watching Younger Harry sniffing the air expectantly.  Older Harry started to put the little boy on the floor, but the child grabbed tightly to the elder boy's robe and refused to let go, giving the house-elves apprehensive glances.  

Older Harry tried to demonstrate how friendly the house-elves were.  "Harry, this is Dobby the house-elf.  Dobby, this little boy is also named Harry.  And he's missed his supper tonight - probably his tea, as well.  Do you have anything extra about?"

Immediately, house elves sprang into action, determined to bring nearly every delicacy the kitchen had to offer.  More fruit and cold chicken and muffins than three little boys could have eaten appeared at one of the tables.  Younger Harry overcame his misgivings about the house-elves rather quickly at that point, and Older Harry had to tell the child several times to slow down as he ate.  Being sick on Christmas Eve would NOT be a jolly Christmas memory. 

Happily stuffed and finishing the last bite of a gingersnap, Younger Harry began to yawn.

Older Harry was torn.   On the one hand, it was rather late for a little person who had had a very exciting day.  On the other hand, being tucked in after a hot bath was on Harry's "List of Things I Missed Out On as a Child" and Younger Harry didn't look as if his hygiene had been paid much attention to for the last couple of days.

Harry decided to compromise by asking his younger self what he wanted. "Harry, how does a bubble bath in a really splendid tub sound?  Or are you too tired?" 

Older Harry didn't have enough experience with small children to know that they never admit they are tired, so he was happily surprised when the five-year-old perked up at this.  "Really?  With bubbles?  Nobody else before me?"  He bounced up and down in his chair.  "Can I have my bath now?  Can I?  Please?"

Older Harry found himself grinning again.  He suspected that most children so young didn't show as much enthusiasm about bathing, but then, most children probably didn't have a Dudley Dursley living with them always hogging the bathroom and using all the hot water.  He held out his hand to the little boy and led the way to the prefects' bathroom.

Hermione, bless her, had owled the new password for them along with all the other things Harry had requested.

"Scrubbing bubbles," said Older Harry, appropriately enough for the circumstances. 

Younger Harry was intrigued by the large room, the candle-filled chandelier, the mermaid in the portrait, (who hadn't gone to sleep yet, and was passing the time by combing her long blond hair), but especially by the dozens of bubble taps.  Older Harry was afraid to fill the tub very full, but even so, Younger Harry managed to try nearly every kind of bubbles before undressing and hopping into the shallow end. 

The little boy was particularly fond of the bubbles the size of beach balls that glowed in rainbow colors, and he occupied himself by gently lifting them in the air and then trying to keep them aloft by aiming his breath upward and blowing underneath them.  Consistently, the bubbles were too heavy and refused to stay up.  They came floating down again, popping when they landed on the little boy's nose.   When Younger Harry got bored with these, Older Harry transfigured a couple bars of soap into rubber ducks, and Younger Harry played with them while the older boy made an effort at washing the child's hair without getting soaked himself. 

"Bother," Older Harry said as he lifted the little boy out of the tub and began toweling him off.  He got up and opened the door of the bathroom, then pulled out his wand.  *"Accio Pajamas*…I can't believe I forgot them – and after I owled for them special, too."

Small Harry watched curiously as the pajamas seemed to float on their own to the door within a few moments.  Already magic was beginning – just beginning – to seem natural.

"Did you do that?"  Younger Harry asked seriously.

"Sure," Older Harry replied, helping the small boy to dress.  Younger Harry didn't seem to need all that much assistance, which made sense considering all the help he was likely to have received from the Dursleys.  "It's not that tough, once you know the spell."  The flannel pajamas, rich with red fire engines that seemed to really move across the fabric, were just a bit too big.  Younger Harry was apparently smaller than the average five-year-old, and Older Harry wondered if that were partly due to not being fed enough.

"You made the ducks, too…"  Younger Harry watched the fire engines chase each other around his middle.  "And the pictures in the halls walked around.  And there were little people in the kitchen."

"The house-elves.  That's right."  Older Harry sat back on his heels, waiting for the little boy to finish thinking aloud.

"Uncle Vernon says m…magic…" A furtive look at the older boy.  "Says magic…isn't real.  Even pretending is bad."

Older Harry sat down on the floor for the sole purpose of pulling the little boy onto his lap. "Listen, Harry, I'm going to tell you something I want you to remember.  I don't want you to repeat it but you have to remember, all right?"  Small Harry nodded and Older Harry took a deep breath.  "Your Uncle Vernon is an idiot.  He has no idea what he's talking about when he talks about magic.  He has no idea what he's talking about when he talks about you.  He and Aunt Petunia are wrong to treat you the way they do.  Do you understand?  They are wrong about magic, and they are wrong about you.  Just because they are grown-ups doesn't make them right." 

There.  Check that off the list:  Harry had always wanted someone to say that to him. 

Come to think of it, he had a vague feeling that someone had, once, and it had been very satisfying to hear.

___

Back in the Gryffindor dormitory, Harry turned back the covers on Ron's bed and invited his younger self to hop in.  Harry was sure Ron wouldn't mind using his bed for a good cause.

But for the first time Younger Harry sounded a little rebellious.  "I'm not sleepy," he announced grouchily, rubbing his eyes. 

Uh-oh  thought older Harry.  How to get a tired little boy to go to bed without a fuss?  Come on now Harry, think, that's YOU there.  You've got to know how to deal with this.   Except that what Harry knew about himself and authority figures was not promising.

"You don't have to sleep yet," Harry coaxed.  "Just get under the covers and I'll read to you for awhile."

Younger Harry considered this and then climbed into bed while Older Harry looked through the pile of children's books that Hermione had sent.  Harry hadn't asked for them.  Hermione had simply sent a selection of her old books as a matter of course when she'd heard about Harry's coming visitor. 

Harry settled on a book that seemed to be about a Teddy Bear losing a button and came back to the bed.  Very carefully, he tucked in the small child in and smoothed his hair, then sat on the edge of the bed and began to read.   By the time he reached the end of the book and the little girl in the story tucked the bear into bed, Younger Harry's eyes were heavy with sleep and barely open. 

"G'night Harry," said Older Harry, bending down to the small figure snuggled under the covers and giving him a kiss on the forehead.  "Sleep tight."  He debated with himself for a while about the absurdity of what he wanted to say next, but for God's sake, SOMEBODY should say it, and if it had to be himself, so be it.  "I love you, Harry."  He smoothed out the covers over the child again.

"'Night," mumbled the child sleepily before closing his eyes. 

"Darn it," thought Harry some time later, just before he drifted to sleep himself.  "I forgot to tell him it's okay to bounce on my bed when he wakes up in the morning.  Children should all be able to bounce beds Christmas morning.  Oh, well, maybe he'll do it on his own."