A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed, you guys are the best! Shout-outs at
the end of the chappie!
While Demi's comment had the desired effect, he regretted it almost the second the words were past his lips. He was no fool. While his mother may have died when he was only nine, and his father during his first year at Hogwarts, he fancied that he'd known his parents pretty well. And they were both very stubborn people, with amazingly large egos, considering they didn't hold themselves in particularly high esteem. Each other, yes, but both had been plagued by more than a little self-doubt. The combination of ego, self-hatred, and stubbornness meant that if either one of them got wind of their future relationship, it would be over before it started. And despite Demi's recent statements, he'd rather avoid the whole 'not existing' thing if he could.
Dumbledore's eyebrows eventually gravitated back downwards, and his expression was a mixture of intense amusement, and slight worry. The source of amusement was obvious. After all, the sheer irony of him crashing into his own mother when he journeyed back through time wasn't lost on him. And it probably had some root in the idea of his parents as a couple too. But the worry... Demi pondered it. Well, he had said both his parents died rather unpleasantly, hadn't he? Probably a blow to the old man to realise that when Demitrius said EVERYONE was lost, he had meant it quite literally. After a moment Dumbledore spoke again.
"Well, I wouldn't mention that to either of them, if I were you." He warned. Demi smirked quite genuinely.
"I think I'll have to agree with that advice." He said. There were a few more moments of contemplative silence, before Dumbledore spoke again. He didn't mention changing history. Seemed as though the two had agreed to disagree for the moment. But there was another matter now that the story was out, and that was the question of what to do with young Demitrius. With the very powerful time-shifter now broken, they couldn't very well send him back without using another one, and neither Dumbledore nor Demitrius were too fond of the idea of him skipping merrily into his own timeline to be tortured to death. "I'd rather you just killed me here and found me a nice, cosy grave, thanks." He declared sarcastically, folding his arms across his chest.
Eventually, after a great deal of conversing and weighing options, Dumbledore made a decision. He rose from his seat, and fixed Demitrius with a very serious look. "The workings of time are very complicated, my dear boy, and try as I might even I have difficulties understanding them. However, the fact remains that you are here now, and it seems there is no alternative but for you to stay. The future will be what it may. Tomorrow morning your arrival will be explained, and you will attend classes as a student of this school." He said, with a finality to his tones that left no room for argument. Demi scowled but said nothing. He couldn't really argue with the reasoning, and at least if he was here, there would be some chance to change things for the better. He nodded, and Dumbledore's seriousness melted back into a familiar twinkle, and a smile. "It seems from what I've heard that you've already been sorted into Slytherin. You may desire to change your last name, as I doubt Professor Snape will fail to see a connection, between himself and a boy from the future so... Like him." The headmaster informed. Demitrius blanched. 'He thinks I'm like Father?' He thought with a brief stir of wonderment. He'd always admired his father, always seen him as human, but a sort of endlessly wise and powerful one. Even after his death the image hadn't faded. Some slight colour crept to his cheeks at what he took to be a compliment, and he nodded his agreement again.
"You're right, of course. But what name?" He wondered. Dumbledore shrugged, and Demi sat back, taking his chin in hand as he thought. Something that would make him turn when people called it, but not overly obvious, or embarrassing. Hmm.
"Septimus." He said at last. His eyes were thoughtful. "I'll remember that, and my initials stay the same." He provided. (A/N Severus Septimus was a Roman Emperor, a fairly interesting one too. My idea of a little joke.) Then a thought occurred to him. "Er, Professor? Won't there be a bit of a panic if you tell everyone why I've come?" He asked curiously. He'd had plenty of experience with the way people acted when they knew their life was endanger, and didn't care to experience it further. Dumbledore nodded.
"I expect there might be, which is why I'm not planning on telling them why you've come. And neither should you Demitrius. Whether you change the future or not is up to you, but it would hardly be fitting for you to make such an ominous announcement to the entire school, and I'm afraid I can't allow it." Dumbledore said firmly. Demi couldn't hide the small, slightly evil smile that slithered up his face. 'Going it alone, eh? I've done that before too.' He thought confidently. Then he straightened, placing his nose a little higher in the air, as the glint of a predator shone in his eyes.
"Fair enough Professor. I stay, but I keep my mouth shut." He agreed. Then he reached out a hand, and clasped the old man's tightly, sealing the deal. His mother used to make him do that whenever he made a 'pact'. Like, 'I will not threaten Uncle Harry anymore, no matter what Father says.' That had been a particularly strict rule. Demitrius turned and stalked out of the office, Dumbledore not far behind him. Even though he acknowledged all of Potter's accomplishments, he'd never liked the man, no matter how fond of him his mother was. A trait, it seemed, ingrained into all Slytherins for whatever reason.
~
Hermione had finished dressing herself, and was just pulling open the privacy curtains around her, when the mysterious boy and the headmaster finally emerged from Poppy's office. She was wondering what was keeping the mediwitch at breakfast for so long, before it occurred to her that Dumbledore had likely given her something else to occupy her time, at least to ensure she didn't barge in on a particularly dramatic conversation. Able healer though she was, Poppy could become very irate with only a little prompting.
The boy looked at her for a moment, before fixing her with a very firm smile, and an expression similar to resolution darted through his eyes. "Sorry about that." He said cheerfully. Hermione shrugged, and glanced at Dumbledore, at something of a loss for what to say. She'd never had brilliant people skills and to be quite honest the shock hadn't gone completely away. Still, Hermione found the boy very distinctly. pleasant. Which was odd, the way he seemed earlier, somewhat cold and sarcastic. Dumbledore seemed to sense her trouble and swooped down in something of a rescue.
"Professor Granger, young Demitrius Septimus. Mr Septimus, may I present Professor Granger, our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." He said. Hermione pulled up a smile and moved to shake his hand. He took it firmly. "Demitrius accidentally used a rather powerful time-travel device to get here Hermione, completely by mistake I assure you, but it seems as though he's here to stay. I trust you and the other professors will help to make him feel more at ease." Dumbledore said warmly. Hermione smiled, nodding vigorously, the surprise evident on her face.
"Yes, of course. That must have been quite the brutal trip." She said, reflecting on his injuries, and of course assuming it was the explosive dark magic that caused them. Demitrius let out a short laugh.
"Professor, you have no idea." He told her. Somehow, she felt fairly certain there was more to this than they were telling, but she wouldn't find out by simply asking. 'Another mystery at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron would be furious to know they'd missed out!' She thought, and had to fight back a misty feeling of nostalgia.
"Well, if you don't mind, I think I'll get dressed." Demitrius said, spying his newly-washed robes laid out upon his bed. Hermione's senses seemed to spring back to herself at this fairly mundane comment, and she hastily glanced down at her watch.
"Oh no, I've got a class in fifteen minutes!" She squeaked. Dumbledore chuckled lightly as she made her hurried goodbyes and dashed madly for the door, as though she were already late, instead of a bit behind schedule. Demitrius watched her go with curiosity.
"...I guess she was always like that." He said softly, before grabbing his clothing off his bed and pulling the curtains shut tight around him. Thankfully the school robes at Hogwarts hadn't changed a lick in seventeen years. There had been other things to worry about, more pressing than fashion sensibility. Dumbledore's voice reached him from beyond the confines of the curtain, as he unbuttoned his temporary pyjamas and began pulling more familiar clothes onto his person.
"I shall have Severus work out a schedule for you to use tomorrow. Until then, you may go wherever you please, but I must ask that you stay within the grounds." Dumbledore said. Demitrius grunted his assent. In the life he was used to, leaving Hogwarts was quite out of the question, really. Far too dangerous. Even the staff rarely ventured from it's walls, only coming and going when supplies were needed. Or information.
By the time Demi had finished dressing, Dumbledore had left the infirmary, and he found himself alone. He ran his eyes on the familiar, yet so very different structure. It was only Poppy Pomfrey who manned it now, and the rooms had yet to be let-out to accommodate a greater need. The quiet was strangely disconcerting. No people being brought in with gashes in their heads, or snapped limbs, or minds nearly torn apart by torture and anguish. Very different indeed. But, in the good sort of way, he mused.
"M-Madam Pomfrey?" He heard a shaky voice at the door. Demitrius' eyes snapped down to the little figure standing in the archway. A small girl, with frizzy blonde hair, stood clutching a hand covered in boils and reddening painfully as tears slid down her cheeks.
"She's not here at the moment. What did you do?" Demi asked, moving over to her and looking at the hand. She shook a little, and he could tell she was slightly startled by his presence, and a little afraid as well. He summed her up in one glance. Young, no more than first or perhaps second year, Hufflepuff for sure.
"I-I slipped in herbology... W-we were working w-with mandrakes, b-but t- there was the bubot-t-t-tubor puss from the fourth y-years still out." She said. Demitrius let go of her damaged hand and looked around for the soothing lotion that solved this sort of insignificant mishap. He soon spied it at the top of one of Pomfrey's shelves. Reaching down, he lifted his wand, and pointed it at the desired object.
"Accio Soothing Cream." He commanded firmly, and the little jar zipped over to his outstretched hand. He turned back to the girl, who was still standing in the doorway. Demi rolled his eyes. "Sit. There." He ordered, pointing at a nearby chair. She hurried over to it almost as though he'd threatened her. 'Pathetic.' He thought, and pulled the lid from the jar. The girl was shaking a bit. "Here, you'd better do this. Just rub it gently over your hand wherever it burns." He instructed, handing her the jar. She took it fearfully and began doing as he told. He considered her for a moment. "You know, a little odd, isn't it?" He stated. She looked at him in confusion.
"W-what?" She asked, her lower lip trembling as she rubbed in the cream. Demitrius began to take a great interest in the front of his robes, straightening them out casually, as though having a light discussion with a friend.
"Well, from what I can remember, we had to wear our dragon-hide gloves when we worked with the mandrakes. Nasty creatures, really, and they can bite pretty hard. Now how did you dose your hand in bubotuber puss when you were wearing gloves?" He asked, as though quite genuinely puzzled. The girl looked down, and the tears fell just a little harder.
"I-it f-fell off..." She began. Demi raised a single eyebrow at her, folding his arms in front of his chest. He'd seen the behaviour before in junior classmen. It was blatantly obvious, really.
"Their names. Now." He ordered firmly, as though a teacher and not a student. The girl flushed a bright pink.
"I d-don't understand." She lied. Demitrius scowled his most intimidating scowl.
"Then let me be more clear, Miss...?"
"...C-Cook. Adrienne Cook."
"Ah, Miss Cook. I would like to know the names of the Slytherins who put bubotuber puss in your dragon-hide gloves, please." He said. Though his words were kind enough, he was sure to use a certain cold finality that left no doubt he wanted answers. Her hand stopped rubbing lotion into it's companion, and he looked over to inspect it. Completely covered in lotion. "A moment then." He offered, and went to search for some bandages. They weren't exactly hard to find. When he returned, the young Miss Cook seemed to have composed herself a bit better.
"W-what will you do? You're a S-Slytherin too! I bet y-you just want to gloat with them!" She accused. Demitrius sighed, and began to remove the bandages from their packaging.
"A stereo-type is a very evil thing Miss Cook." He said quietly, looking at the bandages in his hand. Then his eyes snapped over to hers, and in them was nothing but cold, calculating finality. "Now, you will tell me their names, or I will have to find it out another way. And if I have to find it out another way, my mood will be most unpleasant." He told her darkly. She gulped, moving back a little in her seat, and her lower lip began to tremble even more fiercely.
"R-Ramon Finly a-and A-Arnold Ross." She stuttered out. Demitrius nodded curtly, then lifted her cream-coated hand from the wrist, and began to carefully wrap bandages around it. He made a point not to look at her face. Either she was crying even harder, or glaring at him now, or even worse, simpering. Yuck. Instead he focused on properly wrapping her swollen appendage. Demi had never had any sort of real knack for medicine or healing. His bedside manner alone left many people in fits of tears or rage, but he'd made it a point to learn the basics, without delving into the magical side of it. Bandages, ointments, Demi liked things he could touch and see. Not that he was uncomfortable with magic. He was certainly no squib! But, he had no real love of what was, in his father's words, 'fancy wand-waving nonsense.'
He did a fair job on the bandaging, and only looked at her when he had finished at last. "Wash out both your gloves, hmm? And head back to class." He told her. She bolted as if her life depended on it, out through the door and down the corridor, and Demi briefly wondered if she would be back in a few moments after smashing into a wall. When now loud 'bang' or cry of pain filled his ears, he replaced the bandages and cream in their proper areas and positions, and left.
~
Snape scowled down at his third-year Hufflepuff/Gryffindor Potions class. In his mind, there couldn't be a more disastrous combination of people. Between the Gryffindors' stubborn pride and misplaced bravado, and the Hufflepuffs' almost complete terror of him, not a lot was going to get done. That, and the simpering houses seemed to get along fairly well, which meant far too much chit-chat and giggling for his taste. "Mr Oscot, that will be ten points from Gryffindor, and do not let me catch you flaunting your vulgar sexuality across my classroom again." He snapped, at a startled looking boy, who had been mouthing a message to a Hufflepuff girl across the room. Snape was in an even fouler mood than usual today. He had been told nothing, absolutely nothing, about that strange incident involving a Slytherin boy and Miss-er, Professor Granger the day before. What was worse, he hadn't even been able to recognise the injured body floating next to his colleague, and after doing a full house-count, had found no one missing. It was annoying him to no end!
"Ah, Severus, strict as always I see." Snape's head snapped up at the sound of Dumbledore's voice, and he saw the headmaster, standing placidly in the doorway to his classroom. "A word, if I may?" He asked. Snape nodded, stalking over to the entrance. Before he left he whirled and fixed every pupil in the room with a very icy sneer.
"If there is a single toe out of line when I return, you'll find yourselves doing detentions for the next eighty years of your life." He snapped. Then he followed Albus out, slamming the door shut firmly behind him.
Dumbledore gave Snape a somewhat reprimanding look, but said nothing. He was wiser than to interfere in the way Snape taught his classes. His younger colleague's voice had lost a considerable amount of edge when he spoke again at last. "Albus, what can I do for you?" He asked smoothly. Dumbledore smiled.
"I've come to talk to you about yesterday's... incident." Dumbledore explained. Only the brief flicker across Severus' expression betrayed his interest in the matter. He cleared his throat, straightening a bit.
"Oh?" He asked impassively. Dumbledore smiled and began to deliver the edited version of Demitrius' story. He was fairly to-the-point about it, and finished off with asking Severus to kindly work up a schedule for the boy, perhaps pairing him off with another fifth-year to give him some assistance. During the course of the headmaster's explanation, Snape's interest had peaked. The boy was from the future? My, my, that presented some interesting opportunities, didn't it? Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face as he agreed to make the schedule, because Dumbledore fixed him with a very firm gaze.
"I must ask you to remember, Severus, that meddling with the future is a dangerous task. Don't ask the boy too many questions he shouldn't answer, hmm?" He both ordered and advised at the same time. Snape cursed his luck. He couldn't very well disobey Albus Dumbledore, now could he? The man had his loyalty after all. Still, he'd only been instructed not to ask 'too many' questions. Which left a little leeway, didn't it?
When Severus Snape re-entered his classroom, he was in a considerably brighter mood. Well, for him anyway. Which meant that he only took another thirty points off of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff all tolled. By the end of class he was almost as anxious for the bell as the students were. It was his fifth-year Slytherins/Ravenclaws next. Possibly the more relaxing combinations of houses. The Slytherins were, of course, almost perfect, and the Ravenclaws had a natural affinity for not getting in the way. They just read and brewed and rarely spoke. But today was slightly more important, as now he could pick out an appropriate fifth-year to match his time-traveller to. He pondered this as he prepared for the next class. Someone sly, most definitely, but also easily intimidated by Snape himself. Not too hard to get along with either. Information from the future... Albus Dumbledore was too chivalrous to use it, but Snape had never been plagued by heroism himself. It might give them one more step over Voldemort. Well, depending on what the boy knew, of course. His brows furrowed darkly. It would be a complete waste if he turned out to be another blockhead like Crabbe or Goyle.
"Ah, same place." Yet another voice at his doorway drew Snape's gaze upwards, and he started in surprise at the sight of the very person he'd been contemplating. The boy stood in the doorway, his robes falling loosely around him, an impassive expression on his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind something was trying to click together. The youth looked oddly familiar. Drawing away from his thoughts, Snape cleared his throat, and fixed him with a speculative gaze.
"Is there something you wanted, Mr Septimus?" He asked. Dumbledore had given him the boy's name before he left. Demitrius looked at Snape calmly, his face unmarred by any tell-tale emotions. A very careful mask. Snape recognised it instantly for what it was; He wore one like it himself quite often. Demitrius' gaze stayed on Snape for a little longer before he said anything.
"Just thought I would look around the dungeons. Wondered if the classroom would be in the same place." He elaborated smoothly. Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It would be some minutes before the fifth-years would make their way down. Why not speak to the boy of the future until then? He opened his mouth, but before he could get out a comment, Demitrius was speaking. "I was wondering, do you know where I could find two third-year Slytherins named Finly and Ross?" He asked. Snape evaluated the question rather suspiciously.
"Why?" He asked. He knew of the pair, pranksters to be sure, but nowhere near as bad as those Weasley twins had been. What would Septimus want with them? How did he even know them? The boy smiled charmingly.
"I've gotten wind of a particularly interesting prank the two pulled, and wanted to talk to them about it." He said. "Until classes start tomorrow, there won't be much for me to do, will there?" The explanation made sense, but Snape could smell deception a mile away. And this boy was almost bathed in it. Everything about him was suspicious, from his masked face, to his honey-coated words. There was something eerily familiar about it that was beginning to drive the Potions Master mad. It was like seeing a face you knew you'd seen before, but being completely unable to figure out where. Snape drew himself up to his full foreboding height. Slytherins did not fear him as the other houses often did, for he was their Head of House after all, but they still had the proper doses of respect for him. Still could be intimidated. The boy quirked an eyebrow at the older man's actions, and something tugged the corners of his mouth, before he forced the look away. Snape scowled. He found this amusing?!? His mouth twisted into a snarl.
"I'm afraid, Mr Septimus, that I do not keep track of every student's movement from dawn 'till dusk." Snape informed him coldly. Demitrius sighed unhappily.
"Ah well, I suppose it can wait. Thank you for your time Professor." He said, and with a swirl of black robes and a flash of green, he was gone.
~
Demitrius found himself roaming the halls of Hogwarts after leaving the dungeons, trying to focus on little things, subtle differences. It helped keep his mind off of darker thoughts. So did finding those two little punks, he realised, though even that task came dangerously close to dredging up hurtful memories. Mostly he occupied his thoughts with interesting tidbits of information, or else musings on how to subtly change the future.
A few things were easier to figure out than others. For example, noticing that the portrait of two maidens riding unicorns was currently on the first level, while in his time it was on the second, was considerably easier than thinking about how to keep Ron Weasley from going to Hogsmeade a year from now. Wondering if the Slytherin Common Room would have that large chair which liked to gossip was easier than thinking about the fact that everything and everyone who knew him was gone, or hadn't met him yet, since he wasn't even born. Musing on the interesting knowledge that Peeves seemed to have always been at Hogwarts was vastly better than thinking about how, in less than two decades, all of this would be destroyed. Unless he could stop it. But then, how could he beat Voldemort? For in the end that was what it came down to, wasn't it? He could save lives all he wanted, Dumbledore would still die of old age, and who knew if Potter would be enough? Would anything be enough? Oh, look at that, Flitwick was still teaching. Mustn't have retired yet.
Demi continued to wander until he reached the DADA classroom. He wondered why McGonagall had sent him to this time. Why not back to when Voldemort was born? Ordinarily, he might would issues with killing an infant, but in this case he could probably make an exception. Maybe she hadn't been sure what time he would go back to? The whole plan had seemed very last-minute, rushed beyond belief even, but then that was a Gryffindor for you.
"...While a vampire would probably be more likely to kill you, if he doesn't finish you off, you'll find yourself sharing the same fate..." Demitrius turned to look at the entrance to the DADA classroom. The door was open a crack, and he could just make out Hermione's shoulder, as she gestured towards the diagram of a vampire behind her. "...There is no way to change you back into a human once this has happened." She continued. Demitrius blinked. That wasn't true! If you administered a cleansing potion to rid your blood of the virus transferred by the vampire two hours after being bitten, you could still be saved. There were, of course, a few lingering side-effects. He shook his head in confusion. Why would she lie.? Then he froze, his eyes widening imperceptibly. Of course! The potion hadn't been invented yet! He fought the urge to mash a fist into his own head. 'Well, that was utterly moronic of you.' He thought angrily. There must be dozens of potions, charms, and wards he knew about that weren't... even... created yet...
Demitrius snapped his fingers sharply, a smirk of triumph stretching across his features. Of course! He was seven-bloody-teen years ahead of the opposition. That was how he would beat Voldemort. That was how he would change time. Information, spells, he could move things miles in a matter of minutes. 'Thank you, Mother.' He thought gratefully at the unwitting source of his inspiration. Then he turned full circle, heading the direction of the library. Or, at least he direction it was in, seventeen years from now. They wouldn't change it, would they? That would be a great deal of books to move without a good reason.
The library's location was the same, and Demitrius was greatly relieved for it. He looked around. It seemed... Smaller, somehow. Not much different beyond that. Madam Pince could be heard bustling about in the vast lines of shelving, somewhere in the restricted section. There seemed to be no one else present beyond her. Of course, there were classes going on. He focused his gaze on a row of tables. As he'd hoped, there was an ample supply of parchment and quills, ready to be used by students in need of making quick notes. Carefully he stalked over to a table and seated himself. He made a point not to be noisy, he didn't want that crone of a librarian breathing down his neck, asking questions as to why he was out of class.
Not now. Now, he needed to begin making notes. There would be a few spells and potions that popped to mind off the bat. Others, he would need to check recent books for, to see if they'd been invented yet. A list was mandatory. He looked at the battered public quill with distaste. It was nowhere near the sleek, elegant quality of his raven-feather one. Demitrius clamped on his thoughts quickly, but not before a painful image squeezed it's way through.
A young boy, with straight, shoulder-length blonde hair handed him a parcel, wrapped in silver paper. "Happy Christmas Demi." He said, as all around them their fellow Slytherins performed similar acts. Occasionally punctuating them with fights and petty theft, of course. Demitrius handed the boy a similar gift, and opened his own to reveal a stunning, ebony black quill.
He banished the image as soon as it floated upwards. No. He couldn't think about that, now wasn't the time. 'What was the name of that cleansing potion for vampire bites, again?' He thought instead. 'Ah, yes, the Nosferitia Banisher.' Quickly he scribbled down the name. Briefly Demi wondered If he should try and list the ingredients, but decided that could wait until after he had his list done. Carefully he jotted down a few other things to do with anti-vampire magic. Which, in turn, made his mind wander to werewolves. He quickly noted everything he could on that subject. The developments there were recent, even for his own time.
Demitrius soon found himself cataloguing each item with either 'spell' or 'potion' next to their name, to insure he could quickly discern one from the other. The list was about a foot long before he decided it was time to open a book. As he stood, his stomach made a protest, and he realised suddenly that he was quite hungry. After all, he hadn't eaten since...
He glanced at the clocks that lined the library walls. Ignoring the ones that obviously had to do with library business, he finally focused on a rather large clock. The hour hand was pointing at 'Stop studying and get some lunch'. Ah, perfect. He could sit at the Slytherin table then. And while his fellows whispered and questioned him, he could see about finding Finly and Ross.
Demitrius carefully tucked his list into one of the inner pockets of his robes, and made his way out. The corridors were beginning to fill with students making their way to the dining hall. He followed suit, earning a few curious glances here and there, but for the most part nothing. Only a very perceptive Slytherin or someone there the day he appeared would find something odd about a fifth year heading down for lunch.
Of course, once he reached the dining hall, every eye at the staff table searched for him. He paused. McGonagall sat, as alive and precise as every, scrutinising the Slytherin table carefully. Demitrius shook off the decidedly creepy feeling that crept up his spine. It was different, as he had just seen her desperate and dying only yesterday.
Instead he looked at the Slytherin table. There were plenty of free seats, he noted. With careful indifference he chose one close to the end, sitting next to no one, and performed the customary ritual of waiting silently for lunch to be served. Usually he would be on the other side, so he could see the Gryffindor table...
'Stop.' He firmly instructed his mind. 'Not now, not ever. Don't remember.' It was so important he be detached, he had to keep a firm leash on any emotions. Not something he usually had problems with. 'Try and focus on finding those two boys.' He thought instead. His eyes swept over the table. Of course, he wouldn't know what they looked like, but it didn't help to keep a mental record of faces.
"You Demitrius Septimus?" A voice, thick and blunt, asked from behind. Demi shifted ever-so-slightly in his seat. A burly fifth or sixth year stood at his left. He had a head like a steel bucket, with a squashed nose, and two very beady brown eyes. A mane of light brown hair was plastered to his skull. He definitely didn't look the intelligent sort.
"Yes, I am." He answered curtly. "Who are you?"
"Brutus Fitsgibbons, fifth year prefect, and Slytherin's Keeper." The boy announced, sticking out a meaty hand to be shaken. Demitrius eyed it with a slight snarl of disgust, before taking it into his own, much more slender one.
"Ah. Delightful." He replied, with no small trace of sarcasm. It was lost on Brutus, who abruptly took a seat next to Demi. The chair creaked and groaned under the young man's weight. Which was, to his credit, mostly muscle. Demitrius would have ordinarily moved to another seat at this point. However, it was wiser to stay, and weedle what information he could out of this prefect. He briefly marvelled at the fact that someone so seemingly dense had managed to achieve the position. Until he remembered that he was Slytherin, of course, and had likely beaten his homework out of some unsuspecting Ravenclaw.
"I'll be showing you to your classes tomorrow." Brutus continued, seemingly oblivious to the intense, negative scrutiny he was receiving. "Is it true you're from the future?" He asked suddenly. Demitrius fought the urge to strike him for his pathetic bluntness. No tact at all.
"Yes." He answered curtly. It was a habit of his to only truly converse with people he found agreeable. Brutus grunted in what was either amazement, or some air gone down the wrong pipe. Demitrius found it hard to tell which.
"Snape says I can't ask about it. Heard Dumbledore's planning to introduce you at dinner, though." He was informed. It was blatantly obvious that Brutus hoped to gain some insight into his own destiny through Demitrius. 'Hopes for future fame and glory, world renowned I bet.' He thought darkly. Then he cast a side-ways glance at the young man. 'Probably dies in a few years anyway, or joins Voldemort. One of the two. More than likely the latter.'
"Hmm, say, you wouldn't happen to know two boys named Finly and Ross would you?" Demitrius asked casually. Brutus blinked.
"Sure, they're those two second-years over there, at the end of the table." He provided, and pointed. Demitrius followed his gaze. It fixed on two young men, one fairly dark in colouring, with short curly hair. The other looked like he'd been pulled through a meat-grinder quite recently. There were two diagonal scars along his cheek, and a dent in his nose, so it looked to have been broken at least once. Such an appearance in a second- year was uncommon even in his time. "Finly there's been in a few scrapes with his older brothers, I heard, that's why he looks so terrible."
An interesting statement from someone who would have made a passable dump- truck. Still, it answered one question of his. "Why d'ya wanna know?" Brutus inquired. 'Well, now, that's the question you ask before you answer, isn't it?' Demitrius thought condescendingly. What did his father take him for, assigning this oaf to 'show him the ropes'? Some rich snot who only wanted dumb, muscled body-guards? He would bet serious money that Brutus wouldn't last two minutes in a fight with him, wands or no wands.
"Just curious, I heard their names going around." He provided. Brutus let out a rather unpleasant guffaw.
"Oh, you must have heard about that trick they played on Cook. She had the nerve to call them a couple of slimy bastards after they played a little joke on her kid brother! I tell you, it was priceless, those two are a real pair of bastards." Brutus said playfully.
"Indeed." Demitrius agreed over his continued laughter. He was about to say more, when something caught his attention, and he froze like a statue. A man, no older than twenty-five perhaps, had entered the Dining Hall alongside Dumbledore. He dressed in stately robes of black and green, his hands covered in gloves, and his nose high in the air. Blonde hair was slicked back to his skull, and his features were oddly sharp and angular. What little colour was left in Demi's face fled. The hair was too short, the time was all wrong, but the face and the chilling eyes were unmistakable.
"Marcus?" He breathed in disbelief. Brutus looked at him in confusion.
"No, no, that's Draco Malfoy. I wonder why he's here?" He said thoughtfully. An ugly smirk crept up his face. "Maybe come to give old Dumbledore the boot!" He suggested, as though it were the grandest thing in the world. Demitrius' shock quickly melted away. It was replaced by pure, cold hatred instead, that nestled itself into his stomach. Draco Malfoy. So, this was Marcus' father then.
So, this was the man who had killed his mother, then.
A/N: And that's chapter two, folks. Hope you liked it, and don't forget to review! :D Chapter three is when we'll start to see some real action between Sev and Hermione, I just don't want to rush things, so hope you don't mind bearing with me. Shout-outs are below!
Witchy-grrl: Heheh, I updated, see? Glad you liked the start! Sorry if Demi's not telling Herm and Sev who he was disappointed you, and yeah, tough luck with Harry. But hopefully that won't be happening a second time 'round.
Slytherin Girl: Quick enough? ^_^
ernie000: Glad I could break the trend of hatred for ya, and hope I didn't disappoint with Ch. 2
pigwidgeon37: Thanks a bunch! It's good to know Demi's believable, and thanks for the encouragement, I'll do everything I can to keep this fic from going under.
RoseFyre: You got it, and thanks.
Ktie Eiknlng Snape: The support is much appreciated. Interesting name, by the way. :D
Dark Willow: Ooh, such kind words, thanks! I'm glad you think the story's original.
CaNtOaNgEl: It's great to know someone else found the image of Snape wandering angrily around amusing, hope you enjoyed chapter two.
Potionsgurl: Many thanks! I've noticed Snape and Hermione seem to have a tendency to produce female offspring too. Glad I could bend the stereo- type a little there! :D
claribel: Thanks for enjoying the story! I'm happy you think it seems a little different, I was hoping to pull that off.
Nicolette: ^_^ Thanks for the support, and for being my first reviewer.
While Demi's comment had the desired effect, he regretted it almost the second the words were past his lips. He was no fool. While his mother may have died when he was only nine, and his father during his first year at Hogwarts, he fancied that he'd known his parents pretty well. And they were both very stubborn people, with amazingly large egos, considering they didn't hold themselves in particularly high esteem. Each other, yes, but both had been plagued by more than a little self-doubt. The combination of ego, self-hatred, and stubbornness meant that if either one of them got wind of their future relationship, it would be over before it started. And despite Demi's recent statements, he'd rather avoid the whole 'not existing' thing if he could.
Dumbledore's eyebrows eventually gravitated back downwards, and his expression was a mixture of intense amusement, and slight worry. The source of amusement was obvious. After all, the sheer irony of him crashing into his own mother when he journeyed back through time wasn't lost on him. And it probably had some root in the idea of his parents as a couple too. But the worry... Demi pondered it. Well, he had said both his parents died rather unpleasantly, hadn't he? Probably a blow to the old man to realise that when Demitrius said EVERYONE was lost, he had meant it quite literally. After a moment Dumbledore spoke again.
"Well, I wouldn't mention that to either of them, if I were you." He warned. Demi smirked quite genuinely.
"I think I'll have to agree with that advice." He said. There were a few more moments of contemplative silence, before Dumbledore spoke again. He didn't mention changing history. Seemed as though the two had agreed to disagree for the moment. But there was another matter now that the story was out, and that was the question of what to do with young Demitrius. With the very powerful time-shifter now broken, they couldn't very well send him back without using another one, and neither Dumbledore nor Demitrius were too fond of the idea of him skipping merrily into his own timeline to be tortured to death. "I'd rather you just killed me here and found me a nice, cosy grave, thanks." He declared sarcastically, folding his arms across his chest.
Eventually, after a great deal of conversing and weighing options, Dumbledore made a decision. He rose from his seat, and fixed Demitrius with a very serious look. "The workings of time are very complicated, my dear boy, and try as I might even I have difficulties understanding them. However, the fact remains that you are here now, and it seems there is no alternative but for you to stay. The future will be what it may. Tomorrow morning your arrival will be explained, and you will attend classes as a student of this school." He said, with a finality to his tones that left no room for argument. Demi scowled but said nothing. He couldn't really argue with the reasoning, and at least if he was here, there would be some chance to change things for the better. He nodded, and Dumbledore's seriousness melted back into a familiar twinkle, and a smile. "It seems from what I've heard that you've already been sorted into Slytherin. You may desire to change your last name, as I doubt Professor Snape will fail to see a connection, between himself and a boy from the future so... Like him." The headmaster informed. Demitrius blanched. 'He thinks I'm like Father?' He thought with a brief stir of wonderment. He'd always admired his father, always seen him as human, but a sort of endlessly wise and powerful one. Even after his death the image hadn't faded. Some slight colour crept to his cheeks at what he took to be a compliment, and he nodded his agreement again.
"You're right, of course. But what name?" He wondered. Dumbledore shrugged, and Demi sat back, taking his chin in hand as he thought. Something that would make him turn when people called it, but not overly obvious, or embarrassing. Hmm.
"Septimus." He said at last. His eyes were thoughtful. "I'll remember that, and my initials stay the same." He provided. (A/N Severus Septimus was a Roman Emperor, a fairly interesting one too. My idea of a little joke.) Then a thought occurred to him. "Er, Professor? Won't there be a bit of a panic if you tell everyone why I've come?" He asked curiously. He'd had plenty of experience with the way people acted when they knew their life was endanger, and didn't care to experience it further. Dumbledore nodded.
"I expect there might be, which is why I'm not planning on telling them why you've come. And neither should you Demitrius. Whether you change the future or not is up to you, but it would hardly be fitting for you to make such an ominous announcement to the entire school, and I'm afraid I can't allow it." Dumbledore said firmly. Demi couldn't hide the small, slightly evil smile that slithered up his face. 'Going it alone, eh? I've done that before too.' He thought confidently. Then he straightened, placing his nose a little higher in the air, as the glint of a predator shone in his eyes.
"Fair enough Professor. I stay, but I keep my mouth shut." He agreed. Then he reached out a hand, and clasped the old man's tightly, sealing the deal. His mother used to make him do that whenever he made a 'pact'. Like, 'I will not threaten Uncle Harry anymore, no matter what Father says.' That had been a particularly strict rule. Demitrius turned and stalked out of the office, Dumbledore not far behind him. Even though he acknowledged all of Potter's accomplishments, he'd never liked the man, no matter how fond of him his mother was. A trait, it seemed, ingrained into all Slytherins for whatever reason.
~
Hermione had finished dressing herself, and was just pulling open the privacy curtains around her, when the mysterious boy and the headmaster finally emerged from Poppy's office. She was wondering what was keeping the mediwitch at breakfast for so long, before it occurred to her that Dumbledore had likely given her something else to occupy her time, at least to ensure she didn't barge in on a particularly dramatic conversation. Able healer though she was, Poppy could become very irate with only a little prompting.
The boy looked at her for a moment, before fixing her with a very firm smile, and an expression similar to resolution darted through his eyes. "Sorry about that." He said cheerfully. Hermione shrugged, and glanced at Dumbledore, at something of a loss for what to say. She'd never had brilliant people skills and to be quite honest the shock hadn't gone completely away. Still, Hermione found the boy very distinctly. pleasant. Which was odd, the way he seemed earlier, somewhat cold and sarcastic. Dumbledore seemed to sense her trouble and swooped down in something of a rescue.
"Professor Granger, young Demitrius Septimus. Mr Septimus, may I present Professor Granger, our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." He said. Hermione pulled up a smile and moved to shake his hand. He took it firmly. "Demitrius accidentally used a rather powerful time-travel device to get here Hermione, completely by mistake I assure you, but it seems as though he's here to stay. I trust you and the other professors will help to make him feel more at ease." Dumbledore said warmly. Hermione smiled, nodding vigorously, the surprise evident on her face.
"Yes, of course. That must have been quite the brutal trip." She said, reflecting on his injuries, and of course assuming it was the explosive dark magic that caused them. Demitrius let out a short laugh.
"Professor, you have no idea." He told her. Somehow, she felt fairly certain there was more to this than they were telling, but she wouldn't find out by simply asking. 'Another mystery at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron would be furious to know they'd missed out!' She thought, and had to fight back a misty feeling of nostalgia.
"Well, if you don't mind, I think I'll get dressed." Demitrius said, spying his newly-washed robes laid out upon his bed. Hermione's senses seemed to spring back to herself at this fairly mundane comment, and she hastily glanced down at her watch.
"Oh no, I've got a class in fifteen minutes!" She squeaked. Dumbledore chuckled lightly as she made her hurried goodbyes and dashed madly for the door, as though she were already late, instead of a bit behind schedule. Demitrius watched her go with curiosity.
"...I guess she was always like that." He said softly, before grabbing his clothing off his bed and pulling the curtains shut tight around him. Thankfully the school robes at Hogwarts hadn't changed a lick in seventeen years. There had been other things to worry about, more pressing than fashion sensibility. Dumbledore's voice reached him from beyond the confines of the curtain, as he unbuttoned his temporary pyjamas and began pulling more familiar clothes onto his person.
"I shall have Severus work out a schedule for you to use tomorrow. Until then, you may go wherever you please, but I must ask that you stay within the grounds." Dumbledore said. Demitrius grunted his assent. In the life he was used to, leaving Hogwarts was quite out of the question, really. Far too dangerous. Even the staff rarely ventured from it's walls, only coming and going when supplies were needed. Or information.
By the time Demi had finished dressing, Dumbledore had left the infirmary, and he found himself alone. He ran his eyes on the familiar, yet so very different structure. It was only Poppy Pomfrey who manned it now, and the rooms had yet to be let-out to accommodate a greater need. The quiet was strangely disconcerting. No people being brought in with gashes in their heads, or snapped limbs, or minds nearly torn apart by torture and anguish. Very different indeed. But, in the good sort of way, he mused.
"M-Madam Pomfrey?" He heard a shaky voice at the door. Demitrius' eyes snapped down to the little figure standing in the archway. A small girl, with frizzy blonde hair, stood clutching a hand covered in boils and reddening painfully as tears slid down her cheeks.
"She's not here at the moment. What did you do?" Demi asked, moving over to her and looking at the hand. She shook a little, and he could tell she was slightly startled by his presence, and a little afraid as well. He summed her up in one glance. Young, no more than first or perhaps second year, Hufflepuff for sure.
"I-I slipped in herbology... W-we were working w-with mandrakes, b-but t- there was the bubot-t-t-tubor puss from the fourth y-years still out." She said. Demitrius let go of her damaged hand and looked around for the soothing lotion that solved this sort of insignificant mishap. He soon spied it at the top of one of Pomfrey's shelves. Reaching down, he lifted his wand, and pointed it at the desired object.
"Accio Soothing Cream." He commanded firmly, and the little jar zipped over to his outstretched hand. He turned back to the girl, who was still standing in the doorway. Demi rolled his eyes. "Sit. There." He ordered, pointing at a nearby chair. She hurried over to it almost as though he'd threatened her. 'Pathetic.' He thought, and pulled the lid from the jar. The girl was shaking a bit. "Here, you'd better do this. Just rub it gently over your hand wherever it burns." He instructed, handing her the jar. She took it fearfully and began doing as he told. He considered her for a moment. "You know, a little odd, isn't it?" He stated. She looked at him in confusion.
"W-what?" She asked, her lower lip trembling as she rubbed in the cream. Demitrius began to take a great interest in the front of his robes, straightening them out casually, as though having a light discussion with a friend.
"Well, from what I can remember, we had to wear our dragon-hide gloves when we worked with the mandrakes. Nasty creatures, really, and they can bite pretty hard. Now how did you dose your hand in bubotuber puss when you were wearing gloves?" He asked, as though quite genuinely puzzled. The girl looked down, and the tears fell just a little harder.
"I-it f-fell off..." She began. Demi raised a single eyebrow at her, folding his arms in front of his chest. He'd seen the behaviour before in junior classmen. It was blatantly obvious, really.
"Their names. Now." He ordered firmly, as though a teacher and not a student. The girl flushed a bright pink.
"I d-don't understand." She lied. Demitrius scowled his most intimidating scowl.
"Then let me be more clear, Miss...?"
"...C-Cook. Adrienne Cook."
"Ah, Miss Cook. I would like to know the names of the Slytherins who put bubotuber puss in your dragon-hide gloves, please." He said. Though his words were kind enough, he was sure to use a certain cold finality that left no doubt he wanted answers. Her hand stopped rubbing lotion into it's companion, and he looked over to inspect it. Completely covered in lotion. "A moment then." He offered, and went to search for some bandages. They weren't exactly hard to find. When he returned, the young Miss Cook seemed to have composed herself a bit better.
"W-what will you do? You're a S-Slytherin too! I bet y-you just want to gloat with them!" She accused. Demitrius sighed, and began to remove the bandages from their packaging.
"A stereo-type is a very evil thing Miss Cook." He said quietly, looking at the bandages in his hand. Then his eyes snapped over to hers, and in them was nothing but cold, calculating finality. "Now, you will tell me their names, or I will have to find it out another way. And if I have to find it out another way, my mood will be most unpleasant." He told her darkly. She gulped, moving back a little in her seat, and her lower lip began to tremble even more fiercely.
"R-Ramon Finly a-and A-Arnold Ross." She stuttered out. Demitrius nodded curtly, then lifted her cream-coated hand from the wrist, and began to carefully wrap bandages around it. He made a point not to look at her face. Either she was crying even harder, or glaring at him now, or even worse, simpering. Yuck. Instead he focused on properly wrapping her swollen appendage. Demi had never had any sort of real knack for medicine or healing. His bedside manner alone left many people in fits of tears or rage, but he'd made it a point to learn the basics, without delving into the magical side of it. Bandages, ointments, Demi liked things he could touch and see. Not that he was uncomfortable with magic. He was certainly no squib! But, he had no real love of what was, in his father's words, 'fancy wand-waving nonsense.'
He did a fair job on the bandaging, and only looked at her when he had finished at last. "Wash out both your gloves, hmm? And head back to class." He told her. She bolted as if her life depended on it, out through the door and down the corridor, and Demi briefly wondered if she would be back in a few moments after smashing into a wall. When now loud 'bang' or cry of pain filled his ears, he replaced the bandages and cream in their proper areas and positions, and left.
~
Snape scowled down at his third-year Hufflepuff/Gryffindor Potions class. In his mind, there couldn't be a more disastrous combination of people. Between the Gryffindors' stubborn pride and misplaced bravado, and the Hufflepuffs' almost complete terror of him, not a lot was going to get done. That, and the simpering houses seemed to get along fairly well, which meant far too much chit-chat and giggling for his taste. "Mr Oscot, that will be ten points from Gryffindor, and do not let me catch you flaunting your vulgar sexuality across my classroom again." He snapped, at a startled looking boy, who had been mouthing a message to a Hufflepuff girl across the room. Snape was in an even fouler mood than usual today. He had been told nothing, absolutely nothing, about that strange incident involving a Slytherin boy and Miss-er, Professor Granger the day before. What was worse, he hadn't even been able to recognise the injured body floating next to his colleague, and after doing a full house-count, had found no one missing. It was annoying him to no end!
"Ah, Severus, strict as always I see." Snape's head snapped up at the sound of Dumbledore's voice, and he saw the headmaster, standing placidly in the doorway to his classroom. "A word, if I may?" He asked. Snape nodded, stalking over to the entrance. Before he left he whirled and fixed every pupil in the room with a very icy sneer.
"If there is a single toe out of line when I return, you'll find yourselves doing detentions for the next eighty years of your life." He snapped. Then he followed Albus out, slamming the door shut firmly behind him.
Dumbledore gave Snape a somewhat reprimanding look, but said nothing. He was wiser than to interfere in the way Snape taught his classes. His younger colleague's voice had lost a considerable amount of edge when he spoke again at last. "Albus, what can I do for you?" He asked smoothly. Dumbledore smiled.
"I've come to talk to you about yesterday's... incident." Dumbledore explained. Only the brief flicker across Severus' expression betrayed his interest in the matter. He cleared his throat, straightening a bit.
"Oh?" He asked impassively. Dumbledore smiled and began to deliver the edited version of Demitrius' story. He was fairly to-the-point about it, and finished off with asking Severus to kindly work up a schedule for the boy, perhaps pairing him off with another fifth-year to give him some assistance. During the course of the headmaster's explanation, Snape's interest had peaked. The boy was from the future? My, my, that presented some interesting opportunities, didn't it? Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face as he agreed to make the schedule, because Dumbledore fixed him with a very firm gaze.
"I must ask you to remember, Severus, that meddling with the future is a dangerous task. Don't ask the boy too many questions he shouldn't answer, hmm?" He both ordered and advised at the same time. Snape cursed his luck. He couldn't very well disobey Albus Dumbledore, now could he? The man had his loyalty after all. Still, he'd only been instructed not to ask 'too many' questions. Which left a little leeway, didn't it?
When Severus Snape re-entered his classroom, he was in a considerably brighter mood. Well, for him anyway. Which meant that he only took another thirty points off of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff all tolled. By the end of class he was almost as anxious for the bell as the students were. It was his fifth-year Slytherins/Ravenclaws next. Possibly the more relaxing combinations of houses. The Slytherins were, of course, almost perfect, and the Ravenclaws had a natural affinity for not getting in the way. They just read and brewed and rarely spoke. But today was slightly more important, as now he could pick out an appropriate fifth-year to match his time-traveller to. He pondered this as he prepared for the next class. Someone sly, most definitely, but also easily intimidated by Snape himself. Not too hard to get along with either. Information from the future... Albus Dumbledore was too chivalrous to use it, but Snape had never been plagued by heroism himself. It might give them one more step over Voldemort. Well, depending on what the boy knew, of course. His brows furrowed darkly. It would be a complete waste if he turned out to be another blockhead like Crabbe or Goyle.
"Ah, same place." Yet another voice at his doorway drew Snape's gaze upwards, and he started in surprise at the sight of the very person he'd been contemplating. The boy stood in the doorway, his robes falling loosely around him, an impassive expression on his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind something was trying to click together. The youth looked oddly familiar. Drawing away from his thoughts, Snape cleared his throat, and fixed him with a speculative gaze.
"Is there something you wanted, Mr Septimus?" He asked. Dumbledore had given him the boy's name before he left. Demitrius looked at Snape calmly, his face unmarred by any tell-tale emotions. A very careful mask. Snape recognised it instantly for what it was; He wore one like it himself quite often. Demitrius' gaze stayed on Snape for a little longer before he said anything.
"Just thought I would look around the dungeons. Wondered if the classroom would be in the same place." He elaborated smoothly. Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It would be some minutes before the fifth-years would make their way down. Why not speak to the boy of the future until then? He opened his mouth, but before he could get out a comment, Demitrius was speaking. "I was wondering, do you know where I could find two third-year Slytherins named Finly and Ross?" He asked. Snape evaluated the question rather suspiciously.
"Why?" He asked. He knew of the pair, pranksters to be sure, but nowhere near as bad as those Weasley twins had been. What would Septimus want with them? How did he even know them? The boy smiled charmingly.
"I've gotten wind of a particularly interesting prank the two pulled, and wanted to talk to them about it." He said. "Until classes start tomorrow, there won't be much for me to do, will there?" The explanation made sense, but Snape could smell deception a mile away. And this boy was almost bathed in it. Everything about him was suspicious, from his masked face, to his honey-coated words. There was something eerily familiar about it that was beginning to drive the Potions Master mad. It was like seeing a face you knew you'd seen before, but being completely unable to figure out where. Snape drew himself up to his full foreboding height. Slytherins did not fear him as the other houses often did, for he was their Head of House after all, but they still had the proper doses of respect for him. Still could be intimidated. The boy quirked an eyebrow at the older man's actions, and something tugged the corners of his mouth, before he forced the look away. Snape scowled. He found this amusing?!? His mouth twisted into a snarl.
"I'm afraid, Mr Septimus, that I do not keep track of every student's movement from dawn 'till dusk." Snape informed him coldly. Demitrius sighed unhappily.
"Ah well, I suppose it can wait. Thank you for your time Professor." He said, and with a swirl of black robes and a flash of green, he was gone.
~
Demitrius found himself roaming the halls of Hogwarts after leaving the dungeons, trying to focus on little things, subtle differences. It helped keep his mind off of darker thoughts. So did finding those two little punks, he realised, though even that task came dangerously close to dredging up hurtful memories. Mostly he occupied his thoughts with interesting tidbits of information, or else musings on how to subtly change the future.
A few things were easier to figure out than others. For example, noticing that the portrait of two maidens riding unicorns was currently on the first level, while in his time it was on the second, was considerably easier than thinking about how to keep Ron Weasley from going to Hogsmeade a year from now. Wondering if the Slytherin Common Room would have that large chair which liked to gossip was easier than thinking about the fact that everything and everyone who knew him was gone, or hadn't met him yet, since he wasn't even born. Musing on the interesting knowledge that Peeves seemed to have always been at Hogwarts was vastly better than thinking about how, in less than two decades, all of this would be destroyed. Unless he could stop it. But then, how could he beat Voldemort? For in the end that was what it came down to, wasn't it? He could save lives all he wanted, Dumbledore would still die of old age, and who knew if Potter would be enough? Would anything be enough? Oh, look at that, Flitwick was still teaching. Mustn't have retired yet.
Demi continued to wander until he reached the DADA classroom. He wondered why McGonagall had sent him to this time. Why not back to when Voldemort was born? Ordinarily, he might would issues with killing an infant, but in this case he could probably make an exception. Maybe she hadn't been sure what time he would go back to? The whole plan had seemed very last-minute, rushed beyond belief even, but then that was a Gryffindor for you.
"...While a vampire would probably be more likely to kill you, if he doesn't finish you off, you'll find yourself sharing the same fate..." Demitrius turned to look at the entrance to the DADA classroom. The door was open a crack, and he could just make out Hermione's shoulder, as she gestured towards the diagram of a vampire behind her. "...There is no way to change you back into a human once this has happened." She continued. Demitrius blinked. That wasn't true! If you administered a cleansing potion to rid your blood of the virus transferred by the vampire two hours after being bitten, you could still be saved. There were, of course, a few lingering side-effects. He shook his head in confusion. Why would she lie.? Then he froze, his eyes widening imperceptibly. Of course! The potion hadn't been invented yet! He fought the urge to mash a fist into his own head. 'Well, that was utterly moronic of you.' He thought angrily. There must be dozens of potions, charms, and wards he knew about that weren't... even... created yet...
Demitrius snapped his fingers sharply, a smirk of triumph stretching across his features. Of course! He was seven-bloody-teen years ahead of the opposition. That was how he would beat Voldemort. That was how he would change time. Information, spells, he could move things miles in a matter of minutes. 'Thank you, Mother.' He thought gratefully at the unwitting source of his inspiration. Then he turned full circle, heading the direction of the library. Or, at least he direction it was in, seventeen years from now. They wouldn't change it, would they? That would be a great deal of books to move without a good reason.
The library's location was the same, and Demitrius was greatly relieved for it. He looked around. It seemed... Smaller, somehow. Not much different beyond that. Madam Pince could be heard bustling about in the vast lines of shelving, somewhere in the restricted section. There seemed to be no one else present beyond her. Of course, there were classes going on. He focused his gaze on a row of tables. As he'd hoped, there was an ample supply of parchment and quills, ready to be used by students in need of making quick notes. Carefully he stalked over to a table and seated himself. He made a point not to be noisy, he didn't want that crone of a librarian breathing down his neck, asking questions as to why he was out of class.
Not now. Now, he needed to begin making notes. There would be a few spells and potions that popped to mind off the bat. Others, he would need to check recent books for, to see if they'd been invented yet. A list was mandatory. He looked at the battered public quill with distaste. It was nowhere near the sleek, elegant quality of his raven-feather one. Demitrius clamped on his thoughts quickly, but not before a painful image squeezed it's way through.
A young boy, with straight, shoulder-length blonde hair handed him a parcel, wrapped in silver paper. "Happy Christmas Demi." He said, as all around them their fellow Slytherins performed similar acts. Occasionally punctuating them with fights and petty theft, of course. Demitrius handed the boy a similar gift, and opened his own to reveal a stunning, ebony black quill.
He banished the image as soon as it floated upwards. No. He couldn't think about that, now wasn't the time. 'What was the name of that cleansing potion for vampire bites, again?' He thought instead. 'Ah, yes, the Nosferitia Banisher.' Quickly he scribbled down the name. Briefly Demi wondered If he should try and list the ingredients, but decided that could wait until after he had his list done. Carefully he jotted down a few other things to do with anti-vampire magic. Which, in turn, made his mind wander to werewolves. He quickly noted everything he could on that subject. The developments there were recent, even for his own time.
Demitrius soon found himself cataloguing each item with either 'spell' or 'potion' next to their name, to insure he could quickly discern one from the other. The list was about a foot long before he decided it was time to open a book. As he stood, his stomach made a protest, and he realised suddenly that he was quite hungry. After all, he hadn't eaten since...
He glanced at the clocks that lined the library walls. Ignoring the ones that obviously had to do with library business, he finally focused on a rather large clock. The hour hand was pointing at 'Stop studying and get some lunch'. Ah, perfect. He could sit at the Slytherin table then. And while his fellows whispered and questioned him, he could see about finding Finly and Ross.
Demitrius carefully tucked his list into one of the inner pockets of his robes, and made his way out. The corridors were beginning to fill with students making their way to the dining hall. He followed suit, earning a few curious glances here and there, but for the most part nothing. Only a very perceptive Slytherin or someone there the day he appeared would find something odd about a fifth year heading down for lunch.
Of course, once he reached the dining hall, every eye at the staff table searched for him. He paused. McGonagall sat, as alive and precise as every, scrutinising the Slytherin table carefully. Demitrius shook off the decidedly creepy feeling that crept up his spine. It was different, as he had just seen her desperate and dying only yesterday.
Instead he looked at the Slytherin table. There were plenty of free seats, he noted. With careful indifference he chose one close to the end, sitting next to no one, and performed the customary ritual of waiting silently for lunch to be served. Usually he would be on the other side, so he could see the Gryffindor table...
'Stop.' He firmly instructed his mind. 'Not now, not ever. Don't remember.' It was so important he be detached, he had to keep a firm leash on any emotions. Not something he usually had problems with. 'Try and focus on finding those two boys.' He thought instead. His eyes swept over the table. Of course, he wouldn't know what they looked like, but it didn't help to keep a mental record of faces.
"You Demitrius Septimus?" A voice, thick and blunt, asked from behind. Demi shifted ever-so-slightly in his seat. A burly fifth or sixth year stood at his left. He had a head like a steel bucket, with a squashed nose, and two very beady brown eyes. A mane of light brown hair was plastered to his skull. He definitely didn't look the intelligent sort.
"Yes, I am." He answered curtly. "Who are you?"
"Brutus Fitsgibbons, fifth year prefect, and Slytherin's Keeper." The boy announced, sticking out a meaty hand to be shaken. Demitrius eyed it with a slight snarl of disgust, before taking it into his own, much more slender one.
"Ah. Delightful." He replied, with no small trace of sarcasm. It was lost on Brutus, who abruptly took a seat next to Demi. The chair creaked and groaned under the young man's weight. Which was, to his credit, mostly muscle. Demitrius would have ordinarily moved to another seat at this point. However, it was wiser to stay, and weedle what information he could out of this prefect. He briefly marvelled at the fact that someone so seemingly dense had managed to achieve the position. Until he remembered that he was Slytherin, of course, and had likely beaten his homework out of some unsuspecting Ravenclaw.
"I'll be showing you to your classes tomorrow." Brutus continued, seemingly oblivious to the intense, negative scrutiny he was receiving. "Is it true you're from the future?" He asked suddenly. Demitrius fought the urge to strike him for his pathetic bluntness. No tact at all.
"Yes." He answered curtly. It was a habit of his to only truly converse with people he found agreeable. Brutus grunted in what was either amazement, or some air gone down the wrong pipe. Demitrius found it hard to tell which.
"Snape says I can't ask about it. Heard Dumbledore's planning to introduce you at dinner, though." He was informed. It was blatantly obvious that Brutus hoped to gain some insight into his own destiny through Demitrius. 'Hopes for future fame and glory, world renowned I bet.' He thought darkly. Then he cast a side-ways glance at the young man. 'Probably dies in a few years anyway, or joins Voldemort. One of the two. More than likely the latter.'
"Hmm, say, you wouldn't happen to know two boys named Finly and Ross would you?" Demitrius asked casually. Brutus blinked.
"Sure, they're those two second-years over there, at the end of the table." He provided, and pointed. Demitrius followed his gaze. It fixed on two young men, one fairly dark in colouring, with short curly hair. The other looked like he'd been pulled through a meat-grinder quite recently. There were two diagonal scars along his cheek, and a dent in his nose, so it looked to have been broken at least once. Such an appearance in a second- year was uncommon even in his time. "Finly there's been in a few scrapes with his older brothers, I heard, that's why he looks so terrible."
An interesting statement from someone who would have made a passable dump- truck. Still, it answered one question of his. "Why d'ya wanna know?" Brutus inquired. 'Well, now, that's the question you ask before you answer, isn't it?' Demitrius thought condescendingly. What did his father take him for, assigning this oaf to 'show him the ropes'? Some rich snot who only wanted dumb, muscled body-guards? He would bet serious money that Brutus wouldn't last two minutes in a fight with him, wands or no wands.
"Just curious, I heard their names going around." He provided. Brutus let out a rather unpleasant guffaw.
"Oh, you must have heard about that trick they played on Cook. She had the nerve to call them a couple of slimy bastards after they played a little joke on her kid brother! I tell you, it was priceless, those two are a real pair of bastards." Brutus said playfully.
"Indeed." Demitrius agreed over his continued laughter. He was about to say more, when something caught his attention, and he froze like a statue. A man, no older than twenty-five perhaps, had entered the Dining Hall alongside Dumbledore. He dressed in stately robes of black and green, his hands covered in gloves, and his nose high in the air. Blonde hair was slicked back to his skull, and his features were oddly sharp and angular. What little colour was left in Demi's face fled. The hair was too short, the time was all wrong, but the face and the chilling eyes were unmistakable.
"Marcus?" He breathed in disbelief. Brutus looked at him in confusion.
"No, no, that's Draco Malfoy. I wonder why he's here?" He said thoughtfully. An ugly smirk crept up his face. "Maybe come to give old Dumbledore the boot!" He suggested, as though it were the grandest thing in the world. Demitrius' shock quickly melted away. It was replaced by pure, cold hatred instead, that nestled itself into his stomach. Draco Malfoy. So, this was Marcus' father then.
So, this was the man who had killed his mother, then.
A/N: And that's chapter two, folks. Hope you liked it, and don't forget to review! :D Chapter three is when we'll start to see some real action between Sev and Hermione, I just don't want to rush things, so hope you don't mind bearing with me. Shout-outs are below!
Witchy-grrl: Heheh, I updated, see? Glad you liked the start! Sorry if Demi's not telling Herm and Sev who he was disappointed you, and yeah, tough luck with Harry. But hopefully that won't be happening a second time 'round.
Slytherin Girl: Quick enough? ^_^
ernie000: Glad I could break the trend of hatred for ya, and hope I didn't disappoint with Ch. 2
pigwidgeon37: Thanks a bunch! It's good to know Demi's believable, and thanks for the encouragement, I'll do everything I can to keep this fic from going under.
RoseFyre: You got it, and thanks.
Ktie Eiknlng Snape: The support is much appreciated. Interesting name, by the way. :D
Dark Willow: Ooh, such kind words, thanks! I'm glad you think the story's original.
CaNtOaNgEl: It's great to know someone else found the image of Snape wandering angrily around amusing, hope you enjoyed chapter two.
Potionsgurl: Many thanks! I've noticed Snape and Hermione seem to have a tendency to produce female offspring too. Glad I could bend the stereo- type a little there! :D
claribel: Thanks for enjoying the story! I'm happy you think it seems a little different, I was hoping to pull that off.
Nicolette: ^_^ Thanks for the support, and for being my first reviewer.