CHAPTER FIVE
James approached Lily Evans during dinner at the Great Hall. He slid into the seat across from her, and before he could ask her if she'd heard about the quidditch match, she gave him a look of great fright, whimpered, and hurried from the table. James and Lily's friend, Dorcas Meadowes, gaped after her retreating form.
"That's a record even for you, Potter," Meadowes said.
"I didn't even say anything," said James.
Meadowes shrugged, her brow furrowed. "She hasn't been herself lately."
"Really?" He gave her a sharp look.
"I shouldn't even be talking about her with you," she said, tossing her brown hair over her shoulder, and turning towards Helen Wells.
James sighed, went back to his friends, and took his seat next to Sirius.
"That was fast," said Sirius, filling his plate.
"I thought girls were supposed to be flattered when you showed them a lot of attention," said James, drumming his fingers against the table.
"I suppose it depends on the girl," said Remus, spooning carrots onto his plate.
"There's lots of girls who would love to go out with The James Potter," said Peter encouragingly.
"Give it a rest. Try again later," said Sirius, eyeing his plate, before pushing it away. "Wonder if I can get another plate."
"What is it now, Padfoot?" said James, amused by Sirius' picky eating habits. "Did the colors clash?"
"The vegetables fell into my chicken. They won't have the right taste," said Sirius, grabbing Peter's empty plate just before he'd been about to ladle food on. "You don't mind, do you Wormtail?"
"No, not at all, Padfoot," said Peter, removing the carrots from the plate.
Several seats over, Harry made a choking noise. He was more shocked by the sight of Sirius Black, the man who inhaled any food put in front of him, refusing food for the flimsiest reasons, than he was by Lily running out of the hall. He watched as Sirius examined the meat on the end of his fork, before putting it in his mouth, and tried to find any traces of his Sirius.
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Over the next few days, Harry found himself blanking out and coming to later on. This was most notable when he was in class, and missing key phrases from a professor's lectures, or found the students getting up and forming groups without having heard what activity they were supposed to be doing. Those were only the most extreme cases; mostly he noticed his hands flickering almost as if he'd blinked.
Lily Evans spent her time avoiding any hint of James and Harry Potter, as if by denying their existence she could deny her future fate. This was harder done than said; one time, she'd caught sight of Harry sitting in the Common Room, and turned away and run straight into James and his friends coming down the corridor. Nevertheless, she did her best, and in the classes she shared with a Potter, she sat across the room as far away as she could possibly get, even sitting with her friends, if any, from other Houses. She even had to start dodging and avoiding Dorcas' questions on what was bothering her.
Even though James' time was preoccupied with gathering the ingredients for a memory recovery potion that would help Remus, he couldn't help noticing that Evans was acting strangely, jumping at shadows. Suspicions bred in the back of his mind, and he wondered if Remus' strange behavior in Care of Magical Creatures was related to Lily's new behavior. Perhaps a Death Eater in training, even worse than Snivellus, was practicing Dark Arts on people.
On James' way to class, he found himself eyeing any Slytherins in the corridor for any suspicious behavior. He felt eyes staring at the back of his head, he turned around to look while turning a corner, and slammed into something that made him stumble back into Sirius and Peter. He looked down, and saw a blond, plump fourth year Slytherin staring at him in shock. Ever changing ink was splattered across both of their robes.
"Watch it, Fortescue!" said James, scowling. Fortescue was a nasty piece of work; the boy incinerated insects in the most showy fashion, and could be found setting fire to all sorts of objects. James had heard tales of how Fortescue knew the exact temperature and five different spells to burn a human body.
"Sorry. It was an accident," said Fortescue. "I didn't mean to."
"That wouldn't surprise me," said Sirius, laughing. "He's a Slytherin—can't even walk in a straight line. They can only manage to slither about."
Peter started to inch forward, while Remus stepped back. Some people started hurrying away, while others stopped and stared. One person in particular, gaped at the scene unfolding before him, and tried to remember why Fortescue looked familiar.
"Here, I'll cl-clean it off," Fortescue said, muttering a spell that caused James' robes to turn a putrid shade of green. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen!"
"I think you did," James said, drawing his wand out.
Sirius drew his own wand out. "Perhaps he needs a little lesson on how to walk straight."
"Excellent idea, Padfoot," said James, hurling a Bat Bogey hex.
"Protego!"
The hex bounced off the shield, and dissipated.
"Leave him alone," said Harry, putting himself in front of Fortescue, facing down his father and godfather's wands. Harry, who had been watching the events unfold, was sure the fourth year was a younger Florean Fortescue, the same man who in the summer before Harry's third year, had given him free ice cream sundaes, helped him with his History of Magic homework, and drove off people who wanted to gawk at the Boy Who Lived. He hesitated to raise his wand. "He's done nothing to you."
"What do you call this?" said James, gesturing to his ruined robes. He glanced at the Gryffindor insignia on Harry's robes. "Get out of the way. I've got no quarrel with you."
Harry stared at Sirius, who looked cold and haughty, and couldn't find a trace of his godfather. He looked at James, his father, whom everyone from Dumbledore to Snape compared him to, and his stomach lurched with sickness. He looked to Lupin, waiting for him to step in and say something sensible that would defuse the situation, but the boy was inspecting a piece of armor like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
"Impedimenta!" shouted Sirius, aiming his wand behind Harry at Fortescue. "Where do you think you're going? The fun hasn't even started yet."
"I can't believe you!" he shouted, his blood boiling, unable to see straight for the fury overtaking him. "You're supposed to be brave and good and noble—not some arrogant bullying gits—no better than Dudley, picking on Mr. Fortescue of all people, or hexing people just because you're bored—"
James shot off a warning curse inches away from Harry, and said, "Come on, already."
The next curse was aimed straight for Harry, and he barely avoided it.
The duel between the three was fierce. At first, Harry stuck to defensive spells only, and summoned a suit of armor in front of him, just in time for the breastplate to explode from a jinx. Harry ducked and dodged, a moving target, causing James and Sirius to grow ever more frustrated. The spells flew fast and furious, until a semi-permanent network of light connected the three boys that was only broken when Harry levitated the remains of the armor at the two boys, causing them to scatter and deflect.
Peter ducked a stray flying gauntlet, and moved closer to Remus who had given up all pretense of inattention. Peter said, watching the fight with avid eyes, "Harris duels like you."
Remus looked away from the fight. "What do you mean? I don't bounce all over the walls."
Peter shook his head. "Watch how he holds his wand. There. You see? Wrist up on the descant."
"What's a descant?" said Remus, unfamiliar with dueling terminology.
But Peter wasn't listening, gasping in delight when two spells collided in a shower of sparks. "A good many of his spells, he executes like you, precise and elegant. Others…he sort of flourishes them, puts an unexpected spin so they don't come out where you expect them. Rather like—"
"Is that all you've got?" shouted Sirius, laughing at Harry.
"Canusmilita!" shouted Harry, and a black phantom dog with burning coals for eyes erupted from his wand.
"That's my spell!" said Sirius, mouth gaping open.
"Impedimenta!" shouted James, but the phantom dog only sped up. "Padfoot, how—"
Sirius shook his head, then chanted the counter.
While the phantom dog was dissolving, Harry was aiming a Stunner at James, who dodged, and leveled a spell at Harry, who peddled backwards, only to trip on a dented helmet, and fall to the floor. He turned his fall into an undignified roll, feeling his ankle wrench and the ground grind his glasses to his face, but he was out of the path of a spell that hit where he'd been in a shower of orange sparks.
"FINITE INCANTATUM!" McGonagall's voice.
The crowd of watchers scattered, making way for McGonagall striding down the corridors in a state of fury, with Fortescue trailing at her heels.
"It was them that started it," said Fortescue, pointing at James and Sirius. "And Harvey, he was trying to defend me."
McGonagall surveyed the scorched walls of the corridor, the shredded tapestries, the shattered pieces of armor. Her face took on a furious expression, nostrils flaring, mouth a razor thin line. "Mr. Potter—"
James and Harry turned their faces to look at her. McGonagall stared at the boy on the ground, as the Unremarkable spell wavered, and she paled. She strode over to Harry and crouched in front of him, blocking the crowd's view of his face, and cast a spell on him. Harry felt his whole body shiver from the Unremarkable Spell.
"What part of discretion do you not understand?" said McGonagall in a low voice, the color rising in her face.
Harry shook his head, mute, and started to get to his feet, when he collapsed back on the ground, pain shooting up his ankle.
McGonagall examined his ankle. "Mobilicorpus! I don't want you walking on that ankle, Mr. Harris," she said. She looked around her. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Fortescue, you will be in my office when I get back from taking Mr. Harris to the infirmary."
McGonagall floated Harry to the infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey fussed over him, and told him his ankle would take the entire afternoon and part of the night to heal.
While Pomfrey was getting some potions for him to take, McGonagall turned to Harry. "Just how did you end up getting into a duel with your father?"
Harry flinched, not expecting the question. "How did you know about me?"
McGonagall sighed. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me."
"Oh," said Harry. He picked at the cover on the bed. "I suppose you do need to know about me, in case Dumbledore's called away. Being Deputy Headmistress and all. Er, you still are Deputy Headmistress in this time?"
"Yes, I am," she said, frowning at him over her spectacles. "Kindly stop avoiding the first question."
Harry knew that if he spoke, then he'd be getting his father and godfather into trouble. A surge of anger rushed through him, and he balled his hands into fists. Why shouldn't he get them into trouble? They deserved every bit of it, the way they had been behaving, and it wasn't the only time, he thought, remembering what he'd seen in Snape's pensieve. He had the urge to hit something, and stuffed his fists into his pockets to restrain himself, and he felt something smooth brush the back of his hand.
He opened one fist, and encountered the cracked mirror, the one Sirius gave to him in case he, Harry, ever needed him, and if he'd just opened the package, then Sirius wouldn't have had to come after him in the Ministry. His stomach twisted in misery.
McGonagall sighed. "Was it that bad?" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ten points to Gryffindor for defending Fortescue. Five points deducted for dueling in the halls."
Harry's head jerked up. "What?"
"Gryffindor will need them, by the time I'm done with Mr. Potter…Sr. and Mr. Black," she said. She frowned again. "Detention, as well. I can't have anyone dueling in the corridors. You will report to Filch, and help him in cleaning up the corridor you and the others wrecked."
McGonagall left, and Pomfrey came with a series of vile potions she made him swallow, and made his entire left side feel like it was on fire. He spent his time watching the autumn sunlight grow dimmer and dimmer, and fell into an ever more tangled ball of misery and confusion, which made him angrier. Pomfrey set a tray of food in front of him. He took vicious pleasure in stabbing his steak, but couldn't bring himself to eat a bite.
A fourteen-year old Florean Fortescue came by with Honeyduke's chocolate. "Er, I wanted to thank you for what you did, Harvey." He straightened up, a serious look on his chubby face. "I acknowledge the debt you have over me." At Harry's blank look, Fortescue said, "I guess you don't know, being a Gryffindor, we don't usually invoke the system for any House outside of Slytherin except for Ravenclaw, and they can be sneakier than Salazer—"
"You were saying about a debt?" prompted Harry.
"You helped me out, so that means you can call on me for help. I owe you a favor, a moderately sized one," said Fortescue. His face darkened. "Don't worry about vengeance. That will be taken care of."
"Er, all right," said Harry, not knowing what to say. "I didn't do it to get a favor, though. But that's appreciated."
Fortescue gave him a puzzled look, and said, "I've always wanted to ask, but never had a chance. How do Gryffindors function without the Equilibrium System?"
Harry spent an hour explaining that there was no such system of exchanging favors, debts, and gifts in Gryffindor, and learning about the Slytherin Equilibrium System. After the hour, Harry still wasn't sure if he was more knowledgeable than he was before, but Fortescue seemed to think Harry had grasped the basics of the system and told him, shaking his head with pity in his voice, that he'd never have made Slytherin. Harry had to bite his tongue.
Thirty minutes later, he was surprised to find that he had another visitor. Lily Evans. His future mother sat in a chair by the edge of his bed. Her eyes fixed on a distant point in the infirmary, without looking at him once, she said, "I'm sorry about your father."
All the good feeling Harry had got from Fortescue's visit abandoned him, and he was left in the same turmoil he'd originally been in. A tight knot of anger and misery settled in his stomach. "I sort of had an idea." He punched his pillow. "I just never knew it was that bad. You were right; he is an arrogant, insufferable git with a swollen head. And Sirius, Sirius was just as bad," Harry said. He said in a mocking voice, "I'm not proud of what I did." Bitterly, he said, "Hah! He was enjoying himself there."
"Potter and Black, they're nasty pieces of work," said Lily, meeting his gaze, and nodding vehemently, "fouler than Stinksap, wish they'd ingest some and suffer throes of agon—"
"You take that back! They're the—" Harry sputtered to a halt, surprised by his own outburst, by his anger at Lily's words, when just a moment ago he'd been saying similar things himself.
"We can't help who we're related to," she said, her expression softening, becoming sympathetic. She hesitated, then said, "If you need anything, just ask me." She started to rise from her seat. "And, er, please don't call me Mum. Or refer to me as your mum in any way, shape or form." She started to back away from him. "Just call me Lily."
She cast one look back at him, and reddened, before turning on her heel and practically running out. He sighed, and looked around the infirmary. He was too restless and upset to sit still. He flexed his ankle; it was a bit stiff, but didn't hurt. He stood up, then paced around the bed.
The walls felt like they were closing in, cutting off his air, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He wanted to hunt up James and Sirius, and scream and rage at them for behaving like Malfoy, and less like—he wasn't sure what.
He was striding down the corridors, trying to work off his fury, but he felt it bubbling away at him all the way outside the Hogwarts grounds. Twilight was falling fast, darkening the sky. Here was the Whomping Willow, and there the spot where Sirius had leapt out, grabbed Ron, and broken his leg.
"I wish I'd never set eyes on you!" Harry bellowed into the night.
The Whomping Willow's branches nearly hit him. He dodged, found a long stick, and poked at the knot. On impulse, he slid into the hole, his ankle wobbling under him for one terrifying moment, then he was making his way through the tunnel. Somewhere here, Sirius had asked him if he, Harry, wanted to live with him.
"He never made good on that," Harry muttered to himself in the dark, his eyes starting to burn. He thrust his hands into his pockets, and clutched the broken mirror.
The Shrieking Shack was cleaner and had a more used feel than it would twenty years later. Harry found a couple of empty potion vials next to the bed. Sirius and James had become animagi in order to help Lupin. He felt some of his anger drain away from him, leaving him to feel his misery acutely. And here, by the door, was where Sirius had first appeared to him, dirty and disheveled and raving, looking every part the mass murderer out to kill him. He felt his heart clench, and couldn't believe that he was getting sentimental over remembering Sirius scare three thirteen year olds.
He fled the Shack, and wandered the streets of Hogsmeade, which were empty. Strange. He'd never noticed that the Wizarding World closed earlier than the Muggle World, but then again, he'd only been out in Hogsmeade during weekends. In Diagon Alley, shops had stayed open later. True darkness fell, and he was still moving, hounded by his thoughts all the way to the outskirts of Hogsmeade.
He scrambled up a steep incline, his bad ankle burning and protesting, fingers scrambling for purchase in the dark, and rounded a bend, his heart pounding.
"Lumos!" The wand light showed a cave, empty of a hippogriff or Sirius.
But what had he expected? He remembered what Ron had once said, something about how Sirius must like him a lot to live in a cave and eat rats. He desperately wanted Sirius to appear, the real Sirius, gaunt and haunted from Azkaban, who thought a fight with a Dementor was better than being locked up, who always advised him to keep a cool head but who never followed his own advice, who always moved heaven and earth to be there when he, Harry, needed him.
He couldn't understand how the man he knew could be the same person as that spoiled, haughty boy who was likely useless in a crisis. But maybe that was just as well. The young Sirius would never chase after him should he, Harry, get into trouble, and that would keep him alive and whole and healthy. Until he was born, at any rate.
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Britni Puccio- I think there are plenty of Harry timetraveling to meet the Marauders fics out there. I have one or two on my favourite stories link, if you want to check some out.
Babebunny- Barring any unfortunate circumstances such as untimely computer crashes, acts of God, grandparent deaths, or writer's block, I hope to update on a weekly basis.
Rubberduckysrfun- LOL, yeah. It gets weirder.