Chapter 4: The First Day.
"Merlin, do I love free periods." Ron sighed contentedly, sprawled out on one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room; with the trio all taking the same five classes, they all had a free period first thing on Thursday. (Hermione had dearly wanted to continue Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but nobody in this time period knew her well enough to vouch for her academic prowess.)
"Yeah, and this is the best time to have one. . ." Harry's mind seemed to wander as he trailed off, wondering what to do, until his grin suddenly doubled in size: "Want to go exploring?"
"Harry, really, we shouldn't," objected Hermione. "You need this time to do your homework, and—"
She was cut off by an indignant but laughing Harry. "Homework? HOMEWORK? It's the FIRST BLOODY DAY! Hermione, you're a great friend, but I swear, you need to get your mind off homework sometimes."
"Oh, fine," relented Hermione. "But exploring? Harry, do you really want to get us in trouble that early?"
"We won't get in trouble," he assured. "But we do need somewhere to go. And Danger said something last night: 'Remember, by the place of your father's servant, to thank the one from whom your gift descends.' I think we should look into that; it sounded important."
Hermione's eyes were already glinting; another word puzzle! "Are you sure it applied to you, Harry?"
"Pretty sure; me and James were the only ones left in the room."
"Okay, so it applies to both of you. Father and son. Reference to a father—'your father's servant'—that means whatever it is serves at least James and James's dad, probably you too—'from whom your gift descends', it sounds like it's something passed down—but what gift does the Potter family have?"
Harry shook his head. "I have no idea, Hermione. Why does your sister have to be so cryptic?"
Hermione closed her eyes in thought, and Harry didn't want to interrupt her; Ron, apparently, had no such qualms. "Well, if we're supposed to thank someone, let's get started— Thank you, Dumbledore. Thank you, Merlin. Thank you, Godric. Thank you, Row—"
Hermione's eyes had shot open, and her glare had been intensifying throughout this little speech, and finally it erupted into an indignant "RON! I'm trying to THINK here!"
Harry could sense a full-blown argument brewing, but that really wasn't concerning him at the moment. "Um. . . guys?" Two heads turned to look at him. "There's a hole by the fireplace." Hermione and Ron instantly stopped arguing, and Hermione forgot about deciphering that message—a pity, since it could have told Harry a bit more . . .
"Well, let's go down it, then!" Ron made as if to get up from his seat; Hermione huffed with displeasure.
Harry cut them off with a motion of his hand. "I think I should grab the Map first." Ever since his encounter with the Horcrux cave at the end of his sixth year, Harry had been a lot more careful about walking blindly into danger. That place had been scary.
A few minutes later, Harry was back in the common room, piece of old parchment in hand. He tapped it with his wand, saying, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Lines of ink blossomed from the point of contact and formed into the map they knew so well.
Hermione walked over to look at it over Harry's shoulder. "Well, it looks like just a hole in the wall to me . . . I wonder why it doesn't say where it goes?"
She and Harry were equally surprised when the map wrote something back. "The passage leads to one of Hogwarts' best-kept secrets. This is only one entrance; seven others there are, some with different passwords. Best of luck finding them all."
Hermione looked speechless; Harry decided to play along and keep talking to the map. "Is it safe there?"
"Perfectly so. It is the safest place in Hogwarts; there, you will not be harmed."
Hermione finally seemed to regain her voice. "How— how did you, er, know that?"
"One of my creators was a blood Founder's Heir. I glean my knowledge of the school from him."
"Hm, I wonder who," said Harry thoughtfully. "Thank you, Mr. Map."
"You're quite welcome," it wrote, and cleared itself a few seconds later.
"Amazing," said Ron in tones of wonder. "Well, now what are we waiting for?" He ran to the hole and took a closer look; there seemed to be a bar above it, presumably to swing in on, and thankfully it wasn't in a position to cause head trauma. Ron made good use of it and soon had disappeared down the slide.
"I really do wish he'd be more careful sometimes," worried Hermione.
"Relax, Hermione, I'm sure he's fine." Harry figured Ron's whoops of delight were evidence enough.
"It's the perfect Gryffindor bedroom!" yelled Ron's muffled voice. "Come on, guys, but one at a time!"
Harry entered the slide. It felt a bit like the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, except without the muck and the nauseating twists; just a reasonably steep, very fast slide. A few seconds of this, and the floor suddenly fell out from under him; he landed with a plop on a very nicely fluffed-up bed.
He took a look around him. The room certainly fitted Ron's description; the walls were a reasonably bright red with gold trim, and Harry could see a dresser and a desk done in elegant mahogany. But the real kicker was the bed he was laying on: dark red sheets, a comforter that was red on top and yellow on bottom, even red pillows, on a four-poster that was every bit as awe-inducing to him now as the Gryffindor common room had been to him as a first-year . . .
It was paradise.
Harry suddenly remembered Hermione, and quickly got off the bed. "All clear, Hermione!" he called. She slid down, emerged smiling, and gaped as she surveyed the room around them.
"This—is—amazing," she stammered. "I can't believe this place has been hidden under the school for so long and nobody's found it!"
"Well," said Harry, "I see a door there; wonder what's behind it?" He opened it and ushered the trio through.
This appeared to be the main room. It was octagonal, and certainly quite large. The floor was wooden, with a four-sided table in the middle, but that wasn't what drew Harry's eye; four colors predominated, pretty much drowning out everything else. The wall segments of the main room were painted in them, two segments per color; there were chairs of the four colors around the table; even the doors were colored.
The colors were red, blue, green, and yellow. House colors? Harry mused. This chamber almost looked like a meetingplace for representatives of different Houses, with the different colors of chairs around that table . . .
And they're not even, realized Harry. Four blue, three red, two yellow, only one green . . . Slytherin feeling lonely, anyone?
Hermione echoed Harry's thought. "It's the House colors," she breathed. "This must have belonged to the Founders or something—I can't believe it, this is so exciting!" Harry could tell she was only with difficulty keeping herself from jumping up and down.
"Should we look around?" asked Ron, and Hermione snapped out of her daze.
"Sure. Let's."
Proceeding clockwise, the trio looked in the other red door and found a well-proportioned and nicely equipped kitchen . . . with absolutely no food.
"How are you supposed to make anything with no ingredients?" asked Harry idly.
A small pop drew his attention; a house-elf had appeared. "Sirs and miss have found the Heart of Hogwarts!" she—for it was clearly a she—squeaked.
Hermione was visibly uncomfortable. "Erm. . . yes, I guess we have. Listen, if we need anything, we'll be sure to call you. . . What was your name again?"
"I is being Kady, sirs and miss. Please call if you be needing anything." She bowed and disappeared with another pop.
"Well, the house-elves know about the place. . ." said Harry. "I guess that's why it's so clean. It's odd; it feels like it was meant for us, or something . . ."
"Let's keep going," said Ron. "I only want to see the kitchen if there's food in it."
Next was the blue section; the trio found another bedroom, much like the one they had arrived in but done in Ravenclaw colors, and something that made Hermione shriek . . .
"A LIBRARY! I knew I loved this place!"
Harry and Ron shook their heads bemusedly; Ron had to physically pull Hermione away from the entrance to the library before she would move. The green section had yet another bedroom, which Harry decided to enter.
"Hello there," he heard.
"What? Where are you?"
"Under the bed." Harry checked, and found what felt like a portrait; he took it out and hung it on the wall. It depicted a green-robed man with black hair and green eyes . . .
"Bloody hell, Harry, he looks like you!" exclaimed Ron.
Harry was much more subdued. "No, Ron, I think he looks more like Tom Riddle."
"I assure you," the portrait began, "I am not he, and I hate him as much as you three seem to. Hello, Harry, Ron, Hermione."
"You know our names? How?" Hermione's insatiable curiosity had been stoked once again.
"Word gets around." The figure in the portrait smiled mysteriously. "I have as many secrets as you three do—time-travellers, hm?—and my full name is one of them, but you may call me Alex."
"Nice to meet you," Harry muttered; the figure still disconcerted him for some reason.
"Ah, what manners they're teaching these days." Alex brought his fingers together. "I'm simply here to tell you that you're on the right track. Especially you, Harry; the place is meant for you three, no previous occupants coming to harass you. You may introduce it to whomever you wish; I daresay you'll find it handy in the future."
"Thank you, Alex," said Harry.
"It is I who should be thanking you; now that I am on the wall again, I may travel once more. And I believe I shall." He stood up in his frame and walked off to the side.
"Well, that was weird," was Ron's expressed opinion.
"He certainly seems to know more than he's telling," concluded Hermione. "Let's keep going."
It was Ron's turn to be enraptured by what lay behind the next door. "A QUIDDITCH PITCH! I knew I loved this place!"
Harry just chuckled and shook his head at the parallelism. Hermione was finally able to pull Ron away from his gawking at the indoor pitch, and the trio investigated the final too rooms—
"A bedroom and a bathroom. Nothing too exciting. Still, I suppose you'd need one if you were here too long."
The trio took seats in the three red chairs in the central room. "We need a name for this place," said Ron bluntly.
"Didn't Kady call it the Heart of Hogwarts, or something?" asked Hermione.
"I don't like that name," said Harry. "It's just too . . . pompous, I guess. This is our place, Alex said so, so I think it should have our name. How about the Den? Without any windows, this place seems practically underground, but it's also sort of a home, so . . ."
"The Hogwarts Den." Hermione considered it for a few seconds, then nodded. "I like it. It seems fitting, for some reason."
"The Den it is, then." With a bit more help from the Map, the trio came out the same way they entered—Gryffindor bedroom, three jumps on the bed, "Thank you, Godric," and they were sliding back up into the common room. Another bit of thanks and the hole was closed over by a slab of wall sliding into place—it was seamless, and Harry doubted anyone would see it who didn't know to look.
They sat down in the common room chairs, Hermione reminding them sternly that they had only twenty minutes before their next class. But still . . .
"That was wicked!" exclaimed Ron in awestruck tones, and Harry was definitely inclined to agree.
While the seventh-years kept busy with a bit of Marauding, the sixth-years were trapped in one of Harry's least favorite classes: Potions. Lily Evans didn't hate it, though; on the contrary, many said she was even more talented as Severus Snape. Considering what he had called her at the end of last year, she didn't much care for the comparison—but she couldn't deny her flair for the subject. She just seemed to have a knack for it, much as Remus was talented in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and (however much she hated to admit it) James had a gift for Transfiguration. Lily's wand may have been "suited to Charms," but she wasn't half bad especially at the improvisational element of potion-making, and she would soon be benefiting from that . . .
As Lily walked into the classroom a few minutes early, chatting amiably with a few of her yearmates, she couldn't help but wonder what the coming year would bring. Her past five years at Hogwarts had been enjoyable, certainly much better than going to a Muggle school with Petunia, but they had been mostly uneventful. Lily had plenty of fun, made enough friends to keep herself busy, did well in her studies, and hardly ever broke the rules; her appointment as a prefect in fifth year had been considered by most to be inevitable.
But most people didn't know—would never have believed—that Lily was perfectly happy to break rules when there was a good reason for it; she just hadn't found one yet. Life at Hogwarts had been peaceful enough, despite the occasional disappearances and acts of terror she would read about in the Daily Prophet . . . but Lily had a sinking feeling that was all about to change soon. Attacks over the summer had ballooned in number, with one almost every day; Voldemort (she didn't hesitate to say the name, unlike some people) was building an army, and he was using it sickeningly well.
I'm pretty sure this war is going to hit closer to home than any of us would like. Lily had known this for a while; nobody seemed to be doing anything to stem the tide of attacks, not that she could see, and Voldemort just kept growing in power . . .
I'm going to do something about it. This second thought took Lily by a bit of surprise, but only because she hadn't put it in so many words before; her fiery determination to look out for those who couldn't look out for themselves was a trait the Marauders had run up against far too often. It had driven her to stand up for Snape when the Marauders attacked him O.W.L.s last year, and she was sure it would eventually drive her to stand up to Voldemort as well.
As long as I can keep myself alive that long.
Harry's friends might have told him sometimes that he had a bit of a "saving-people thing"; Lily's told her, loudly and often, that she had a serious "helping-people thing."
She was driven out of her macabre thoughts by Remus Lupin's hurried appearance; he had a goofy grin on his face that Lily was sure she'd never seen on him, and they had been friends for quite a while. "What are you so happy about?" she asked him sternly, but with a teasing glint in her eyes.
"Oh, I've just got a date for next Hogsmeade weekend." Remus was still smiling like a madman.
"You? Date? One word: Finally!" Lily laughed. She had never seen Remus with a girl in that way before, and she really was happy for him. Come to think of it, she'd never even seen him with any close friends apart from those three Marauders. Lily herself didn't count; she had a friendly relationship with Remus, but she knew he was hiding something.
In fact, Lily had a shrewd guess as to what it was—the signs weren't hard to miss if you figured out what to look for—but she wasn't much in the mood for a confrontation at the moment.
"So who are you going with?" Remus teased back. "James?"
Lily resisted the urge to scream at him and settled for simply rolling her eyes with a sigh. "I know you've been trying to get him to grow up, Remus, but it's not working. He's already asked me out twice since the Hogsmeade weekend was announced last night at the feast."
"I'll keep trying."
"Good luck," Lily shot back sarcastically. She just knew any attempts at combining the words "James" and "maturity" were just going to end in a joke. Which is a pity, really . . . I've seen how he acts when he thinks I'm not looking, and he can be a nice guy sometimes, but he just uses that 'irresistable charm' on me and makes himself look like an idiot!
Then, a softer 'voice', barely heard inside her head: But if he dropped that, I can see how I might like him, a lot— Said voice was silenced instantly, ripped to shreds, and burned for good measure; Lily did not want herself falling for that bigheaded, arrogant prat.
Still, she knew she wouldn't have been so hard on him during that post-O.W.L. confrontation if she hadn't seen something worthwhile under that arrogant facade . . .
Professor Slughorn strode up and opened the doors to the dungeon classroom, and everyone filed in. Cauldrons were already set on the tables; Lily could tell this would be a practical lesson.
Once everyone was inside and seated, Slughorn waved his wand to close the doors and started his speech. "Welcome to N.E.W.T.-level Potions," he said jovially. "This class will be significantly more difficult than your previous experience in Potions, but I'm sure you'll all manage. You'll need to, if you want to get a good N.E.W.T."
Slughorn indicated four cauldrons bubbling at the front of the room. "Can anyone tell me what these are?"
Lily and Snape alternated identifying and describing the effects of Veritaserum, Amortentia, Polyjuice Potion, and Felix Felicis . . . which Slughorn proceeded to extol the virtues of, and promise a small vial to the student with the best potion today.
If the students weren't serious before, they were now.
This was an individual potion, so Lily brewed hers carefully and precisely, tuning out all outside noise and focusing on the task at hand. She knew several people in the room could brew the potion perfectly in accordance with the instructions in Advanced Potion-Making, so some improvisation would be necessary to get that Felix Felicis.
So Lily improvised. At one point, she needed to extract the juice from a root, and decided to flatten it with her knife instead of cutting it up; this worked admirably, and she made a note in her textbook. She would share it with Snape later; their friendship had been seriously harmed by his calling her a Mudblood last year, but Lily doubted they'd ever stop exchanging Potions notes, if a bit more stiffly than before. They were, after all, probably the only two people in Potions class who could understand each other! And when stirring, the final step, she noticed a resolute failure of the potion to change to its desired clear color; on a whim, she added an anticlockwise stir every seven clockwise stirs, and the problem immediately righted itself.
"And time's up!" Slughorn walked around the classroom, peering into every cauldron, making comments here and there, spending quite a bit of time on Snape's . . . and hers. "Excellent job, Lily," he said with a toothy grin. "I see you modified the stirring instructions a bit, to great success I must say. Severus did so as well, but slightly differently than you."
Lily blushed a bit; she doubted she'd ever get fully used to Professor Slughorn's compliments. Said Professor was walking back to his desk, saying something . . . wait, what was it? ". . . though many of you performed admirably, and in the end it was almost a tie, I must say that Lily's potion was the best!"
She walked up to Slughorn's desk, beaming, and accepted the small bottle. James was scowling at her, but she didn't care. Serves him right to not be the best for once.
As she walked to Charms, Lily couldn't help but feel a bit bolstered by the vial of liquid luck in her pocket. She knew she should save it for something, but she couldn't help contemplating the possibilities . . .
"Save it." One of the new boys, the one that looked like James—Harry, was it?—was walking past her with two of his friends, probably headed to Defense.
"What do you mean?"
Harry stopped walking and turned to face her. He motioned for his friends to keep going. "Lily, right? You've just been to Slughorn's class?"
Lily nodded.
"And I take it by your grin that you've just won the Felix Felicis?"
Another nod, but this time accompanied by suspicion. How would he know about that? He's new here!
"Save it for something important. Just trust me on this. I had the same thing happen, had a Potions tutor that gave out Felix—I was desperately tempted to use it for, well, romantic purposes, but I didn't and I'm glad of it." More softly: "It wound up saving the lives of three of my friends when Death Eaters attacked."
Lily was rather taken aback by the gravity of the latter statement, and she knew Harry's reasoning had merit. "Thanks for the advice, Harry. I will. I'll see you around."
He gave a friendly smile in return and continued walking.
As she continued on her way to Charms, Lily could swear she had recognized the precise color and shape of his eyes.
They were the exact attributes of her own, after all.
Harry smiled in farewell and turned to head for Defense.
Lily was . . . well, the best way to describe her, Harry thought, was a good person. He had heard bits and pieces in the first-day gossip, and even the brief conversation he had just had seemed to cement. Sure, she was human, made mistakes, and probably had a fiery temper like the other redheads Harry knew, but she also was willing to put the really important stuff first, and at sixteen that was pretty remarkable . . . Harry grinned inwardly, remembering Ron's stint as "Won-Won" and Hermione's utter frostiness last year. All fixed now, thankfully. I think Ron's finally grown up.
Ever since he'd seen Snape's worst memory, Harry's esteem for his father had dropped several notches. He wasn't even sure his Patronus was a stag anymore. Sirius and Remus had done their best to reassure him, of course, but he had seen his dad being an arrogant git, and had only heard about his later turnaround.
To tell the truth, he was a bit embarrassed to be around James Potter in this time. Lily Evans gave him no such qualms, and he wondered again just what had driven them together.
Who knows? Time will tell.
Or it won't. Harry knew his presence would have consequences, but he dearly hoped it wouldn't ultimately prevent his parents' relationship. That would just be too weird.
Harry caught up with Ron and Hermione, waiting patiently with the other seventh-year N.E.W.T. Defense students for the teacher to arrive. The class was quite large for a N.E.W.T.-level one, maybe twenty-five students.
Probably because of the war.
A minute later, Professor Johnson walked up. He was the archetypical stodgy professor: a middle-aged, slightly graying man who spoke without emphasis and had few distinguishing traits. Harry had known him from his pre-term stay at Hogwarts, fervently hoping the man wasn't his new Defense teacher; he almost would prefer a Death Eater impersonating Moody again.
At least he's not Umbridge. Or Lockhart. Come to think of it, there do tend to be a lot of substandard Defense teachers. Sometimes I think the ones we get are last resorts.
I wonder who the Marauders will get next year . . . when I'm out of school, Ginny's still in it, and I'll need something to do for money while I'm not Horcrux-hunting. Hmm. . .
"Please enter the room and sit down, class." They did so, and most took parchment, quill, and book out—it was clear that this teacher wouldn't be too fond of practical lessons.
Professor Johnson made the obligatory beginning-of-term speech. "Welcome to your final year of N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts. Your N.E.W.T. exam will be very difficult, comprising both a theory and a practical section; most of the practical part should have been covered last year, so we shall be focusing mostly on theory this year, much of which is far too complex to practice, and indeed you are not expected to . . ."
Harry's face sagged in disappointment; practical lessons were where he excelled, and he had to admit Snape had had plenty of them last year—five parts snarky attitude to one part teaching, sure, but far better than Lockhart or Umbridge. Looking around furtively, he saw that some students were disappointed, some positively terrified. One of the latter raised his hand.
"Erm. . . Professor, our teacher last year said pretty much the same thing, that we would be learning most of the practical bit this year. Are we going to learn it or not?"
Professor Johnson seemed rather flustered by this. "Well, er, I'm, er, sure your instruction last year was more comprehensive than your previous professor led you to believe, and, er, I suppose you can practice spells on your own to—" He broke off, seeing that most of the class was looking at him indignantly; waved his hand in dismissal, and started a lecture on dementors.
By the tone of his lecture, the Ministry still entrusted Azkaban to the foul creatures, and apart from a few 'rogues', all were accounted for; Harry suspected this was a cover-up designed not to incite fear, but he couldn't exactly do much about it.
". . . and under the cloak's hood, a vile head that has never been seen, since it only emerges when a dementor uses its last and most powerful weapon, the— Yes, Mr. Potter?" Harry had had his hand firmly in the air since "never been seen."
"Professor, I know what's under a dementor's hood." He was a bit unsure about revealing this to the class, but figured they had a right to know . . . and Harry dearly wanted to see how Professor Johnson would deal with this one.
"Oh, is that right? Do tell." Johnson's expression was highly skeptical.
"Well, it's a sort of scabby, deformed face, but without the elements of a face on it—no eyes, no nose, just a gaping, bottomless mouth. Definitely the creepiest thing I've ever seen." Harry shook himself a bit at the memory; it still was traumatic.
"And, pray tell, how would you know this?" The professor's skepticism refused to recede.
"Because I was nearly Kissed by a dementor. One of the 'rogues' I believe you mentioned."
"And you are here to tell us this . . . how, exactly?"
"A friend's Patronus drove it away just in time." Harry didn't mention that the 'friend' had been, in fact, himself; that would just muddy the waters.
Professor Johnson frowned. "An interesting tale, but barely plausible. Please restrain yourself to the truth in the future. Five points from Gryffindor. Now, the only defense against a dementor is the Patronus Charm, an immensely difficult piece of magic well beyond N.E.W.T. level . . ."
Harry tuned him out. Privately, he was incensed; here he was, with more Defense experience than probably even the teacher (who didn't seem to have a wand in sight) and trying to tell the horrid truth, and he was yet again being dismissed as an inexperienced child. The rest of the class seemed to be on his side, at least, with the exception of the Slytherins, but nobody dared speak out for the rest of the lecture . . .
Harry didn't listen; he knew more about dementors than he ever wanted to. Instead, he daydreamed, remembering previous Defense classes . . . the good ones first, Professor Lupin and Professor Fake-Moody, then Snape, then Quirrel and Lockhart and Umbridge . . .
Umbridge. When had Harry been in this situation before? Umbridge, of course. It wasn't nearly as bad this time, of course, but the end result was the same: a year of boredom in one class, with nobody knowing how to defend themselves.
Defending ourselves . . . Umbridge . . . the D.A.! Harry grinned inwardly. The D.A. would be perfect for this time period. Plenty of students itching for a way to fight back somehow against the Dark Lord, probably more who just wanted to pass their N.E.W.T.s, and it would give him something to do in this time period . . .
By the end of Defense class, Harry already had his first three lessons mentally planned out.
"Watch where you're going, Snivellus! Expelliarmus!"
Harry was walking down a corridor leading to the Great Hall for dinner, a bit absent-mindedly contemplating the war . . . when the word "Snivellus" reached his ears and instantly changed his demeanor.
This has got to stop. I can't believe them, they're attacking him for no reason at all . . . even if it is Snape . . . The idea of just ignoring it crossed his mind—Harry hadn't forgotten Snape's actions of two months past—but he finally decided the Marauders needed to learn a bit of a lesson.
Harry turned into a corridor and walked briskly, seeking out the confrontation by following the sounds he was hearing. When he reached their source, he found James and Snape facing each other in one of the larger main corridors of Hogwarts; Snape was half-sitting, trying to get up, apparently under an Impediment Jinx, his wand ten feet away.
It was eerily remniscent of the scene after the Marauders' Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.
Harry saw Lily coming up behind him, her expression absolutely furious. She opened her mouth, probably to shout "Leave him ALONE!", but Harry silenced her with a whispered, "I'll handle this, trust me." Lily nodded her acquiescence, though she was still plainly enraged.
He looked around; to James, Snape, and the small crowd watching them, he was still in the shadows and not plainly visible. A plan was beginning to form in his mind. Taking his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and throwing it over himself, he began to creep toward the duelers, flitting through little spaces between the eager watchers . . .
"I'll—get—you—Potter," Snape was saying. He spoke each word with an effort, fighting against the jinx that bound him. "One—of—these—days—"
Harry took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he knew he had to do. It's not made any easier by the fact it's my own Dad I'm condemning—but this is absolutely necessary.
"Shut up, Snivellus!" James lifted his wand.
Another deep breath, gathering his calm—he knew he would need it—and—
Expelliarmus! Silencio! Accio wand! Finite! Silencio! A set of five nonverbal spells on Harry's part lifted the Impediment Jinx on Snape, Silenced both parties, and sent their wands flying through the air.
Whipping off his Invisibility Cloak with a flourish, Harry caught both wands and spoke. "Stop it."' His voice was cold and unemotional, but the anger behind it was palpable.
"How— who— what—" Sirius spluttered.
He turned to James and his entourage; at least Remus and Peter were nowhere in sight. "James, Sirius, I honestly cannot believe you. Yet again, you are attacking without the slightest provocation. I know exactly how you acted after your Defense O.W.L., I know exactly who told you exactly what opinion about it, and I will echo her words now: You. Make. Me. Sick."
James's eyes widened at those last four words. He was fuming silently by now, and Sirius opened his mouth to make an indignant retort; Harry held up a hand to forestall it, and continued. "I will not deny that Snape has probably done plenty of his own to warrant your attention. That does not give you the right to attack him unprovoked. Defend yourself if attacked, certainly. But do not make the first move simply because your adversary 'exists'."
Snape was smirking by this point; Harry, realizing he was seeing this as a free telling-off for Potter, whirled around to face him. "And you, Snape, don't think there wasn't a reason I Silenced both of you." The smirk disappeared. "I know very well what kind of magic you associate with, and it makes even more sick than Potter's behavior. Attack me and I will respond in kind. I hold no love for you or your ideals, but I will not strike preemptively against them." Harry's moved his head again, and his gaze drilled into James, who was looking anywhere but back at him. "To do so would make me no more than a bully."
Harry's speech certainly had an impact; his coldness and forced calm had hopefully driven home some of the things angry outbursts could not. He blinked, removed the Silencing Charms with a wave of his wand, threw both wands back to their owners, and turned to walk away in silence.
James was the first to break it. "Who do you think you are, anyway?" he spat angrily. "Impedimenta!"
"Protego Reversi," Harry said calmly, without turning around. The jinx bounced of Harry's shield and hit James.
This wasn't enough for Snape, though, who had a gleeful grin on his face as he waved his wand. "Sectumsem—"
Harry whirled around and fixed him with a hateful glare. Expelliarmus! Snape's wand was out of his hand before he finished the spell; another advantage of nonverbal casting was its speed. "Don't you dare, Snivellus," he hissed. "That spell is as Dark as your hair. I'll be giving this—" he held up Snape's wand— "to Professor Dumbledore, along with an explanation of the situation." He took a deep breath and again forced himself to calm down. "Now move along, both of you, and remember what I said."
He again turned and left, and this time his departure was met with absolute silence.
As soon as he was out of sight, Harry started running. The confrontation had been extremely draining; whatever strong feelings he had against James's behavior from being on the receiving end of it from Dudley, they were far dwarfed by his utter hatred of future Snape, a lot of which spilled over to past Snape. Keeping his calm in front of both of them had been trying, and now he was working off his pent-up steam by running at full tilt through the corridors and secret passages . . .
Harry was pretty sure he passed at least one snogging couple in one of said passages, but he was too focused to care or even really notice. He finally emerged at the still-life that hid the kitchens; breathing heavily, he tickled the pear and was let in.
"Hello, sir!" one of the house-elves shrieked happily; after a moment's thought, Harry recognized her.
"Hi, Kady. Could I get some roast beef, please?"
"Sir remembers me!" said Kady in mixed surprise and pleasure. She whispered something to one of the other elves, and he ran off to the back of the kitchens. "Sir's dinner will be ready in five minutes. But why is sir not eating dinner with the others?"
"I don't much want to be around everyone else right now," said Harry gravely. "And you can call me Harry, Kady."
"Oh, no, Kady would never do that, sir! Kady is being a good house-elf!" She seemed appalled by the very thought.
"Have it your way, then." Harry chuckled mildly.
A few minutes later, his dinner came, and Harry ate it in silence. He was still reeling from what he had told James and Sirius, from what Snape had tried to do to him . . .
I still have to give Dumbledore his wand and the story behind it. Preferably with a bit of context from the future . . .
And now James and Sirius will hate me. Remus won't, I hope, as long as I can tell him the truth, maybe use my Pensieve. The Pensieve, along with a rather large selection of memories and a letter, had been left to him by Dumbledore, and Harry had already put it to great effect showing Ron, Hermione, and Ginny what he knew of the Horcruxes.
Not to mention what I referred to of my knowledge. James probably thinks I'm a spy now or something. He gave a humorless laugh at that. A few nearby house-elves turned their heads, but otherwise paid it no heed.
Finishing his dinner, Harry couldn't help but think, I have a bad feeling about this . . .
Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk with his Pensieve in front of him, trying to make sense of all the happenings of the past few weeks. Four time-travellers had literally dropped right into his office; their presence had somehow caused the parents of one of them to be killed in a Death Eater attack, which had led to the admittance of a fifth new older student this year, Danger . . . now what?
Dumbledore added a few memories to his Pensieve. Harry Potter rose out of it, speaking his concerns about never returning home. He prodded the image with his wand, and it changed to that of a red-robed man exuding quiet authority, Godric Gryffindor, saying how they could not ever go back, how indeed he had caused them to be there in the first place, as they would have otherwise been killed, and the Light brought low . . .
A knock on the door made Dumbledore tap his Pensieve again, causing Gryffindor to recede into silvery mist. "Come in," he called.
Harry Potter walked in, holding a wand that Dumbledore could see was not his own. "Hello, Professor," he said calmly.
"Hello, Mr. Potter. Please sit down." Harry did so, and looked at Dumbledore expectantly. "Would you like a lemon drop?" asked the latter, taking one himself as he did so.
"No, thank you, Professor," Harry said with a weak smile. "I'm here to explain a few things. James Potter and Severus Snape were involved in a conflict this evening, one which I broke up. I lifted a jinx James had placed on Snape, Silenced both of them and summoned their wands, and explained what I thought of their actions—which wasn't much, let me tell you. Then I removed the Silencing Charms, gave them back their wands, and turned to walk away."
"So far, I see no matter requiring my attention."
"So far, you shouldn't, I think," said Harry. "But when my back was turned," he continued, "Snape tried to hit me with a very Dark cutting curse called Sectumsempra; he invented it, or so his future self says, probably over this past summer—there was a note about it in his sixth-year Potions textbook. I stopped him from completing the casting by disarming him. Here's his wand." Harry placed it on Dumbledore's desk and looked into the old Headmaster's markedly non-twinkling blue eyes.
"I shall return it to him tomorrow," said Dumbledore, "amidst some stern admonishments. His actions were certainly dishonorable, and I am glad you acted in the manner you did. However, I must note that you do not seem very surprised at Severus's actions. Is there anything you would like to tell me, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore had used a bit of Legilimency on Harry and found nothing, but he was still excellent at reading facial expressions.
"Professor, I don't know how much you know or want to know about the future, but Snape did something, only two months ago from my perspective, that I can never forgive."
"And what is that?"
"He killed you. Right in front of me." Dumbledore was clearly surprised, but it only barely showed. "After you had vouched for his trustworthiness several times! He was a Death Eater, told you he was spying for you, told Voldemort he was spying against you—nobody really knows the truth," finished Harry angrily.
Dumbledore sighed. Harry's future knowledge was both highly important and highly perilous, apparently—perhaps even mistaken in some cases. Though Dumbledore would have loved to remain ignorant of it, he knew he could not.
After a moment's consideration, he spoke. "If you are willing to tell it to me, I would know what I may of the important events of your future." And I will draw my own conclusions from it, he added mentally.
Harry only nodded. "This means we're not going back, doesn't it?"
"That is correct. I spoke to a friend, and he told me the return travel would be impossible. Still, I advise you to be careful, and consider carefully the consequences of your actions."
"I will, sir." Harry smiled knowingly. "This 'friend' wouldn't happen to be Nicholas Flamel, would it?"
"No, not he. You probably have heard of the person, but I'm afraid I am bound not to tell you his name." It was the absolute truth; only those who had sworn the Founders' Oath could know of such matters. The Founders had sworn it before beginning Hogwarts, later including their children in the oath as well; he and his brother, Aberforth, had sworn it upon leaving Hogwarts with already ballooning magical skills; perhaps Harry and his friends would follow the same path?
"That's fine, Professor." Without preamble, Harry touched the tip of his wand to his temple and pulled out five memories, placing each in the Pensieve still on Dumbledore's desk. "These memories should explain most of the important bits."
Before diving into the Pensieve, though, Harry gave a bit of background. "My parents were James and Lily Potter," he began. "On October 31, 1981, Voldemort attacked and killed them, but was unable to kill me due to the ancient magical power embedded in Lily's giving her life for mine. Instead, the curse rebounded and robbed Voldemort of his body, leaving me with just my scar; most people believed Voldemort dead, and I was hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who had somehow killed him.
"James and Lily had gone into hiding to protect me using the Fidelius Charm. Sirius Black was originally intended to be my their Secret-Keeper, but it was decided at the last minute to switch to Peter Pettigrew. Peter was a Death Eater, and he betrayed them to Voldemort.
"Nobody knew of the switch except James and Lily—not even you—so Peter was able to very effectively frame Sirius for his death and the deaths of twelve Muggles. With no witnesses to contradict the obvious, Sirius was sentenced without a trial to life in Azkaban. He finally escaped during my third year at Hogwarts. Voldemort came back at the end of my fourth year, as you will see.
"I think that's it." Harry indicated the Pensieve. "After you, sir."
Dumbledore placed his hand in the silvery liquid inside, and reappeared at a graveyard. Real Harry soon followed suit, and fourteen-year-old memory Harry soon after that, clutching a large golden cup with another, older boy . . .
The two watched as Harry dueled Voldemort, received an explanation of the night's actions from Dumbledore; demolished Dumbledore's office (real Harry apologized at that point) and finally learned of the prophecy; watched Slughorn's real memory and discussed Horcruxes with memory Dumbledore, navigated a cave to retrieve a Horcrux that turned out not to even be one, returning a weakened Dumbledore to Hogwarts, only for him to be killed by Snape . . .
At the end, the two saw the events of only a half-hour previous: the altercation between James and Snape, Harry's handling of it, and Snape's curse.
After the strand of memories, Harry took himself and Dumbledore back out of the Pensieve.
"Thank you, Harry," said Dumbledore shakily. "Good night."
"Good night, Headmaster." Harry hadn't missed the use of his first name, and to him it spoke louder than anything else about Dumbledore's reaction to the memories. He left the office quietly, leaving the wise old Headmaster time to think, and think, and think . . .
That explained quite a bit. It appears Harry is more central to this war than any of us could know, and has faced more than he ever should . . .
And I expect a similar prophecy to surface soon in this time. Possibly even under similar conditions. The day prior, Dumbledore had received a letter from one Sibyll Trelawney, requesting a position as Hogwarts' Divination professor (the subject had not been taught since the retirement of Professor Xenocleia at the end of the previous year), and he planned to interview her over Christmas break.
What would come, would come, and he would meet it when it did.
(A/N: A bit more introspective, with POVs from Lily and Harry . . . hope you like it. And now Dumbledore knows.
The Hogwarts Den belongs to Anne Walsh / whydoyouneedtoknow. The exploratory scene is based on my memory of Chapter 4 of "Living without Danger"; probably boring to Dangerverse familiars, but it didn't feel right to skip it.
Next chapter: conflict between James and Sirius, Remus, and the trio over the Snape scene, and Danger's avoidance of her parents' deaths catches up with her . . .
Two updates a week is harder to maintain than I thought; no guarantees, folks, but I'll keep trying.
Review, please! I amend my earlier comment to say I will respond to any review that has something to respond to. Responding to "Great story!" with "Glad you like it!" gets old after a while.)