ZA: All right, Helga. Just stand over here, and read this paper for me, please.
Helga Hufflepuff: Why? What is all this? Is this something Godric cooked up? I refuse to embarrass myself for that man.
ZA: Oh, nononono! It's a disclaimer. I'm just covering my bases.
Helga: Ah. That's all right, then. Zsugami Alba -
Crispy: *whispering* She pronounced it correctly!
Helga: -does not own Harry Potter. Well, I should hope not. Slavery is wrong.
"Speech"
'Thoughts'
Parseltongue
Chapter 2: ZA: A whole new world…
Crispy: Stop singing. That's terrible.
ZA: Sorry. It's stuck in my head.
Crispy: Well, we aren't using it for a chapter title.
ZA: Fine.
Chapter 2: Preserving the Timeline
Harry woke up and found himself lying on something that was definitely not stone. It was decidedly wetter than that. With an unpleasant squelch, he raised himself to a sitting position and looked around. There was moss, grass, mud, mud, and more mud. Oh, and the occasional puddle of muddy water. "Am I in a swamp?"
"A swamp?" said a voice behind him. "What do you mean 'a swamp'? This is a fen, I'll have you know." Harry turned to see a short, middle-aged, grumpy-looking wizard with a scraggly brown beard.
"I beg your pardon," said Harry. "I've never been in a fen before. What do you call this place?"
"Fen," replied the man in a tone that obviously implied Harry was a bit dim in the attic.
Harry nodded. "Right. Of course. Fen. Are we anywhere near Hogwarts?"
"Hogwarts? What's that? A pig farm? This isn't exactly the sort of place that's conducive to raising pigs," the wizard informed a bewildered Harry, who was now staring at the man's clothes.
"What...year...is it?" Harry asked him.
"It's 986." When Harry looked at him blankly, the man added helpfully: "A.D."
Harry nodded again. "Right. And this is...Fen. Do you know anyone named Slytherin? Tall wizard, looks like a really old monkey?"
The man stood up straight. "I pride myself on knowing every single wizard in Fen, and I assure you there isn't any Slytherin here. Never has been."
Harry wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved. On the one hand, he had hoped that the only thing he could recall hearing about Fen (from Hermione's ramblings, of course) would be a man who could help him. On the other hand, Harry wasn't really sure he'd want to meet up with the infamous Salazar Slytherin. But wait, Slytherin was supposed to be here. Harry was sure the Founder was from Fen. The date seemed to be right. Suddenly, a horrible thought struck him.
"What's your name boy?" The wizard was peering at him cautiously. Probably wondering if Harry were a muggle and possibly dangerous.
'For the timeline,' thought Harry.
"The name's Salazar. Salazar Slytherin."
Malfoy was pacing frantically back and forth in his dorm. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do? I killed Harry Potter. I killed Harry Potter. I knew I shouldn't have messed with Granger's cauldron. It was a very bad idea. Bad, bad Draco. What would Mother say? What will the Dark Lord do to me? I don't want to die! I'm too pretty to die. I killed Harry Potter."
The door opened and Zabini stepped in with a concerned look on his face. "You all right, Draco? You look…"
"Shut up, Zabini! Leave me alone! Can't you see I'm wallowing in despair? I'll call you when I'm ready to make out my will. You'll agree to be a witness, yes?" Draco was now gripping the front of Zabini's robes like a lifeline. "Tell me, am I a good wizard? Will I go to heaven?"
Zabini rolled his eyes and pried Draco's fingers from his robes. "Yes, of course, Draco. You're a fine wizard. You'll go to heaven and wear a white robe and play a golden harp among the clouds."
Draco straightened up. "White robe? I look dreadful in white. What do they wear in hell?"
Zabini smirked. "Don't be silly, Draco. They don't wear clothes in hell. They just burn. You'd be all 'Look at me! I'm on fire, but at least I'm not wearing white after Labor Day!' Get a grip on yourself."
Draco looked hopeful. "You think I'll make it to Labor Day? Hmm...I suppose I might. Depends on how long it takes the Dark Lord to discover I'm behind it all."
Zabini looked horrified. "Behind what? What have you done that would displease the Dark Lord? He'll kill you. I doubt you have much time left. You'd better make the most of it."
"Make the most of it?" Draco asked.
"Yeah, you know. Live it up. No regrets. Cross as much off your bucket list as you can before you actually kick it. The bucket, that is."
Draco looked puzzled. "Why would I keep a list of buckets and then kick them? You're not making sense, Zabini. I'm being serious here."
"So am I. A bucket list is a list of things you want to do before you die. 'Kicking the bucket' is a common way to refer to dying."
"How vulgar," Draco sniffed. "But you're right. If my life is now considerably shortened, I must endeavor to live as much as I can in the time I have left."
