A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I didn't know if anyone would like this story or not. Wow.

Okay, well, here's the next bit. Enjoy!

2. Already seen?

"If you would hand forward your essays, please…"

Harry stared in disbelief at everything around him. He'd had cases of déjà vu before, but seldom had they lasted an entire two minutes. As he stared at the fresh cuts in his hand, he became more and more certain that he had actually been here twelve hours previously, that he had somehow gone back in time. Perhaps it was like Hermione's Time Turner in their third year…but if that was the case, two versions of him should be in this spot, not just one…

"…If there are any accidents in here today brewing a simple cleaning draught, I will be most displeased," Snape was saying up front. Harry watched as he glared at Neville. "Begin."

Harry assembled his ingredients and began to brew his potion, unsure of what else to do. He could hardly go up to Snape and tell him that he had already made this potion twelve hours ago. That would just earn him another detention.

This time, Harry only used one flax leaf instead of three. The color looked blue instead of dark green, which still wasn't right, but to be fair, Harry's mind wasn't entirely on what he was supposed to be doing.

Halfway through the lesson, Neville's potion began to smell funny. Snape glided past Harry to tower over Neville, who was trembling. Harry stirred his potion, listening. He desperately hoped that Snape wouldn't quote himself yet again.

Harry was sorely disappointed. "What is this, Longbottom?"

Neville muttered something indistinct.

"How much flax did you use, Longbottom?" Snape asked softly. Harry looked around, panic taking over his mind. There was no way he had been here before…he was here now…

"Three leaves, sir," Neville managed, staring into his goopy potion.

Harry pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It hurt, but then he did it again. Now it hurt worse.

Just as it had before, Neville's cauldron exploded violently, sending the slop of his potion all over the room and splattering three students. Snape cast a Freezing charm on the airborne liquid and Vanished the stuff on the floor.

Harry gawked stupidly at the scene, his mouth slightly open. He was going to have to tell someone about this. But what would he tell them? And whom would he tell? Harry tried to think about the problem logically as Parvati and Lavender passed him with tears flowing from their eyes on their way to the hospital wing. Maybe he would tell Professor McGonagall…no, he would just be sent to the hospital wing himself. Dumbledore just wouldn't believe him, as his opinion didn't matter at all these days…

Harry watched as Snape viciously gave Neville detention. At least this time he had been too dumbfounded to say anything, thereby landing himself in trouble as well.

But that was it. This had all started in Snape's office sometime after midnight. Snape had been about to tell Harry what his task for detention would be. Harry had to admit that reliving this day was the most horrific punishment he could think of off hand, besides one of Filch's concoctions regarding chains. Perhaps Snape had done this to him.

Snape dismissed the class early, and everyone left at top speed, not wishing to be the last one in the room with the irate Potions master. Harry told Ron and Hermione to go on without him, then mustered up his courage to talk to Snape.

Harry walked up to Snape's desk, gripping his book bag with two white-knuckled hands. "Professor?"

Snape slammed a paperweight onto the stack of essays the class had just turned in. "What is it this time, Potter?"

Harry stuttered, struggling with how to phrase this. "Sir, I've…I've been here before."

Snape glared. "Of course you have, imbecile."

"No, sir, I mean, I've lived this hour before," Harry tried to explain. "I've lived this day before, starting at one in the afternoon, and then—"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for wasting my time," Snape growled, tossing the essays into a book and slamming it shut.

"But, sir, I think I've gone back in time somehow and I was wondering if—"

"Detention, Potter."

Harry blinked. "Professor, really, I—"

"Detention every night this week, now get out!" Snape barked.

Harry gripped his bag even more tightly. "Sir, I can't. I have detention with Umbridge."

"Then come in after you're done with her."

Harry stared at the desk. "I don't get done with her until midnight, sir."

"Then you'll be very tired this week, won't you, Potter?" Snape asked with a sneer. "Now get out."

Harry hurried out of Snape's classroom, wishing he could dunk Snape's head into one of Neville's potions. He looked at his watch with a groan; he had to face Umbridge in ten minutes.

Harry sank against a cool stone wall in an empty corridor to rest for a moment. He was exhausted. It was now three, so if he was right and not just crazy, he had been up for twenty hours straight, and they had all been very trying hours. He looked at his hand again, which hadn't stopped hurting yet. It usually took the whole night for the smarting pain to stop, and Harry was certain that he had just left Umbridge's office two and a half hours ago.

Who would know what was going on? Who would have answers? Coming to a decision, Harry stood and set off in search of Hermione.

Hermione and Ron were standing outside of the D.A.D.A. classroom with the other Gryffindors. Hermione's eyes widened as Harry approached.

"Harry, what's happened to you? You look awful!" she said. "What happened with Snape?"

"Do I?" Harry asked absently. "Well, that's something I need to talk about with you…"

But he didn't get a chance to explain, as the class began filing inside for the next period. Harry bit his lower lip and followed, intending to tell Hermione immediately afterward.

"Good afternoon, class," Umbridge simpered from up front.

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," the class repeated without enthusiasm.

"Wands away, please…turn to chapter twenty, Negotiation for Nonagressors, part two. There will be no need to talk."

Harry stared blankly at her for a moment before sluggishly opening his book. He was so tired. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a moment…but he couldn't, he would fall asleep for sure. Harry sat up a little straighter in his seat and pretended to read.

He was starting to panic now. He had experienced instances similar to what was going on in his five years of life in the magical world, but every other time there had been a reason for it. He had experienced the memories of others in Tom Riddle's diary and in Dumbledore's Pensieve, and he had seen glimpses of his own during Snape's attacks on his mind…not to mention the recurring dreams of a door…but this was inexplicable.

Harry looked down at his hand. The words "I must not tell lies" gleamed back at him in his own blood, but at least it wasn't bleeding as badly anymore.

Had Snape really done this to him? What kind of spell could possibly make someone relive twelve hours? A horrible thought occurred to him. What if he was trapped in these twelve hours? What if he had to relive them over and over again?

No, Harry told himself. Tonight he would go to Snape's office for his second detention after Umbridge, and whatever Snape had done to him would be over.

The end of class could not have come sooner for Harry, who was starving, tired, and running out of patience.

"Okay, Harry, what was it you wanted to tell me?" Hermione asked on the way to the Great Hall.

Harry took a deep breath as they rounded a corner. "This is going to sound completely daft, but I think I've gone back in time somehow."

Ron looked afraid for his friend's sanity. "You're right, that sounds completely daft."

Hermione, on the other hand, frowned all the way to the Gryffindor table. "Back in time from when, Harry?"

Relieved that someone was listening to him, Harry said, "About one in the morning tonight. Or tomorrow. Whichever. I was in detention with Snape, and he was about to tell me what he wanted me to do, and then I ended up getting whacked by Neville's bag again at one in the afternoon, twelve hours before."

Famished, he stopped his story to pile mashed potatoes onto his plate. Much to his dismay, Ernie Macmillan trotted up to join them.

"Good afternoon, Harry," he said pompously. "I was just wondering—"

"When the next D.A. meeting will be," Harry said sourly. Ernie backed off, surprised. "You'll find out when everyone else does."

Ernie continued, "Well, yes, but I thought for—"

"—the next meeting we could do something, I know, I'm sure your idea is great, but I have to eat before detention," Harry finished for him with a hint of desperation in his voice. He loaded his fork. "The meeting will be soon."

Ernie cast him a strange look and a hasty goodbye before departing.

Harry began to shovel food into his mouth. Ron stared in awe.

"That was creepy, mate."

"You knew what he was going to say," Hermione said quietly.

"So you believe me?" Harry said as soon as he swallowed.

"I think so, it's not like you would lie about this, but, Harry," Hermione hesitated. "I really don't know how that could be. The only way to travel through time is with a Time Turner. At least, that's what I've read. And what's happening to you is not the same."

"Great," Harry said, taking an angry bite of chicken. But he did feel better after confiding in his friends. He wasn't going mad. Well, he might be, but at least his friends knew about it.

"You should go to Dumbledore," Hermione suggested tentatively. "I don't think anyone else could help you."

"Right," Harry said, knowing she was correct as usual but too upset with the headmaster to go to him.

"What time is it now?" Hermione asked. "Shouldn't you get to Snape?"

Harry whipped his wrist up to check his watch, accidentally knocking Hermione's pumpkin juice into her lap.

"Harry!" she said reproachfully.

Harry winced and stood up quickly. "I'm really sorry, Hermione, but you're right, I have to go. It's almost six."

"Of course." Hermione mopped herself up with a napkin. "Go on, don't make him even angrier at you!"

Harry did his best to ignore that last bit as he ran down the stairs to the dungeons. All sorts of thoughts went through his head. How would he face Snape now, after his display of being a lunatic earlier? Not to mention the fact that his mind was the farthest from empty and calm that it had been in some time. Nothing good could come of the impending lesson.

Then Harry spotted Cho in the stone corridor, and he groaned inwardly. The girl was pretty, but he didn't have time for this.

"Hi, Harry!" she said cheerfully. "Do you have a moment?"

Harry let out a deep breath. "Sorry, but no. I'm late for Snape."

"Oh," she said sadly. "Okay."

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, and he resumed running. The air was much cooler close to Snape's office, Harry mused. It must be his cold personality.

Once again, Snape's voice beckoned him inside before Harry could knock. He stepped inside, burning with trepidation.

Snape finished marking an essay with a flourish of his quill before fixing him with an acidic glare. "Have you practiced?"

Harry sighed. There was no point in lying. "No. Not at all."

Snape sniffed. "You haven't practiced at all."

"Not a little bit. Sir."

Snape stood up, the glare becoming even more potent. "You realize, Potter, that I—unwillingly—give up my evenings to this pointless cause."

"You don't seem to mind giving them up for me to have detention," Harry muttered.

"Silence, Potter!" Snape snarled. He towered over Harry, who met his gaze unflinchingly. "I give up my evenings to teach you this skill, teaching others would pay richly for, at Dumbledore's request, and you have the nerve to not practice the skills that I am trying to teach. Is practice beneath the great Harry Potter?" Snape said, and Harry knew he was just trying to provoke him now. "Is the Golden Boy too special to have to deal with the menial task of clearing one's mind every night?"

"I might have practiced last night," Harry said slowly. "If only I had had the opportunity to sleep."

Snape snorted derisively. "It's certainly not my fault that you're so behind in your homework, Potter."

"I meant, I didn't get to see the hours past one in the morning," Harry said, angrier now. "Sir."

Snape sneered. "And so we arrive at your latest story, in which you travel back in time. You already mentioned this earlier, Potter. And while your pathetic excuses may work on the headmaster, they're not going to work on me! Legilimens!"

Harry was caught completely off-guard, and there was no defense to be had as memories sprang from the depths of his mind for Snape's vindictive viewing pleasure…he was six and being beaten by his uncle…he was fourteen, on the ground in a graveyard, screaming as the Cruciatus curse worked on his body…he was in Umbridge's office, cutting his own hand open repeatedly with the blood quill, giving him a new distinctive scar saying I must not tell lies….

I must not tell lies, Harry wrote two hours later. He glared up at Umbridge, who was idly flipping through the Daily Prophet. He imagined that the blood on the paper was hers, that the pain in his hand could somehow be transferred to her pudgy, ringed hands instead. I must not tell lies.

Since the cuts from the last time he had done this, a mere twelve hours ago, hadn't healed yet, it took no time at all for the blood to start flowing freely. He let no gasp of pain escape him, nor did he let a wince cross his face. I must not tell lies. A drop pooled around the last "S" on his hand, and began to roll down his wrist. I must not tell lies.

Four hours later, the sickening woman came over to Harry and took his tortured hand in her own. She inspected the wound with relish, and almost let out a squeal of joy at the small puddle of Harry's blood on the desk.

"I see we're making quite a bit of progress, aren't we?" she said sweetly. Harry stared back at her, too pain-filled and exhausted to muster a reply. "Very well, then. You may go."

Harry stumbled down the hallways, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. He dragged himself into Snape's office, not knowing what would come next.

"Good evening, Potter," Snape said softly. He was reading a large book by candlelight.

"Good evening, Professor," Harry returned weakly. How long had it been since he had last slept? Too long, he decided, unwilling to do the arithmetic.

"I would advise you not to go bleeding around my office, Potter," Snape said mildly. Harry frowned and looked at his hand. Blood was seeping through the robes in which he had wrapped it.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said bitterly, drawing his arm further into his sleeve. "What do you want me to do?"

Snape leaned forward over his book. "I want you to—"

Snape disappeared, the office and the candles disappeared, and Harry found himself in a crowed stone corridor with his classmates. He looked around in horror.

"Ouch!"

Harry fell heavily to the floor as a bag of books pummeled him in the knees. He stayed in that position for a moment, unwilling to open his eyes. The laughter of Slytherins assaulted his ears.

"Being clumsy again, Longbottom? Five points from Gryffindor for being an unwelcome distraction in the learning environment."

Harry felt Ron trying to get him off the ground, but all he could do was stare up at Snape in terror and disbelief. This was the worst dream he had ever had, and it looked like he wasn't going to wake up.

A/N: That's what I have for now. Please review. Be well.