This is here:
"I'm dreaming," Harry said. "Or hallucinating, though I don't think it matters very much at this point."
"Oh, no, don't say that!" Hermione said anxiously, "Maybe you just took that fall a bit badly, hit your head…"
"Yeah, mate, perhaps it's just like temporary amnesia, you know?" Ron tried to be cheerful and failed.
"Listen," Harry said gently, "This is not amnesia. These are not my clothes and this," drawing the wand tucked in his left sleeve, "is not my wand."
Giving it a little shake he muttered "Lumos!" and watched in amazement as the tip lit up like a beacon.
"Seems to be working fine though, so I'm not complaining. Now, I do quite clearly remember you two being murdered on the day of our leaving feast two years ago. I'm sorry, but I saw it with my own eyes. You're dead, I attended your funerals."
"Well, we are obviously not dead," Ron said grimly, "Lucky, eh? And there never was a leaving feast, least not for us- we left school after our sixth year to help you look for the horcruxes. That's why you were at that shop today, we're trying to find old Hufflepuff's cup."
"Horcruxes?" Harry asked and Hermione nodded enthusiastically.
"What in hell are horcruxes?"
This isn't:
Harry retched until his his throat hurt and his stomach didn't have anything more to throw up. He wiped his mouth with shaking hands and sucked in deep breaths in order to calm himself.
This is disgusting, he thought, Me and Snape doing… that!
Somehow he seemed to have ended up… somewhere. Somewhere where he, Harry, was gay and shagging Severus Snape of all people. He wondered if the whole thing was just a very elaborate prank, something that Fred and George had cooked up- except that Fred and George thought him missing, presumed dead, just like the rest of the wizarding world.
Still, it was possible that Polyjuice Potion was involved, that he'd been found out somehow- but why anybody would try and impersonate a friendly –Gay!! Harry's mind screamed, He's queer on top of being a greasy bastard!- Snape… To what purpose? And then there was that small matter of Legilimency. Harry had invaded Snape's mind, and while it was possible to use Occlumency to hide one's mind, forging memories to that extent was unheard of.
What now? Simply Apparating away seemed like the easiest way out- his wand seemed to be malfunctioning however if he couldn't even manage a simple Stupefy. He could use the floo if the fireplace was hooked up, but then he'd have to enter the house again. Or he could just walk away, but a glance at his surroundings told Harry that the house was situated in what seemed to be a small valley; the next village could be miles away. And he couldn't leave his wand behind, even if it wasn't working. There was nothing for it: Harry would have to go back.
He entered the house gingerly and crossed the room. Picking up his wand, he frowned: Having used the same wand since he'd first bought it at Ollivander's ten years ago, it had become as familiar to him as the back of his hand. His wand was made of holly, never polished and bearing quite a few scratches. This wand was gleaming; dark red wood encased a core of what he was sure was not a phoenix feather.
Harry pointed at one of the candles and muttered, "Wingardium Leviosa!" The candle rose obediently into the air, but in a very shaky kind of way. It wobbled precariously and he hastily lowered it again before it could crash to the ground.
"Bugger," he whispered. Patting his robes to see if his own wand wasn't hidden there somewhere after all, he noticed for the first time that he wasn't even wearing his own, plain black set of robes (his old school uniform- he'd vanished the Gryffindor crest but kept the Quidditch Captain's badge in his trunk) but a more elaborate set, made of fine, dark green linen.
The only thing his inspection yielded was a black leather pouch with wizarding money and a Muggle credit card in it, the owner of which was one Harry James Potter.
Before he could consider this new, puzzling development further, a soft, pained moan reverberated through the silent room.
Harry flinched, suddenly feeling guilty. He'd completely forgotten about Snape for the moment; now he kneeled down next to him and studied the figure lying huddled on the floor.
Snape was… different, to be sure. The last time Harry had seen him had been the night he'd murdered Dumbledore, and that had been three years ago. Snape had been dressed in black as usual; greasy hair, sallow skin, emanating a slight smell of something rotten. Snape now – and Harry wasn't at all sure whether they were one and the same person anymore – was dressed in soft Muggle clothes, Jeans and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was cut quite short and didn't look greasy at all; when Harry touched it with precaution – he expected Snape to wake up and bite his hand off, actually – he only found it to be a bit spiky, nice to touch. This Snape looked, was different from his former Potions master, fundamentally different on a level that he couldn't really grasp or understand.
And then there was of course the fact that his face and his mind were both a bloody mess, all thanks to Harry.
Biting his lip, Harry was now feeling more than anxious. He'd completely lost it, there was no doubt about it. The way he'd punched Snape, how he'd forced his way into his mind – he'd been brutal and he'd been aware of it at the time, too. Despite all the rumours and nasty articles in the Daily Prophet, Harry was not mad and not normally prone to violence. Snape, however, the murderer of the only real parental figure Harry had ever known, triggered something inside of him, something dark and irrational: It was hatred, mingled with pity; revulsion with a hint of guilty curiosity.
Harry realised that he'd have to heal Snape; the nose was probably broken and although he wished all the pain in the world on that bastard, he couldn't leave him like that: He'd have to talk to him sooner or later, find out what was going on, and a mashed face would make the other man a bit uncooperative.
Gripping his wand in a sweaty hand, Harry muttered, "Episkey!", pointing at Snape's nose. He knew that the spell hadn't worked; there was no tingle of magic in his fingers and the nose remained stubbornly crooked.
Perhaps… There was a wand poking out of Snape's breast pocket. It was considered exceedingly rude in the wizarding world to use another wizard's wand without his permission, but Harry figured that nobody would file a complaint with the Ministry of Magic in this particular case. He studied Snape's wand with curiosity: It was made of holly, and the magical core inside of it felt familiar; probably phoenix feather, then.
Tapping Snape's nose gently with the wand he said "Episkey!" again and was relieved to find the nose mended. A quick "Tergeo!" took care of the blood and now the man before him didn't look so much like the loser of a pub brawl, but was seemingly only asleep.
Harry levitated him on the same couch where he himself had woken up, briefly considered the respective advantages of putting a blanket over him (sucking up) or petrifying him (raising the odds of himself not being killed on first sight) but finally just left Snape there and went to explore the house.
Entering the kitchen Harry found it to be a cheery room. It was not overly large but it looked like somebody who liked cooking – and cleaning – used it on a regular basis. The kitchen table was apparently used as a desk; there were books piled on it, parchment, quills.
Going back to the sitting room, Harry found more books and old, comfortable furniture as well as some pictures on the mantelpiece that he studied intently for a long time and with growing distress.
There he was himself, waving happily; another one where he was wearing Quidditch robes, having shouldered a broom and sneaking glances at Snape who was leaning against the picture frame with his arms crossed, smiling. There was a picture of three people that Harry didn't recognise: a man (dark hair, black eyes) and a woman (trying in vain to hide a bruise behind a long curtain of hair) sitting in a library. The woman looked up suddenly as a small boy entered the frame, throwing himself into her arms. The next picture fascinated Harry the most: It showed his parents, but not as the ever youthful people that he knew from his own old photo album. No, this James had wrinkles around his eyes; this Lily had some streaks of grey in her hair. They seemed to be in their thirties at the time the picture had been taken; Harry's parents, however, had been dead for nearly 19 years, killed by Voldemort when they'd not been much older than Harry himself was now.
A suspicion that had been slowly growing in his mind now became near-certainty: This utterly alien house belonged to Severus Snape and himself. Only, not really him, just as the still unconscious man on the couch was not his hated teacher but his lover, repulsive as that fact might be. He was now in a world in which he was queer and his parents were still alive.
Perhaps that bowl he'd looked into caused you to live out your worst nightmare? Kind of like Fred's and George's daydreams, only the other way round. Although, if his parents were still alive…
The fireplace suddenly burst into flame; Harry swore and jumped back from the sudden heat.
A familiar voice was calling out of the flames, "Severus? Harry? Are you there?"
Remus Lupin's face appeared in the fire and Harry noted with some relief that he at least appeared to be unchanged; This was the same grey hair that he was used to, the same worn and tired expression.
Harry licked his lips; what to do? Appearances could be deceiving; changes were high that this Remus belonged to this odd world, too, that he would think him hysterical at best and completely bonkers at worst if Harry told him everything.
"Ah, there you are, Harry," Remus said cheerfully, "Is Severus with you? I haven't got much time, I'm afraid."
"He's taking a nap," Harry said a bit desperatly; this was at least partially true.
Remus looked surprised. "A nap? Well, never mind waking him up, the network's being observed and my time window is closing. Just tell him to finish up his research as quickly as possible, Albus wants to present the results to the Order tomorrow. The meeting is at six o'clock, Molly is making Shepherd's Pie and your presence, Harry," he stressed the last few words, "is absolutely required. Do you understand?"
Nodding his assent, Harry watched Remus give a little wave and disappearing; the fire collapsed in itself and left the crate cold and empty.
"D'you feel a bit more sane now?" asked a sarcastic voice behind him and Harry's heart sank as he realised that Snape was awake.