Chapter Three - Luring me with your resonating effulgence
The moment Harry finished the incantation, a pervasive energy took hold of him, immobilizing his arms and legs. At the same time, a blinding blaze of light assaulted his vision, prompting him to squeeze his eyelids together to lessen the retinal burn. His lungs constricted painfully, hampering his ability to breathe, as he continued to struggle against the debilitating impediments, desperate to regain control.
Just as his panic had reached an alarming level, the spell's effects fell away, and he found himself on the floor on his hands and knees, trembling and gasping for breath, the Elder wand still gripped in his quivering hand.
Harry pulled himself up onto shaky legs and blinked several times to clear away the residual flickers appearing in the periphery of his bleary vision. When he was once again capable of focusing on his surroundings, he spun around to inspect the site where Snape's blood had been dispersed.
The offensive substance was no longer there.
With increasing astonishment, Harry surveyed the remainder of the room. He was certain that he was still in the Shrieking Shack, but the interior looked… different. The shabby, run-down furniture had all been pushed toward the wall leaving a vacant space in the center of the room, and there was a neat pile of folded blankets stacked on top of a threadbare settee in the corner. The long scratches and deep indentations that defaced the wooden legs of the chairs and tables were the same as Harry remembered, but now they appeared newer somehow... more distinguishable as being caused by the razor-sharp teeth and claws of a vicious canine.
The room was also missing its air of woeful neglect and abandonment. The shelves on the wall were not nearly as dust-covered, and there were discarded butterbeer bottles set out on top of the rickety table alongside a wizard chessboard and two empty boxes of chocolate frogs, giving it a somewhat lived-in, albeit slobbish, appearance.
Breathing out an immense sigh of relief, Harry lowered his head and closed his eyes, the hint of a grateful smile emerging. The spell had worked. He was sure of it. He had succeeded in traveling back in time. And judging from the semblance of this room, he had been deposited in the correct time... a time when the four Marauders were already well-practiced at utilizing the Shrieking Shack on a monthly basis.
Harry turned to exit the room and begin the extensive trek back through the tunnel. Halfway, he abruptly halted his progression when a frightening realization occurred to him, bringing with it a sense of nausea and sending his stomach plummeting.
He had no clue where to go or what to do next. He had expended so much energy into worrying about Snape's fate, discerning the proper steps to take to prevent the impending tragedy and discovering how to travel back in time in order to manage it. In contrast, he had put no effort into how he would actually go about functioning here for an entire month's time.
He took a moment to look down at his bloodied hands and clothes, cringing at his morbid appearance. Anyone who saw him in this condition would think him either gravely injured or possibly very dangerous. Still, he supposed that his blood-soaked clothing wouldn't garner as much attention as the Wizarding World's most powerful wand and the diabolical Dark Arts book he held in his hands.
It was clear he needed help.
Harry reflected on his precarious situation, trying to determine who would be the best person to turn to. McGonagall, perhaps? Or maybe Hagrid? But he was almost certain that if he were to appear in front of either of them in his present condition, they would be frightened into an act first, ask questions later reaction. After all, there was a war going on in this time, too. The Hogwarts staff was bound to be on their guard, especially two of the original members of the Order of the Phoenix.
He also had to acknowledge the fact that going to either Hagrid or McGonagall for help, while looking like Harry Potter, was a dangerous endeavor that could cause a serious time-quandary. They would have no way of knowing who he was now, but in a few years or so, they would. They would also recall an incident in which they were introduced to a seventeen-year-old Harry Potter years before he was supposed to have been born. Harry couldn't risk that. He was sure that they were not meant to know about his venture through time.
He toyed with the idea of transforming his own appearance, but soon decided against it. He had never attempted a self-transfiguration or glamour charm before. Even armed with the Elder wand, the risk of error was too great, considering that his transformation would have to be precise. He was meant to look like Gray, and Harry's skill at human transfiguration was mediocre at best.
In the end, he settled upon the one solution that made sense. He would have to go to Dumbledore. Of course, the Headmaster's reaction could very well be just as extreme as Hagrid's or McGonagall's, but if Harry could divert the man's attention away from his bloody facade and instead focus it on the thin stick of elder in his hand, he might have a chance to gain Dumbledore's consideration.
It was a monumental risk to assume that Professor Dumbledore had been aware that Harry Potter had once masqueraded as a boy named Gray three years prior to his date of birth, but Harry had to make that assumption. He was running out of viable options. Besides, he would be spending a whole month here so it made sense that he pose as a student for the duration of his stay. The only man who could make that happen was Dumbledore.
Making his decision, Harry wrested the invisibility cloak out from his back pocket and flung it over himself, vanishing beneath it. He hurried through the lengthy tunnel and out into the grounds via the concealed entrance carved into the Whomping Willow. The aggressive tree was smaller in stature, but Harry could see little else that was different as he scanned the lush Hogwarts surroundings. Hagrid's hut stood out clearly in the distance, as did the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. It was definitely spring, as the weather was warm and damp, and the grassy fields were teeming with wildflowers.
May, Harry thought, just like in my time...
He had just begun his ascent of the granite steps leading up to the majestic front doors, when it occurred to him that there were no students or teachers anywhere in sight. The grounds were quiet and static, devoid of their usual flurry of commotion.
For a moment, Harry panicked as he contemplated the unnerving possibility that he had somehow arrived too late, that this was in fact summer and he had missed the students completely. Then he heard a tumultuous cheer in the distance. Spinning around in the direction of the clamor, he unleashed an anxious breath. The deafening uproar had to be the result of the exuberant cheers and applause from hundreds of Hogwarts students and teachers riveted by one of the house Quidditch matches.
Grateful to have the castle virtually to himself, Harry hastened his way through the Entrance Hall, past the Great Hall and clambered up the requisite staircases until he reached the seventh-floor corridor where he knew the Headmaster's office to be. As he approached the familiar stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office and pulled off his invisibility cloak, it glanced lazily in his direction.
"Oh shit..." Harry murmured, recognizing that he didn't know the correct password. Well, he had been forced to guess before, and he knew it was always some kind of Wizarding sweet...
"Sherbet Lemon," He called out. Nothing. The stone gargoyle remained inert. Harry searched his memory for all the passwords he had ever known Dumbledore to use in his time, hoping that the man was in the habit of duplicating their usage, "OK... Toffee Eclairs... Lemon Drops... Acid Pops... Cockroach Clusters..."
The guardian continued to stand sentry, unmoving and obstinate, a bored expression carved into its chiseled visage. Harry took a deep breath and began expelling the names of a barrage of Wizarding confections, optimistic that he would eventually hit on the correct candy.
"Pepper Imps... Drooble's Best Blowing Gum... Skiving Snackboxes... Oh wait, those haven't been invented yet... OK... Fizzing Whizbees... Chocolate Frogs... Licorice Wands..."
At the word wands, the stubborn statue leapt aside, and the wall behind it split in two, revealing the moving spiral staircase beyond. Relieved, Harry hurried onto one of its platforms and allowed its slow, upward progression to carry him to the large oak door which prefaced the Headmaster's circular office. He stared at the polished brass knocker in the shape of a griffin, a shiver running through him when he realized that this would be the first time he would be seeing Albus Dumbledore in living form since that horrifying night on the Astronomy Tower. Resigned to see this through, Harry took a few steadying breaths and knocked upon the heavy door.
His knock was greeted with a protracted silence, indicating the Headmaster's absence. Taking the Elder wand out of his back pocket once again, Harry muttered the incantation which would grant him access, "Alohomora!"
The office was just as it had been in Harry's time, right down to the multitude of delicate, silver instruments on every surface, the elaborate claw-footed desk in the center of the room and the massive portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses which hung in neat rows along the walls. As usual, the paintings' occupants were steadfastly snoozing, not even stirring when a blood-covered stranger strode into their midst.
Harry's gaze drifted away from the portraits and settled instead, upon the beautiful scarlet bird that was intently staring at him from where it was situated atop a golden perch. Its penetrating, dark eyes seemed to bore into Harry's green ones with unwavering intensity. As it cocked its head to one side, Harry was almost certain that the creature had recognized him, despite the improbability of it.
The crimson bird abandoned its perch and flew toward him, circling overhead three times before it settled onto his outstretched arm. Harry caressed its brilliant red and gold plumage gently, but the phoenix paid no regard. It seemed agitated as it jounced its head frantically while scanning Harry's bloodied appearance. When its large golden beak swept across the smears of blood several times, Harry was curiously reminded of a bloodhound picking up a scent. He concluded that the phoenix must be searching for the source of the blood... looking for a wound to heal...
"No, Fawkes... it's not me," He assured the creature as he continued to stroke its feathers, "I'm alright. I'm not the one who was injured. This is not my blood. It's someone else's... someone who is... very important to me."
Fawkes seemed to comprehend Harry's placating words. He ended his frenetic forage for physical impairment and peered up into the green eyes, now glistening with the emergence of fresh tears.
"That's why I've come back, Fawkes... to find a way to save him..."
"My dear boy, one can hardly fault Fawkes for making such an error. It certainly appears as though you are the one who needs saving," came the unmistakable, authoritative voice of the Headmaster.
Surprised, Harry whirled around with Fawkes still firmly clutching his forearm, and stared into the piercing, cerulean eyes of Albus Dumbledore
The elderly wizard's stance was imposing, yet his demeanor radiated an ironic serenity as he stood motionless just inside the office entrance. He gripped the Elder wand in one aged hand but it pointed downwards as he peered at Harry over half-moon spectacles. The blue eyes narrowed in consternation as they travelled from Harry to Fawkes and then back again. When he spoke once more, his voice was clear and calm, yet commanding.
"Sit, young man. It is obvious you have much to disclose."
Harry did as he was told, settling himself into one of the chairs in front of the desk, as Dumbledore took his rightful seat behind it, steepling thin, tapered fingers in front of his face as he, once again, considered both Harry and the phoenix that seemed determined to remain by the boy's side.
"Professor Dumbledore... I know how bad this looks, but..."
"Fawkes came to you?" The Headmaster asked, interrupting Harry's attempt to elucidate.
"Yes, sir. I think he assumed I was injured and wanted to heal..."
"And you know his name," Dumbledore interjected.
"Y-y-yes," Harry stammered, suddenly unnerved by the Headmaster's stern, assertive tone. He shivered when he saw that Dumbledore's gaze had shifted away from his face and locked onto the duplicate Elder wand which Harry was still holding in his right hand, along with the Dark Arts book. But after only a moment, those penetrating blue eyes were fixed upon Harry's green ones again.
"You know me quite well... well enough to call upon my familiar who, I might add, is rarely influenced by anyone but myself, yet I do not know you. You also sit before me carrying the twin of my wand and a book I know to be confiscated within the shelves of my personal library," The Headmaster recited calmly before placing both long-fingered hands upon the desk, leaning forward slightly and piercing Harry with peremptory look.
"Explain."
Harry swallowed hard past his encompassing anxiety. He hadn't thought this conversation would be quite so unsettling. He took a deep breath, placed both the Elder wand and the book on the desk in front of the Headmaster, and plunged into a somewhat truncated version of recent events.
"Professor, I'm honestly not sure how much I should tell you. But... I... I guess I should start by explaining that I am from the future. I used a spell that I found in this book to travel back twenty years hoping to save someone who, I believe, is not meant to die in the final battle of this war..."
"This war?" Dumbledore inquired, his eyes widening, "Are you referring to the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters?"
"Yes, sir."
"Young man, the manipulation of time is exceedingly dangerous. Have you any evidence that indicates the individual you wish to save may have indeed been saved? Otherwise you should not have attempted to..."
"Yes! I do have evidence! He was attacked by a massive snake and he was very close to death, sir. But... but... I had to leave him and... when I returned to see if he had perished, his body was missing, and nobody could determine what happened to him," Harry explained, "So, I know that he may have survived. And... well... I also have proof that I went back in time."
"What proof?"
Harry picked up Secrets of the Darkest Art and handed it to the Headmaster who gave him a wary look before skimming through the pages. He paused when he noticed the notations in the margins of the pages pertaining to horcruxes. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he looked up into Harry's nervous features with a dangerous expression.
"Sir... this book... it is yours. My friend summoned it from your personal study a year ago... well, I guess that's nineteen years from now from your perspective. And my friends and I have had it in our possession ever since then. I found another one, just hours ago, in someone else's private rooms. And it is this book, with these same markings, yet it was... older. But my friends and I only penned these notations a few months ago. I compared the two of them side by side, sir. They are the same exact book... one from this time... and one from mine..."
"An overlap," Dumbledore added.
"Yes, sir," Harry said, "And the person who has held on to this book... all these years... is the person I came back to save."
"And what of the horcruxes?" Dumbledore asked, while steepling his fingers again and leaning back into his chair.
"I... I don't think... I don't think I can tell you that," Harry whispered nervously.
Dumbledore did not press the issue. Instead, he went back to scrutinizing the book. When he got to the final page, he paused again. Harry knew he was studying the section that contained the Time Regression spell.
"That's the spell I used, sir. It should return me after one lunar cycle," Harry explained.
"I see. And you managed it with the assistance of the Elder wand?"
"Yes, sir," Harry answered in a hushed voice, his head lowered as a sudden rush of sorrow and guilt about the circumstances surrounding the Elder wand's indirect change in masters overcame him.
"And am I to infer that you will relieve me of my wand at some point in my future, making you its new master?" The Headmaster asked in a placid, unperturbed tone.
"NO!" Harry exclaimed, "No, sir... I mean, I did eventually become the wand's master... but not because... I wasn't the one who... Professor, I would never..."
"Relax, my dear boy. I am well aware that your intentions are pure. Nothing less than your abiding loyalty to me could ever inspire this level of devotion from my phoenix. My only objective in inquiring about the wand was to determine whether or not I had met my unfortunate demise in your time. As I am quite certain had I asked you outright, you would not have told me. Your reaction was quite sufficient in answering my query."
Harry blinked and remained transfixed as he stared at the Headmaster. He hadn't meant to relinquish the fact that Dumbledore was destined to die in the war. But now that he considered it, just the fact that the Elder wand was now in the hands of another implied that consequence.
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry whispered, lowering his head in regret and shame, "I didn't want you to know that."
"It's quite alright, Mr. Potter."
Harry's head snapped up when he heard the Headmaster refer to him by his surname. Once again, he found himself completely nonplussed by Dumbledore's canny insight. He stared, eyes impossibly wide and mouth hanging open as he struggled to vocalize his astonishment.
"How did you... I never told you... I..."
Dumbledore answered Harry's desperate rambling with a contented smile as a soft chortle escaped his lips, "My boy, please don't think me all-knowing. You are the spitting image of James Potter. And, if I am not mistaken, your eyes bear a remarkable resemblance to those of the lovely and talented Miss Evans, whom, if the rumors are to be believed, has just begun to date the brash young Gryffindor. I am not, however, quite shrewd enough to ascertain what your first name is."
"Oh... it's Harry... Harry Potter."
"Well, Harry, am I correct in assuming that the individual you are endeavoring to save is a student here at this time?"
"Yes, sir. He is a seventh-year... in Slytherin House."
At this proclamation, Dumbledore's eyes widened minutely, but if the elderly wizard had been surprised by Harry's determination to save a Slytherin student, he did not give it voice.
"Very well. Then I propose that we disguise you as a seventh-year Slytherin student as well for the remainder of your stay here," Dumbledore announced. He ascended from his chair and approached Harry, who stood up quickly. Fawkes gave a disgruntled squawk when Harry arose, irritated at being expelled from Harry's lap, and returned to his golden perch.
The Headmaster grazed his thumb and one long finger along the thin line of his lips, taut with emphatic concentration, and attenuated his aged, blue eyes as he considered which spells would be required in concealing Harry's appearance. After only a brief moment, Dumbledore raised the Elder wand and leveled it on Harry's face.
"Scourgify!" He commanded.
Immediately, Harry was relieved of the vile layer of dried, crusted blood that had befouled the skin on his face, arms and hands, along with the solidified clumps amid the strands of his raven hair. Dumbledore did not halt his ministrations, however. His wand remained resolutely trained on Harry as the next two spells were issued.
"Mutare Speciem!"
"Visivae Claritatem!"
Harry felt a peculiar pulling sensation at his scalp as he noticed that his hair was lengthening. Next, his eyes began to sting, and he closed them to ease the sudden burn. When the brief pain subsided, Harry opened his eyes and panicked when he realized that his vision had worsened. His already-poor eyesight had become even more blurred and indistinct.
"You may dispose of those glasses, Harry. I have corrected your eyesight, as well as changed the pigment of your irises," Dumbledore explained.
The world returned to its usual clarity the moment Harry removed his glasses. He gave Dumbledore an appreciative nod as he placed them beside the Dark Arts book on the Headmaster's desk. Then he saw that the man's gaze was fixed upon the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead.
"That will have to go as well, I suppose. Quite a distinguishing feature, Harry," Dumbledore noted in a wry tone, an unnerving gleam of knowing in his twinkling blue eyes, "Abscondere!"
Harry detected a tingling sensation in the vicinity of his scar, and his hand automatically drifted up to touch it, his fingers flitting over the place where the mark had once blemished his skin. The raised flesh was now smooth to the touch, bereft of any protuberance.
With one final brandishing of the Headmaster's wand, Harry's stained and soiled clothing were replaced by a crisp, clean school uniform, a green and sliver Slytherin crest emblazoned on the front of the robe. The silver chain and feather pendant that had been concealed underneath his soiled t-shirt, now hung visible atop the viridescent striped tie.
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes when he noticed the pendant and swiftly drew closer to inspect it. He grasped the miniature vial between his slender fingers, turning it over several times to study its avian content. After a moment, he released the pendant and gazed at Harry with a troubled expression, his eyes filled with an uncharacteristic dolefulness.
"This student whose life you aspire to save... is it, by chance... Severus Snape?"
Harry's eyes enlarged as he was once again startled by the Headmaster's seemingly clairvoyant intuition. He was even more shocked by the undisguised fear and sadness radiating from Dumbledore's eyes. Harry had never put much thought into Snape's relationship with the Headmaster while the Slytherin attended school, but now he was confronted by clear evidence that they must have been close.
"Yes... it is him," Harry confirmed, "But how did you know...?"
The Headmaster breathed deeply and took a few steps toward his desk. When he reached it, he seated himself on the corner and lowered his head as if searching for the right words to explain. After a long respite where Dumbledore appeared withdrawn and unreachable, he cleared his throat and began to speak.
"The feather in that vial, Harry, is a very rare commodity. It belongs to an extremely elusive magical bird called a Chatham raven. Young Severus is the only student I have ever taught who was successful in calling upon one."
At Harry's bewildered look, Dumbledore expounded further, "The Chatham raven is scarcely ever seen by human eyes. Very few wizards or witches have ever even laid eyes upon one. And muggles are not able to see them at all, not for the last century and a half. They believe the species has become extinct. The Chatham raven, you see, only appears to a wizard or witch whose heart is pure... whose inner beauty most closely resembles the selfless and peaceful spirit of its eradicated people... and whose soul is destined to suffer a great loss similar to the raven's enduring grief."
"And one of these Chatham ravens… came to him, sir?"
"Yes, Harry. At the beginning of last term. Severus approached me and asked for my permission to keep her. As she is not a standard Wizarding familiar, such as an owl or a cat, he required my consent to house her at Hogwarts. I must say, I was astonished by his request."
"Sir... you mentioned something about... about the person who calls upon the raven being... destined to suffer a great loss... just like the raven. What does that mean?"
"Harry, perhaps you should ask Severus. Since the raven has become his familiar, he has done much research on the species and has become very knowledgeable about their history, their magic and their unique intuitive aptitude. I daresay his expertise has exceeded my own," The Headmaster remarked. The twinkle that had vacated his blue eyes when they had been discussing Snape's impending accident, had now returned in full.
"Now then, Harry, I expect we should devise a false name for you, as we certainly cannot refer to you as Harry Potter. I believe James Potter would be most suspicious of a Slytherin student bearing his surname."
"Oh... yes... um... sir? Do you have a mirror? May I... may I see myself?"
"Forgive me, my dear boy. Of course you would want to inspect your new appearance."
The Headmaster gesticulated his wand in an elaborate figure eight movement, transfiguring an old quill that had been lying on his desk into an old-fashioned brass-handled mirror. Dumbledore picked up the extravagant mirror and handed it to Harry.
With trembling hands, Harry took the offering and peered into its reflective surface, gasping softly when he saw the shoulder-length, wavy mahogany hair and the cool, slate-grey eyes of the boy from Snape's memory looking back at him. Struck speechless, Harry continued to stare at his reflection, entranced by this final undeniable truth which proved, without a doubt, that he and Gray were one and the same.
"Harry?" Dumbledore prompted, his voice low and gentle, "A name?"
"Gray... I'm Gray... Gray Skye."
"Very well, Mr. Skye. I presume that you are in need of the required seventh-year textbooks, as well as other school supplies?"
"Yes, Headmaster... and... I'm sorry, but I don't really have any clothing or... or any personal items..."
"Consider it done, my boy. I will have one of the school house-elves gather everything you should need for the next thirty days and place it in your new dormitory for you. You shall have it within the hour."
"Thank you, sir. I can't tell you much this means to me. And it's been so... so good to see you again..." Harry's voice cracked and faltered, and he cringed as he felt tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. He had known that this would be tough – seeing Dumbledore again. Harry's heart ached just knowing that there was nothing he could do to save his mentor. Dumbledore would meet his end atop that Astronomy Tower, no matter what Harry said or did to try and prevent it.
As several frustrated tears fell from his grey eyes, Harry was once again surprised to see the majestic phoenix circling him. He reached out to welcome Fawkes, who settled onto his arm. The bird dipped its beautiful scarlet head down and nuzzled Harry's cheek affectionately.
"He is very fond of you, Gray," The Headmaster noted, "Evoking that kind of loyalty from a phoenix is... quite rare."
"It's strange actually. It's almost as though... it's almost like he recognizes me," Harry commented, "But that can't be. Can it? I knew him in my time, but our meeting hasn't even occurred for him yet."
"Ah... but it has," Dumbledore responded, a knowing smile adorning his lined countenance, "The phoenix's timeline is cyclical, Gray. It does not run parallel with our own, which is woefully straight and unyielding. The phoenix's reality overlaps itself in a never-ending, constant revolution of time. Even the phoenix's repetitive pattern of life and death reflects this cycle. It dies in a fiery blaze, yet is reborn from its ashes only moments later. Therefore, it never truly dies and is never really born…. no definite beginning or end. Fawkes exists, at this very moment, knowing all that he will ever know and understanding all that he will ever understand. His magic is not simply restricted to healing wounds with his tears, inspiring hope through his song and lifting heavy loads, my dear boy. His most valuable gift is his immense capacity to remember and to understand. A phoenix remembers all that has occurred and all that is yet to occur, and it understands those individuals whose intention is derived from love and loyalty – understands them and answers their call for help… which is why he knows you and why he so readily comes to you when you are in need of him."
Harry looked down at the magical bird still perched on his forearm, and peered into its dark, expressive eyes. Fawkes returned his gaze with a fathomless depth of knowing that seemed to reach well beyond time and reason.
"You know what's going to happen to Snape, don't you?" Harry whispered to the phoenix in a hushed voice. Fawkes simply cocked its vermilion head, emitted a low trilling chirr from his golden beak and nestled against Harry's cheek once more.
"Well, I think it's time we get you settled into your new dorm, Gray," The Headmaster announced, "I will call for your Head of House to escort you to the dungeons. Professor Slughorn has opted to patrol the corridors instead of attending today's Quidditch final, so I'm quite sure he will be easily located."
Harry watched as Dumbledore raised his wand, called forth his distinctive Patronus and articulated his message to the argent phoenix guise. When he had finished, he promptly turned toward Harry and pierced him with a solemn expression.
"Gray... I hope you understand that the events of the future cannot be changed... the incidents that you know, without question, to have occurred will occur. You have no power to change them. You have told me that Severus was attacked by a snake... this event is invariable. You cannot alter it."
"Yes, sir. I do know that. The problem is... I'm not sure how I'm supposed to save him if... if I can't stop the attack. Maybe if I just tell him what is going to happen..."
"No. You mustn't. If you were to warn Severus that he is destined to endure a vicious, life-threatening attack by a giant snake, he will undoubtedly do everything in his power to avoid such an incident. Which, of course, will be to no avail. It will happen. The only thing you would succeed in doing would be to negatively alter his state of mind, encouraging obsessive fear and paranoia. Throughout history, many wizards and witches have meddled with time in order to change an unpleasant event, and while their intentions may have been good, they only ever succeeded in causing others to go quite mad. And in the end, the undesirable event occurs as it was fated to. However, if what you have described to me is true, and Severus' body disappeared without a trace, then you are correct in believing that Severus may have survived by your interference. But you must not achieve your aim by revealing too much to him."
"Then... how do I...?"
Harry's question was interrupted by a firm knock on the heavy oak door.
"Enter," Dumbledore's responded while swiftly conjuring a backpack, placing Secrets of the Darkest Art and Harry's Elder wand inside and handing the bag to Harry.
"You wished to see me, Albus?" came the jovial voice of Horace Slughorn, looking almost the same as he did in Harry's time, round-bellied and walrus-mustached, but with fewer lines around his eyes and perhaps a slightly less corpulent appearance.
"Yes, Horace. I have a new student for you," the Headmaster announced as he gestured toward Harry, "Gray, this is your Head of House, Professor Slughorn. Horace, this is Gray Skye. He will be completing his seventh year here at Hogwarts."
"Pleased to meet you, Professor," Harry said, offering the professor his hand to shake. Slughorn took it amicably, shook it in greeting, then turned his attention back to Dumbledore.
"Albus… a seventh-year transfer... this late in the year? NEWTs are only a few weeks away. Will he be able to cope with the rigorous course load?" Slughorn questioned.
"Horace, I have complete faith in young Mr. Skye here. He was previously home-schooled, and he is well up to the level of our seventh-year curriculum. Have no worries, my good man," Dumbledore conciliated, a small smile playing about his features as he discreetly gave Harry an inconspicuous wink.
"Now, if you'll be so kind as to escort Mr. Skye to his new dormitory and get him settled in, I would be most grateful," He continued, "And, Gray... if you should need me... my door will always be open to you."
"Thank you, sir."
o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -
Harry was vaguely aware that Professor Slughorn was speaking throughout the entirety of their walk down to the dungeons. However, he caught only snippets of the man's monologue... something about having to be careful about the trick step on the third-floor staircase and that lunch is always served in the Great Hall beginning at noon...
For the most part, Harry could not concentrate on the trivial lecture. He could think of nothing but the events of the last half hour.
His meeting with Professor Dumbledore had been... illuminating... to say the least and Harry's brain hurt every time he tried to comprehend the vast profundity of their conversation. He had, without intending to, divulged to the Headmaster much about the future that he probably should have kept quiet. Just knowing that Dumbledore was now aware that Harry will become the Elder wand's newest master was overwhelming. He was completely dazed by the fact that the man now had knowledge that horcruxes will play a significant role in the ongoing war.
But, Harry mused, this has always been the case. All of this had already occurred before Harry's time. He shivered as he suddenly realized... Dumbledore had always known. Always. He knew Harry would become the Elder wand's master because of the conversation they had just had in his office... and he was first clued in to the idea of horcruxes, because Harry showed him that book with all those markings. Even the fact the Harry had travelled back in time following the conclusion of the war, revealed to the Headmaster that Harry was successful in surviving that final showdown with Voldemort... years before the prophecy was foretold.
By the time Slughorn had led him to the Slytherin common room, Harry was so deep into his own thoughts that Slughorn had to call his name several times before he was pulled from his intense reverie.
"Mr. Skye?"
"Yes... sorry, sir. What were you saying?"
"I was just informing you of the password. Currently, it is Puritatem, however it changes weekly. The prefects take turns generating new ones. And speaking of prefects," Slughorn proclaimed as he swept in through the entryway, Harry following in his wake, "Ah... Mr. Snape! I see you have, once again, elected to study in seclusion instead of joining your fellow classmates out on the pitch. Pity... it appears to be quite a game, if the volume of the crowd is anything to go by."
As soon as Harry heard Snape's name, he rapidly scanned the room, eager to lay eyes on Snape. He wasn't difficult to spot. Curled up on a black leather settee by the hearth, eighteen-year-old Severus Snape sat alone, reading his Advanced Potion-Making text. His head was lowered in rapt consternation and his lank, ebony hair hung on either side of his pallid face, concealing his expression from view. It wasn't until Slughorn had finished speaking that Snape's obsidian eyes slowly lifted and locked onto Harry's smoky grey ones.
"Mr. Snape, may I introduce you to our newest member of Slytherin House... Gray Skye," Slughorn announced, "He will be completing his seventh year with us."
Snape closed his Potions book, stood up from the settee and crossed the room, his hand outstretched in greeting. Harry reached for his proffered hand, grasping it firmly in his own. Snape's long, thin fingers wrapped around the back of Harry's hand and lingered, touching lightly.
Harry stifled a soft gasp as he felt his pulse speed up and an unexplained weakness overtake him. He wasn't certain exactly what had caused his extreme reaction. Perhaps it was because the last time Snape had touched him so tenderly... he was dying amid a pool of blood.
"Well then, I'll just leave you two. I must get back to patrolling the halls. I'll see you in class, Mr. Skye," Slughorn added in valediction.
Neither Harry nor Snape returned his farewell as he departed from the common room. Both boys stood motionless, hands still entwined, eyes locked on one another.
Snape's dark, cavernous eyes were narrowed, and he gazed upon Harry with a suspicious, guarded expression, the deep, tenebrous eyes roving over Harry's features warily. Slowly, their hands broke apart, Snape's fingers brushing alongside Harry's as they withdrew.
Harry dropped his gaze and stared, unseeing, at a nondescript spot on the stone floor, as an unwelcome blush crept across his face.
"Who are you... really?" Snape asked, a low, hushed timbre to his voice.
"What...?" Harry replied as his head snapped back up, "What... what do you mean?"
"You're... nervous," Snape explained, "And you've arrived here with just two months remaining in the term... only three weeks prior to our NEWT exams. It's... odd. Not to mention... I can tell you're using a glamour charm on yourself."
Snape raised a pale hand and placed the tips of his long fingers to Harry's left temple, embedding them into strands of Harry's hair and carding through them languidly until the ends of the brown locks slipped past his wandering fingers and fell back beside Harry's face, "There is auxiliary magic here... and here..." he added as he swept one finger along the skin above Harry's left eye, causing his lids to fall and his breath to hitch at the soft touch.
"...and here," He finished as the same finger glided across Harry's forehead and lingered where the lightening-bolt scar had been only an hour before.
"You are... hiding something," Snape whispered charily.
"S-S-Severus... I... I am concealing my true identity … and there is a lot that I can't tell you... but..." Harry stammered, "...but I promise you... it's for a good reason. You... you can trust me, Severus."
"I don't believe Professor Slughorn referred to me by my given name, Mr. Skye..."
Harry swallowed hard past the lump in his throat as he realized that Snape was right. Slughorn hadn't called Snape by his first name. Just as Harry opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to explain away his blunder, he noticed that Snape's attention was now fixed upon the feather pendant around his neck. Obsidian eyes widened and, after only a brief moment, returned to stare deeply into grey eyes.
"Do you... do you know what this is?" Snape whispered, voice trembling.
Harry was taken aback, not by the question, but by the abrupt change in Snape's features. His guarded, reticent expression had melted away, replaced with a vulnerable openness, his eyes radiating a fragile inner beauty and an abiding warmth. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he gazed into those eyes, momentarily losing himself in their fathomless depths.
"Yes..." Harry answered softly, "Yes... it's a Chatham raven feather."
"Who gave this to you?" Snape whispered, his words were almost inaudible, his voice quavering with overwhelming emotion.
"You, Severus... you gave it to me."
Chapter End - TBC
A/N: Well guys, I seem to be consistently ahead of my own schedule. I'm not sure if that will continue, as August is my busiest month. However, I promise that I will do my very best to post updates in a timely manner.
And to all my fellow Snarry lovers out there, it will primarily be our two favorite characters from here on out. This chapter, very Dumbledore-heavy in content, will not be the norm. But, of course, it was essential to my story.
I'm giving myself a deadline of August 4th for the next chapter... but hopefully, I'll get it done before that time.
A HUGE thank you to YenGirl for helping me with this chapter! I really appreciate your assistance. :)
Please Review.