Not mine. Don't sue. Pretty please (which always looks SO good on legal documents).

ooOOoo

Chapter 18: Harry Lovegood

He had landed on Snape.

It took him a second to remember that Snape was dead. And in that second he was rolled over and off his landing place and his head hit the wall. There was a flash of light as black as it was bright, and when it cleared from his vision there was a wand pointed between his eyes.

"Think it's so funny now, Potter?"

Harry blinked, his head swimming. There was something wrong here. First, Snape was dead. Second, this wasn't Snape. Or at least it wasn't a Snape he'd ever met. This Snape had the same lank, greasy hair curtaining his face, but the face was unlined, without the deep grooves bitterness should have carved there. The nose looked even more like a cruel joke of nature against the slimmer face. Were those a couple of pimples on his cheek? And the eyes: instead of being dead black tunnels to a terrible dimension and no less frightening thanks to the amount of angry malice there, now there was something that sparked. Snape was dead. Was Harry dead, then? No: Hermione (who was Hermione? Oh, yes… one of Harry's best friends) had cast a spell to send Harry back through time. Some distance, but unfortunately not far enough for him to meet the Founders. Harry blinked and moistened dry lips with his tongue. "Why do you keep calling me 'Potter'?"

This, apparently, was not a normal reaction. Snape reared back, eyes narrowing. Instead of taking advantage of his opponent's surprise and grabbing his wand, Harry sat up instead, clutching at the stones when the floor swung like a hammock. "And where the hell am I?"

Snape levelled his wand again, this time with a more suspicious look. "You… Damn. Lumos." The tip of his wand glowed, illuminating the darkness and Harry saw he was in a dusty corridor. Only a few paintings hung on the walls, and they showed deserted landscapes as if the inhabitants had gone off to more interesting parts of the castle. "You…" He stopped, baffled. "Your eyes are green. And… and your nose is different." He paused, peering closer at Harry's forehead. "That's a hell of a curse-scar you've got there… You're not Potter."

"My name's Harry," said Harry, thinking like lightning despite what felt like it could be a concussion, and grateful for the first time he could remember for his scar. Damn Snape – even in the past he managed to give Harry grief. "Harry Lovegood."

"Lovegood?" said Snape, his voice high and cracking with disbelief.

"Lovegood," Harry replied firmly, wondering if Luna's special brand of weirdness had rubbed off on him. "Not Potter. Who are you?"

He was given a look far older than the face in front of him should have been able to convey. "My name's Snape."

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Ouch." His fingers came away sticky and smelling of copper. That was generally considered a bad sign. When he tried to stand up he staggered and would have fallen as his sight greyed out and a high static buzz filled his hearing, but the arm he flung out for support was caught around his bicep and held firmly. "Thanks," Harry breathed, hoping Snape wouldn't be sadistic enough to let him fall. It was a slim hope, and for a moment Harry felt the hand gripping his arm falter, as if Snape was weighing up whether to let go, but then the hand steadied. Harry put his head down and waited for the stars to fade and his vision to return. What a time to develop empathy with Draco, he thought as he straightened.

"You've hit your head. You should go to the hospital wing."

"No!" Harry winced, both at the loudness of his voice and the fact that he'd given away how desperate his position was. He couldn't go wandering through Hogwarts like this, not with so many people who might see him and remember him and need their memories wiped. "No."

Going to the time of the Founders was one thing. No-one from that time would be able to give details of his life to Voldemort. But if the pimples and the Slytherin badge on Snape's slightly threadbare robes were any indication, this was the time of his parents.

That could be very, very bad.

There was a deep well of pain in Harry that drew him towards any chance of seeing his parents again. But unfortunately Harry's heart had to take second place to his common sense. And common sense told him that the fewer people he involved, the better.

At some stage he should talk to Dumbledore, but Harry, his head swimming, couldn't decide if it was a good thing to do or not. All he knew was that Snape was here and that meant only one person to Obliviate.

(He didn't let his mind dwell on the facts that he neither knew how to Obliviate someone, and the person he needed to Obliviate was still Severus Snape, even if that Snape was young enough to have spots.)

In the meantime, he needed a good story.

"What are you doing here?"

Uh-oh, that was the question he wasn't wanting to answer. He decided to stall. "What year is this?"

His vision cleared enough to see Snape's expression: Snape thought he was insane.

"How hard did you hit your head?"

Harry managed what he hoped was a passable glower. "Not hard enough to forget it was you who hit it."

Snape looked less than impressed by the glower. "Huh. It's seventy-six. Nineteen seventy-six, if you need more accuracy." Snape's eyes glittered. "So who should I take you to see?"

"I can't see anyone. It's bad enough I've seen you."

"Oh? And why is that?" That glitter deepened as the malice grew.

Harry decided to do what worked best in times of stress involving Snape: lie through his teeth. "Because if it's nineteen seventy-six, then I'm in another dimension. I know a Snape, a Severus Snape, and he looks like you, but he's a bit older than me." That was an understatement. "I'm a Hogwarts student and I know the castle. Is Dumbledore headmaster?" He knew he was rambling, but couldn't stop himself.

"Do you want to see him?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

"Well, that was decisive."

"I need to go somewhere safe. To recover. My head…" It was hurting, but not like it did from Voldemort. "Get me somewhere I can recover."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's after hours and you're not a prefect to be wandering around. So if you try to get me in trouble I'll reciprocate. And because from the little I know of you, you like a good mystery. And I've got that in spades."

"How do you know I won't just bash you over the head with the shovel I'll use to bury you in the forest?"

Harry grinned. "That was almost funny. Considering it feels like you've already bashed me over the head."

"If it's that bad, you need to get to the Infirmary."

"I'm not going to the Infirmary."

"Huh."

There was a long, thoughtful pause as Snape weighed up his options. Harry could see his suspicion warring over his desire not to get involved and his curiosity.

He saw the moment when curiosity won out.

Snape glared at him with slightly less malice than he usually manifested. "What House are you in?"

Harry blessed Hermione's thoughtfulness in making him remove his Gryffindor insignia. "Ravenclaw," he said firmly, going for broke.

"Uh." Snape didn't look convinced. But that didn't matter in the next second, as something caught up with Harry and sucked every bit of strength in his body out and left him staggering with exhaustion. His vision greyed around the edges and when it cleared again he was leaning up against the wall with Snape's hand on his arm again.

"You're grey," Snape said matter-of-factly. "You need to see Pomfrey."

"I need not to see Pomfrey," Harry snapped. "She'll ask too many questions."

"She doesn't always ask questions," Snape said after a small pause.

"Maybe not your Pomfrey, but she always asks me questions when I end up in hospital, and anyway, I'm not meant to be here. I don't want anyone else to know."

"They'll find out."

"Maybe not until – I don't know…"

"Then where shall I take you?" Snape huffed, exasperated. He tried to stalk around Harry, but the intimidating pose was lost as he grimaced and hobbled. "Ouch. Damn it. You've twisted my knee."

"So go and see Pomfrey," Harry grinned humourlessly. "Or will she ask you too many questions?"

Snape glared. Before he could say anything, a shuffling from down the darkened corridor caught their attention. The pair froze.

"Not just mice, is it, my precious?"

"Do you have a Filch where you come from?" Snape whispered.

"And a Mrs Norris," Harry whispered back.

"Well, it's either Filch or Gollum coming this way, and I'd put Galleons on the former."

Harry wondered if Hogwarts had ever had a second caretaker called Gollum, but now wasn't the time to ask. Snape pulled him backwards towards the little door that, in Harry's time, had been locked.

It still was. But Snape pressed his palm to the lock without a keyhole and the door opened silently on oiled hinges. He pushed Harry through and silently closed the door behind them. Harry slid down the wall his groping hand found as his legs gave way.

"Lumos." The tip of Snape's wand glowed, illuminating a small room with not much more than a chair, a pile of blankets in a corner, and an old wooden box. Then Snape twitched his wand and said a sound-blocking spell, and there was a thin ripple around the walls and door and over the window like they were inside a soap bubble, and Harry realised if he screamed now no-one would hear him. He almost panicked: he'd been meant to go back to the time of the Founders. Well, unless Snape had wandered a lot as a student – and with Filch in tow – this wasn't it. Something had gone wrong with the spell. Majorly. And now he was in a locked room with a junior version of Snape, who was eyeing him as if he found him just as loathsome now as he would in the future.

Future. Damn. Harry absolutely couldn't tell him he was from the future. There would be far too many questions and he didn't trust Snape not to try and trick the answers out of him. Could he brew Veritaserum yet?

And on top of it all, Harry's vision was greying out again. His head lolled back against the wall and he winced as pain pulsed in the back of his skull again. Snape must have cracked him pretty hard against the wall. Maybe he had concussion. But he was too hungry for concussion. Harry suddenly realised he was ravenous.

"My pack…"

His pack was passed to him. Harry fumbled with the clasp and reached inside for an apple, a flask of pumpkin juice, anything with sugar… and found –

"Euch!" He found a mess of mangled… he didn't know what to call it. It looked like food wasn't capable of being transported through time. He picked up the flask and undid the top and took a cautious sniff. Hmm. It smelt like plant juice, but plant juice a long way away from being anything palatable. A long way before. Where the apple had been packed was a branch.

Double damn it. It looked like he'd been lucky to survive the spell. Experimentally, he reached out with the gloves, which felt oddly brittle as they stretched over the backs of his hands. "Why am I here?" he muttered, knowing it was a silly, esoteric question to which the gloves wouldn't be able to show him an answer.

But the gloves twitched and swung his hands round towards Snape, who flinched. And when Snape moved sideways the gloves followed. Snape moved again, and this time the gloves did not follow: they shuddered and the yellowing leather curled up like dry leaves, crackling away from Harry's hand, and fell to the floor.

"Oh, shit," said Harry as his heart sank. He'd been depending on those gloves. But it looked like they didn't travel through time any better than food did.

"What was that?" Snape asked suspiciously, his wand pointing at the remains of the gloves.

"Mendeleev gloves," Harry said glumly. "They were meant to help me find what I've come here for. Damn. Draco's going to kill me."

"You can make Mendeleev gloves?"

"No. They belonged to a… a friend of mine, who got them from one of the professors at my Hogwarts. The professor made them."

Snape sat back on his heels. "I've been trying to make some," he said, almost conversationally, while steadily keeping his wand trained on Harry. "What do you know about them?"

"Well, they're classified as Dark Arts, but I'm not quite sure why as they've been absolutely brilliant. And they're really difficult to make. And I'm about to pass out if I don't get some food, so could you put your wand down for a bit, please? I don't think I could attack you even if I wanted to."

"True. You look like shit."

But there was a rummaging out of sight as Snape searched for something in the shadows. And then a faint, rustling slicing followed by a crisp sound.

"Here."

It was a slice of apple, peeled and cored. Harry took it gratefully and chewed with relief. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. "'S it a magic apple?" he said, realising this was the perfect moment for Snape to have poisoned him a la Sleeping Beauty.

Snape snorted, amused. "It's a Pippin. Out of season, but otherwise unmagical. Here." He was using a small knife to cut slices for Harry. Harry wondered what other uses the knife had had, like blood sacrifices or chopping up belladonna, but the apple was too good. Snape, still sitting on his heels in the opposite corner, cut himself a slice and ate it neatly, so the blade was probably safe. Harry finished off most of the rest of the apple with Snape having the occasional piece. When they'd wiped their fingers on their cloaks, Snape asked, "Still hungry?"

"Yes. No." He yawned and winced.

"Here." Snape was crouching next to him now. Harry jerked away, then told himself to relax. "I've done this before."

"On people?"

Snape's grin was a rictus of what humour should be. "On myself. Best test subject there is." He tapped Harry's head with his wand. "How's that?"

The pain was gone, leaving Harry feeling light with relief. He yawned and this time it felt good and a warm wave of relief from the end of pain rolled through him. "'S a'right."

"Are you sure? How many fingers am I holding up?"

But Harry was too exhausted for counting games. He slid down the rest of the way and decided that stone floors were completely underrated as mattresses. This one was fine. And he…

He dimly registered through his sleep that he was moved a little as something was tucked around him.

When he woke there was sunlight cutting a narrow beam through the tall, thin arrow-port in the wall. He was lying on a folded blanket with his head on a cushion and his cloak tucked around him. He was alone.

There was a note next to the cushion: Back during breakfast, it read in Snape's angular handwriting.

Harry tried to judge the time of day. The sunlight was pale and almost horizontal, so it had to be very early. He yawned and snuggled back down again, drawing his cloak up around his chin. He was probably in a great deal of trouble but right now he couldn't be bothered worrying about it.

He dozed.

ooOOoo

He was still dozing when Snape came back with toast and a bottle of pumpkin juice. He also had some more apples, to Harry's relief. He was especially relieved to see Snape, who might have decided to get rid of any potential hazard (i.e. Harry) by walling it up in a deserted part of the castle. It was a strange thing to be relieved to see Snape: Harry could count on the fingers of one foot all the times that had happened.

Happily unaware of Harry's distrustful musings, Snape squatted down on the floor and spread out the napkin. "People get curious if I start stealing off with food, so I could only bring the basics."

It sounded like an apology. Harry was also intrigued by the suggestion Snape had been questioned for taking food before.

"It's brilliant," Harry said, tucking in ravenously.

He was halfway through when he realised Snape was staring at him.

"What?"

"You look a lot like someone who's a student here."

"Potter, didn't you say? But you said the nose is different. And the eye colour."

"The scar's a big hint, too. It's not something you can fake."

Harry suddenly lost what appetite he'd had. "No. It's not."

Snape seemed to take that as the hint it was meant, and changed the topic. "So what are you doing here?"

"I can't tell you. But I can promise you that what I'm looking for won't be used against you or Hogwarts."

"So how are you meant to find it?"

"Well, I was going to use my Mendeleev gloves, but there was a slight problem with disintegration."

"That's always an issue with research."

Harry looked up and smiled. It was weird hearing jokes from Snape – well, unless they were directed against someone, of course. He yawned. "What's the matter with me? I just can't seem to stop falling asleep."

"I noticed. I was wondering if you'd gone into a coma last night. But you seemed all right every time I scanned you."

Harry noticed that Snape looked pretty tired, too. Like he hadn't slept much the previous night. "Thanks for sitting up with me."

Snape shrugged as if embarrassed. It was hard to tell, because he shifted his head so that his greasy hair fell forward to cover his expression. "Bodies are hard to cover up. Even around here."

"I'm sure you could arrange something with some passing monster in the Forest," Harry said comfortably, yawning.

Snape glared at him, then smiled hesitantly as he realised Harry was joking. "I'll see you again at lunch," he said. And was gone. Harry wished he'd thought to ask him where the nearest showers were – Snape's hair had been wet at the ends, suggesting he'd found time for a shower before breakfast – and, even more importantly, where the bathroom was.

But Harry was a wizard and he knew a few spells, and Snape would be back at lunchtime to tell him where the bathroom was, and…

…and Harry was asleep in the next minute.

ooOOoo