Chapter One - The Boy Who Leapt Through Time
Harry jolted awake. He blinked for a moment and sat up, fumbling for his glasses across the cold unvarnished floor.
"Sirius?" He called out, but his voice found little purchase. The wind howled and rattled a loose shutter at a staccato beat that matched his racing heart, and as he finally managed to shove his glasses onto his face, he took in his surroundings. His first thought was that he had stumbled into a Shrieking-Shack-like room in the Department of Mysteries, and that he would find Sirius sprawled somewhere nearby. However, since the room was conspicuously empty, and lacked any of the fantastical displays of magic that characterised each room in the Department of Mysteries, Harry was starting to suspect that somehow he wasn't even in London any more.
A great bang reverberated through the room, dust visibly falling from a door in the furthest corner of the room.
"Where's the cannon?" Harry heard a muffled yell from a lump on the nearby sofa he'd failed to realise was a person.
A second bang, even louder than the first, elicited a scratchy groan as the door's hinges protested. Harry scrambled away until his back was against the wall. He could feel the violent vibrations of a storm outside and it filled his head with a low buzz that was hard to distinguish from his building panic. A disturbance upstairs drew his attention. He picked himself up from the ground, shedding a moth-eaten blanket, cursing as he failed to locate his wand in his pockets.
Two things happened next, neither fully processed in the moment by Harry's unbelieving mind. The door burst from its hinges and Hagrid's hulking frame appeared in the doorway. He entered, shaking a large, pink umbrella. Second, Uncle Vernon lumbered down some stairs like an uncontrolled avalanche, a rifle in his hands.
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey, I'll tell yeh that," Hagrid said with a second shake of his umbrella that managed to spray even Harry at the far end of the room.
Uncle Vernon squeaked, staring up at the behemoth of a man, with round, panicked eyes. Harry could see Dudley sitting up on his scraggly sofa bed and Aunt Petunia peeking around Vernon's large waist.
Hagrid said something, but all Harry could hear was the sound of the thunder and rain outside. He watched with unblinking fascination as Hagrid and Vernon traded barbs. He looked down at his hands and blinked. They were unrecognisable; tiny and uncalloused. He turned them over and stared at the unblemished skin while he tried to ignore Hagrid and his distractingly pink umbrella. Even in the flickering light provided by Uncle Vernon's candle and the interspersed flashes of lightning, Harry could make out none of his normal scars, even ones he'd received just months before. I must not tell lies. He scoffed to himself, but it came out practically a squeak.
A deafening crack of thunder snatched Harry's attention back to the present, or maybe it had been Hagrid slamming the door back up from the ground into its frame.
"Now that must be young Harry," said Hagrid, scratching his beard with a look of barely bridled displeasure.
Dudley stuttered from where he'd crawled behind his mother, bugging eyes pointing accusingly over to Harry.
Hagrid glanced over to Harry's corner and did a double take. "Oh, there yeh are, Harry. Las' time I saw yeh, you was only just a babe," he squinted, "but you've got yeh mother's eyes that's fer sure, and your fathers looks." He chuckled to himself, giving Harry a crinkly smile.
"Now where's that tea, eh?" Hagrid said, rubbing his hands together. "Though of course I wouldn't say no to something stronger if yeh have the mind."
"I demand that you leave right now, sir," Vernon said. "You are breaking and entering."
"Oh, shut it Vernon, yeh great prune," said Hagrid, reaching over and grabbing the rifle from Vernon's shaking hands. He bent the barrel into a knot with apparent ease and threw it into the corner. He quickly turned and took one large step, covering almost a third of the room as he pointed his umbrella at the dusty fireplace. With a murmured incendio, Hagrid ignited a roaring fire.
"What is going on?" Harry muttered to himself in a high pitched voice he hadn't heard in a number of years.
Hagrid didn't seem to notice, fishing as he was through his humongous coat. Soon, Hagrid had a copper kettle and a skillet of sausages on the go, investing the creeping warmth from the fire with a delicious smell that made Harry's stomach rumble.
"Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley." Vernon's eyes didn't leave Hagrid for a moment.
Hagrid chuckled, a harder edge in his voice as he regarded the Dursleys through bushy brows. "That great puddin' of a son don't need anymore fattenin' up." His eyes shifted instead to Harry and his expression softened. "Come and have some, Harry, they don't bite unless I want 'em to."
Harry did as invited, taking the sausage in what felt like an out of body experience. There was no mistaking it now. Harry might have forgiven some of the other strange events of the last few minutes as an odd dream, but Harry could never have forgotten the specific details of this sausage, charred on one side, deep red-brown, and slightly crooked. His senses were overwhelmed with the nostalgia of the experience. This, Harry thought with certainty, was the sausage that had marked the start of his life — his true life that had begun on his 11th birthday, five years ago.
"Anyway — Harry." Hagrid turned from the fire and faced Harry. "A very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here. Might'a sat on it at one point but it'll taste just fine, I reckon."
From one of his many pockets, Hagrid presented a slightly squashed box to Harry.
Harry opened the lid, knowing exactly what he'd find. Green icing on a sticky chocolate cake saying 'Happy Birthday Harry'.
"Can't believe yer already eleven," Hagrid sniffed.
Harry stared at the cake in silence. His brain finally offered a suggestion, and Harry laughed to himself. But really, what other options were there? Harry, more than most people, knew what vivid dreams felt like, and this was no dream.
"Ah, I suppose you're wondering who I am, I forget yeh don't know me," Hagrid spoke again. "The name's Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."
He held out one enormous hand and shook Harry's entire arm.
As Hagrid began preparing his tea, Harry hesitated, not knowing yet what to say. After a moment he broke the silence. "What are you doing here?"
Hagrid chuckled, "I was goin' to ask you the same thing, what are a bunch of muggles like you — excluding you of course, Harry — doin' in the middle of the bloomin' ocean? Trying to outrun magic?" At that, he gave a booming laugh, and Uncle Vernon seemed to deflate with a wheeze. "I'm here," Hagrid continued, looking at Harry, "to take yeh shopping for Hogwarts. You'll be knowing all about Hogwarts o' course."
Harry smiled, his pounding heart and rushing thoughts calming somewhat at Hagrid's easy familiarity. "Uh, no Hagrid, never heard of it."
Hagrid's stormy face turned to the Dursleys. "Dursleys!" He roared.
And as Harry re-watched a scene that was as familiar to him as the backs of his hands— well maybe that wasn't the best analogy any more— a feeling of certainty settled in his stomach.
However, this time there was no second past version of Harry he was observing from the shadows. There was no Hermione. And this was definitely not a four and a half hour trip backwards, like in his third year with a time turner.
"I knew yeh weren't getting your letters, Harry," Hagrid shook his head, "but to think you hadn't even heard of Hogwarts for Merlin's sake. Did you never wonder where yeh parents learnt it all?"
"Learnt what, Hagrid sir?" Harry's child-like voice, no, it was a child's voice, rang out in accusation against the cowering Dursleys.
"Yer a wizard, Harry." Hagrid spoke the words, and a fire began to burn within Harry's stomach as images flashed before his eyes; images of things that had just happened to him mere minutes ago from his perspective. The echoing steps of his friends running through the ministry halls. The prophecy, whispered into his mind. The skull white masks of death eaters stalking out of the shadows. Sirius, Remus, and the order arriving in a burst of spellfire. And then the last thing. Bellatrix's shrieking laugh, as she cursed Sirius in the side. Sirius had tumbled through the whispering veil and Harry had jumped right after him.
Harry was sure of it now. Rather than to the realm of death, the veil had sent him back in time.
Harry sat up, Hagrid's giant coat slipping onto the floor. The noise that had awoken him, tap tap, repeated itself on a hatched window to his right. Harry scrambled over the back of the sofa and opened it, letting in fresh air, morning light, and a screeching owl. Harry looked at the bird and stretched. After going to bed last night, Harry's thoughts had been racing too much to sleep any significant stretch of time, but with fresh air blowing against the back of his neck and pale light filling the room, some of his exhaustion seemed to lift.
"Hello there," Harry muttered to the bird, taking the newspaper from sharp talons and unrolling it with a flick of his wrist. On his way to search Hagrid's coat for some Knuts, Harry froze. Staring at him from the front page of the paper was a very familiar face framed with the boldly printed phrase:
SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN.
Harry laughed, eliciting a snorting sound from the prone figure of Hagrid over in the corner.
The owl continued to screech, shaking its pouch-laden leg at Harry.
Harry checked the date of the paper: '31st July 1991', and he read the article below the headline,
Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous convict to ever be held in the Azkaban fortress, has escaped, leaving the wizarding world reeling and baffled. The fortress, previously thought inescapable, has been swarming with Aurors following Black's escape…
"Harry!" Hagrid grumbled, still yet to have moved. "Pay the owl would yeh? Ruddy bird won't let a man sleep in a bit."
Harry put the paper down and rifled through Hagrid's coat until he found a pocket jingling with coins. He dropped the five required Knuts into the owl's pouch, at which point it seemed to give him a look saying 'finally', and flew off.
As Harry watched the bird weave off into the sky, Hagrid sat up and yawned. "Best be getting on, Harry, got a busy day ahead of us."
Harry munched on a sausage that he'd picked off the now-cold skillet and sighed. What in the bloody hell was happening.
As he gathered up his coat from the floor, Hagrid froze, much like Harry had, his eyes scanning the front page of the Daily Prophet with a sudden wakefulness. Hagrid shook his head and grumbled into his beard. He turned to Harry and said, tone serious, "Right, this isn't good. Change o' plans, Harry. Best move yeh self quickly now."
Harry was a bit thrown. Until that paper had come, everything had been exactly as he remembered from five years ago. Harry wondered if the fact that he was already changing the past meant that he was going to die some sort of horrific death. He didn't think he'd done anything much different that might be considered 'meddling with time'. Certainly he hadn't done anything that might result in Sirius escaping Azkaban a whole two years early.
Harry decided it might be best to try and stem any further changes. He tried to channel the curiosity he'd felt when he first heard about Sirius Black and gestured to the newspaper asking, "Who is Sirius Black, Hagrid?"
Hagrid looked uncomfortable for a moment before sighing.
"Not sure I'm the one to be telling yeh this really, but I s'pose it's better coming from me than from that rag," he said, gesturing to the paper. "Yeh know how I mentioned last night that yer parents were betrayed by someone to You-Know-Who? Well, that was him. Sirius Black was supposedly yeh parent's friend, and he betrayed them."
Harry remembered the weight of the statement and supposed it would have been even more devastating for him to hear this at the tender age of eleven.
"That's awful," said Harry, looking down at his hands. There was a small ball of hope his confused thoughts had conjured last night, and it pulsed inside him as he wondered whether Sirius had looked at his own hands last night and noticed the years that had fallen away.
"Why would he try to escape from Azkaban now?"
Hagrid's frown deepened even further. "That's a right good question, Harry, and one I don't like to think on too greatly. It's time we leave. Now."
Hagrid plucked the door from its frame and tossed it with a clatter to the floor. Harry embraced the sound of Vernon's muffled yell with a smile, and stepped outside. The salty spray whipped at his face and billowed his oversized clothes around him. As Harry stood there, letting the mellow morning light warm his face, his thoughts turned to Sirius and his friends.
"Come on now, Harry. Get on down here," Hagrid said with a wave, rocking the much-too small boat precariously.
Harry shaded his eyes with Hagrid's newspaper and worked his way carefully down the rocks into the prow of Hagrid's boat, taking up the little remaining space. With a quick tap on the side from Hagrid's umbrella, they lurched off towards the shore.
Hagrid didn't seem to be much of a morning person, so Harry was left to his thoughts. As the horizontal green stroke of distant coastline grew in definition, Harry felt a pool of anxiety simmer up in his belly. He clenched his fists as the images of his friends' faces flashed across his mind. If this wasn't some sort of magical coma or spell induced hallucination, which Harry didn't at all believe, the list of people he'd lost had just grown a hundredfold. If he really had gone back in time— Harry grit his teeth, unable to finish the thought. His eyes were dried up by the tears he'd shed silently in the night, but the feeling was still raw. Harry had never felt so alone.
Harry glanced down at Sirius' face on the crinkled paper in his hands.
Well, maybe he wasn't completely alone.
Last night, everything had happened exactly as Harry remembered it, but this significant difference had to mean something.
The boat began to slow, and Hagrid steered them to a gentle stop at the harbour wall. Hagrid seemed to have perked up now, and loudly pointed out some regular things, like a parking metre and a traffic light. "Such odd things these muggles invent, eh, Harry?"
It only took a five-minute wait at the station before they were on a train towards London. Hagrid spent the journey suspiciously eyeing the few other passengers, who took care to avoid eye contact with the giant man. "We'll be getting off now, Harry," Hagrid said as the conductor announced their arrival at Crawley. As Hagrid gingerly squeezed himself through the carriage, Harry racked his memory but was certain that they had originally gone directly to London rather than stopping at Crawley, a place he'd never even heard of before.
"What are we doing here, Hagrid?"
"There's been a change o' plans, see," said Hagrid, ushering Harry along the street and almost lifting him off his feet. "I was to take yeh to Diagon Alley and get yeh things fer Hogwarts, but I think Dumbledore'll wan't to see yeh safe and sound immediately."
Hagrid scratched his beard thoughtfully, "I'll have teh go to Diagon later meself, but don't mind yehself any o' that."
Harry followed along, having to jog at times to keep up with Hagrid's distracted gait.
"Is this because of Sirius- uhh, Black?" Harry asked, stumbling over his words a bit.
Hagrid slowed a bit, looking down at Harry sadly.
"Didn't want t' scare yeh, Harry, but I should'a supposed with parents like yours you'd be a clever one." He sighed and continued left down a country lane, pace picking up again.
"Yur right. Yeh could be in real danger, Harry, and I'm not comfortable taking yeh to Diagon Alley m'self without Dumbledore's say so."
"So what are we doing here in the middle of nowhere?" Harry asked, curious.
"We're almost there. Ah," he gestured forward with his hand, "here we are. Elphias Doge's place. An old friend of Dumbledore's."
Harry furrowed his brow at the empty field Hagrid had gestured to, but as his eyes settled, a steepled stone house appeared. The sound of cattle reached his ears but, as he got closer, he thought he could see two dangerous glowing horns on each of their heads.
They quickly made their way up a grassy path to the large ornate wooden front-door. With three very large knocks, Hagrid made their presence known.
A moment later, the somewhat familiar face of Elphias Doge peered around the door. Harry noted, with amusement, the bright yellow knitted fireman's hat atop wispy white hair. It made Harry think of a dandelion.
"Ah, Hagrid, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?" He then seemed to notice Harry, at which point his eyes bugged and he cried, "This must be young Harry Potter. My, how much like your father you look," and as he peered closer, "but those eyes, those are your mother's."
"Yes, thank yeh, Elphias, but we're in quite a hurry if yeh don't mind. We have need of yer floo."
Elphias straightened and chuckled, "Oh, Hagrid, I'm sure there's no real rush. What's Dumbledore got you doing this time? Always time for a cup of tea."
Hagrid looked genuinely regretful for a moment at having to turn down tea, but he mustered himself and gave Doge a look. "I'm sure you've seen the paper this mornin'. Need to be gettin' Harry here to Hogwarts."
Doge seemed to be surprised for a moment before his face turned serious. "Ah, I see. Of course." He turned to Harry, "Do take care, Mr Potter, it was a real pleasure to meet you, even briefly. You can trust Hagrid to take care of you. Any man Dumbledore trusts is a man I'd trust with my life."
Harry smiled at him, fondly. "Thank you, Elphias sir. Hagrid is great."
Hagrid beamed at this, then cleared his throat. "After you, Elphias."
Harry had only interacted with Doge a few times at Grimmauld Place last year, but from those few occasions he'd come across as intelligent, if a bit odd. A bit like Dumbledore really.
Doge led them through a crooked corridor, passing a number of doors before they reached the kitchen. The fireplace was burning despite the warm summer morning, but Harry couldn't feel the heat. Paintings adorned most free space on the walls, some of their occupants waving at Harry and others scowling.
Hagrid thanked Doge again and, with a regretful glance at some scones piled up on the windowsill, pinched a liberal helping of Floo powder and crawled into the green flames with a loud call, "Hogwarts, Dumbledore's office".
Harry had to reach on his tiptoes but managed to grab some powder. He threw it into the flame but turned as Doge cleared his throat. "An unsolicited word of advice, Harry. Try not to change too much."
Harry's heartbeat spiked and he searched Doge's face, whose eyes were aimed above Harry, at a portrait above the fireplace.
"W-what do you mean?" Harry asked.
"Hogwarts will change you. Magic will change you." He chuckled then, looking at Harry.
Harry glanced back at the portrait. It depicted Dumbledore and Doge together, much younger than Harry had ever seen them, standing in a grand archway.
"It was a long time ago, now, that I stood where you are, on the cusp of my first adventure. And forgive an old man his self importance, but, if I could give myself any advice, it would be to hold onto youth for as long as you can."
"I'll keep it in mind," he answered, panic receding.
"Now off you go, Harry." Doge said, with misty eyes. He turned away, muttering to himself.
Not knowing whether to feel encouraged or creeped out by that, Harry turned and followed Hagrid in a swirl of flame and nose-itching ash, mind spinning with the same unbalancing lurch. Try not to change too much, he thought with a sour smile. Not even twenty-four hours had passed and it seemed it was already too late for that.
Harry tumbled to the floor of Dumbledore's office. His senses rang at the familiar mix of fresh highland air and ancient stone; Hogwarts' magic filled the air with a warmth that had nothing to do with the season. The feeling made him ache for his wand again.
"Ah, Harry, thought yeh got lost in the Floo there fer a second." Hagrid laughed, the idea apparently hadn't actually worried him.
Harry dusted himself off and rose to his feet, taking in the familiar eclectic mix of books, gadgets, and furniture that made up the headmaster's office.
"I'm just gonna have a look around fer Dumbledore, see if I can find one of the Professors teh keep yeh company. Oh, and before I forget, I've got yer Gringotts key here, be best t' give it to the headmaster for safekeeping when he arrives." Hagrid placed the key on a shelf almost six feet off the ground.
"Okay, thanks, Hagrid," Harry smiled at him. "Perhaps you could put it somewhere I can reach?"
Hagrid looked surprised, but acquiesced, crouching down and placing the key on the floor. As Hagrid disappeared, shoulders hunched and scraping each side of the narrow staircase that led out of Dumbledore's office, Harry felt a renewed wave of exhaustion hit him. He swiped the key off the ground and slouched down into the padded red and gold seat opposite the headmaster's desk. He reached, idly, for a lemon drop. The sweet-sour tang gave him the kick he needed and he sat up, crossing his legs in the chair, and contemplated his situation while he waited.
As far as he'd been able to figure, everything that had happened last night, from the moment he woke up in the shack, was the same as he remembered. Sirius' escape, however, was a big question mark.
He tried to remember what Hermione had gone on about when she'd been doing her homework on time-travel theory for Arithmancy. There had been something about the difference between time travel and different universes according to someone's theory on tempo-thingy. Harry couldn't remember the details, unfortunately.
Regardless, what most worried Harry was whether this world was the same wizarding world he had come from, or whether it was some sort of similar yet different copy. How far could he trust his memory as a guide for what was happening around him? Sirius' escape made it almost impossible to tell. So far, his best guess was that Sirius was responsible for the changes he could see. However, it was equally possible that the Sirius Black of this world shared no memories of Harry's, and that Harry himself was now a stranger in a different universe.
After a few minutes, which Harry spent glancing through Hagrid's newspaper for any further clues, the fireplace flared up.
Professor Dumbledore emerged, emerald flames licking emerald robes. He straightened and dusted himself with a wave, patting a lump in his pocket. He looked up at Harry and blinked.
A wave of conflicting emotions rolled over him, and Harry's tongue got stuck in his mouth.
"Good morning. Mr Potter I presume?" Dumbledore asked, seemingly unabashed at finding a tiny person reclining in his office. At Harry's silent shock his polite smile turned conspiratorial, "I would wager you've seen more people walk through fireplaces today than you are used to."
"That's hardly the strangest thing that's happened today, Professor Dumbledore," Harry recovered, returning Dumbledore's smile with a forced grin.
"Ah, so you know who I am? I suppose Hagrid has explained the fundamentals to you?"
Harry cursed himself in his head. He needed to get better at remembering he was eleven, not fifteen, at least while he decided if he would tell anyone the truth. The very idea sent a jolt of panic running through him. For now, at least, it was easier to simply keep pretending. "Hagrid told me about you, sir, and I assumed since this is your office..." he trailed off, gesturing to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore smiled, and moved around Harry to stand behind his desk. "Well your assumption is correct, Mr Potter."
"Please, call me Harry, sir." At the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, Harry felt almost ready to burst with his secret. But he restrained himself.
"Of course, Harry. Now you'll have to excuse me, I have just returned from an unexpected errand and I have some business to attend to.
"Expecto Patronum."
And, with a flick of his wand, Dumbledore summoned a blazing white phoenix which quickly disappeared through the wall.
Dumbledore smiled at Harry's curious look. "The Patronus charm, a powerful defensive spell that can be utilised as a messenger, should one require it. I've sent for Hagrid, who I'm sure is looking tirelessly for me somewhere in the castle. I've sent also for a Hogwarts Professor who will escort you to Diagon Alley." His expression grew serious. "I am sorry, Harry, that your introduction to our world has been so peculiar, but, alas, the unforeseen and unexpected are our constant companions, especially where magic is concerned."
"Why didn't Hagrid take me to Diagon Alley, sir? Is it because of Sirius Black?" Harry asked, wondering who would be taking him instead. McGonagall, he supposed.
Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon spectacles, face serious. "Has Hagrid explained the reasons behind Sirius Black's incarceration to you?" Dumbledore followed Harry's gaze to the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Harry nodded.
Dumbledore gave a reassuring smile. "Then you understand the reason for his caution. I would trust Hagrid with my life, but your life is much more precious than mine, and there are others here at Hogwarts who are better suited to protecting you, in the unlikely event that you would need it."
Harry smiled. "I'm good at attracting unlikely danger, Professor."
Dumbledore smiled brightly at him, "I'm sure you are, Harry, but let us hope in this instance our caution is unnecessary."
Harry considered a few questions that were straining to pass his lips. He wanted to know whether things were the same as before, but it was hard to formulate in a way that wouldn't sound strange or suspicious. Before he could speak, the sound of grinding stone caught both of their attentions.
Harry's eyes widened as Snape billowed into the room, scowling.
"Ah, Professor Snape. Thank you for agreeing to escort young Harry here to obtain his wizardly appurtenances."
Snape's eyes snapped to Harry and, after a slightly awkward moment of staring, Snape looked back at Dumbledore and curled his lip.
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore, I am so glad you thought to contact me."
"Excellent. Now, Harry, Professor Snape here, apart from being an outstanding teacher, is quite the accomplished duellist. You can trust him to keep you safe should the need arise. Severus, Harry, do have a pleasant day." And with that, Dumbledore strode off with a wink to Harry, vanishing down the stairs.
Harry turned to Snape and regarded him. He was used to the thoughts of hatred and revulsion that Snape's face usually provoked, but now, truthfully, Harry just didn't feel any of those things. Ever since he'd seen that glimpse into Snape's mind in their final Occlumency lesson, a few weeks ago, Harry's resentment had deflated somewhat.
It had been replaced with something weirdly close to sympathy.
Harry knew what it was like to be bullied, and from what Harry had seen of Snape's childhood, it didn't look like Snape had been as lucky with friends as Harry had been. Maybe Harry could find a way of starting off their relationship on a more positive note, at least for the benefit of losing fewer house points.
Snape looked down his nose at Harry, regarding him with deep black eyes. "What are you doing in those rags?"
Harry looked down at his baggy clothes, confused. Was Snape concerned about him? Maybe this really was some sort of strange parallel universe, in which Snape had a heart.
With a back and forth wave of his wand, Snape conducted Harry's oversized clothes into a much better fitting shirt and jeans. Snape's sneer lessened slightly. "I won't have rumours starting that I'm walking down Diagon Alley with a homeless person. I am not running a charity, Mr Potter."
Harry's surprise died in its infancy, but it was comforting, in a way, to know that this was the same Snape.
"Thank you, Professor, these are the nicest clothes anyone has ever given me," Harry smiled cutely. He might be trying to get on Snape's good side, but this was a golden opportunity. Harry wouldn't be wrong to prank him a little, surely?
Snape turned away with a carefully controlled expression, clearly disgusted that his self-service had been misconstrued as generosity.
"Come, let's get this done with. I have plenty of tasks to complete before the day is through and I didn't factor in babysitting. Have you got money, or a Gringotts key?"
Harry nodded, "Yes professor, I have my key."
Snape nodded. "Fine. Now, you are to enter the Floo first, throwing in a pinch of Floo powder and stating clearly 'Borgin and Burkes'. Do try to hold back any stutters so I don't have to follow you to Merlin knows where. Do I make myself clear?"
Harry tried to hold back his surprise at their destination. He'd visited accidentally once before, doing the exact thing Snape was warning him not to. He nodded again to Snape, "Yes Professor, no stuttering."
Harry stood up from his seat, shuffling over to the fireplace. He reached for some Floo powder and ignited the red flames into green. "Borgin and Burkes!"
Harry, once again, tumbled out of the Floo, a headache starting to bloom. He wasn't sure whether it was a result of the continuous Floo travel or the fact that he kept falling on his face. The Floo flared behind him and Snape stepped through. He looked down at Harry and rolled his eyes.
Harry grumbled and tried to shake the dust from his front. It wasn't his fault that Mr Borgin had never heard of a cleaning spell. He glanced around the dimly lit store; it really was a mess. "Why is it so dusty in here?" He muttered, rubbing his nose.
Snape glanced at Harry. "Mr Borgin deals in… uniquely crafted miscellanea. I wouldn't recommend attempting a cleaning charm on some of these items. Charms can react quite unexpectedly when encountering powerful enchantments."
"He could at least use a broom," Harry muttered. "Isn't it quite dangerous then, to have all these dark artefacts all together in one room?"
"I do not deal in dark artefacts, young sir," Mr Borgin said, emerging from a shadowed doorway.
"Ah!" Harry jumped.
Borgin continued, as if used to such reactions, "The Ministry does not condone the sale of such things. We, of course, supply strictly regulated merchandise." He turned to Snape, "Ah, Professor Snape, a pleasure as always."
Snape inclined his head, "Mr Borgin."
Borgin smiled widely. "I should have left the educating to you. I dare say you know more than I do on these matters."
Snape gave a tight and bitter smile. "You are too kind, Borgin, but I am simply here to confirm that my order is finalised."
"Ah yes," he cleared his throat as he glanced at Harry who did his best to look dumb and porous, "The flame-"
Snape cut off any further words, "The potion, please, Borgin."
Harry looked around for a bit longer as they waited for Borgin to return.
"Here it is, Mr Snape," Borgin said, shuffling back into the room. Harry caught a glimpse of a dark green bottle with a white stopper pass between the two.
"Let's go then, Mr Potter." Snape nodded to Borgin and strode off for the front door. Harry followed him out into the narrow streets of Knockturn Alley, Borgin's farewells muted by the closing door.
"To curtail your questions and uncontrollable childish impulses, Potter, no; I will not be explaining, showing, or waving around my personal business with Mr Borgin. So please, do try to survive with your curiosity unsated."
Harry blinked. Snape's mood had somehow already nosedived to the rock bottom that had always seemed uniquely reserved for Harry's company. Without a doubt, Harry would have been curious, had it not been obvious that the unimaginatively named "flame" potion was probably an ingredient in Snape's defences of the philosopher's stone.
Wait. The philosopher's stone!
Quirrell and Voldemort's face were probably casually sitting in the Leaky Cauldron right this second, if the timeline hadn't changed too much already that was. What a terrifying thought. Was there anything he could do? Harry doubted he could get away with publicly disintegrating his new Professor before term had even begun, and actually, he wasn't even certain that Voldemort had possessed Quirrell at this point anyway. As unnerving the idea of doing nothing was, it was probably best to avoid Quirrell-Voldemort for now until he could come up with a plan.
As Harry stood, rooted in his tumultuous thoughts, Snape called, "Don't dawdle, Mr Potter, and don't wander off." Snape nailed him with a look that Harry felt he'd not yet earned.
Harry followed as Snape wove his way through the minor throng of residents and shoppers that made up Knockturn Alley's curious clientele. It wasn't long until the more lively sounds of Diagon welcomed them. Harry stopped at the crossroad of the two alleys, taking it all in with a grin. Straight ahead, catching the eye with its impressive marble pillars and armoured guards, was Gringotts Bank. Harry could just make out the faded sign of Ollivanders up the street to his left, just past the second-hand robe shop; black wire chairs and small round tables crowded the front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour to his right. Snape had already parted the sea of traffic and was making his way up the front stairs of the bank. Harry hurried after him in case he was accused of 'dawdling' again.
Inside, the bank was as intimidating as ever. It was a strange experience, being suddenly eleven again, and pretty much the same height as a goblin. Perspective had a big impact on the feeling of a space, and Harry thought it was quite nice to be in a building that, despite the grandeur, was clearly built for people his size. Mosaics and carvings of exquisite quality ran along the walls at his eye level. He'd missed details like this on his first visit, as intimidated as he was by the sneering guards and vaulted ceiling. He almost regretted the fact that he hadn't listened more closely to some of Binn's lectures on Goblin History. Almost.
There was no queue so Harry and Snape walked straight up to a free till, where a stern looking goblin with a goatee sat, quill in hand.
"Name?" asked the goblin without looking up from his parchment.
"Mr Harry Potter. Withdrawal," Snape returned, sounding even more bored than the goblin.
"You have a key?" the goblin asked.
Harry stood up against the till on his tiptoes and slapped the key on the counter.
The goblin looked up from his parchment and upon not seeing anyone apart from Snape, peered down over the edge at Harry. His eyes lingered on Harry's scar.
"Follow me, Mr Potter," the goblin said, climbing down from his seat and leading them towards a flight of steps behind.
Harry looked to Snape questioningly, who had made no move to follow. "I have further business to attend to. You are perfectly safe in the depths of Gringotts, Mr Potter. I will be waiting here upon your return. Please withdraw a reasonable amount of money."
Harry was slightly surprised that Snape was so willing to leave him alone. He'd probably have been quite intimidated if he wasn't actually almost sixteen. But he supposed it was fair. Hagrid had only come with him into the vaults in order to get the stone after all.
Wait.
If Hagrid wasn't getting the stone with him any more because of Sirius escaping Azkaban, and Snape wasn't getting it instead, then who was? Harry wracked his brain trying to remember if Hagrid had said anything. He'd definitely mentioned something, but Harry couldn't quite remember. However, Harry did remember one thing.
In the original timeline Quirrell had broken into Gringotts on the night after Hagrid had withdrawn the stone.
If Hagrid didn't go to Gringotts today because Sirius had escaped, then did that mean Voldemort would get his hands on the stone tonight? As Harry hurtled through the depths of Gringotts his thoughts raced along with him.
Their cart pulled to a stop outside Harry's vault. The goblin opened the door and Harry stepped out with a nod of thanks. Harry didn't know what to do. He couldn't stop Quirrell without risking death and giving away to Voldemort that he knew too much. Maybe he could warn the Goblins? No, it was too much of a risk. They'd probably torture him for information or something. Even if he did it anonymously it was too risky, and would still tip off Voldemort that someone was onto him. Even talking to Professor Dumbledore had its issues. He'd not even been back a day and already things were potentially going completely wrong. Harry was beginning to seriously consider just coming clean in case he was about to ruin everything just by his presence alone.
Harry ran his hand through his hair with a groan. Where was Hermione when he needed her. He didn't have a clue where to start making a decision like this.
Harry's thoughts drifted uncontrollably towards the revelation of the previous day. Well, it was the previous day from his perspective. The prophecy of him and Voldemort echoed through his mind. Power the Dark Lord knows not… Harry knew the age old adage — how having power also demanded responsibility. Harry had never felt powerful, at least not in comparison to a Dark Lord, but despite that, with the position he now found himself in, he was starting to feel the burden.
Harry followed the goblin, who opened the vault. Green smoke billowed out and as it cleared the goblin gestured, "Your vault, Mr Potter."
Harry scampered through the door and quickly gathered a bunch of coins, swiping a dusty pouch from a lonely chair so that he could carry a bit more. He hoped, wistfully, that he'd be able to buy himself a Nimbus 2000 while Snape wasn't watching, as unlikely as that would probably be.
Just as Harry finished stuffing a few more galleons into his pouch, his eye was drawn to a satchel sitting against the wall of his vault. He walked over and crouched down, trying to see what was inside without touching, just in case. Among some random school items were a couple of books, one of the spines reading, 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 by Herbert Fellpower'. They seemed to be Hogwarts textbooks, although this author was different from the one of Harry's copy of the series. He reached in and lifted it out, blowing on the front cover to repel the fine layer of dust. Harry opened the book with a crackle of paper and flicked through. Harry stared at the page it fell on. All down the sides of the page were neatly quilled notes, with some underlines and circles on the text.
Harry wet his lips, which were suddenly quite dry. He flicked the pages back, opening to the front of the book. There, in the centre of the first page, written in bold emerald ink, were the words 'Property of Lily Evans, Severus please keep out'. Harry traced the line of Lily's script with a finger.
He reverently continued to page through, eyes latching onto the ink, which ranged from single, underlined words to crammed-in paragraphs. After a few more pages he reluctantly tucked the book back in and peeked into the bag to see what else might be in there. Various quills, pots of ink, and scraps of parchment lined the bottom, but Harry also found three more textbooks that seemed similarly well loved. He noticed that one of them was a potions textbook, and, after a moment of staring, a grin spread across his face as a plan began to form. He plucked the book out and tucked it under his arm.
Harry honestly couldn't believe he'd never thought to search his vault more carefully, or that nobody had told him these things were here. Apart from his first year, Harry had very rarely visited his Gringotts vault himself, preferring to let Molly or Bill take money out for him since they often bought him books or robes while shopping for Ron.
Harry straightened up and looked around the vault with a keener eye. Various pieces of furniture and assorted household items took up the space not given over to the big pile of gold, silver and bronze. But looking closer, among these piles of oddments were some boxes, and piles of books. Harry had a thought and wandered over to the goblin, who stood with his back to Harry outside the door of the vault.
"Excuse me, sir?" Harry said.
The Goblin grunted, turning over his shoulder.
"I don't have a trunk or any way to move things from my vault yet. So I was wondering if you would be able to send some of my items to Hogwarts for me."
The Goblin turned fully and gave a sharp smile. "Of course we can, for a fee."
Harry supposed that was to be expected from the goblins. "How much would it cost for a pile of, say, thirty books?" He asked, thinking of what Ron's reaction would be to Harry suddenly starting a library in their dorm room, probably disgust.
"For a valued customer like yourself, Master Potter, no more than twenty galleons would be acceptable."
Harry had expected to be ripped off, but it still stung. He didn't really have a choice anyway, and, even when he got his wand, he wouldn't be allowed to cast any lightweight or shrinking charms until he got to Hogwarts. Also, he shouldn't really know how to do that yet.
"That's fine, thank you, sir." Harry said. It wasn't like he'd miss twenty galleons, he barely spent money on anything. "Should I just move all the books I'd like removed into a pile, or…?"
The goblin looked at him like he was an idiot, and stepped into Harry's vault.
Reaching around to the inside wall the goblin yanked on a rune-covered scroll, which began to unroll like toilet paper. "Indicate on your inventory which items you want collected, that will suffice."
Harry looked at it in equal parts wonder and confusion. About six feet of parchment indicated names, descriptions and values for hundreds of items that were apparently in this vault. Harry grinned, "This is brilliant. Thanks, sir. I'll just be a few minutes, if that's okay." He scampered off into the vault, grabbing a quill and pulling the scroll behind him. He found a space on the floor to go through it.
He made a small tick next to all the textbooks he could find. There weren't any repetitions so he assumed it was just his mum's and not his dad's. They also only started from fourth year up, which was fine. He had to swallow a lump in his throat when he saw the words Lily Potter's Wand and James Potter's Wand. Harry put down the scroll and walked over to the back of the room, where a few boxes were piled on top of each other. It only took a minute before Harry was looking at two unfamiliar wands, his parents' wands. Harry put them in his pouch. Harry walked back to the scroll and picked it up, heading over to the door.
The goblin quickly shut the door behind Harry with a wave as he left, almost clipping Harry's heels. He was probably worried that Harry would change his mind and spend the whole day in there. On their lurching journey back to the surface, Harry's mind was on what he'd found. If he'd failed to notice something as important as this in his previous world, then who knew what else he'd missed. Despite the strangeness of the position he found himself in, this was still his life; he didn't want to waste it all worrying about the future. His thoughts defiantly flickered back to the prophecy, and he repressed a surge of bitterness. Truth be told, Harry didn't know how much of a future he had left.
Snape was seated in the reception when Harry arrived back in the atrium. He was reading the article on Sirius' escape with an indiscernible expression on his face. Despite the lack of emotion, Harry imagined that Snape might be excited for the opportunity to catch Sirius and see him executed, just like that chaotic night in Harry's third year. Probably best to keep Sirius clear of Snape this time around.
Snape looked up from the paper at Harry's approach, commenting with the slightest colouring of approval that Harry had put his gold in a pouch rather than stuffing his pockets like a child in a sweet shop. He made no mention of the book under Harry's arm. Snape folded the paper with a snap and led Harry back out into the streets of Diagon Alley.
The sun was now at its zenith and everything in the alley seemed to sparkle with the same energy as its bustling denizens. Snape pulled a folded parchment from his robes and glanced at its contents briefly. "We will start with your potions supplies and a cauldron, which you can use to carry your books and other items. I hope you withdrew enough because we are not making a return visit."
"I've got enough, sir." Harry replied, glad for whatever enchantments on the pouch that had swallowed up the hefty amount of gold that he had taken out in case the opportunity arose to visit Quality Quidditch Supplies.
"Very well."
They made their way down the street and into the cool interior of Potage's Cauldron Shop. Harry decided to spring his trap.
Snape picked up a standard cauldron from a bench and moved towards the counter. As they waited in a small queue Harry looked up at Snape, "I'm so excited for potions, Professor. I think it will be my favourite subject."
Snape regarded him with a suspicious eye.
Harry continued, "Hagrid said that potions was my mothers favourite subject, charms too. And from what Hagrid said, potions are very interesting." Harry had to work hard on his straight face, imagining how sarcastic he would have come across if he'd said this to the Snape of his original timeline.
"The study of potions is indeed a powerful art. It can achieve things that no other discipline can, if you have the patience and skill for it."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, "I hope that the Potions Professor is good. I'm looking forward to those lessons the most, I think."
Snape narrowed his eyes, "I am the Potions Professor, Mister Potter. I should like to think that my lessons are 'good'."
"Potions? Oh I'm sorry Professor, I thought you must be the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. From what Mr Borgin said, and since Professor Dumbledore said you were an accomplished duellist-"
Snape sneered, but not at Harry. "Assumptions without sufficient evidence, Mister Potter. If you truly wish to be a potioneer of any quality, that is something you will have to grow out of quickly."
Snape expression changed, and he seemed to regard Harry with a look far more appraising than Harry had ever seen from the man. Harry chose this moment to bring out his secret weapon. Untucking the textbook from his arm, he shoved it up, under Snape's nose. "Look Professor, I found one of my mum's potion books in my vault." Snape froze, eyes focused on the front cover. Harry continued to babble on a bit for effect, despite the fact that Snape had clearly stopped listening.
"There was loads of random stuff in there that I thought was just out of date, but it turns out she wrote comments in them, which is nice-"
"You found this in your vault?" Snape interrupted mildly, taking the book from Harry's outstretched hands and opening the cover almost as reverently as Harry had when he'd first discovered the book.
After giving Snape a few seconds to look through it, Harry continued, "I read a couple of comments in another textbook, Professor, and one of them mentioned a 'Severus'. I heard Dumbledore call you that in his office earlier and I wondered, well I thought to myself, 'Severus' doesn't seem like a common name. Not that I know anything about wizard naming customs but-"
"I knew your mother." Snape said.
Harry stopped, waiting for more.
Snape continued after a pause, "I knew your mother; we were friends for a long time. Potions, and charms were shared passions of ours. She was talented, more talented than I was, even."
Snape cleared his throat. "If you are fortunate, you may have inherited at least a portion of her considerable aptitude for the subjects." He looked down and saw Harry's smile. "However, for now, I don't want you harbouring any delusions about inherited talent. Potions, like most branches of magic, requires a skill cultivated by hard work and dedication. If you truly wish to come anywhere close to your mother's talent, then I expect exceptional effort in my classes."
Harry nodded, still smiling. "I will try my best, Professor. I don't want to let you or my mum down."
The situation was clearly too strange for Snape at this point and he shoved the book back down to Harry and strode over to the cashier, who had been waiting for them.
Harry congratulated himself on some excellent manoeuvring. He couldn't deny, though, the strangely warm feeling in his chest that came from Snape's comments about his mum. Harry hadn't properly considered the result this conversation might have, beyond Snape hopefully hating Harry a bit less. Now that he'd committed to this approach, he realised, if he wanted to keep Snape from regressing to his base hatred of Harry, he'd probably have to actually be decent in potions. That was something Harry had never managed, or cared to try before.
The burden of this looming task grew, clouding Harry's thoughts as they made their way between the Cauldron Shop and the Apothecary. Potions wasn't the only class he'd be expected to excel in if he wanted to come across as more Lily than James. He'd probably have to do the same in charms. That should be fairly easy to do, though, considering he'd mastered most simple charms years ago. Trying to pretend to be talented for a first year didn't seem like a real challenge.
Snape, once again, took charge in collecting Harry's required items. This time, however, he added occasional comments about ingredient freshness, the merit of chopping or crushing a root, and brief instructions on maintaining equipment. Harry took it all in, trying to look studious but not overly eager. This was a side of Snape he had never seen before, and it was some parts interesting and others disturbing.
Snape told Harry to collect his textbooks from Flourish and Blotts while he looked at some books for himself. Unfortunately, while looking for his school books, Harry couldn't avoid the shelves of books with his name printed on them; rows of history, children's' stories, popular reads, and more. Each spoke their opinions of his infamy with equal confidence, despite Harry never having actually talked to any of them himself.
As he walked the stacks, dreading bitterly his inevitable future run-ins with Skeeter and her journalist kin, he wondered if even the power of perfect hindsight would protect him from being misrepresented in those future interviews. At least he knew to bring a fly-swatter with him whenever that awful woman was around.
Harry paid for his books and made his way outside. He made sure to stand near enough to the front window that Snape could easily see him when he was finished.
As Harry waited, his errant thoughts began to crystallise. Most of this morning had passed him by in a near haze, but Harry felt a sudden sort of sobriety. This was real, this bizarre déjà vu was real. Harry looked at the scene of Diagon Alley before him, so normal and undisturbed. Harry was really here, at the beginning of it all, back before everything had gone wrong.
Harry watched some Hogwarts students pass him by, one reminding him of Cedric. Harry clenched his fists at the memory of the graveyard. Voldemort had returned, the ministry hadn't believed him, and people like Cedric had died for nothing. Harry had another chance, though, right? Maybe he could make things turn out differently.
Harry paused, broken out of his thoughts. His senses were itching with the feeling of being watched.
He tried to survey the panorama of the street inconspicuously, taking his time so as not to draw any attention. The street bustled without suspicion, nobody was looking his way. Harry began to relax. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. As Harry finished his sweep of the whole street he made eye contact with a large black dog.