A/N: I have encountered an increasing number of glitches and errors when posting on FFN lately, making it a headache to use. I will continue posting here for as long as I can, but I am also updating this story on Archive Of Our Own under the same title and username. So if you ever get fed up with the site like me or if it randomly goes belly-up one day, try checking over there!
Harry was not accustomed to receiving mail in the mornings. No one outside the castle ever had reason to contact him in the last timeline, aside from the occasional coded message from Sirius. Which is why he was so perplexed at breakfast the next morning, when no fewer than three owls swooped down towards him and deposited letters and packages in his lap. Ignoring the light teasing from his housemates, Harry started with the largest package, which was from his parents:
Dearest Harry,
We were surprised but thrilled to learn that you had been Sorted into Ravenclaw. We always knew you were a bright student and know you will thrive in such an environment. We now expect straight-O's from your next report card! Just kidding (but only a little).
Inside this care package you will find enough sweets to last you until Christmas (or, if your father's appetite is any indication, the end of the week). It took a bit of charm work to change the frosting from red to blue, as we expected Gryffindor, but it should taste just as delicious.
We miss you terribly already. Dahlia has asked us to send along her love. Well, that and a few other choice words, but we will leave those for her to deliver in person on your next break.
Much love,
Mum and Dad xx
Harry tore open the package to find a row of perfectly-preserved cupcakes, each topped with delicious-looking silver and blue frosting. He immediately grabbed one and took a bite, relishing in the sweetness and surprising warmth. "Oi, you sharing, Potter?" demanded Michael Corner once he saw what Harry had received.
"In your dreams, Corner," Harry smirked, taking another luxurious bite of the pastry. Michael muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like mama's boy, but Harry didn't mind one bit. After a lifetime of being an orphan, he would take no shame in being spoiled by two loving parents.
Harry set aside the package to open the next letter, which was written in Sirius' trademark scrawl:
Harry,
Well done on making Ravenclaw. Your dad and I might call them a bunch of swots, but that's just because we were jealous we weren't smart enough to keep up with them. Besides, it's better than Hufflepuff, eh?
Some of my favorite girlfriends were from Ravenclaw, you know. The smart girls are the ones you have to look out for. They may seem prim and proper on the surface, but I'm convinced them all have a Gryffindor inside them, roaring to get out. If you need any help wooing the ladies, you know who to write.
And if you're worried about disappointing your parents for not being in Gryffindor: don't. I was the first of my family in generations not to be in Slytherin, and it was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. Your grandmother was also a Slytherin, so if James tries to pull any kind of family-heritage guilt card nonsense on you, make sure to set him straight, you hear?
Have a great term. Study hard, but party harder!
-Uncle Sirius
Harry smiled in spite of himself at his godfather's words. He hadn't had time to mourn the old Sirius, the one he'd just lost at the end of his old timeline, but was thrilled to see that his spirit lived on in this alternate version of himself. Harry hoped to do better by him this time around, and vowed to make sure he lived through the end of the coming war – if there indeed was one.
He finally tore open the final letter, which was written in neat cursive that he immediately recognized from his original third year DADA lessons:
Dear Harry,
Congratulations on beginning your Hogwarts journey. Ravenclaw is a fine House to belong to, and you should be proud to be counted among them. The Sorting Hat nearly placed me there before settling on Gryffindor, and I always had a strong admiration for their values and work ethic. You'll make a fine addition to their ranks.
I'm sure you will work hard in your studies, and your peers will no doubt help you along the way. Just don't forget to loosen up once in a while and enjoy yourself! The next seven years will be full of adventure and opportunity – don't squander it! You will look back on your time at Hogwarts fondly, so be sure to make memories and surround yourself with people you enjoy spending time with. Just don't get into TOO much trouble!
Don't hesitate to write if you need anything at all.
Sincerely,
Uncle Remus
P.S. - Do say hello to your Uncle Peter every once in a while. I know it isn't 'cool' to make friends with the school caretaker, but he really is a kind soul who can listen to your problems and help you with anything you might need.
Harry folded all three letters and tucked them away inside his robes. He was filled with a sense of warmth at all the well-wishes, redundant though they might be. Just knowing that he had so many people caring about him and rooting him on from afar was enough to give him the energy to press on.
Ravenclaw's first lesson of the day was Transfiguration, and they filed dutifully into McGonagall's classroom along with the Gryffindors. "My mum says McGonagall's a real hard-ass," said Terry Boot loudly from his seat beside Harry. "Best not to get on her bad side."
"Be quiet," Harry hushed the boy urgently.
"Why? The old bint isn't even here yet," Terry chuckled. Harry merely sighed and settled into his chair for the show, as the tabby cat perched on the desk leapt into the air and transformed into their professor, earning gasps of surprise and fear from his classmates.
"That will be three points from Ravenclaw for being crass, Mr. Boot," McGonagall reprimanded the horrified boy. "Now, who here can tell me what the subject of Transfiguration is about?"
Hermione's hand immediately shot into the air, and after a few seconds of waiting for anyone else to volunteer, McGonagall called on her. "Transfiguration is the field of magical study regarding the transformation of an object from one state to another," Hermione recited – no doubt memorized from one of their beginner-level textbooks.
"Take two points for Ravenclaw, Miss Granger," McGonagall nodded. "Now, can anyone rephrase that in their own words?"
The class sat silently for a moment. When no one else volunteered, Harry reluctantly raised his hand. "It's changing an object's properties to affect its behavior," he said. "Changing things from solid to liquid, living to non-living, existent to non-existent."
"Very well-put, Mr. Potter; take another two points," McGonagall nodded. "Your father was quite adept in the field of Transfiguration. Perhaps you'd like to join me for a demonstration?"
"Erm...okay," Harry said awkwardly, standing to join the professor at the head of the class.
"Transfiguration is all about intent," McGonagall explained. She waved her wand, causing a small toothpick to appear on the desk beside Harry. "You must visualize the object in the state you desire it to achieve. Mr. Potter, could I have you attempt to transfigure this toothpick into a metal pin?"
"Alright," Harry nodded, drawing his wand and leveling it at the toothpick. He knew this was the most basic level of transfiguration they would be studying; this ought to be a piece of cake. He imagined the small wooden object as one of metal instead, focusing all his willpower on the change. Then he waved his wand and channeled his magic into the object.
Instead of transforming, the toothpick spouted off several sharp wooden spikes in all directions. Seamus Finnigan howled in pain as one lodged itself into his cheek; several other students dove for cover from the projectiles. Horrified, Harry lowered his wand.
McGonagall quickly Vanished the toothpick as well as all the projectiles, leaving Seamus wincing with a small pinprick of blood on his face. "I didn't expect you to get it right the first time, Potter," said McGonagall diplomatically. "Though you must be careful with your intent, or accidents like that can happen. Take your seat, please."
Harry did so shamefully, mouthing sorry to a fuming Seamus as he passed by his seat. His Kneazle wand continued to give him trouble, refusing to follow basic commands and causing the most chaotic events instead. No one else could understand his frustration – they just assumed he was a novice first-year, still learning basic spell-casting like the rest of them, but he ought to be light-years ahead of his peers by now! Why was the wand holding him back?
Don't be arrogant, Harry told himself as he stewed in his seat for the rest of the lesson. You just have to learn how to control it. Your magic is still growing and has to catch up with what you already know.
Next on the schedule was Astronomy, held high up in the tallest tower of the castle. Harry quickly remembered why it was one of his least-favorite subjects (besides History of Magic), as Professor Sinistra went on and on about various planets and celestial bodies that Harry couldn't care less about. Worse yet, she assigned them all a foot and a half of homework for their very first day – no amount of prior knowledge would help Harry avoid the busy-work of his classes he so loathed.
After a quick lunch, Harry arrived early for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, waiting for the previous class to let out. He sat idly in the corridor chatting with Terry Boot, who was prattling on about how attractive Professor Sinistra was, pretending to listen and occasionally saying "uh huh" to placate him.
His ears perked up at the sound of a disturbance nearby: scuffling of shoes, muted sounds of conflict. Harry leapt to his feet and rushed around the corner, where he encountered an odd sight: three Slytherin upper-year boys, surrounding a cowering Peter Pettigrew in the corner.
"What's the matter, sir?" one of the boys asked the caretaker mockingly, brandishing a broom that they'd clearly just stolen from him. "Can't take a broom back from a teenager?"
"G-g-give that back, n-now," Peter stammered, reaching for the broom only for it to be pulled out of reach, as the other two boys pressed in closer.
"You didn't say please," the Slytherin boy said nastily, as the other two chuckled.
"Oi! Leave him alone!" Harry bellowed from down the hall, wand clutched firmly in his hand. All three boys looked up at him, looking temporarily caught, but they snickered when they saw who had addressed them.
"Mind your own, firstie," one of the boys sneered. "If you know what's good for you." He fired a Stinging Hex at Harry, who wordlessly swiped it aside, eyes narrowed, veins pumping with anger.
"Ooh, the firstie wants to play!" another boy laughed. They turned their attention towards Harry, leaving Peter to cower in the corner behind them. "Want to dance, boy? Tarantallegra!"
"Protego!" Harry bellowed; a golden shield burst into existence before him, deflecting the spell and sending it careening into another boy, whose legs began to dance uncontrollably beneath him. The boy who fired the hex gawked at the perfect, shimmering shield, far more advanced than any first-year should have been capable of casting. But the other's face contorted into anger.
"You'll pay for that one, firstie," he snarled, brandishing his wand. "Lacera—"
"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted; his Body-Bind Curse hit the boy squarely in the chest, interrupting his own spell and sending him toppling over like a frozen statue.
Harry wasted no time, making use of the element of surprise by firing a Disarming Charm at the third boy, whose wand clattered away out of reach. But he didn't look up to fighting anymore; he simply gawked at Harry, as though unable to process how this boy had so cleanly dispatched three much older boys.
Harry looked down at his wand in shock. It felt warm in his palm, as though responding to him for the first time since Ollivander's shop. NOW you choose to listen to me? Harry demanded of it, irritated. The wand lay maddeningly still in his hand, as though silently laughing at him.
"What is the meaning of this?" a familiar voice sneered; Harry's stomach dropped as Snape came rushing around the corner, looking furious. With a mighty swipe of his wand, he canceled all of the spells in effect, freeing the limbs of one of the boys and ceasing the leg movements of another, while Harry's shield dissipated into thin air.
"That boy attacked us!" one of the Slytherins protested, pointing a finger at Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow at him.
"They attacked me first," Harry said simply. "And they were harassing Unc- er, Mr. Pettigrew."
Snape rounded on Peter, who continued to watch on in silent fright. "Well, Pettigrew?" he demanded. "What transpired here?"
"P-Potter was d-defending himself," Peter managed. "Th-the others were t-trying to hex him."
Snape stared at Peter with clear disdain. "Perhaps, if the proper parties had asserted their authority, there would be no need for such foolish fighting," he drawled malevolently. "Wouldn't you agree, Peter?"
"C-certainly, Severus," Peter nodded, looking ashamed. Snape looked again at Harry, clearly looking for a reason to give him detention for the rest of his life. Harry just stood there, awaiting his judgment. But Snape instead turned to the three Slytherins, who looked up at their Head of House sheepishly.
"Off to class, Flint," Snape sneered at the ringleader. "You too, Avery. Bode." The three boys threw one last malicious look at Harry before gathering their things and leaving the hall, Snape sweeping away behind them.
"You alright, Uncle Peter?" Harry asked, approaching the caretaker once they were alone.
"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine," Peter said, bewildered. "Harry, how did you learn to duel like that?"
"I just got lucky," Harry shrugged. "They didn't expect me to fight back, and I caught them off-guard, that's all."
"That was some advanced defensive magic you used," Peter remarked. "I doubt even Flint could have produced a Shield Charm that strong."
"I like to read ahead," Harry shrugged. "Guess that's why I'm in Ravenclaw, eh?"
Peter chuckled awkwardly at this sentiment. "Listen, I'd better go," he said, eyeing the rush of oncoming students; Quirrell's last class had just let out. "Come by my office Friday night, will you? We should talk."
"Erm...yes, alright," Harry agreed. It's not a trap, he reminded himself. This isn't the Peter Pettigrew you knew in your timeline. Peter gave him a nervous smile, then hustled off down the corridor.
Harry turned back towards the classroom, where the Slytherin and Hufflepuff first-years were filing out. He spied Ron and Neville amidst the group; the latter was rubbing his scar with a pained expression on his face. "Alright there, Neville?" Harry called out.
"Huh? Oh, hello, Harry," Neville said in pained greeting. "'M fine. Just a headache, is all."
"Can't blame you," Ron said sympathetically, patting Neville on the back. "That Quirrell bloke is a nutter. Got all kinds of weird herbs and fragrances in there...maybe you're allergic to something."
"Yeah, maybe," Neville muttered. Harry bade them farewell as he entered the classroom for his own lesson with the Gryffindors. Hopefully putting some distance between himself and Quirrell would help ease Neville's suffering – in hindsight, that had helped Harry tremendously in his own first year.
Harry spent much of his DADA lesson staring at Quirrell's turban, imagining what an odd sensation it must be to have a disembodied spirit residing in the back of your head. He glared openly at the back of the turban whenever Quirrell turned his back to them, wondering if Voldemort could see him through the fabric. He almost invited it. I'm not afraid of you, Harry silently mocked the spirit. I'll find an excuse to expose you, and you'll be done for.
Now that Harry was free to listen to Quirrell's lectures without the constant scar pain, he was surprised to find that the man really knew his stuff. His knowledge of obscure defensive magic from around the globe was apparent – he had clearly made good use of his travels abroad to learn more than what the standard British curriculum could teach. Shame you had to fall into Voldemort's clutches, Harry lamented. I might have enjoyed learning upper-year Defense from you.
Harry spent the remainder of the day on-edge, expecting a reprisal from the Slytherin boys, but none ever came. Perhaps they'd decided he wasn't worth it. Maybe Snape had chewed some common sense into them (unlikely). Or, Harry realized, they might have learned who he was, and that his father was the famed Auror James Potter. It was odd getting used to the feeling of his father being more famous than he was, but he supposed it had its perks. He even started to understand why Draco so relished in holding the threat of his own father over people…
Later that week, Harry had his first Potions lesson with Snape, which he had been dreading. He may not be the Chosen One anymore, but Snape's hatred for his father certainly couldn't be much different in this timeline, if not worse given that he was still alive and present in society. Sure enough, he felt Snape's eyes narrow upon him as he stood before the frightened class, waiting for the lesson to begin.
"Potter!" snapped Snape after several seconds of awkward silence. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"The Draught of Living Death," Harry said confidently. He had anticipated this ambush coming, and prepared by carefully studying his first-year potions book ahead of time to ensure he knew its contents.
"Hmph," said Snape. "And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"In the stomach of a goat," said Harry. "It's a stone that can reverse the effects of most poisons."
"I did not ask you what it did," Snape snapped at him. "Five points from Ravenclaw for speaking out of turn. Now tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"There is none," Harry said simply. He knew that it also went more commonly by the name aconite, but did not wish to volunteer more information than asked for, lest he invoke Snape's wrath once more. Snape was peering at Harry with his deep black eyes, sneering; Harry stared right back, unblinking.
Eventually, Snape's lip curled up into a thin smile. "Very good, Potter," he said. "Perhaps you take after your mother after all."
Don't you bring up my mother, Harry thought furiously. I know what you called her in your fifth year. But he said nothing, merely looking back up at the professor impassively, praying for him to move on.
"Longbottom!" Snape suddenly said, rounding on a frightened Neville across the room. "Can you recite for me the primary ingredients of a Polyjuice Potion?"
That isn't covered until our O.W.L. year! Harry thought indignantly. He also saw Hermione's face scrunched up at this question; clearly she hadn't encountered it in the textbook yet either. Neville's eyes went wide at the unfair question.
"I-I don't know, sir," he muttered.
"Hmph," Snape said, glaring down at the poor boy. "Clearly fame isn't everything, Mr. Longbottom. You'll have to try harder than that to succeed in my class." And Snape continued on with his lesson; Harry suspected the only reason he hadn't deduced points from Neville was that he was in his own House. The injustice caused Harry to remember just how much he'd hated the man before – clearly things wouldn't be much different in this new timeline.
The other notable event of the week came during Charms lesson, in which Professor Flitwick introduced them to the Levitation Charm. "The incantation is Wingardium Leviosa," he instructed them. "Swish and flick, as so. Now, please break up into pairs and take turns practicing on the feathers provided for you."
As he always did, Harry focused all his might into casting the spell, enunciating clearly and performing the wand movement exactly as described. And as it always did, his wand disobeyed him, instead causing the feather to zoom up Anthony Goldstein's nose and making the boy sneeze violently for several minutes on end. This is getting ridiculous, Harry thought in frustration as he once again apologized to his classmate for the errant spell.
Flitwick asked Harry to stay behind after this lesson. "I hear from my fellow professors that you have been having troubles with your casting," he said.
"Yes, sir," Harry said glumly. "My wand just isn't reacting the way I want it to."
"May I ask what kind of wand it is?" asked Flitwick curiously.
"It's mahogany, with a Kneazle whisker core," said Harry.
"Ah, quite a finicky combination," Flitwick mused. "I taught a student decades ago with a similar core, and it took her years of practice to overpower the chaotic nature of the wand."
"Wonderful," Harry muttered. He didn't have years to spare; he had to be ready for Voldemort as soon as possible.
"I also heard an interesting rumor from Professor Snape," Flitwick said thoughtfully. "He claims that you produced a perfect Shield Charm during a scuffle in between classes. Is this true?"
"Erm...yes, sir," Harry said sheepishly.
"I imagine your father must have taught you that one?" Flitwick said. "Dead useful, that spell is. Also extremely difficult to cast; even my N.E.W.T. level students have difficulties with maintaining shields. Very impressive, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you, sir."
"May I ask you to demonstrate it for me?" Flitwick asked. "For curiosity's sake."
"I'll try," Harry shrugged, stepping back a few strides. He closed his eyes and focused hard on the shield he wanted to produce. "Protego!" he shouted, swiping his wand upwards. Instead of a shield, Harry instead produced a solid wall of water, which crashed into Professor Flitwick and sent him toppling over to the ground.
"I'm alright, my boy, I'm alright!" Flitwick chuckled, allowing Harry to help him back to his feet before casting a Drying Charm on himself. "I do have one other theory I'd like to test. Would you go fix that desk for me first?"
Harry followed the professor's gaze to the corner of the room, where a desk had been upturned by his accidental tsunami. He strode across the room and set it upright, turning back towards Flitwick; to his surprise, the miniature man had drawn his wand.
"Expelliarmus!" Flitwick bellowed.
"Protego!" Harry said instinctively. A golden shield erupted before him, blocking the jet of red light from Flitwick's wand and sending it back towards him, causing the man's wand to clatter to the ground.
"Oh, how splendid!" Flitwick said with glee, stepping forward to examine the shield. "It's exactly as I suspected."
"What did you suspect, Professor?" asked Harry.
"Your wand seems perfectly capable of casting what you want," said Flitwick. "But it only does so in moments of danger, when your need is most great. Perhaps that is when your will is strongest, or perhaps the wand is issuing you a challenge."
"A challenge, sir?"
"I suspect the wand wants you to prove yourself," Flitwick said. "Kneazles are clever creatures and aren't easily tamed. As I instructed my last student, you must demonstrate that you're worthy of being listened to, of being obeyed. So my advice to you, Mr. Potter, is to keep pushing yourself and practicing with the wand. Prove your allegiance to it, and it may just give theirs in return."
Harry always hated the way people like Ollivander and Flitwick talked about wands like they were sentient beings. It still just felt like a stupid piece of wood in his palm. But he couldn't deny the point: the wand had clearly chosen him and had proven capable of powerful magic. He would just have to work harder than he had with his old holly and phoenix wand to master its potential.
"Thank you, sir," he said before exiting the classroom. He would just have to add this to the growing list of questions he was pondering in his new life.
Even though his life was much the same as his first timeline had been, he felt twice as unprepared and ignorant as he had been before. He hadn't even had time to devote attention towards Voldemort – he'd intended to begin studying right away to prepare for his return. He even had a mental checklist of questions he wanted to answer for himself as soon as possible:
1. How did Voldemort split his soul?
2. How can you destroy soul fragments?
3. How do prophecies work?
4. What does the prophecy about Voldemort say and mean?
5. How do resurrection rituals work, and can they be disrupted?
Meanwhile, another conundrum was weighing on Harry's mind, and time was running out for him to make up his mind about it. Halloween was right around the corner, and if things progressed as they had before, a troll would be let into the castle. Would Hermione once again be threatened in the bathroom? Would Neville and Ron rush to her rescue, and would they succeed?
Harry could prevent this incident from occurring, of course. He could intercept Hermione ahead of the feast and warn her of the danger, escorting her back to Ravenclaw Tower. He could drop hints to Neville and Ron early to help them reach Hermione sooner and get her away from the area in time. Or, safer yet, he could find a teacher and direct them to the danger, allowing them to handle the troll before it could even reach Hermione.
Harry knew that this was the incident that had caused the trio to bond so tightly in his first timeline. He had been watching all three of his fellow first-years closely from afar, waiting to see if they would gravitate towards each other on their own. But to his dismay, it was not to be; Hermione was being iced out by her peers once again, and while Neville and Ron seemed chummy in passing, they weren't the best friends that Harry and Ron had once been in another life. Could he possibly justify allowing things to proceed without interference, to bring them all together and solidify that lifelong friendship?
But what if something went wrong? What if he miscalculated and Hermione got badly injured, if not worse? Could he live with that on his conscience? That was the question he had to answer for himself within the next couple weeks.
He attempted to assuage his guilt on the matter during one of his meetings with Peter Pettigrew in his office. He'd taken to visiting the caretaker on Fridays after lessons, at first reluctantly, but soon looked forward to the sessions. Peter was quiet and skittish at first blush, but had a good sense of humor and a kind heart. Once Harry got over his irrational hatred of the man's betrayal that had never happened in this timeline, he came to trust Peter and seek his guidance on important matters.
"I've been worried about something," Harry admitted one Friday as he and Peter shared a pumpkin pie that Harry had lifted from the kitchens. "I wonder if you could help me through it."
"Certainly, Harry," said Peter, giving the boy his full attention. "What's on your mind?"
"Well…" Harry sighed, trying to find a way to express his dilemma without giving away his secret. "I'm worried about something that could happen to some friends of mine. They're getting into something dangerous, and I don't want to see them get hurt."
"Harry, I promise they won't get in trouble if you tell me now," Peter said warningly. "I can't be seen to allow such a thing to happen—"
"As if you never got into dangerous situations in school," Harry scoffed. "Right, 'Wormtail'?"
Peter reddened a bit at this; clearly he hadn't known that Harry knew his Animagus status. "That's...besides the point!" Peter spluttered. "If you truly fear for their well-being—"
"It's nothing against school rules, if that's what you're on about," said Harry.
"Fine," Peter grumbled. "What's your question, then?"
"Part of me wants to intervene and stop it from happening," said Harry. "But I think it could be beneficial in the long run, if it all goes smoothly. Do you see what I mean?"
"Not really," Peter frowned.
"Ugh," Harry sighed. "I guess what I'm getting at is: how much am I willing to risk to see my friends happy? If I interfered and ruined a friendship, does that make me a worse person than if I let them deal with it by themselves?"
Peter contemplated this vague statement for a bit. "You know, in my sixth year, I nearly ratted out your father and Sirius during one of their late-night excursions," he admitted. "Professor McGonagall needed proof of them sneaking out, and she offered me prefect status if I turned them in. I strongly considered it...boy, it would have made my father so proud…"
"Why didn't you?" Harry asked, surprised. He'd long been curious about the seemingly frayed relationship between Peter and the other Marauders.
"Because I wanted to be included," Peter sighed. "I never felt like your father considered me a close friend. He and Sirius were extremely tight, and they kept Remus close to help them with schoolwork, but I was always the odd one out. They invited me along to things, but I think it was mostly out of convenience than anything. I thought maybe they would see my loyalty and reward me for it."
Harry thought about this for a long while. "And do you regret it?" he asked. "Not saying anything?"
"Sometimes," Peter shrugged. "We had good times at Hogwarts, but we drifted apart after graduation. I suppose that happens when you get older, though – people don't always stay in touch. I wonder at times if it would be better that they hated me for betraying them, versus pretending that I no longer exist."
A dark demeanor had come over Peter, and Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the man. Peter struck him as a lonely individual, one who just wanted to be accepted and loved. Harry didn't know why the other Marauders kept him at arm's length, but it was clear they saw him as the least important of the four. It was suddenly no surprise to Harry why Peter had chosen to do what he did in the prior timeline…
"Oh, what am I saying?" Peter said, shaking his head and looking surprised at himself. "Harry, I hope you don't think less of your father for this; that wasn't my intention. My point was that I chose not to interfere, and I stand by that decision."
"So you think I should let the dangerous thing happen, then?" Harry asked.
"I didn't say that," Peter added hastily. "But you have to ask yourself if you're willing to face the consequences of your inaction. I can only imagine how I would have felt if someone had been injured, or worse, during one of our full-moon romps. That's something you must answer for yourself."
"I see," Harry said contemplatively. "Thanks, Uncle Peter." He stood to gather his things, then impulsively decided to wrap his arms around the man in a hug. Peter flinched instinctively at this, but awkwardly accepted the gesture, patting Harry gently on the back.
"Harry?" asked Peter tentatively as Harry turned to go. "This doesn't have anything to do with the third floor corridor, does it?"
"No, nothing like that," Harry said quickly. Though in a way, it did, since the troll was Quirrell's diversion to grant him access to the Stone. But he needn't reveal that information. "What d'you know about that corridor, anyway?" Harry added as an afterthought.
"Not nearly enough," Peter said glumly. "Dumbledore's being very tight-lipped about it. Says I'm to keep all students away from the area, but not why."
"How odd," Harry shrugged. And he took his leave of the office before he could say anything that gave away what he knew.
He didn't feel a whole lot better about the situation when October 31st rolled around. Part of him hoped that he'd already changed just enough to avoid the situation cropping up altogether. Which is why he was dismayed when, during an afternoon Charms lesson shared with the Hufflepuffs, Hermione tearfully stormed out of the classroom after Ron did an exaggerated impression of her bouncing up and down in her seat with her hand raised.
So that was one piece of the puzzle in place. Hermione would indeed be in the girls' bathroom when the troll was let loose. Would anyone be coming to her rescue? Would Neville even learn of the situation in time, being in an entirely different House?
Maybe there won't be a troll at all, Harry hoped as he nervously tried to eat during the Halloween Feast that evening. Maybe Quirrell will try something a bit less dangerous to distract the staff…
But alas, dessert had barely begun when the turbaned professor burst into the hall, white as a sheet, drawing all eyes to him as he sprinted up the hall. "TROLL!" he bellowed. "T-troll in the dungeons!" And he promptly fainted, falling flat on his face, causing the room to descend into chaos.
Amidst the pandemonium, Harry kept a close eye on Neville, who (along with the rest of Slytherin House) looked positively alarmed. The boy's eyes immediately darted towards the Hufflepuff table, where Ron was similarly looking his direction. That's an encouraging sign, Harry thought. Maybe Neville did hear about Hermione after all.
Dumbledore took control of the room in short order, directing the prefects to lead their students back to their respective common rooms. Penelope Clearwater jumped into action at once, shouting for the Ravenclaws to line up in pairs and follow her out of the Great Hall. Harry dragged his feet, staying towards the back of the pack, watching nervously as the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs prepared to file out behind them. Ron and Neville were gravitating towards one another, exchanging meaningful faces and gestures. Harry would have to hope that was good enough.
Once the Ravenclaws were clear of the Entrance Hall, Harry waited until the group was rounding a tight corner before peeling off from the group and slipping into a hidden corridor behind a painting. He booked it for the east wing, where he knew Hermione would be ensconced in her bathroom, completely unaware of the danger headed her way. He found the correct hallway and slipped into a nook behind a tapestry, watching and waiting from the shadows.
Harry sat hidden there for a long while, staring at the bathroom door through a small gap in the wall. His heart was hammering, though nothing had happened yet; he was taking an enormous risk by doing nothing. If all went to plan, the troll would enter the girls' bathroom, and Neville and Ron would appear just in the nick of time to save Hermione. But if they were too late? If the troll did serious harm to Hermione, or to one of them? Harry would feel responsible for the rest of his life.
Not a moment later, he heard dull, thumping footsteps coming down the hall, and a massive mountain troll shuffled past his tapestry. It was even larger and more formidable than Harry remembered, and a chill ran down his spine at the sight of it. He stood quite still, holding his breath as the troll marched along, oblivious to his presence. It paused momentarily at the bathroom door, then, clearly hearing something from within, pushed his way through and disappeared inside.
Any minute now, boys, Harry thought, starting to panic a little. His ears strained for any sound, any sign of struggle within. If Hermione screamed and nobody came to her rescue, he would be forced to act. But what if he was too late? Was he dooming her to a painful death through his inaction? Harry was starting to question his entire plan now…
As if on cue, Hermione let out a blood-curdling scream, and Harry heard an almighty CRASH! as the troll's club broke through whatever she was hiding within. Harry prepared himself to burst out of the tapestry, but before he could do so, he heard footsteps careening down the hall once more. "She's in there!" came Ron's voice. "Hurry!" And he and Neville sprinted past the tapestry, forcing their way through the bathroom door and shutting themselves within.
Harry was in agony, watching the door from his hiding place, torn between jumping in to help or not. He heard continued sounds of struggle within as the first-years grappled with how to deal with the troll. Would they find the same clever solution as in Harry's timeline, or fall flat? They've made it this far, Harry reasoned. They can do this. Have a little faith.
After several long minutes, there was another loud CRASH as something heavy fell to the ground. Was that the troll, or something else? It was terribly silent for a while, and Harry again debated whether or not to take action. What if something had gone wrong? What if all three students were bleeding to death in there? What if his inaction cost one of them their lives?
More footsteps approached as a group of teachers rushed down the corridor: McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout. They followed the trail of destruction the troll had left into the bathroom, hurrying in and shutting the door behind them. Harry once again waited, listening for any signs of distress, any indication he ought to hurry off to the Hospital Wing and fetch Madam Pomfrey before it was too late…
But when the teachers again emerged, they looked relieved, rather than distraught. Harry allowed himself to relax a bit, then fully when he saw Neville, Ron and Hermione emerge behind them. The latter looked ghostly-white but unharmed, as the other two boys supported her on either side. The sight filled Harry with warmth as he realized his gambit had paid off.
The golden trio, together as they ought to be, thought Harry. He knew such a harrowing experience would bond them together for life, and was grateful he hadn't interfered, lest he disrupt their perfect balance. Neville needed that strong core to rely on, to draw strength and inspiration from – Harry would just be one too many cooks in the kitchen. No, Harry would keep his distance, allow the trio to grow and learn to trust one another, without expecting someone else to swoop in and save the day for them.
Is this how Dumbledore feels all the time? Harry wondered as he crept out from behind the tapestry and stole back towards Ravenclaw Tower. Pulling the puppet strings from afar and watching his risks pay off? Something about it felt wrong, and yet immensely satisfying. If Harry could use his foreknowledge of certain events to his advantage more often, he might just be able to craft a better world not just for Neville, but for everyone around him as well.
"Potter!" a voice shouted, breaking him from his reverie. Harry froze and turned to see Professor Snape stalking towards him, looking furious. "What are you doing out alone? You were instructed to follow your prefects back to the common room!"
"Sorry, Professor, I...got lost," Harry said lamely.
"Ten points from Ravenclaw for your carelessness," Snape spat. "I expected better of you, Potter. I had hoped you would take after your mother, but you still have far too much of your father in you." And Snape turned to leave, striding off in the opposite direction. Harry couldn't help but notice he was favoring his left side, limping slightly – he must have been successful in his efforts to head off Quirrell from the trapdoor, just as before.
Harry returned to Ravenclaw Tower soon after, where he endured a dressing-down from Penelope Clearwater for arriving late, and retired to bed early. Snape's parting words bothered him, but not for the reason he expected. In his original timeline he had fiercely defended his father's honor, unwilling to hear slander against his character. But now, having seen Snape's memory of the bullying he endured, and hearing Uncle Peter's account of feeling left out of James' inner circle, he felt uneasy about the comparison to his father.
But I'm not a bully, am I? Harry wondered. I defended Peter from those Slytherins after all! Though maybe that too was rather more like his father, seeking out a fight rather than taking the diplomatic approach. What would his mother have done? Defended Peter but stayed out of the fight? Perhaps he ought to write her and ask her opinion. He often forgot that was an option in his new timeline.
I'm not alone in this, he reminded himself. I have people who care about me, and want to help. It would take a lot of effort for him to break his old habits of mistrusting authority and relying only on himself. That instinct was what got him and Sirius killed in the first place.
He would write a letter tomorrow, he decided. He slowly drifted off to sleep, comforted by the knowledge that he had a support system he could rely upon.
A/N: To address a few more questions that have cropped up...Harry will have other friends outside the trio in this fic; we just had to establish this incident as the moment Neville, Ron and Hermione became a tight-knit friend group. Despite the troll incident playing out the same, Harry will NOT allow everything to play out as it did in the original canon – it would make increasingly less sense, especially in year 2. He will start being more proactive soon enough, and the timeline will start changing drastically as a result. Also, Harry's wand problems will not last forever, but I didn't want him to be OP right out of the gates so that he still has to work for his powers. Rest assured, he will be much stronger by the end than he is in canon, and he won't just be "Neville's sidekick" either. Other miscellaneous topics, such as Harry's Quidditch status, the Marauder's Map, and the Invisibility Cloak will also be addressed soon, so sit tight!