Chapter Text
It happened in an instant. One moment, Harry was glaring at his hated Potions Professor, who was berating Neville on his "apparent vacuous skull" and "complete lack of marginal talent in any subject area," when there was a splash. Neville had accidentally dropped his wristwatch into his base for the Exploding Potion they were brewing that day. The next moment, Harry was covered in green liquid, and felt a familiar tug behind his navel, not unlike the pull of apparition.
Harry's head knocked against something solid, and a second later he realized it was a patch of grass. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head. Wait a moment. Grass? I was just in the dungeons when… Neville had exploded his potion on him. Not only that, but the potion had been contaminated. Harry looked around, only to see the Hogwarts castle, as it always had been.
Something's wrong. Why did Neville's potion take me out to the Hogwarts grounds? Harry stood and righted himself. There were no students about, though it was probably because the bell signaling the end of the period had not rung yet. Harry sprinted up the path to the castle, and down the staircase to the dungeons. Great, I can't wait to hear Snape's response to this. What will it be this time, 10, 15 points?
But before Harry could open the door to the Potion's classroom, he noticed something funny. Something was definitely different about the castle, something that could not have been changed in the course of ten minutes. Perhaps I should go to the loo and splash some water on my face, Harry thought. The explosion must have messed with my head or something.
The boy's bathroom was also changed. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but the castle almost seemed brighter than before. And then he heard a voice he had only dreamed about, just outside the door of the loo.
"Padfoot! In here, quick, or Filch'll catch us skipping!"
It was then that Harry put the pieces together. Neville's watch, the exploding potion; somehow it had sent him back in time. Back to a time when James Potter still attended Hogwarts. Harry's first impulse was to run out of the bathroom to see his father, but then a soft voice of reason that only could have rubbed off from Hermione said, "Harry, you look just like James. What would happen if he saw you?" Harry knew that meeting his father like this would not end well. He scurried into a stall and pulled his feet up onto the toilet seat.
"Oi, Prongs, I told you to take the cloak with us if we're gonna skip class!" James laughed, and Harry peeked through the crack of the stall door to watch his father and godfather.
"Yeah, and risk Snape finding it? He was watching us this morning. Pretty annoying, having his ugly face behind you whenever you turn around." Sirius slapped James on the back.
"No really though, Prongs. Why'd you want to meet up in private?"
"I've got a great new hex I wanted to show you. Saw a group of Ravenclaws do it on some Hufflepuff, so I asked what it was. Watch this!" James drew his wand and flicked it; Sirius was lifted in the air upside down, as if being held by his ankles.
"Oi, alright that's great, now put me down!" Sirius shouted, and with another flick went tumbling to the tiles.
"The incantation's Levicorpus." James chuckled. "Can't wait to use it on Snivelly, can you?"
Harry saw Sirius smile darkly, "Excellent, James," and the pair exited the bathroom.
Harry now knew that he had a problem. He didn't know how to return to the future, which meant he had to stay here, in his father's time for a while. Which meant that Harry had to blend in, because he couldn't be noticed by anyone in the future. Which meant Harry had to not be connected with James Potter, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, or Snape. And Harry needed to find someone intelligent enough to get him a reverse time-turner. Or break into the Ministry of Magic.
Blending in was not something that Harry was used to. All his life he had been pointed out in crowds, and now he had to be virtually invisible?
"I'm screwed," Harry muttered.
But first, he needed a place to stay to at least attempt to lay low. The Gryffindor dormitory was out of the question; he would be definitely recognized as somehow related to James or Lily. Another voice rang in his ear, one that he had heard only once, very long ago.
"You could be great you know. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness…"
Although Harry was not keen to choosing Slytherin as his "hidey-hole," it was better suited for him than Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Harry was sure he would stick out easily to the Ravenclaws, who were much too clever for their own good, and the Hufflepuffs would surely grow tired of Harry's temper. The teenage Snape of this time could potentially become an issue for him, but Harry figured if he left Snape alone, Snape wouldn't sniff around in this personal life. Besides, no one from the past… or future… would connect Slytherin with the Harry Potter of the 1980's. But how would he get robes and a tie?
Harry sat on the toilet seat and prodded through his mind for a possible solution. He could try to nick some from the laundry like Hermione did in second year, but someone would notice him wearing their robes; he could order some, but that would take time; or he could transfigure his current robes slightly and order new ones depending on how long this might take. Which might be forever, Harry thought grimly.
And then came the subject of actually entering the House. It's full of future Death Eaters, I can't just waltz in thinking they'll accept me. Harry rubbed his face with his hands and let out a frustrated sigh. Okay, I'll tell them that I've been homeschooled until now. If they figure out my robes have been transfigured, I'll tell them they're second-hand and I didn't have enough money to buy more. Right. Okay. I think I can do this.
Harry tentatively pushed open the stall and undid his tie and robes. Pointing his wand, he muttered a spell that Professor McGonagall had taught them in one of Harry's earlier years, just a simple color changing spell. He ripped off the Gryffindor insignia on the breast of the garment and shrugged. I'll just tell them I haven't received a house badge yet, that my sorting was private… or something like that.
The bell signaling the end of class rang, and Harry exited the boy's loo into a crowd of hyped up teenagers. There was a group of Gryffindor girls ahead of him, and Harry struggled to gather some sort of information as to the time of day, or where he should be going with the Slytherins.
"Did you see Sirius go to Herbology?"
"No, he usually passes us in the corridor. He must have been off skipping class!" A girl giggled and did a little jump. Harry wasn't sure how to feel about hearing someone speak this way about his godfather.
"What does it even matter? He doesn't look at you! He always smiles at me…"
"Ugh, shut up! He obviously looks at me! Once he even winked!"
Harry contemplated just abandoning this clearly futile mission at gathering information. Although he felt especially like a Slytherin for spying on these girls as they walked.
"Let's just ask him then, which one of us he likes better!" One of the girls stamped her foot and put her hands on her hips.
"Hey! What are you doing? Are you listening in on our conversation?" Harry looked up at the girl in blank horror.
"No. I was just wondering…" Think Harry think! "I wanted to know…"
"Yes?" The girl snapped impatiently, tapping her foot on the ground and crossing her arms. Her friend narrowed her eyes and looked at Harry up and down.
"What's a Slytherin student doing following us around?" She questioned harshly. Harry winced and wondered if he sounded this way when speaking to the Slytherin students.
"I wanted to know… the time!" Harry declared, hoping the girls wouldn't question him further.
"It's the break before dinner. Duh." The girl punctuated the last syllable with certain finality.
"Yes, of course… Thanks." Harry nodded, turned around promptly, and began to walk as swiftly as possible away.
Well that went well, Harry thought, now I'll be known as the Slytherin Stalker in the Gryffindor girl's dormitory. But I have a worse problem. He stopped. I've got to find the Slytherin Common Room. And figure out the password.
Harry tried to remember the path he and Ron took with Malfoy back in second year to the Slytherin common room. It was known that the portrait hole was in the dungeons, but Harry could not recall any paintings or sculptures that might serve as landmarks. Of course, he could always wait until dinner, but that would take another hour, and Harry did not feel like wandering the castle or hiding in the loo again.
The dungeon level of the castle was the coldest floor of Hogwarts. Harry couldn't imagine how people could live in this damp air, and shivered when the chilly air clung to his clothes and seeped through his bony frame.
"I hope the Head of House is at least a bit more pleasant than Snape," Harry muttered as he scanned the corridors for any sign of students. "Though it doesn't matter much, huh? I'll be living with Snape for as long as I'm stuck here." He shuddered at the thought that he would have to share the same intimacy with Snape as he did with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean.
"Hey! You there!" Harry looked around for the owner of the voice.
"Hey!" A slight boy in green Slytherin robes peered from around a corner. His head appeared to be poking out of a crevice in the wall that Harry had not seen earlier. Harry noted a shiny letter "P" on the boy's robes.
"What are you doing wandering around like that? Get over here." Harry obeyed.
"Sorry," Harry answered.
The boy picked Harry apart with his eyes before saying, "Fifth year?" He gestured at the stripe pattern on Harry's tie.
"You look awfully familiar. What's your name again?"
Crap. Harry hadn't thought of this yet.
"It's Harold. Harold…" Harry paused to think of a name that would not raise any suspicion in the future. "Harold Dudley. But people just call me Harry," he blurted.
The prefect stared at him with a calculating look.
"How come I haven't seen you before?"
"I've been homeschooled. Parents didn't have enough money to afford Hogwarts until now. " Harry tried to make this seem casual, but underneath his robes he was sweating bullets. The prefect stared at him for another moment and then smirked.
"Alright then. Welcome to Slytherin House, Harry. The password's Ball Python, don't forget it. You need it to enter the common room. We look out for our own in Slytherin, so don't worry too much about yourself. For every Gryffindor who tries to hex you, there's five of us willing to back you up. House loyalty, Harry, it's real important here. Got it?" Harry nodded his head.
"Good." The prefect led Harry into the passage way and then into a room filled with dark leather furniture and a wall that looked out into the depths of the Black Lake. Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling at the memory of Ron and him sneaking in to get information from Malfoy. The prefect noticed his smile.
"Yeah, it's pretty great in here. The other Houses don't have anything nearly as cool as an underwater common room. Anyways, your dormitory is to the left, separated by year. Fifth years are closer to the end of the corridor. Your roommates should be back there. Dinner's in a bit." The prefect jerked his head once to signify the end of their conversation, and went to the back of the common room where he disappeared from Harry's view.
The corridor that led to the boys' dormitories was dim and shades of pine illuminated the walls. Harry found his dormitory near the end of the hall marked by a silver number five. He opened the door and was greeted by two blank stares, and immediately Harry felt his survival sense go off. These two would be a piece of work. One of them squinted at him and stood. He may have been Harry's age, but the difference in size between them was colossal.
"Who're you?" He questioned, and Harry was beginning to think he should have just gone to Hufflepuff.
"Harold Dudley," Harry said a bit shakily, "Just call me Harry. I've just transferred here. Parents homeschooled me." Harry felt more confident in his story than when he spoke with the prefect.
"Homeschooled?" The boy narrowed his eyes into slits and focused on Harry's chest. "Where's your badge?" He pointed at Harry's breast where ordinarily a house crest was sewn on.
"Haven't gotten one yet," Harry explained.
"And where is your trunk?" The other boy added.
Harry hadn't thought of that.
"It's being brought up soon." Harry racked his brain for the quickest answer. "My parents sent it… a bit late." He made a mental note to transfigure something into a trunk, or go to the Room of Requirement after dinner.
The boy who was standing pointed at an empty bed across from Harry.
"You sleep there," Harry did not object. He sat down on the bed and loosened his tie.
"I'm Avery," the boy who was standing said, "and that's Mulciber." He jerked his head in the direction of the other boy. Harry pricked his ears at the familiar names and knew he had heard them somewhere.
"We've got another roommate, but he's probably in the library."
Harry could guess who it was.
"His name's Snape."
Bingo.
"He's alright. Just don't be on the receiving end of his curses." Avery laughed, and it was a throaty, nasty laugh, like someone had fallen victim to a practical joke.
"Thanks for the tip," Harry said scathingly, and cut him off.
Avery's lip twitched, but said no more and turned back to Mulciber. Harry closed the olive curtains of his four-poster as a wordless statement of, "Don't even try to talk to me." He didn't like this lot. He couldn't remember exactly where he had heard these names, but he was sure it not a good memory.
There was some commotion outside the bed curtain, and Harry heard an all-too familiar voice.
"Mulciber. I told you that I hate when you leave your trunk on my bed." Teenage Snape's voice was still a whisper, but far less of a baritone than his older counterpart.
There was some shuffling and Harry heard teenage Snape speak again.
"Who is in there?"
"Some new kid named Dudley. A bit anti-social." Avery laughed again, and Harry cringed, already hating the sound. "A bit like you."
Harry could almost hear the sneer in Snape's voice.
"Really."
Harry's bed curtains were pushed aside, and he was face-to-face with a fifteen-year-old Snape. Something changed in Snape's face, from curious to livid, and Harry recognized it as the special expression the Potion's Master reserved just for him.
"POTTER!"
Harry almost forgot this Snape wouldn't know who he was in this time. He almost answered back; "Yes Professor?" but Harry held his tongue.
"Potter?" Mulciber repeated.
"YES! Look at him! It's Potter!" Snape was snarling. He pulled his wand out and pointed it at Harry's jugular.
Harry quickly shifted through his robes, pulled out his own wand, and pointed it back at Snape. Snape stared at it and stepped back. He recognized it as different than James'. Harry did not lower his wand. Experience had taught him that Snape was not one to be trusted, especially with his wand in hand and Harry in front of him.
Snape was squinting, as if looking straight through Harry, and Harry remembered the Occlumency lessons with older Snape. He can read my mind. Harry broke their stance and stared somewhere else, settling his gaze on the tip of Snape's wand.
"I'd appreciate it if you would lower your wand," Harry hissed.
Mulciber and Avery were flicking their eyes expectantly between the two boys.
"You're a dead ringer for James Potter," Snape spat at Harry.
"Excuse me, who?" Harry retorted, making this up as he went along.
"Fifth year Gryffindor. Chaser. Heard of him?" Snape barked, apparently not believing that anyone could possibly not know of James Potter.
"Nope. Sorry," Harry replied, feeling as far away from 'sorry' towards Snape as possible.
Snape stepped back up to Harry and his eyebrows furrowed. Harry dared to look back up at Snape, and saw blank confusion in his eyes. Snape's pupils were shifting back and forth between Harry's irises.
"You're not him," Snape finally concluded. Harry let out a silent exhale.
"What was your name again?"
"Harold Dudley," Harry responded.
"Harold?" Snape drawled out.
"People call me Harry," Harry clarified. "I'd prefer that to my surname, really."
Snape squinted at Harry and sneered. "I'll call you 'Harry' when you prove your worth to us. For now, you're 'Dudley.'" Harry grit his teeth at the distasteful memory of his cousin. His temper flared. Why couldn't he just go along with Harry and make things so much easier?
One of the prefects yelled down the hall for dinnertime, and Mulciber, Avery, and Snape exited the dorm together, leaving Harry. Perfect. A chance to run to the Room of Requirement, Harry mused, and made sure the common room was empty before slipping out the passage way.
Whoever thought up the idea of the Room of Requirement was a genius, Harry proclaimed, closing his eyes and thinking over and over, I need to fit into Slytherin house. I need books, a trunk, a House crest, anything I can get. I need help so I can get home. Please. I need to fit in here, to become virtually invisible. He opened his eyes. A door appeared, and Harry opened it to find a small broom closet filled with a trunk and some textbooks.
"I love magic," Harry breathed, and pulled his new trunk down the corridor and back to the Slytherin dormitory.
Harry kept his head down at the breakfast table the next day; although in his mind he berated himself for nearly sitting at the Gryffindor table out of habit. He wanted to glance up to see if anyone was watching him, but he couldn't risk being noticed, especially since he had realized there was another problem.
Professor Dumbledore could not see Harry in this time. If he did, he would realize what happened in the future, and that would surely disrupt the delicate chain of events that were supposed to happen. Using this logic, Harry also realized he had to avoid McGonagall, Filch, Sprout, Flitwick, and Hagrid. On the other hand, he couldn't just skip classes, or the Slytherins would sense something was up with him. This was going to be a problem. The prefect from before noticed Harry sulking and pushed some bacon towards his plate.
"Eat," he commanded, "It'll calm down your nerves."
"Not hungry," Harry muttered, trying to smooth down his unruly hair. Harry then saw Snape squinting at him, and realized messing with his hair was reminiscent of James. But James was across the room, laughing with Sirius and Lupin, and Snape glanced back and forth between he and Harry.
"You know, if your hair won't stay down, you could try gelling it," the prefect offered. Harry looked up at him. That's not a bad idea. It would make me look less like myself, he realized, and jumped on this opportunity.
"Do you have any I can borrow?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Sure. I'll give you some before class. You can order more from the apothecary in Hogsmeade. Great for the hair. Makes it really soft," the prefect said, eating some oats.
Breakfast couldn't end soon enough for Harry, who was shoveling food in his mouth with an appetite that rivaled Ron Weasley.
The prefect was right; the gel in Harry's hair worked perfectly to hold it down, and Harry had nicked some blemish cover-up from a girl and applied it to his scar. Now Harry was even more disassociated from his father, and possibly with his future self. In fact, Harry was beginning to feel that he himself was being disassociated with his future self. The Slytherin common room was becoming almost comfortable to Harry.
Classes were more or less the same; the teachers did not point out Harry other than occasionally calling on him for an answer. Transfiguration was as difficult as always, Herbology was quite unchanged, and Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught by a scared little man who knew his year of employment would be over in a couple of months. Harry suspected Dumbledore had offered him something if he would take the job.
Potions was the last class of the day and Harry was dreading it. Worse still was that the Slytherins and Gryffindors would be together in the lesson. It was taught by the Head of Slytherin House, a large walrus of a man by the name of Horace Slughorn. Unfortunately for Harry, unlike Snape, Slughorn did not favor his Slytherin students, but he did in fact, favor talent and fame; both of which Harry was doing his best to avoid.
And just to put the delicious poisonous frosting on the arsenic cake, Harry was paired with Snape as his brewing partner.
"What are you doing, Dudley? I told you to powder the roots, not maim them," Snape snapped, and took a mortar from Harry.
"You know, you could be a bit more pleasant Snape. We are partners for the rest of the year, you know," Harry spat, and began to stir the contents of their cauldron.
"You dunderhead! You're ruining my perfect potion. Get out of the way!" Snape took Harry by the collar and shoved him back, checking the 'damage' Harry's two stirs had caused.
"Now look what you've done," Snape seethed, and pointed in the cauldron. Harry didn't see any difference in the potion from before.
"It looks fine," Harry insisted, crossing his arms and looking up at Snape, who was noticeably taller, but the same frame size as Harry. Harry could have probably taken Snape in a fight, and right now he was exerting a great amount of effort to not punch Snape in his oversized nose.
"It looks ruined, Dudley, that's what it looks like," Snape backfired.
Professor Slughorn came around the desk to see what the commotion was about. His belly swung around and almost knocked the cauldron over in the process. Snape looked as if the vein on his forehead was going to blow.
"Mr. Snape, Mr. Dudley, is there a problem?" Slughorn's mustache curled up into a smile.
"No," Harry answered, a bit sharply, and glared at Snape.
Snape was busy checking the brew and didn't see Harry's hateful stare.
Harry and Snape's relationship continued like this for most of the term, not that Harry minded. He was busy looking for ways to get home, and was quickly running out of options. The silence of the dormitory was better for him, better than trying to come up with crazy lies to explain himself. Mulciber, who asked Harry a question one night before bed, broke the comfortable silence.
"Dudley, what's your blood status?" He pressed.
"Half-blood," Harry answered, before he could stop himself.
Mulciber and Avery sat up in bed. Snape turned over, but Harry had a feeling he wasn't trying to go to sleep.
"What kind of half-blood? Mudblood-Pureblood? Half-Half?" Harry didn't like the way Avery was staring at him. Should he lie to them? Snape was still turned away, and Harry remembered how Snape could read minds. It would probably be futile in trying to cover up his blood status, Snape would tell them anyways.
"My mom was Muggle-born," Harry answered, and Mulciber looked revolted. "My father was Pureblood." Avery glanced at Mulciber and looked down.
"Mudbloods and filthy blood traitors. The scum of the earth," he muttered, but Harry heard it perfectly well. He drew his wand and pointed it at Mulciber.
"Say that again," he spat, "and I swear I'll hex you until all you've got left is Muggle blood." Mulciber laughed at this with crooked teeth. Snape had turned around and had his eyes locked on Harry. Harry looked at him. Something wasn't right with his face, like he was trying to understand something incomprehensible.
Harry sat back on his bed and shut the curtains. Just for good measure, he cast a Protego charm over himself. He didn't trust anyone in this room. They'd probably try and jinx him in his sleep. Was this always how Slytherin house was? Harry couldn't imagine how people would want to be sorted here. He turned over and tried to focus on something light-hearted, something that had nothing to do with his current position, but he couldn't. He lay awake, not daring to turn his back on his dorm mates.
Snape was eyeing Harry at breakfast the next day, and Harry was getting irritated to the point that he actually wanted to get up and talk to him.
"Is there something you need?" He questioned, after feeling black orbs bore into his skull for ten minutes. Snape snorted and scratched his nose.
"No. I was wondering," Snape's eyes smoldered, "how in the world someone like you managed to make it into Slytherin." Harry's eyes widened and he coughed.
"Excuse me? Someone like me? Are you trying to make a racial slur, Snape?"
"Pardon me, Dudley, but I was referring to the fact that you're a complete idiot. And your habit of jumping to conclusions makes me think you're better suited for Gryffindor than Slytherin." Snape's lip curled. Harry weighed this in his mind.
"Tell that to the Sorting Hat." It wasn't difficult to say. The Sorting hat did want to put Harry into Slytherin, but Harry chose Gryffindor. Would Harry have turned into someone like Snape if he had chosen Slytherin?
Snape eyed him curiously for a moment.
"You said something interesting earlier." Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting?"
"You spoke of your parents in the past tense. Does that mean they're dead?" Snape's eyes were glittering, as if he had figured out something important. Harry swallowed his food thickly. He should have been more careful with his words.
"If they are, what does it matter to you?" Harry was a bit irate at Snape's perceptiveness.
"It means you lied about being homeschooled," Snape pointed out. "And if you lied, it means you have something to hide."
"I think, Snape, that everyone has something to hide." Harry cut him off before Snape could respond. He could feel Snape's gaze boring into him once again, and knew there would be more questions in Potions that afternoon.
Now that Harry had the chance to think about it, Snape as a teenager did not scare him. Without the threat of losing House points, or the authority as a teacher he held over Harry, all Snape had was his wand work going for him. And Snape the teenager was a fair match against Harry, even though he knew more curses than Harry liked to imagine.
"Dudley, hand me that flobberworm," Snape ordered, and brought Harry out of his dream-like trance.
Harry pulled up a particularly disgusting looking one. "This one?"
"No, you idiot," Snape hissed, "that one!" He pointed to a different worm that was slightly less disgusting than the first.
"Oh, right," Harry smiled, "that one. The one that looks exactly like the rest of them!" His patience with Snape was waning at an exponential rate.
"Incorrect," said Snape. "This one," He held up the worm in Harry's face, "is perfect." "That one," he pointed to Harry's worm, "is too ripe. Really, don't you know anything about Potions? Your old tutor can't have been that much of an idiot to fail to teach you which ingredients are best." Harry snorted and fought back laughter. Snape raised an eyebrow.
"Something funny about that, Dudley?" He hissed.
"You have no idea," said Harry, gasping for breath.
"Why don't you just copy down the notes for us," Snape snarled, "as you're no good for any other use."
"Really Snape, we've been partners in this class for at least a month now. The least you could do is be civil," Harry countered.
"Oh? Coming from the cheerful chap who hasn't said a kind word to anyone since he got here? I don't think so." Snape's nostrils flared, like he had smelled something bad.
"You're the one who attacked me in the dormitory!" Harry argued, standing up and trying to restrain himself from pouring the cauldron over Snape. The vein in Snape's forehead flexed, threatening to pop, but Snape's face cleared.
"So I did, not without cause. You do not know Potter. My actions were necessary. " Snape turned around and did not speak again. Harry did not argue further.
Something Snape said stuck with Harry that evening. Harry hadn't been exactly kind to his housemates, or any of his classmates at that; he had just figured he would have found a way out of the past by now. But it seemed that he had been wrong. Harry couldn't find any way to return to the future, and it looked like he would be stuck here for a while. So for the time being, Harry was going to have to be polite to Snape.
OWLS were fast approaching in the term, and Harry was in a tizzy balancing time research and schoolwork. Defense Against the Dark Arts would be a breeze, as would Herbology, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures. Harry was sure he would fail Divination and History of Magic. Astronomy wouldn't be too bad, as long as he could remember all the constellations. Potions was going to pose a problem for him though. Slughorn was an all right teacher, but having Snape as a partner caused Harry to feel like he would surely fail any attempt at potion making.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was scheduled for Monday afternoon, and Harry was feeling a bit shaky. Not because he had not studied, or because he had not practiced any of the spells, but because he knew a certain event was supposed to take place that afternoon. If it didn't happen, Harry would know that his existence in the past had caused some sort of disrupt in time.
The test was not difficult, at least the written part. Next week the practical half would be given, but Harry was not thinking about that. He was following Snape outside to the grounds and watched him find some shade. Harry chose a different tree to sit under and watch the events unfold.
Sirius got up out of the sun first, and stalked over to Snape. Harry saw him use the spell James had taught him in the boy's bathroom and watched as onlookers gathered and laughed. He saw Lily march up to James, and how he wanted to stop her. His dear sweet mother, he wanted to guard her from the awful word Snape used on her. Mudblood. Dirty blood. Scum of the earth. But Harry watched her walk away, and knew that the damage had been done.
Yet James and Sirius would not let up. Harry watched them lift Snape into the air again and exposed his underpants to the crowd, and suddenly it wasn't James, Sirius, or Snape that Harry saw, but Dudley and his friends laughing at Harry.
And Harry realized something. How different was Snape from him? The bullying was the same; only Snape had chosen fight over Harry's preferred flight. Harry's feelings of pity returned to him from when he first viewed this memory in Snape's pensieve. And then anger at Sirius and James for doing this, and frustration at Lupin, who allowed it to happen, and annoyance at Wormtail for egging them on, and understanding at Snape for lashing out, and maybe not forgiveness for using that word, but the beginnings of forgiveness. Truthfully, didn't he, himself lash out when he was angry?
"That's enough," Harry murmured, and stood up, wielding his wand. He pointed it at James and breathed a well-aimed Stupefy. James went flying backwards and Sirius wildly looked around for the person responsible for the spell. Harry shrank back against the tree and hoped the years of hiding from Dudley in grade school had payed off.
The first thought that Harry had after this fiasco was that he was a complete idiot. He just attacked his father. And worse still, he protected a man that he was proud to proclaim his absolute hate for. Harry did not think about how is actions might have disrupted time until the crowd around Snape disappeared and Snape had pulled his robes back down.
Snape squinted in the general direction of Harry. He sauntered over, and Harry realized he might have made a big mistake. He could only imagine how Hermione would have nagged him, "You're supposed to be acting like a Slytherin, Harry! Slytherins think before they act! You can't just hex anyone who pisses you off at the drop of a hat!"
"Why did you do that?" Snape questioned Harry, when he reached the shaded area and realized Harry was the one who casted of the curse. Snape's eyes narrowed and Harry was not sure how to answer.
"How did you know it was me?" Harry implored, with a slight smile.
"Don't insult me, I'm not as daft as Black. It is not difficult to figure out in what direction a spell was cast." Snape raised an eyebrow.
"You heard me call the girl a Mudblood, why aren't you angry?" Snape pressed.
"You didn't mean it," Harry answered, shaking his head and gazing out at the grounds. "I would have lashed out at someone as well."
"You don't understand," Snape muttered, "She was…" His voice trailed off and Harry did not ask him to finish.
"Just apologize to her," Harry shrugged. He started to walk away when he turned and said slowly, as if he were choosing each word very carefully, "See you back in the common room." Snape offered no reply.
"Horrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry."
"Shut up Hermione," Harry breathed.