Shadows of the Past
Harry landed hard, hitting the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Pain shot up his spine, and he groaned, convinced his tailbone had shattered. He rubbed the back of his head, which was pounding as though someone had hit him with a Bludger. Before he could process the situation, a loud yell tore through the air.
Harry glanced up just in time to see Fred Weasley plummeting toward him at a terrifying speed.
“Wai—” But before Harry could even finish the word, Fred crashed into him, knocking the wind out of his lungs. The force of the impact flattened Harry beneath him like a pancake, leaving him dazed.
Fred groaned from atop Harry, not at all phased by the fact that he had just body-slammed his friend. “Oh, hi, Harry,” he said casually, as though they’d bumped into each other at the Leaky Cauldron. He twisted his neck, looking around. “Fancy seeing you here, mate.”
Harry tried to catch his breath, blinking through the confusion. “Yeah... hi,” he muttered, still pinned under Fred.
Fred craned his neck upward and suddenly shouted, “Oh, Professor!” with mock politeness, though Harry couldn’t figure out who or what he was referring to. Then they both heard another unmistakable yell from above. They looked up, and Harry’s stomach dropped George was coming in hot.
“Oh, come on—!” Harry barely managed to wheeze out before SPLAT! George collided with both of them, piling onto the unfortunate duo.
Now squashed beneath both Weasleys, Harry lay there, practically buried. Fred let out a strangled yelp, trying to elbow his twin off him. “Get off me, you bloody wanker!”
George, ever the troublemaker, shifted his weight purposefully to make himself more comfortable—on top of Fred. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t realize you were using Harry as a mattress.”
Fred, now struggling to breathe under George’s weight, snapped back, “You weigh a ton, you git! Have you been sneaking mum’s treacle tarts again?”
George let out a snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just naturally... buoyant.”
Fred rolled his eyes, shoving George’s elbow out of his face. “Buoyant? You’re about as buoyant as a sack of hippogriff dung!”
As the twins continued to bicker, completely oblivious to their surroundings, Harry—still wedged underneath them—resigned himself to his fate. He wasn’t sure if he was more concerned about his bruised ribs or the fact that he was now part of a Weasley sandwich. With a heavy sigh, he let his head fall back to the ground.
“Yep, this is how I die,” Harry muttered to himself, staring up at the sky while the twins' argument raged on above him.
George jostled a bit, pretending to be offended. “Rude, Fred! I’m just the perfect amount of Weasley. You’re just weak.”
Fred groaned louder, pushing harder. “Weak? You’re the one who can’t even keep your balance mid-fall!”
“Oh yeah?” George shot back. “Well, I didn’t exactly have a Harry-shaped cushion to land on, did I?”
—--
Harry groaned at the weight on top of him of Fred and George. It was then when he noticed a shadow no peering over him. He blinked, trying to clear the haze from his eyes,
“Mr. Potter, what exactly on earth are you doing?”
Harry froze. His heart skipped a beat as he saw none other than Professor McGonagall herself standing over them. Her eyes were filled with confusion and concern. Harry scrambled to his feet pushing Fred off of him in the process. Harry fixed his round glasses before speaking “Erm…Hello Professor,” He voice cracked as he spoke, he could hear Fred and George giggling to each other at his feet, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
George came to his scenes and stood up murmuring something under his breath while rubbing his back. George shot him a fern look while kicking Fred in the ribs “Get up Fred!”
Fred groaned but complied and dragged himself to his feet. The twins glanced at Professor McGonagall then back at each other, She didn’t look annoyed but utterly bewildered.
“Who, exactly, are these two?” McGonagall asked, gesturing to Fred and George. Her voice carried one of suspicion, her eyes swept over Fred and George as though they were intruders, and not students.
Freds mouth was agape, but George beat him by saying “It’s us! Y’know Fred and George.”
McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line, her brows knitting together in confusion. “I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure of teaching either of you,” she said dryly, her eyes narrowing. “Though from what I’ve just seen, I certainly hope you don’t make a habit of falling through ceilings.”
The twins blinked at her, completely thrown off. Fred was about to argue when Harry quickly stepped in. “Er, we’re really sorry about that, Professor,” Harry said, voice shaky. He tried to sound as sincere as possible, while his mind raced. What’s going on? Something about this whole situation felt… off.
McGonagall’s sharp gaze landed on Harry again, her expression softening, but there was a strange intensity in her eyes that made him shift uncomfortably. “Mr. Potter, I expected better of you,” she said, her tone lowering, almost familiar, but with a hint of disappointment. “Getting involved in something like this? You should know better.”
Harry swallowed hard. Wait, what does she mean by that? He hadn’t done anything—well, aside from accidentally falling through… and fighting Voldemort in the basement at age 11, and flying a car into the Whomping Willow at the start of his second year, and fighting a basilisk…also in his second year… ok maybe he did do a lot.
George gave a sheepish chuckle, “Oh you know professor, just a bit of a hex accident gone wrong.”
Her eyes flicked back to the twins, “Yes indeed a mishap. They seem to follow you around, don't they, Mr. Potter.” her glaze fixed back on Harry. Confusion was still prominent on her face, he could tell she wanted to ask more questions.
“Look Professor,” George interrupted, trying to steer the conversation back on track, “We really didn’t mean to er…cause a disturbance.”
McGonagall raised a brow at Fred’s casual tone, clearly unimpressed. “Accident or not, you three should not be here.” Her stern expression returned, “I suggest you make your way back to your common room before you cause any more... accidents.”
Harry opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, his mind still buzzing with unease. Something about this whole interaction was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. McGonagall turned on her heel and began to walk away, muttering to herself, “Students falling from ceilings… if Dumbledore were here to see this…”
The moment she was out of earshot, Fred let out a long breath. “Blimey, that was weird, wasn’t it?”
George nodded, brow furrowed. “She looked at us like she didn’t even know who we were.”
Harry, still staring after her, barely heard them. He could feel a strange knot forming in his stomach. Something about McGonagall's reaction, the way she looked at him with that mix of recognition and confusion—it was as if she knew him. But why didn't she remember Fred and George
Fred, blind to the tension gnawing at Harry, sighed, “Well, at least we didn’t get detention. Let’s count that as a win, eh?”
-----
The three boys walked up the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. As they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry cleared his throat and said, “Caput Draconis.”
“Nope!” she replied, her voice high-pitched and dismissive.
“Bloody hell, what do you mean ‘nope’?” George shouted out, clearly frustrated.
“The password is incorrect, so I cannot simply let you in,” the Fat Lady huffed, crossing her arms with a stern look on her face.
The three of them exchanged glances. “Blimey, can’t you tell we’re Gryffindors?” Fred said with a raised brow.
The Fat Lady remained unmoved. “No password. No entry,” she said even more firmly, if that was even possible.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hall, and the boys turned toward the source. A figure emerged from the shadows—a boy they didn’t recognize. “Blimey, mate, can’t even remember the password?” he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. With a smirk, he added, “Cor Leonis.”
Harry and the twins gave the unfamiliar boy a grateful nod, mumbling their thanks as he made his way past them.
As they stepped into the Gryffindor common room, Harry froze. The warmth of the fire and the low hum of chatter faded into dead silence as his gaze locked onto something—someone.
There, standing across the room, was a boy who looked identical to Harry.
It was as if he were staring at a mirror, but this was no reflection. The boy stood still, his face as familiar as his own.
There stood Harry, staring back at himself.